Beach Thriller(18)

While I’m grateful for small miracles, my hostess remains an enigma. Who keeps a house like this boarded up? She acts like it’s a travesty to be here when it would be a shame not to live in this amazing town with the ocean as your front yard.

I couldn’t believe my luck when I found this place. I don’t usually catch many breaks, and I definitely don’t believe in guardian angels—unless you count that guard named Big Sally, who always had my back in lockup. But shortly after I rolled into Beauport—a tourist town at the beginning of its summer season—I found this abandoned house across from the beach. It was like the perfect hiding spot fell into my lap.

One day, I’ll figure out how to make amends for all my crimes—stealing, break-ins, and that one joyride in a stolen car that got me sent away. But these days, I only break the law when it’s necessary for survival.

You’re always causing problems, Jade.

I hear my mother’s voice whisper in the back of my mind, putting me in my place. I can’t seem to turn it off, and she disparages me at the worst times. I can run from Philly, but I can’t escape all the darkness I’ve carried with me.

The hot water turns lukewarm, but I don’t want to get out. My body needs this. Every part of me aches from the nights I spent sleeping on the attic floor. At least I had those books to keep me company. Reading has always been my escape hatch.

I really did enjoy Holly’s novel. I want to know what happens next, but she doesn’t seem eager to finish her story. Maybe I could persuade her to continue or even offer to help, like an editorial assistant or something. I don’t have a college degree—I don’t even have a high school diploma—but I’ve read more books than I can count.

I hope Holly lets me stay. I could use a friend right now, someone I can trust, but not many adults have been honest with me—my parents included.

Maybe Holly will be different. Instead of calling the cops, she’s cooking me dinner. I’ve been living on fast food, convenience store snacks, and dumpster diving long enough to drop five pounds I couldn’t afford to lose.

I step out of the shower, reaching for a fluffy blue towel. I dread the thought of putting my dirty clothes back on. Maybe Holly will let me use her washer and dryer. I know there’s one in the basement.

As I dry off, the towel catches on my necklace and the clasp comes undone. I manage to catch the silver chain before it drops into the sink.

I look it over. The clasp isn’t broken, though the necklace is already badly damaged. I hook it back around my neck, where it’s hung ever since I found it in my parents’ bedroom. I turn it around, reading the inscription on the back of the silver pendant like I’ve done a thousand times: Beauport, MA, the reason I came here.

I found it in my parents’ dresser. I suspected it was meant for me. My mother didn’t own much jewelry, and I certainly never saw her wearing this necklace with its inscription and jade pendant—my namesake stone.

When I decided to leave my awful situation, I used the necklace as my compass. I had been directionless, but the inscription became my guide. It gave me purpose.

Unfortunately, now it’s broken. The jade stone came off the silver backing and I want it fixed by whoever sold it. I have some questions for them.

I also want to punch the guy who broke it.

I recall the man’s face, and in a flash, I’m right back there, not too long ago—at his gas station somewhere in Connecticut, where I thought I’d score something to eat.



* * *



I wasn’t after a microwave burrito—that’s fine dining in my book. My score was some Gatorade, a bag of chips, and a few candy bars. I slipped them into my pockets without anyone noticing, or so I thought.

I left the convenience mart without stopping at the register, already thinking about my next move. It had been a long journey out of Pennsylvania, and it was still quite a distance to Beauport. I had enough money to get halfway there by bus. But hitchhiking? Apparently it’s out of style—no one stopped. I walked for hours on a lonesome road, wet from a recent rain, to get to that gas station. My feet ached, and my stomach grumbled the whole way.

Now, at last, I had something to eat. Soon it would be fueling the next leg of my trip north.

But eating would have to wait. The gas station owner burst outside, charging after me as I walked away. At least I assumed he was the owner—who else would care about junk food worth only a few bucks?

He was a snub-nosed Goliath of a man in his fifties, possessing a barrel chest and greasy dark hair plastered to his pockmarked scalp. His grimy white shirt struggled to contain his belly, and his deep-set eyes resembled two pits carved into his thick skull.

One look at his furious face, and I knew I was in trouble.

“Give it back. All of it,” he demanded.

Before I could argue, he grabbed my arm above the elbow with an iron grip. I swear I could feel my bones cracking.

“Okay, okay. Let go of me,” I pleaded, my voice shaking. I could hold my own in a fight, but this would be like Tinker Bell taking on a rhinoceros. The pain in my arm was blinding. I twisted and turned, but I couldn’t break free.

He started dragging me back toward the store. I had been the only customer (and I use that term lightly). As far as I knew, the place was empty. A new fear took hold.

“Let’s call the police, and we can straighten this out,” I suggested with a lot more bravado than I was feeling.