Beach Thriller(48)
Her eyes are sharp, but … are they misty? Is there actual emotion leaking out?
“As it happens with most businesses, Baxter’s company hit some hard times,” Maeve continues, almost talking to herself. “The drug business is not for the faint of heart. It’s expensive and competitive, and there are too many government regulations. It’s hard to bring any drug to market. But even when he faced obstacles, he was a master at pivoting and switching tactics. That’s what a real man does.”
Oh, Maeve, your boomer is showing. I let her comment slide, hoping she’ll keep sharing.
“Is his company still in business?” I ask.
“No, he sold it some years ago to a larger drugmaker. They eventually shut down—laid off all the employees. It was like Baxter’s work had never been.” Maeve shakes her head. “Enough with the twenty questions. Just put all this in a pile to shred. Sidney can take care of it.”
“What about the photos?” I blurt, even though Maeve hadn’t acknowledged those.
“Photos?”
I guess she hadn’t noticed. I hand her a few random pictures mixed in with the files. As she examines them, I note the paper quivering slightly in her grasp.
“So long ago,” she mutters. “This was our last big party at the house.” Maeve points to one of the images.
“Was it a fundraiser?” I ask.
“No, it was Conrad’s engagement party.”
“Oh, he’s married? I didn’t know.”
“You’ll have to ask him about that,” she answers cryptically. “Too bad they never had any children. Now I’m left without an heir after my son. What will happen to this place?” She scans the room, as if the walls are vanishing before her eyes.
Then I swear, I hear the click of a lock snapping around her heart. Her gaze hardens. “Shred them.”
In my quest to please the queen, I go to toss the pictures into the “shred” pile, but something catches my eye—something, or more accurately, someone I hadn’t noticed before. I examine the photo more closely, confirming my suspicions. Age doesn’t change a person that much. I fold the picture without Maeve noticing, tucking it securely into my pants pocket, right next to the brass keys that I had stolen as well.
Holly lied right to my face when she said she hadn’t worked for the Carmichaels. And I’m going to find out why.
Chapter 28
Holly
It was nearly ten o’clock when Holly finally woke. When was the last time she had slept this late? Probably back in college when she and Shae were still partying.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled her out of a black, dreamless void. Maybe there were perks to having a roommate. Someone gets me, she thought, calling Jade’s name as she padded down the stairs.
Holly had tossed and turned most of the night, images of her burned novel flashing through her mind. What would come next? An armed intruder kidnapping her? Ending up in the trunk of a car—or in a ditch, her corpse charred, just like her book? The questions kept her awake long past midnight, when her body finally gave in to exhaustion.
She entered the kitchen, surprised to find Ethan—not Jade—filling two mugs.
“Hey there,” he said, flashing a combustible smile. “You didn’t have cream, so I picked some up from the store.”
Holly had forgotten she’d run out. She wasn’t used to shopping for two and would’ve kicked herself if she’d had to trudge to the Bean There Café.
“And you needed sugar, so I got that as well,” Ethan added, stirring some into her coffee.
He was heavy-handed with the sweetener. How did he know that was her early-morning indulgence?
She took a sip—it was divine. “So you like your coffee light and sweet as well,” she observed with a smile.
“To quote the Beastie Boys: I like my sugar with coffee and cream. I noticed you do, too.” He laughed, taking a hearty gulp.
“Oh, I love the Beastie Boys!”
“They were my first concert,” he said. “I still have the T-shirt I bought at the show. It’s ratty, but super comfortable and perfect for yard work.”
Something else was extremely comfortable: Ethan. His presence felt strangely natural, his awareness of her needs so precise, so prescient, it was as if he’d moved in while she was sleeping. Honestly, if he had brought over a suitcase, she wouldn’t have minded.
But just as the thought occurred to her, an unexpected pulse surged behind her eyes, almost like a strobe light flashing in her brain. She recognized it as the sensation from before—an aura enveloping her, a warning of a painful headache coming on. She felt spacey and slightly off-balance. A shimmering light flickered in front of her, and her face felt tingly. Maybe she needed a couple of Advil with her coffee, but why did she experience this strange, almost otherworldly warning signal whenever Ethan was near?
What was it trying to tell her?
Probably that it was stupid and childish to imagine being with him. What did she really know about this man, besides that he wasn’t single and had nice hands (which she admired as he drank his coffee)?
Or was it something more? A burnt book had appeared on her doorstep—the same one Ethan had mentioned a day earlier. Coincidence? Maybe. But good luck trying to find a copy of that novel within a twenty-mile radius, maybe even farther.