Beach Thriller(17)
She checked the time. Fifteen minutes had never gone so fast. Anna got up to leave, turning quickly—she’d been gone too long. In her rush, she nearly bumped into a handsome man who had appeared out of nowhere. He stepped back with the grace of a dancer.
“You startled me,” she breathed, putting a hand to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he answered sincerely. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I needed a break from the party and saw you by the fountain. What did you wish for?”
As he stepped closer, moonlight lit his face. Anna had never swooned before, but there was a first for everything. This guy wasn’t just good-looking—he was a work of art. Dark hair, like the night sky, framed a boyish yet rugged face. He had a strong jawline and lips made for kissing. He shot Anna a stunning smile. His dark eyes sparkled, causing her knees to buckle. His button-down shirt fit his broad shoulders and slim torso perfectly. Khaki shorts showed off his muscular legs. It didn’t hurt that he also smelled like cinnamon.
“Oh, it was nothing—just what people do with fountains, right?” Anna offered a nervous laugh.
Somehow, this stranger amplified the charm of his to-die-for smile. “Well, sure,” he said, “but maybe not this particular fountain.”
Anna traced his finger to the glowing water. There, in the middle of a clean, coinless pool, was her lone copper penny.
“Oh my god, no,” she muttered, horrified. She reached to retrieve the coin, but the young man placed his hand softly on her shoulder before she could dive in.
“Leave it,” he said. “I don’t want you to lose your wish.” His voice soothed her like a smooth-talking DJ. “Tell me what you asked for. I don’t think that will keep it from coming true.”
Anna’s gaze lingered on the penny, feeling the weight of her foolishness. She wanted to shrink to the size of a goldfish and disappear into the water.
“It’s so ridiculous,” she said, shuffling her feet. “I wished that I’d be an invited guest next time, not staff.” She gestured to her uniform, shame rippling through her. It sounded so much better in her head. The last time she felt this idiotic was, well, never.
“Parties like this—even barefoot in the sand—are just a chance for people to show off. I don’t think you’re missing much.” Was it Anna’s imagination, or did a dark cloud pass over his chiseled features?
She smiled, blushing. “Well, I’m about to get fired for taking too long.”
“The boss is on you, huh?”
Anna returned an emphatic nod. “She’s a little … um, strict.” She stole a glance over her shoulder, half expecting to see Maeve storming her way. “She called me a mutt because I didn’t serve the caviar on time.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A mutt? That’s awful.” She assumed he was trying to be sympathetic, but his voice carried an edge of amusement.
Anna became bolder. “What a raging bitch, right?” She hoped he would agree. He seemed like an ally, but his expression remained impervious.
“Oh yeah, I know better than most,” he said, his dimpled smile widening. “She’s my mother.” He extended his hand toward her. Anna went stock-still. “I’m Conrad Carmichael. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Anna warily took his hand. His touch sent a rush through her body, a strong jolt that wiped away her crushing embarrassment. A profound realization took hold—this was a rare connection, like a gift from the stars.
But alarm bells went off, too. Was this the terrible event she had feared all night? She wasn’t sure. All Anna knew was that, for better or worse, this man was her destiny.
* * *
Holly returned the pages to the box, feeling an odd mix of apprehension and excitement. She hadn’t thought about this story in years. And to her surprise, the book did sing. It wasn’t great literature—not by any stretch. It was youthful and unrefined, but not unfixable. And Jade believed readers would feel curious after the first chapter: What happens next? Does Anna’s terrible premonition come true? Who is Conrad’s betrothed? Do Conrad and Anna have an affair? Does she get fired?
In hindsight it was naive to use real names for her story, but back then, Holly thought it would help her get the characters right—ground her narrative in verisimilitude. Or maybe it was just therapy. Either way, she had planned to change the names later, until later became never.
Holly sighed. She had more pressing matters to deal with than what to do with an old manuscript that held ghosts pressed between its pages. Jade. She had a difficult choice to make. She didn’t know what was best for Jade, and it wasn’t her decision to make.
Resigned, Holly looked up the number for the Beauport Police Department and hit the call button—always there when you need them, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week: handing out tickets, arresting vandals, stopping drunk drivers, calming angry vacationers, and leaving only one cause and manner of death as “undetermined.”
Chapter 11
Jade
Hot water from the antique showerhead cascades over my body and into the cast-iron tub. Dirt slides off me like a snake shedding its skin. It’s the longest, warmest, most life-affirming shower I’ve ever taken. This sure beats the gross public bathrooms at the Y.