Beach Thriller(20)
You don’t realize how close you are to the truth. You don’t even understand what you’re looking for. But you’re going to stumble across it at some point. That’s what I fear. It’s like a curse you can’t avoid, a destiny you cannot outrun. The Fates have spoken.
When you discover the girl is gone, you will look for her, won’t you? I’ve watched you long enough to know how you’ll react. You can’t let this stranger go, but you should. The fire you’re starting will surround you, consume you, along with anyone who gets too close.
I’m sure you’ve been through a lot, Holly, but so have I. You have no idea what the passing years have taken from me—living with my secrets and sins. But now, all I can do is protect those secrets. It’s hard enough for me to face what I’ve become. I refuse to let others know my wickedness. All I can say is that shame burns—it swallows you whole. You can do nothing but bathe in its corrosive acids until you’re no longer the person you once knew. You become someone unrecognizable, capable of doing the unthinkable.
It’s time for me to take more decisive action. Watching is one thing—but it might not be enough. You need to start getting my message loud and clear.
You don’t belong here.
You cannot stay.
Chapter 13
Holly
The cop at Holly’s door looked familiar. He had a weather-beaten face and tired eyes, like a man who’d endured long hours on the job for far too many years. Holly had expected a rookie to be stuck with the graveyard shift, but this officer was north of sixty. He filled out his uniform in a way that suggested a fondness for beer, desserts, and a comfy couch. His chin sagged under gravity, and shags of silver hair spilled beneath his blue cap. He wasn’t a picture of health but had a strong build and broad shoulders. His thick legs gave him the swagger of a former Marine.
But Holly knew better, because she recognized him at last. This was no military man. It was Officer Tom Walker—or Tommy Boy, as the locals called him back in the day, a nod to Chris Farley’s movie character from the nineties. Beauport’s version of Tommy Boy patrolled the beach, busting underage drinkers and stomping out illegal bonfires.
Holly wasn’t surprised he was still on the force—he’d always presented himself as a lifer—but it didn’t look like his career had gone far.
Then again, neither had hers.
“Good evening, Holly. I heard you were back in town,” said Tom Walker. He spoke in the low, authoritative voice of someone issuing a speeding ticket.
How had he known? A name popped into Holly’s mind—Gail Provost, from Gail Provost Realty. Ah, the trusty Beauport gossip mill working overtime. It was a good reminder that if Holly wanted to keep a secret in this town, she’d have to hide it from herself. But a fugitive minor wasn’t something to keep under wraps.
Holly invited Walker inside. Chester approached with caution, little tufts of fur sticking up on his back. If Holly wrote this scene in a book, she was sure she’d receive a few scathing comments for using her cat to foreshadow Walker’s questionable character. But she wasn’t fabricating Chester’s raised fur, and she trusted her cat’s instincts. He, too, must have noticed Tommy’s cold, flinty eyes.
“I’m not surprised that someone broke in. This place has been empty for a long time,” said Walker, his tone scolding.
“It’s not like I hung a vacancy sign on the front door, Officer,” Holly countered.
“The boards and graffiti advertise well enough.”
The smug look on Officer Know-It-All’s face sparked her temper. She folded her arms across her chest. Now she understood Jade’s reluctance to involve the authorities.
“What brought you back to Beauport after all these years?” Walker asked. “We figured that the house would be swept out to sea before a Sinclair returned to town.”
Holly struggled to maintain a measured tone. “This town holds bad memories for us. My sister was murdered here and your police department botched the investigation.”
Walker’s eyebrows shot up, his whole face coming alive. “Murder? Is that what we’re calling accidents these days?”
A bitter taste filled Holly’s throat. “My sister went to break up with the guy she was seeing and the guesthouse on his property just happened to explode?”
Holly surprised herself. When she left town, asking questions of the police felt like picking a scab over an infected wound. She had been too traumatized to speak her mind. Maybe that’s why she had left out one important detail: She was supposed to have been with Anna the night she died. Were it not for her infatuation with Max and his poorly timed phone call, she would have been.
“Accidents happen all the time, Holly. And if you have the answer to the age-old question of ‘Why me?’ I’d be eager to hear it.”
“Sure they happen,” said Holly. “But not usually at the house of the richest, most powerful family in town on the night my sister went there to break off a secret love affair.”
Walker didn’t have a quick comeback to that one.
As a writer, Holly could imagine the worst—what flames that hot might do to a body—and those images haunted her.
They haunted her mother as well, who had gone to the morgue to identify her daughter and came home looking like a shell-shocked soldier returning from the battlefield. The police kept some items as evidence, with Carol’s permission, including Anna’s claddagh ring, which matched the one Holly still wore.