Beach Thriller by Jamie Day
For Sue and Harry, with love and gratitude
Chapter 1
The Watcher
Everyone has secrets. In this town, I know them all. I’m always watching, waiting, learning. It pays to understand people’s weaknesses. Knowledge can be leverage. But first, you need to learn how to observe. Watch how someone walks. Is their pace quickened? Or are they at ease, body relaxed during a casual stroll? Notice how they hold their shoulders, move their eyes, and use their hands. If you want to understand someone’s inner world, don’t listen to what they say, watch what they do.
But sometimes you have to look even deeper. On the surface, Beauport appears to be a charming, peaceful setting—perfect for people watching. But peer into the shadows, and you may uncover lies, betrayals, and conspiracies that span generations. These stories are mine too. I’m deeply connected to it all.
As I wander the streets—unseen, unheard—I collect people’s secrets. I gather their misdeeds the way a banker accumulates cash. Information is my currency. And this town could make me rich.
So who am I?
I could be anyone—the shopkeeper who pockets a hundred dollars from the cash register, thinking no one is looking; the tourist who does the same with a pair of earrings she can’t afford. Maybe I’m the busker outside a coffee shop, singing for tips. Or perhaps I’m the cop down the street—big and brawny, waving to kids zipping past on their bikes, unaware that the blue uniform hides a darker side.
Or I could even be the wealthiest woman in town. Her money and status afford her plenty of time to hide and observe. Though she’s old enough to need orthopedic sandals, hers are gold Guccis, softening the indignity. Cartier sunglasses conceal not only her eyes but also her lies.
Then there’s the handsome younger man walking behind her. We could be one and the same. He ducks into a pub to meet someone for happy hour. Is it his lady of the moment or a business associate with whom he’s conspiring to close a big deal? Whatever he orders off the menu, his true desire is something neither romance nor money can satisfy.
This town is full of people who harbor hidden truths—and I could be any of them. But I can’t be you, Holly. You are special. You are the one I’m most interested in. I know you’ve come to Beauport for a reason. You seek answers, and you believe you’ll find them here. But some questions are too dangerous to ask.
You see, everyone has secrets, including me. And I’ll do anything to safeguard mine.
Anything.
Chapter 2
Holly
The visitor’s guide read: Welcome to paradise! Beauport, Massachusetts, is the perfect seaside getaway and a must-see destination only an hour outside Boston. Here, glorious sunshine glistens off whitecapped waves, sandy beaches stretch for miles, and salt air rejuvenates the senses and soul in equal measure.
Enjoy picture-worthy sunsets, languid days on the beach, shopping along the bustling boardwalk, and restaurants galore. Step back in time to simpler days and quieter pleasures.
Oh, give me a break, thought Holly Sinclair, who had picked up the marketing brochure at a rest stop on her way into town.
She wasn’t just a visitor. Holly was among the fortunate few who owned an ocean-facing beach cottage in this highly sought-after tourist town, where real estate was expensive and hard to come by.
It was a desirable destination for many, but for Holly, it was the last place she wanted to be.
As she cruised along the shoreline on a beautiful summer day in late June—windows down, music blaring—Holly realized she missed New York and the anonymity it provided. There, she could blend into the crowds, but here, there was no escaping her past, no matter how many beachgoers flocked to town.
Bright side, Holly, bright side, she told herself. She’d always loved the ocean and did her best writing with her feet buried in the sand, a legal pad on her lap, pen in hand, scrawling out that brutal first draft, trying not to outthink herself.
She felt a flash of optimism. Maybe she’d go to the beach and get started on the book that was supposed to revitalize her career. There were still several hours of sunlight left in the day. Too bad she had no idea what she wanted to write.
Holly was relieved she had pushed through her exhaustion to arrive before dark. The house would be dreary enough in the daylight after years of neglect. She had also ignored her body—too many hours in the car and an ill-advised decision to fill up on gas station snacks. At least the ocean breeze pouring through her car windows lifted her spirits, if only a little. This truly was a piece of paradise. The past couldn’t fully tarnish that reality.
She marveled at how, even after all this time, the scenery remained as familiar to her as the tune playing on the radio: “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac, a song about the inevitability of change. She sang along, grateful that her only companion was Chester, her cat, curled up in his crate in the back seat. He wouldn’t judge her singing voice.
The tune was apropos. There’d been so much change in Holly’s life lately—too much, too fast.
She turned forty the day her eviction notice arrived. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been a few months. Holly was talking to her best friend and former college roommate, Shae, over FaceTime. They were discussing Shae’s birthday gift for Holly—a copy of the book Meow Mindfulness. Good lord, that title alone! It was the hottest self-help book on the market, with over a million copies sold, all thanks to a rehomed cat named King Fluff.