Free River's Edge by Terri Blackstock Page A

earlier.
    “What is it, Rani?” he asked. “Have you heard from her?”
    “No. Cade, I need to talk to you privately.”
    He looked concerned and motioned for her to walk with him. Taking her away from the crowd, he said, “Okay, Rani. What is it?”
    Rani shoved her fingers through her cropped hair. “Cade, I know this is going to sound crazy, but this man named Carson Graham contacted me. He’s a psychic and he told me—”
    “Hold it.” Cade raised a hand to stop her story. “I’m not buying anything Carson Graham told you. That guy is a complete fraud.”
    She hesitated, gaping at him. “He told me you didn’t like him, but that doesn’t matter. I just need you to listen to what he said.”
    “Rani, that guy tries to get in on every investigation. Trust me, he just gets in the way. Every now and then he hits on something that’s vaguely close to the truth, and then he takes full credit for it when the crime is solved. You can’t believe a thing he says.”
    “Okay, maybe he’s just a lying jerk. But what if he’s right?”
    Cade looked down at his cane. “Okay, Rani, what did he tell you?”
    “He told me she’s dead.” She burst into tears. “That she’s in her car at the bottom of the Bull River, half a mile east of the Bull Bridge.”
    Cade sighed. “Rani, I can’t send divers to a place based on some psychic’s vision.”
    “Just go over there. Wouldn’t you see something if a car had gone into the water? I mean, wouldn’t there be tire tracks or something?”
    He seemed to consider that. “All right, Rani. I’ll go over there myself and have a look. That’s all I can promise you. I’mnot wasting a lot of my department’s resources on one of Carson Graham’s wild-goose chases.”
    “Good enough. I just want you to see. I don’t want it to be true.”

CHAPTER 17
    C ade drove to the Bull Bridge, clocked out a half mile to the east. The land along the river was largely protected by the state’s Department of Resources, which had laid down strict rules about the homes built along the river. They hadn’t approved many of them before the DOR decided no more could be built—much to the delight of the few property owners, who knew their property values would shoot higher because of the rarity of riverfront homes.
    The homes were widely spaced, with hundreds of yards between them. They were secluded and built among the trees, maintaining the integrity of the land along Bull River.
    He left his car and walked through the trees until he reached a place where he used to come fishing as a boy. It reminded him of the place where Andy and Opie fished during the whistling theme song of Andy Griffith. He walked along the dirt patches and grass, looking downtoward the meandering river and scanning the ground for any signs of Lisa.
    He didn’t even know why he was wasting his time. Some people on the island bought Carson Graham’s lies hook, line, and sinker. He had a nightclub psychic act that wasn’t doing so well. When tourist season was hopping, business picked up, but rumor had it that the proprietor was thinking about bringing in a magician to replace Graham.
    As long as his lies were just part of a nightclub act or a palm reading business, Cade had decided the man wasn’t all that harmful, but this took the cake. Exploiting a woman’s disappearance by preying on the people who loved her beat everything.
    He kept walking, leaning on his cane, wishing he could go home and put ice on his leg. Each step made it ache more, and he felt it swelling against his pant leg. He had a two-bit psychic to blame for this. A psychic who had sent him on a wild-goose chase. He was probably hiding and watching, laughing it up that Cade had followed up on his tip.
    He started to turn back, then stopped as something caught his eye. Tire tracks dug into the bank, going right into the river.
    He stood there a moment, staring. Was it possible Carson Graham had gotten it right this time? Was it just a