Beach Thriller(59)
The day was warm and bright. The sweet scent of vanilla drifted from the nearby ice-cream shop.
Gail stood with her hands on her hips, assessing the police station as though prepping to sell it to the highest bidder. She wore well-fitted navy dress slacks with a subtly patterned blouse. An elegant gold watch dangled delicately from her wrist. In contrast, Holly had shown up in jeans and a burnt-orange T-shirt (a women’s cut, at least), looking about as put together as an IKEA desk still in its box.
Gail greeted Holly with an air-kiss that said we’re close, but not lips-to-skin close.
“Okay, I handled all the details,” said Gail, breathlessly enthusiastic as always. “Tom Walker’s not here, and his supervisor said he’s happy to help. You can look through the evidence to your heart’s content.”
In a blink, Gail’s exuberance downshifted from fifth to first. She lowered her sunglasses, allowing Holly to see the regret in her eyes.
“Forgive me. I got so carried away that I forgot why you’re doing this.” She gently squeezed Holly’s hand. “Are you all right?”
Holly swallowed hard. Was she okay? She had to be. There was no turning back.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you for helping.”
Holly steeled herself for what she needed to do. Why hadn’t the Carmichael family and staff been thoroughly investigated? There had been many personal conflicts within the walls of Miramar, yet the police had paid little attention to its residents.
And assuming the blaze was an accident, how did it start? And why was Anna alone in the guesthouse if she’d gone there to meet Conrad? The incident had been treated as a closed case even with all these unanswered questions. She’d never get a straight explanation out of Tom Walker, who was cagier than a zoo—but perhaps the evidence would paint a clearer picture.
“Did you bring the mangled book? It could be related to your investigation.”
Holly shook her head. She’d told Gail about the book when they were finalizing their plans for the day. “No, I threw it away. It got a little gooey after its marinara bath. The sauce probably destroyed any useful evidence anyway.”
“It was a threat, Holly. At the very least, it warrants police attention.”
“I’ll think about it. Right now, the police aren’t on my most-trusted-partners list—but you’ve earned a spot there. Thanks again for helping me.”
“I’m sorry I can’t stay.” Gail placed her hand on Holly’s arm. “I tried everything to reschedule my showing. It came up at the last minute, and the buyer won’t budge on the time.”
“No, please, it’s fine,” Holly said. “It might be better this way. This is something I should do on my own.”
Gail gave Holly a reassuring hug. “Call after. Let me know how it goes.”
Holly went inside, straight to the dispatch window, letting a young officer know she’d arrived.
The wait felt interminable. Holly suspected this was a fool’s errand. Freeing herself from guilt couldn’t be as easy as peeking inside a box.
With little to do, her mind drifted back to the last day of Anna’s life. The aftermath might have been blurry, but the hours preceding Anna’s death were seared into her memory like an iron branding. Her sister remained frozen in time, forever twenty-four. Her hair would always be lustrous and full-bodied. Her hazel eyes would never stop shimmering.
On that fateful day, Anna had slipped into their bedroom at the cottage like a girl with a secret. She moved Holly’s copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife from the edge of the bed and sat down.
She had on the cutest summer dress—it was yellow and strappy and hadn’t looked half as good on Holly when she’d tried it on. But her sister’s usually radiant smile was dim. Trouble lurked in her eyes. And only then did Holly realize it had been that way for several days.
“I need a favor,” Anna said.
Holly sat up straighter. Her big sister hardly ever asked for help. It was always the other way around. When they were small, Holly needed help reaching things high up. Later, Anna taught her how to ride a bike and ice-skate. As they grew, her sister assisted Holly with schoolwork and gave her advice on boys. But suddenly, Anna needed Holly. It was a rite of passage.
Holly closed the lid on her laptop, lest Anna see she was writing a fictionalized account of her sister’s summer romance with Conrad Carmichael. She was editing the scene where Elizabeth (Conrad’s fiancée) tripped Anna in the middle of a big posh beach party because she was a jealous cow.
Holly shut off her MP3 player, which had been blasting “Hollaback Girl” by Gwen Stefani—so boss.
“What’s going on?” she asked, though she already knew. It must have something to do with Conrad. He had taken up the whole summer. Holly understood the attraction. He was dreamy, but in that asshole preppy way that didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. After the catering gig, Holly wanted nothing to do with him or his highfalutin family, but Anna had been smitten from the start. Holly didn’t like seeing the emotional toll the fling had taken on her sister, but she bit back her I told you so and asked what she could do to help.
“I got a note from Conrad. I have to go meet him later. He wants to see me, but he doesn’t know I’m breaking up with him … I need to do it—tonight. Can you come with me?”