Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) by Aaron Paul Lazar

his wrist and checked the time. “Not too likely. No hunting this time of year. It’s all your dad’s private property. Unless there’s a random hiker up there…”
    “Yeah. I guess you’re right. And they’ll be careful.”
    “There’s no one on earth more careful than your father,” he said. “And he really loves you, Portia.”
    She smiled and started the glider going again. “I know. He’s the best.”
    Boone’s face changed, and she wondered what had upset him. “What?” she asked.
    “I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about what happened to you. It’s so damned unfair.”
    She didn’t say a word, just pushed the glider back and forth, but his words comforted her.
    “And I hope, I pray… that someday you will realize not all men are like that Murphy creep. He’s the exception, not the rule.” He reached over to touch her hand, but hesitated mid-air.
    “I’ll get there,” she said with a sad smile. “Just give me time.”
    Boone pulled his hand back, laying it palm-down on his thigh. “Deal.”
    ***
    They glided for another hour. Boone made small talk about the horses and the farm, filling her in on who’d had what foals and which pastures they were settled in. He talked about the roof leaking, the big tractor getting stuck in the mud last spring, and how the local farrier had thrown his back out, causing all horse owners to panic. They’d found a replacement to shoe their horses, but nobody loved the new guy as much as old Hank.
    “How about tomorrow I take you out to see all the new babies? There are four, to be exact. And there’s one I think you’ll really like. He’s the spitting image of Mirage.”
    Turning to Portia, he noticed with a start that she had fallen asleep. When had that happened? He shook his head, realized he’d probably been talking to himself for the past few minutes, and gently got up, whispering to her sleeping form. “Sleep well, Peaches. I’ll check on you soon.”

Chapter 19
     
    B oone, Dirk, and Anderson pored over the maps they spread on the kitchen table. They’d been discussing options for over an hour after the two men returned from dumping the truck in the pond. Boone had checked on Portia twice, and she was still curled in a ball, sleeping on the glider with both dogs snoring on the grass beneath her.
    Daisy and Grace crouched over a laptop, sitting side by side on the couch. Grace announced their findings as they progressed.
    “Found the town of Baraboo.”
    “Here are the obits—they’re listed with photos in the Baraboo News Republic.”
    “Lots of people died this month. Wow.”
    “Mostly women, elderly.”
    She and Daisy exchanged disappointed glances, then stood and came to the table. “No luck so far. Either he’s not dead, or no one’s found him yet.”
    Dirk grimaced. “Looks like we need to make some phone calls, and if that doesn’t work, we take a road trip.”
    Boone leaned his chair back, balancing on two legs. “We need to find out more about Murphy. First of all, how and why he chose Portia. Secondly, how much he knew about all of us. From what she said, he followed the case in the papers, it’s gonna be really hard to just blend into the town as if we are passing through. Especially if we start asking a lot of questions. He might have friends up there who could tip him off.”
    Anderson chewed on the end of a pencil. “Unless we concoct some story about one of us being a journalist. Maybe I could be doing a piece on ‘living off the grid,’ or something like that? I could try to do it over the phone, and contact someone at The Baraboo News Republic.”
    Grace pulled out a chair and sank into it. “With your theater background, you’d be the best one to pull that off. You’re a natural actor, honey.”
    Boone looked up. He’d forgotten Anderson taught drama classes. That was how he’d met Grace, when she had a part in one of his productions. “Good idea. You could try to dig up a list of names of folks who