Stranger in the Lake(62)

“I’m here to talk to Chet,” Chief Hunt says, and a memory flickers. Of a younger version of him busting in our door, tackling my father to the ground, hog-tying his hands and feet. I was only six at the time—too young to remember the details, but that doesn’t mean my bones don’t still shake at the image of their bodies hitting the floor, that I don’t hear my father’s grunts or taste the fear and shame climbing up my throat. Memories are strange that way. They don’t have to be real to feel visceral.

But my fear of Chief Hunt, the way the sight of him sends my heart flapping around like a caged bird against my ribs—that is 100 percent real.

Chet parks his boots at the edge of the room. “Did Annalee send you? Because I told her I’d pay her back.”

“This isn’t about Annalee, Chet. This is about Sienna Sterling.”

“Okaaaay.” His gaze flicks around the room. When it lands on mine, I recognize alarm and something else that makes my skin prickle. I recognize fear, the same kind I’m feeling. “What about her?”

“A witness is on record saying she saw you coming out of Ms. Sterling’s room in the B and B at some time just before eight on Tuesday morning. One day before Ms. Sterling was killed.”

Chet doesn’t move. He just stands there, stock-still and wide-eyed, for a good five seconds. My breath turns solid and I stare at him—say no say no say no. Chet doesn’t shake his head, but he doesn’t nod, either.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, what?” Chief Hunt scowls, stepping closer, looming in the kitchen. “Was that you coming out of her room Tuesday morning or not?”

“It was more like seven thirty, but yeah. It was me.”

“Chet!” I say, too loud and far too flustered because I want to strangle him. I think of the conversation we had downstairs on the couch, the way he swore they didn’t sleep together. Hiding his shenanigans from me is one thing; hiding them from the police is another thing entirely. He had to know this would come out at some point.

“Interesting. Especially since you told one of my deputies the last time you talked to Ms. Sterling was at the bar the night before. Monday night.”

Chet winces. “That’s ’cause once we got upstairs, we didn’t do much talking.”

“So you lied.”

“I didn’t lie. Not technically.” Chet looks at me for backup, giving his head a nervous shake. “I told Sam we didn’t talk, and we didn’t. We did...other stuff. But after I left her room, I didn’t see or speak to her, like, at all that day. I didn’t even know she was the one y’all fished out of the lake until Sam showed me her picture.”

“Did you have any contact by phone or text? And I’d suggest thinking real hard before you answer because we already have her phone records.”

Chet’s shoulders slump, and he sighs. “She gave me her number at the bar that night. That’s how I knew to come up. She texted me her room number. There’s not a single guy on the planet who would’ve said no.”

Chief Hunt sticks out a meaty hand. “Show me the string.”

“That’s private.”

Chief Hunt rolls his eyes. “There are a million ways I can go about getting those texts, son, and every single one of them only makes you look more guilty, not less. You might as well just show me. Unless you have something to hide.”

After a second or two, Chet digs around in his pocket for his phone. “Fine, but I just wanna state for the record that I didn’t show anybody these pictures she sent, and the plans we made to meet up on Tuesday night never happened. She went silent, and I ended up crashing on Jed Allen’s couch. Annalee had kicked me out.” Chet unlocks his cell and pulls up the string.

I watch Chief Hunt’s expression as he scrolls through the texts, the way his lips purse and one brow crawls up his forehead at photos with what looks like a hell of a lot more than a simple flash of skin. My mind is racing, but I can’t think straight, can’t think of any way to stop this runaway train. All I know is that I need the questioning to end and everybody to leave. Chet slept with Sienna Sterling the day before she died. Jesus Christ.

Chief looks up from the phone. “Where were you on Wednesday morning from, say, 2:00 a.m. on?”

“Like I said, asleep on Jed Allen’s couch.”

“Was Mr. Allen there at the time?”

“Yeah. And so was his girlfriend.”

“Can either of them confirm it?”

“I mean...everybody was asleep, but I guess.”

“I’m going to need a list of your whereabouts from the time you left the B and B until noon on Wednesday, along with a list of names and numbers of people who can back you up on it. Bring it by the station by closing time today. Oh, and if you delete this string from your phone, I’ll throw your ass in jail for evidence tampering.”

He doesn’t wait for Chet to respond, or for Micah or anyone else to say goodbye. The chief hands the phone back to Chet and stomps out the door, leaving behind him a silence so complete I hear the engine crank on the front driveway. I stare at Chet. Chet stares at the floor. Diana stares at us from across the island, that stupid perfect corkscrew ponytail draped down one shoulder, and I hate that she’s here. I hate that she’s a witness to all this.

I smack Chet with both hands on the chest. “Chet, what the hell? You said you didn’t sleep with her.”