Beach Thriller(60)

Holly blinked in confusion. “Um, isn’t that like a you thing? That’s kinda personal.”

Anna returned a frustrated smile. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I need you there. I might get second thoughts or cold feet if I’m alone with him. I can’t let that happen. You don’t have to do anything. Just be there for me.”

Holly shrugged. “When are you doing this? Sorry, when are we doing this?” Why was she jittery when it was Anna’s love life on the line?

“Just meet me in front of the candy shop at seven thirty, okay? And be discreet. I don’t want Mom asking any questions.”

Holly agreed. She didn’t have plans that night, and she’d have another few hours to write before she had to leave. But then Max called—the beautiful boy who made her heart leap. They talked about everything. Back then, both were obsessed with the TV show Lost. Holly shared all her theories, and Max had a few of his own. They both had MySpace pages, and Max bragged about his new cell phone.

Coincidently, they were conversing about Lost when Holly realized the time.

Her stomach dropped like it did when she and Anna had ridden the Superman roller coaster at Six Flags. She raced to the candy store on her bike but arrived twenty minutes too late. Anna wasn’t there. Holly waited long enough to know she’d missed her.

Holly rode to Miramar, up that big hill, short of breath as she pedaled as hard as her legs could pump. When she arrived, the gate was locked. The fences and surrounding shrubbery were both tall and spiky. No way was she climbing over that. If Anna knew a secret way in, she had never shared it. There were lights on in the main house, but Holly wasn’t about to hit the intercom. What could she possibly say to explain her presence? Anna didn’t even work there anymore.

She rode home, feeling even worse.

She arrived to an empty house. Her mother had gone for a walk; a note on the kitchen table said that she’d be back soon.

Holly trudged upstairs to her bedroom. It was the first time Anna had asked for her help—and Holly had let her down big-time.

Her mother returned a short while later. She asked about Anna, who hadn’t yet come home. Holly said she didn’t know her whereabouts. At least it wasn’t an outright lie. She assumed her sister had fallen back into Conrad’s arms but couldn’t say for certain.

Holly tried to read to distract herself from the guilt that wouldn’t let go. Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep.

Her rest didn’t last long. Something woke her with a start—a loud explosion powerful enough to shake their cottage.

Holly met her mother in the hallway, both frantic. When they got outside, the sky was burning orange. A plume of smoke rose ominously from the bluff, swirling against the flickering blaze.

Miramar.

Holly had just been there, standing outside a locked gate.

Her mother looked at her with alarm. Did she know more about Anna’s romance with Conrad than she’d let on?

“Where did your sister go tonight?” Her voice was stern.

This time, Holly couldn’t lie.

They took off, still in their pajamas, running side by side up the hill toward the Carmichael estate. The blaze roared in the distance. Fire trucks and ambulances screamed past them, sirens blaring, as flames swallowed the dark.





Beach Thriller


v


She transitioned from Cinderella to Anna Karenina in about a month. Oops. She and Conrad had been stealing moments together in the guesthouse for weeks, exploring each other on every level. At least Conrad wasn’t as cold and bureaucratic as Count Vronsky, but he was engaged and soon to be married … so yeah, it was hard to be the heroine of that story.

But let’s be honest: Fairy tales and romantic comedies deceive us as easily as politicians, selling romantic idealism like it’s a narcotic. Let the girl enjoy her fun. Conrad was unhappy with Elizabeth, and Anna was in love. What could possibly go wrong?

Unfortunately, if it can’t be happily ever after with a fairy godmother and all that jazz, then their story must be a tragedy.

But we get ahead of ourselves, for it wasn’t tragic at the moment.

Anna’s eyes blinked open. Memories of last night flooded back—all the things they did, the ways he had touched her, the words they’d whispered in the dark. He was hers. She was his. What kind of fool was she to fall in love like this? He belonged to another. But she had always longed for the type of connection she felt with Conrad. It passed through flesh and bone all the way to her soul.

She glanced at the bedside table. There was the pencil drawing he made of her last night. He had worked diligently but efficiently, studying Anna with his artist’s eye as he moved the pencil across the page. When he had finished, he showed her the results.

Anna’s breath caught.

“It’s beautiful.” The words were inadequate, but the image was stunning. Not only was Conrad incredibly talented, but Anna also noted a sensitivity in his handling of line and shadow. He had even caught an expression she hoped she’d been hiding—a look of vulnerability. Her hair flowed like a waterfall, her skin appeared smooth and delicate, and her eyes looked as luminous as pearls. Was this how he saw her? Anna blushed.

“Even if I were a thousand times more skilled, I could never truly capture your beauty.”

This morning, sunlight streamed through the open window across from her, gauzy cotton curtains gently billowing in the summer breeze. She knew what she had to do. Be smart. Wake up from this fever dream. She had to go.