Deep Waters. Jessica R. Patch

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       TWO

      Caley jolted from the bare twin mattress as knuckles collided with the door outside the empty dorm room she’d stayed in after last night’s events. Shoving a mass of hair from her face, she squinted at sunlight pouring through the window that overlooked the ocean.

      “Caley? It’s 0700. You crackin’?”

      Crackin’? She was barely breathing. It had been nearly 4:00 a.m. before she had finally decided against driving home. After the police left and cleared them to clean up Mary Beth’s dorm room, Caley met with Mary Beth’s parents, who had rented a car after their flight landed. They’d grieved together and then she followed them to the Turtle Bay Police Department.

      She hadn’t mentioned the ransacking. She wanted more information before suggesting foul play to Mr. and Mrs. Whaling. They’d been exhausted and retired to a hotel a mile away. Back at the dormitory, Caley had made up a bed for Shep two doors down from hers, including fresh sheets, but she’d been too exhausted to throw any on her own tiny mattress. Her mouth felt like cotton and her eyes were swollen from crying herself to sleep.

      “You alive?” he called. “I’m coming in if you don’t answer.”

      “I’m fine,” she rasped. Could use some water. “Give me a minute already.” Grabbing her glasses, she haphazardly shoved them onto her nose and yanked the door open to a freshly showered—and ridiculously good-smelling—Shepherd. He didn’t particularly have a “look” but his jeans and black T-shirt could be branded the Shepherd Lightman style. “Not all of us can manage on four or less hours of sleep.”

      “Roger that.” With his index finger, he righted her crooked glasses. Her blood heated. She was definitely awake now and no doubt looking a mess. Smoothing down her hair, she was suddenly more self-conscious of her disheveled appearance.

      Shep leaned against the door frame. “I smell breakfast from the mess hall. You want me to rustle up your number one square for the day? Or I can stand outside the door.”

      “This isn’t Buckingham Palace, Shep.” Though, with that stoic face, he’d make a great solider standing guard at the gates. “I need ten minutes. I’ll meet you at the cafeteria.” A solider through and through. “I’m a fan of French toast.” She shut the door and snatched the bag she normally kept in her office in case she worked into the late hours. She rarely wore makeup and it was easier to pull her long hair into a sloppy bun on her head or a ponytail. Today she went with down and wet. It’d dry quickly.

      She opened the door fifteen minutes later.

      Shep hadn’t left.

      “You did hear me say this wasn’t Buckingham, right?” She slid by him and shook her head.

      He fell into step with her. “Who is Billy Reynolds?”

      She paused. “How do you know that name?”

      “Social media. I did some research while you got some shut-eye. Quite a few photos of him and our vic—I mean...Mary Beth.”

      Caley ambled through the lobby and down the hall to the cafeteria that had once been the motel’s dining commons. “Did you sleep at all?”

      “Who is Billy Reynolds? And what is his relationship with Mary Beth?”

      Shep motioned for her to go ahead of him through the breakfast buffet line. The room was sparse today after last night’s tragic events. Two interns sat at a table. They needed to call an assembly. In the back corner, Dr. Fines sat with a cup of coffee, stubble covering his chin and cheeks. He looked as haggard as Caley felt. “I need to go talk to Leo.”

      Eyebrows scrunching, Shep set his sights on her mentor and boss. “Leo? Leonard Fines?”

      “Yes,” Caley said, and left Shep in line with two trays. She hurried to Leo and he stood and hugged her.

      “We need to rally the kids,” he said.

      “I know. I was just thinking that. But I have to tell you something first.” She sat across from him and relayed the earlier events.

      Leo pushed his coffee cup away. “You really think the two incidents are related?”

      “I do. I don’t have solid proof, but I mean, come on.” She toyed with an empty creamer cup he’d used for his brew. “The police are ruling it an accident, but Shepherd is sticking around. In case it’s not. At least for a couple of days.”

      Leo leaned forward. “Caley, if the police and medical examiner say it was an accident, then it was. I don’t need to remind you that our biggest fund-raising gala is in a few short weeks, and if Nora Simms gets a whiff of scandal, your job and mine will be over. Not to mention we don’t need donors pulling out.”