The Rebel's Return by Beverly Barton

fresh air.”
    â€œWith Dylan Bridges?”
    Maddie gasped, then laughed. “We had some old business to take care of.”
    â€œI see.” Joan inclined her head toward Dylan and Fiona on the dance floor. “So, what’s Fiona—new business?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. And I don’t care.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t lie to your best friend, would you?”
    â€œI’m not—”
    The shrill screams rent the still night air. From somewhere outside, a woman’s bloodcurdling shrieks stopped everyone dead in their tracks.
    â€œWhat on earth…?” Joan stared at Maddie.
    The band continued playing, but the dancers stopped and joined the others as they questioned the location of the screams and the identity of the woman. Maddie headed for the raised dais on which the band presided. She had to take charge of this situation before anyone panicked.
    Gripping the microphone tightly in her hand, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please stay calm. I’m sure very shortly we’ll have an explanation aboutwhat’s going on. I’m on my way downstairs to find out what has happened.”
    If the actors she’d hired for tonight’s performance had taken it upon themselves to improvise something extra for her guests’ entertainment, she’d let them know she didn’t appreciate their upsetting everyone this way.
    Before Maddie made it across the ballroom and to the door, Harvey Small and the actor who had played Detective Madison rushed into the room. Harvey’s round, fat face was pale, and his beady brown eyes bugged out with sheer horror.
    â€œThere’s been a murder,” Harvey said. “A real murder. There’s a body floating in the pond in front of the club.”
    Murmurs mixed with shocked cries. Maddie drew in a deep breath.
    â€œWho was that screaming?” someone asked.
    â€œWho got killed?” another inquired.
    â€œErica Clawson, one of our waitresses, had gone outside for a smoke,” Harvey said, his voice trembling slightly. “She—she discovered the body.”
    â€œWhose body?” Ford Carson asked as he made his way forward through the throng of party-goers.
    Harvey swallowed hard, then looked right at Dylan, who stood, with Fiona on his arm, only a few feet away from her parents. “It’s Judge Bridges. Judge Carl Bridges.”

Five
    A t first Maddie couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Carl Bridges was dead? Murdered? No, it wasn’t possible. Harvey had to be wrong. It couldn’t be Carl. Not now when Dylan had just returned to Mission Creek to rebuild a relationship with his father.
    Dylan! Oh, God, Dylan!
    Turning quickly, Maddie moved toward Dylan, who stood stiffly, a dazed expression on his face. Was he in shock? she wondered. Then abruptly, as if he’d suddenly understood what Harvey had said, as if reality had broken through the veil of disbelief, Dylan ran out of the ballroom.
    â€œHave you called the police?” Justin Wainwright, the local sheriff who’d been attending tonight’s gala, questioned Harvey.
    â€œI did that immediately,” Harvey replied, then motioned toward the door by which Dylan had just left. “Wasn’t that Carl Bridges’ prodigal son running out of here? Sheriff, you might want to catch him before he gets away.”
    â€œI’m sure Dylan isn’t running away,” Maddie said.“He probably wants to see for himself that his father is dead.”
    â€œWith their past history I’d say that Dylan Bridges should be a prime suspect.” Harvey puffed out his rotund chest. “The whole town knows that father and son haven’t spoken to each other in years.”
    Maddie glowered at the roly-poly manager. “Why don’t you shut up, Harvey? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Hart O’Brien, who was a detective on the Mission Creek police