Free On Shadow Beach by Barbara Freethy

high school to party with Shane and some others. They’d gone down to the basement so no one would see the lights from the road.
    Every muscle in her body tightened as she debated her next move. Logically, she knew there was nothing to fear. It had been thirteen years. Abby’s killer was long gone.
    Or was he?
    What if whoever had killed Abby wasn’t some drifter, but someone in town, someone who was still nearby?
    A gust of wind ripped through the trees and the front door slammed behind her, rattling the windows. Lauren jumped.
Get over it!
The wind was always strong along the bluff; the house was not haunted. It was just old and empty.
    Straightening her shoulders, she headed intothe kitchen and then the laundry room. She opened the door that led into the basement. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she stepped onto the landing.
    Had Abby been afraid that night? Had she felt the same sense of foreboding? Or had she entered the basement with no idea of what was about to happen to her?
    Lauren flipped the switch at the top of the stairs, but there was no electricity. A stream of light came through a small window near the ceiling, putting the basement in a shadowy light. She moved slowly down the steps. The room was long and narrow and empty cement planters ran along one wall. An assortment of tools and gardening equipment were heaped in a corner, and a couple of empty beer bottles and cigarette stubs dotted the floor, remnants of a party—but how recent? Did the local kids still come here? Hadn’t they learned anything from Abby’s murder?
    As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she began to shake. This was where Abby had stood in the last moments of her life. Lauren could feel her sister’s fear. Her breathing came fast and shallow. The air was too thick, the musty smell suffocating—or maybe it was the knowledge that someone had stood in this spot and pulled a rope around Abby’s neck, squeezing the life out of her. How terrified she must have been, looking into the eyes of her killer, knowing that she was dying.
    Lauren tried to draw in a breath, but her chest felt tight. She had to get out of here. She needed air. She needed to breathe.
    Before she could move, the door above her banged open and she looked up in shock. A man stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He wore dark pants and a big coat, but she couldn’t see his face.
    She’d left her cell phone in the car.
Oh, God!
    Her heart beat in triple time, and adrenaline raced through her body.
    He flashed a light on her face, blinding her. She put up a hand in protest. “Who’s there?” she demanded, forcing some strength into her voice.
    The man turned the light toward the ceiling as he moved down the stairs.
    She instinctively backed up, but there was nowhere to go. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” She grabbed a rake. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was all she had.
    “I was going to ask you the same questions.” He stopped, his gaze narrowing on her face. Surprise flashed in his eyes. “Are you Lauren Jamison?”
    “How did you know that?” she asked quickly. He had blond hair and light eyes, an attractive face, a warming smile. Her tension eased slightly.
    “I’ve seen your picture,” he replied. “I’m Mark Devlin.”
    The movie producer.
    “I didn’t expect to find you down here,” he continued.“In fact, I was just at your house. Your father didn’t mention that you were headed this way.”
    “You need to leave my father alone. You’re upsetting him.”
    “He didn’t seem upset. He knows I’m trying to help.”
    “By making a sensational movie about Abby’s death? My entire family was ripped apart by her murder. We can’t live through it again. You should drop this project.”
    He frowned. “I understand it’s painful, but don’t you want to find out who killed your sister?”
    “Of course I do, but if the police couldn’t figure it out, what makes you think you can?”
    “I have a