Eclipse Bay

good at screwing up.”
    The brief, casual kiss caught her off guard. Heat infused her whole body. It was followed by a tingling sensation. She covered the awkward moment by hurrying up the rest of the front steps.
    At the door she paused to dig out her key. Her hand trembled slightly as she unlocked the door. When she finally got into the house, she turned to look back at Rafe. He was still standing there, watching her. She raised one hand in farewell and then quickly closed the door.

    The rumble of voices awakened her the next morning. She opened her eyes and found herself gazing into a wall of fog.
    Morning mist was a regular feature of summer and early fall. It would likely burn off by noon, although the cloud cover might last all day. With luck there would be enough scattered sunshine to drive the temperature into the mid-seventies in the afternoon, but that was the most that could be expected. Nobody came to Eclipse Bay to get a tan. Southern California beaches catered to those who liked to fry their bare skin in the glow of the big nuke in the sky. The wild, rugged beaches of the Oregon coast were for people who preferred to put on a windbreaker and brave the morning fog to explore tidal pools and rocky shoreline caves. They were for those who appreciated adventurous walks along high, windswept bluffs and views of seething seawater churning in stony cauldrons at the bottom of steep cliffs.
    The voices downstairs grew louder. Her parents were talking to someone in the kitchen. A man. She could not make out the words, but the conversation sounded tense.
    She listened for a while, curiosity growing swiftly. Who would come calling at this hour? Then she caught a name. Rafe Madison.
    “Oh, damn.”
    She tossed aside the covers, scrambled out of bed, and hurriedly pulled on her jeans and a gray turtleneck. She stepped into a pair of loafers, ran a brush through her hair, and headed for the stairs.
    She found her parents at the kitchen table with a balding, heavy-bellied man she recognized instantly.
    “Chief Yates.”
    “’Morning, Hannah.” Phil Yates nodded in his ponderous fashion. He had been the only law enforcement in town for as long as Hannah could recall, but this was the first time he had ever come to the Harte cottage.
    She masked her uneasiness with a bright smile and turned to her parents for an explanation. A single glance was enough to tell her that something was terribly wrong.
    Elaine Harte’s attractive face was tight with anxiety. Hampton’s jaw was set in a grim line. A formless dread wafted through Hannah. It was as if a ghost had brushed up against her.
    “What is it?” she asked with an urgency that made her father’s eyes narrow behind his glasses.
    “I was just about to come upstairs and wake you, dear,” Elaine said quietly. “Chief Yates has some bad news.”
    For one horrifying instant Hannah had a vision of Rafe lying sprawled on Bayview Drive, the victim of a hit-and-run. He’d had an even longer walk home last night than she’d had.
    She went to the table and gripped the back of the empty chair. “What happened?”
    “Kaitlin Sadler was found dead at Hidden Cove this morning,” her father said in somber tones.
    “Oh, my God.” Not Rafe, then. He was safe. Hannah sank down into the chair. Then the name registered.
    “Kaitlin Sadler?”
    “Looks like an accident,” Yates said. “Apparently she fell from the path above the cliffs. But I’ve got to ask you a few questions.”
    Something in his voice got Hannah’s full attention. Rafe was okay, but his girlfriend was dead. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Chief Yates had come here today. When a woman died under mysterious circumstances, the cops always came looking for the boyfriend or the husband first. Her brother had told her that.
    Hamilton studied her with a troubled look. “There seems to be some confusion, Hannah. Phil says that Kaitlin was on a date with Rafe Madison last night. But Rafe told Yates that he was with you last night at about the time that Kaitlin died.”
    “We explained to Phil that that was not possible,” Elaine said crisply. “You were with that nice young man from Chamberlain College. Perry Decatur.”
    Yates cleared his throat. “Well, now, I talked to Mr. Decatur. He says that’s not quite true.”
    Hamilton flicked an irritated glance at Yates’s broad, patient face. “We also told him that even if you hadn’t been with Decatur, you were highly unlikely to have