Flamingo Diner. Sherryl Woods
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for him to take the job once it was offered.
Maybe if the mayor had sent someone else, maybe if Matt hadn’t handled way too many domestic disturbance calls on his last shift, he might have been able to turn the offer down flat. As it was, he’d jumped at the chance to explore going back to Winter Cove in a respectable position. The salary and benefits had hardly mattered. Don had pegged him exactly right. Matt had wanted a chance to prove something to the people of Winter Cove. And he’d clung to the likelihood that sooner or later, he’d catch a glimpse of Emma and see if he’d finally outgrown his infatuation.
His first few months on the job had gone smoothly enough. Even without a visit from Emma, he had no regrets about his decision to come home. Don had been right about the number of strangers around, but there were still a lot of familiar faces, and Matt had made it his business to get to know the strangers, as well. Little went on around town that he didn’t observe or hear about.
Like the scene he’d witnessed in Flamingo Diner that morning. It wasn’t the first time Don had lost patience with Andy lately. Nor was it the first time he’d snapped at Rosa, but each troubling incident took Matt by surprise. Years ago Don would never have taken that tone with any of them. In fact, over the years, whenever Matt thought of the Killians, all he remembered was the laughter and Don Killian’s gentle, persistent way of teaching all of them the right way to do things. The little displays of temper, mild in comparison to what Matt had lived through in his own home, were still worrisome because they were so totally out of character.
But as much as Matt loved the family, as much as he’d always been made to feel as if he were part of it, he wasn’t sure if it was his place to step in and ask Don if anything was wrong. Maybe he didn’t want to admit that his mentor might have flaws. Besides, people had their bad days. Even he could be short-tempered, snarling at anyone who crossed his path. But until the last few weeks, he’d never witnessed Don saying an unkind word to anyone, especially a member of his own family.
Matt wasn’t the only one concerned, either. Since that morning, half a dozen people had stopped him on the street and asked if he knew what was on Don’s mind. Having everyone know about every little mood swing was both the blessing and the curse of a place like Winter Cove. There was something comforting about knowing how many people cared, but it could be disconcerting, too. Matt was still getting used to all the teasing questions about his own social life, which was nonexistent at the moment since he’d recently broken off a brief flirtation with a local investment adviser because she’d been more serious than he was.
Fleetingly, he considered calling Emma and filling her in on this new tension at the diner, but he knew in his gut that his motives weren’t entirely pure. Why stir her up over something that she wasn’t here to fix? As genuine as his concern was, it was a pretty pathetic excuse to hear the sound of her voice and see if it still had the power to make his knees weak.
He uttered a rueful chuckle. Here it was after midnight, and unable to sleep, he was cruising along the lakefront dreaming up ways to make contact with a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade. Even more absurd was the fact that he was still carrying a torch for a woman he’d never even kissed, a woman who’d been little more than a girl the last time he’d seen her.
He sighed. He really did need to get a social life. The next time Jessie Jameson offered to fix him up with her granddaughter, he just might take her up on it. Everyone knew that Jessie Three, as the younger woman was known around town, was always up for a good time. Maybe that was what Matt needed, a little uncomplicated sex and a few laughs.
In the meantime, he could definitely use a distraction. Catching a burglar in the act would be good. Even a traffic violation. But the streets of Winter Cove were quiet at this hour. Few people were stirring.
He was almost relieved when he finally spotted something out of the ordinary, a glint of something metallic at the edge of the lake, picked out by his headlights as he rounded a curve. It could be nothing more than a piece of debris that had washed ashore, but it also wouldn’t be the first time that some crazy kid had taken the curve at excessive speed and wound up in the water.
Feeling a sudden sense of urgency he screeched to a stop, grabbed his flashlight and ran across the grassy slope toward the edge of the water. As he got closer, there was no mistaking the fact that what had caught his eye was the chrome of a bumper. The car itself was almost fully submerged. Unless the accident had happened minutes earlier, unless the driver had managed to break a window and swim free, there was little chance anyone had survived.
Matt radioed for help, then, still clutching the waterproof flashlight, he waded into the water, preparing himself for the sudden drop-off that would then level out at about six-feet deep. The lake wasn’t as dangerously deep as many of the nearby canals, where cars could disappear completely, but it was deep enough to kill, especially if the driver didn’t have the presence of mind or the tools to free himself.
Keeping one hand on the car as a guide, he sucked in a deep breath and went beneath the surface, praying as he’d never prayed before that he’d find a broken-out windshield and no one inside.
Shining his flashlight he caught a glimpse of the car’s color, the same dark blue as Don Killian’s five-year-old sedan. Matt’s pulse kicked up a notch. He told himself it couldn’t be Don’s car. Don would never be out at this hour, not when he had to be up before dawn to do the baking at Flamingo Diner. Nor would Jeff or Andy have taken Don’s car. They both had their own, bought and insured with their own money at their father’s insistence. Matt had gone with Andy to look at pickups just a few weeks ago, right after he’d gotten his license.
Sucking in another deep breath, Matt dove back below the surface and made his way toward the front of the car. The beam of the flashlight cast an eerie glow through the water-filled interior. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the back seat, or even on the driver’s side, and for an instant a wave of relief washed through him. Maybe the car had been stolen and then ditched, he thought as he broke through the surface of the lake and gasped for air.
Even though his theory was a good one, Matt knew he couldn’t take chances that the driver of that car was still trapped inside, especially if there was even the remotest chance it was Don Killian. Even as he heard the wail of sirens in the distance, he dove back beneath the surface and shone his light slowly from back seat to front. Logic told him that if the driver had been able to free himself, he would be in the back, seeking the last little pocket of air as the car filled with water. Unfortunately the damn lake water was murkier than it should have been and all he could make out were shadows and the faint shape of something large and solid on the passenger side of the front seat.
Matt was a strong swimmer but his lungs were near to bursting when he made the discovery. As desperately as he wanted to take a closer look, he forced himself to the surface again.
By then the shoreline was swarming with policemen and rescue workers, including a team of divers.
“There’s someone in there,” he said, coughing up water. “Front passenger side.”
Not ten minutes later, the divers were back, hauling the victim out of the water, their expressions grim. At Matt’s questioning look, they shook their heads.
“Too late,” diver Dave Griffin told him. “We’ll have to wait for the medical examiner’s report, but I’d say he’s been down there awhile.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Sorry, boss. I know you two were close.”
Matt felt his heart clench. “Then it’s…?” He couldn’t bring himself to complete the thought.
“Don Killian,” Dave said. “Damnedest thing, too. He was all strapped in. It was like he never even tried to get out.”
Matt’s head shot up and he stared at the dive team leader. “He was strapped in?”
“Snug as could be,” Dave confirmed.
“I could have sworn he was on the passenger side,” Matt said.
“No. Driver’s side. It just looked like he was on the other side because of the way his body was leaning toward the console.”