Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,105
I didn’t see a weapon aboard, though. ’Course, I didn’t touch anything.”
“Good.” Joel stepped around her and reached into the bed of his truck to unlock the chrome toolbox.
“Don’t bother with waders,” she told him. “With the storm coming, they’re bringing everything in.”
He glanced at the sky. Given the angry gray clouds rolling in, it wasn’t a bad call. He shoved his waders aside and grabbed his binoculars.
“Sure you want in on this?” she asked. “Technically, you’re on vacation till Thursday.”
“I’m sure.” The department had only three full-time detectives—himself, Emmet, and Owen. Nicole was good, but she was still in training.
“I’m just saying,” she went on. “You could probably let Emmet take the lead with this one.”
Joel slammed the toolbox shut, not bothering to argue about it. “Fill me in as we walk.”
She fell into step beside him, and her waders made little squeaking sounds. “So. How was the wedding?”
“Fine.”
She cut a look at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Anyone call the sheriff’s office?” he asked. The last thing he wanted to talk about was the wedding he’d just attended.
“The chief called them. They’re sending down one of their CSIs.”
“Who?”
“Bollinger, I think.”
Joel winced.
“You don’t like him?”
“No.”
“Well, he should be here soon.” She checked her watch. “We called them forty-five minutes ago.”
“He’ll be late, count on it.” Yet another reason the chief had probably decided to tow the canoe in. Joel passed a row of fishing rigs and catamarans, all neatly covered and secured in their slips. Joel reached the end of the dock and lifted the binoculars.
The distant crime scene snapped into focus. Chief Brady stood at the helm of the police boat as Emmet and Owen attached a line to the bow of the canoe. Joel studied the long green boat. It didn’t look like a rental from one of the island’s rec shops.
The police boat got moving, and the bow of the canoe tipped up. Joel muttered a curse as he imagined the canoe’s contents shifting to the stern.
“We don’t have much choice with the rain coming,” Nicole said, clearly picking up on his concern.
“Tell me they got pictures.”
“Emmet had the camera.”
“Who found them?”
“Some woman in a kayak. She paddled to the marina to report it.”
Joel lowered the binoculars. “Why didn’t she call it in herself?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she now?”
“Um . . .” She turned around and scanned the parking lot. “McDeere was getting her statement. I’m sure she didn’t leave yet. There she is. Just past the boat trailers.”
“Black Jeep, red kayak?”
“That’s her. Here, let me use your binocs while you talk to her.”
Joel handed them over and returned to the parking lot, watching the woman as he approached. She stood on the running board of the Jeep, struggling with a bungee cord as she secured her kayak to the roll bar.
“Need a hand?” Joel asked.
“I’m good.” The woman didn’t look up. She had honey-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore stretchy black pants that clung to her curves and a loose white top over a black sports bra. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, but the pissed-off look on her face warned Joel not to intervene as she wrestled with the final hook. After getting it attached, she stepped down.
“I’m Joel Breda, Lost Beach PD.”
She gazed up at him and dusted her hands on her pants. “Miranda Rhoads.” Her gaze dropped to the detective’s shield clipped to his belt. When she looked up again, her caramel-colored eyes were wary.
“I already gave a detailed statement to Officer McDeere,” she said. “And I talked to someone named Lawson.”
“I understand, ma’am. I just have some follow-ups.”
She blew out a breath and tucked a curl behind her ear. “All right.”
“Care to sit down?” He nodded at a picnic table not far from the bait shop.
“No, thanks. One second.” She eased past him and opened the door of her Jeep, then reached across the seat and popped open the glove compartment. She pulled out a small red zipper pouch. “I just need to clean this,” she said, propping her foot on the running board.
She wore silver flip-flops, and Joel saw a gash on the side of her little toe. The cut was bleeding. He hadn’t noticed, probably because he’d been distracted by the rest of her.
“What’d you do there?” he asked.
She tore open a sterile wipe and dabbed at the cut. “I got out of my kayak to look at the canoe and stepped on a board covered in barnacles.”
“You had a tetanus shot recently?”
She laughed. “Uh, yeah.”
Joel looked at