Murder at Sunrise Lake - Christine Feehan Page 0,20

so they could be torn off and the next ones spread on easily.

Sunrise Café was owned and operated by their friend Shabina Foster. Shabina was five foot four with thick black hair that fell to her waist if she let it. Mostly she braided it and wrapped it into a figure eight on her head. She had gorgeous skin and unexpected peacock-blue eyes framed with black lashes. Stunningly beautiful, Shabina was amazingly modest. Her father’s company had risen to become the number one company called on when oil wells caught fire anywhere in the world. That was how her mother had met him in Saudi Arabia.

Shabina rarely talked about her parents or how their union came about. Shabina once told them her name meant “eye of the storm” in Arabic. Her mother had told her she was aptly named. Shabina implied that meant it had something to do with her family history. Stella did know that her mother never returned to Saudi Arabia nor did her grandparents ever come to the United States. None of Shabina’s aunts, uncles or cousins had ever met her. It seemed they all had secrets, and that was okay. Maybe that was what allowed them all to be friends.

Stella waved to Shabina, knowing she was too busy right now to talk but would come to the booth later when the rush was over. Hurrying to the back, Stella slid onto the bench seat opposite Zahra. “You got off early.”

Zahra nodded, her dark eyes looking Stella over carefully. “I had some time off coming to me, and my schedule wasn’t all that important that I couldn’t move things around. I thought it would be nice to spend more time together.”

That wasn’t like Zahra at all. She worked. She stuck to her calendar and crossed appointments off as they came. She looked innocent, but then that was half of Zahra’s charm. She could look innocent even if she was stealing your car right out from under you. When they went to the gym together and shared a personal trainer, Zahra could talk him into letting her off the hook when it came to the harder exercises, even though Zahra could do them no problem. Stella, on the other hand, thought she was dying and the trainer just made her do more. She didn’t have that cute accent or the adorable smile of innocence Zahra had.

“What’s going on with you?” Stella asked.

“I needed girl time.”

Stella regarded her suspiciously. There was a plate of fried zucchini, one of Shabina’s specialties. It wasn’t just any old fried zucchini. This tasted light, as if it wasn’t fried and couldn’t possibly add a single calorie to your body. Shabina could fool you into thinking things like that with her food.

“Perfect. So do I. I’m going camping and need someone to camp with me.” Stella pounced. Zahra was a five-star luxury girl. She’d had enough of starving and roughing it to last a lifetime when she was growing up, but she did backpack and climb when Stella twisted her arm.

Zahra narrowed her dark brown eyes. “What does that mean? Camping in one of your cabins? Or in a tent? What exactly are you saying? Because it’s cold at night now, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Tents by the lake. I’ve got the perfect spot already picked out.”

Zahra slumped over the tabletop dramatically, burying her face in her arms, groaning. “You’re not right in the head, Stella. No one wants to camp in a tent anymore. You have a beautiful house. Cabins. We can go anywhere. Tents by the lake?” She lifted her head and glared at Stella. “Tell me now, you’re getting me back for that time I was supposed to hike the JMT with you and I thought I was sick and backed out.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “No one believed you were going to hike the trail with me, Zahra. I didn’t believe it for a minute. I did think you might summit Whitney because you always talk about it, but no way were you actually going to hike the trail, especially when I was going out for a month. And you weren’t sick.”

“I could have done it,” Zahra stated, salting the zucchini fries, not bothering to deny that she wasn’t sick.

Stella took the salt shaker from her. “Not only could you have done it, you would have been far better at it than me. You just don’t like inconveniencing yourself.”

“I like showers. And toilets,” Zahra pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with that. People