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the roar of the waves would impair her hearing, he yelled, “Hello!”
    Amy whirled around, her hand flying to her chest. “Sheriff! You scared me.”
    “Been told that more than once,” he said, motioning to the house. “Can we talk inside, where it’s quieter?”
    He followed her to the wrap-around veranda, bypassing the wheelchair ramp, and through the French doors to the breakfast room. He commented on the ramp. “Did you put that in for a family member?”
    “My grandfather,” she told him, closing the double doors.
    Dallas walked into the living room. The house was a larger, much more sophisticated version of the mountain cabin he and his father had built years ago: cedar walls and ceilings, massive beams supporting high vaults soaring over thirty feet from the floor, huge stone fireplace that rose to the rafters, and tall wood-framed windows that spanned the back of the house. He looked out across the bay to the open Pacific and whistled softly. “Wow. Some view.”
    Amy answered from the kitchen: “That’s why we bought the property. Coffee? Tea?”
    Normally he would decline but for a reason he couldn’t quite understand, he accepted, and strolled over to the small breakfast table.
    Amy glanced at him over her shoulder. “You haven’t found her yet.” It was a statement thrown to him, as she reached for the coffee beans.
    “No, not yet,” he replied, removing his hat and dropping it onto the glass table. He sat down on one of the three chairs.
    “Did you find out who she is?”
    “Not for certain.”
    “Did you ID her fingerprints?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Not much progress.” Amy chastised him. “When do you think you’ll know something?”
    Dallas leaned back in his chair, a smile tugging at his lips. “I could be wrong, Mrs. Johnson, but I believe that I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions.”
    Amy gave him a quick glance, and hid a smile, “Yes, of course.”
    He added, “An investigation takes time.”
    “You’re right. I’m anxious, that’s all. And, as Dan has reminded me, I’ve never been good at handling stress.”
    Dallas watched her move lithely around the kitchen, her movements as quick as her thoughts, nothing wasted. She was dressed casually in jeans and a warm sweater. Her striking profile enhanced by long, honey hair swept into the same high ponytail his ten-year-old daughter frequently wore. In spite of Amy Johnson’s youthful look, her presence was overwhelming. That was the part he was having trouble with. He’d best have his coffee and leave. Maybe I’ve been without a woman too damned long.
    Dallas considered her husband. Doc Johnson was a well-known OB/GYN on the coast. Problem was, like many people in Sanville, Dallas had seen the doc with other women more than once. It was difficult to understand why any man married to a woman like Amy would risk his relationship with infidelities. Either the doc was oblivious to his wife’s beauty, or he was insatiable. Unless…there was something amiss with Amy Johnson. “We did learn something,” he said.
    Amy pulled two mugs from the cupboard and turned around. “Oh, good.”
    Dallas let the remark slide, eyeing her calmly before continuing. “We salvaged the car that went over the cliff. One of the print sets inside the car match the set we lifted from your study window, but like I said, no ID yet.”
    Amy froze. Her skin-- flushed from the cool breeze outside—paled. Her eyes grew wide. “Tell me she wasn’t inside the car when it went over.”
    “Nope, I’m almost certain she was put into a second vehicle and driven away.”
    “Was anyone inside the car when it went over?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Was it her car?”
    “It was a late model Taurus, rented yesterday morning from the Budget office at the Portland airport. Woman by the name of Alesha Eickher rented it. Recognize the name?”
    Amy shook her head. “No, but there's something about the name Eickher… ”
    Dallas continued,