Beach Thriller(65)
“Maeve did not take the news well, so be warned—she’s in a foul mood.”
I grimace, expecting the worst. “Thanks for the heads-up, and I’m so sorry about your mother. Where does she live?”
“In Tennessee. I’ve missed it. I don’t like New England weather, but—well, I have my reasons for coming to Beauport. Just like you, Jade. I’ve seen you snooping around.”
Shit.
Rose adjusts the light sweatshirt draped over her arm. We lock eyes. Her expression is hard to understand—it’s part warning, part encouraging.
“No, you’ve got me all wrong,” I say. “I just needed a job, and this fell into my lap.”
Rose’s smile is telling. “Okay, if you say so. But trust me.” She pulls me close. Her grip on my wrist is firm as she puts her lips beside my ear. “If I were you, I’d hurry out the door as well. The money isn’t worth it.”
I pull back. Her candor surprises me, though not so much I can’t push for more. I keep my voice low. “Rose, what’s up in the tower—and why doesn’t Conrad want me anywhere near this place at sunrise and sunset?”
Rose’s expression darkens. “This family guards its secrets carefully. I’ve been here a long time trying to get answers of my own. If my mother weren’t ill, I’d probably stay and suffer more of Maeve’s abuse.” Her eyes dart about as if the walls have ears. “But if you find out anything, anything at all, will you promise to call me?” She presses a card into my hand.
“Sure,” I say, though her request shocks me. Rose and I have barely exchanged three words, and I’m suddenly her lifeline? Strange. “What exactly should I be looking for?”
“I wish I knew,” she responds cryptically, heading for the door.
An Uber is waiting in the driveway. I help load her luggage into the trunk.
“I can tell you have a good soul,” she says, speaking to me through an open window from the back seat. “I don’t want you to create more problems on my account. But if you’re determined to look in places you shouldn’t, be very careful. If this family finds out you’re prying into their secrets, there’s no telling what they’ll do. Trust me, they can make people disappear.”
Without further explanation, the car pulls away. Rose waves goodbye. I watch the car head down the drive.
The day is already warm, and yet a fierce chill has sunk into my bones. I shake it off. Rose might have departed under vague circumstances, but I’m still here and feel more determined than ever to get to the bottom of things. If that means sucking up to Maeve Carmichael, my lips are already pursed.
I head back inside, pausing at the door to the tower. I could try one of the keys in my pocket, but I don’t dare go snooping, not right now. Rose’s words of warning linger.
Standing by the door, I hear a sound from high above. I listen intently, almost daring to put my ear to the keyhole. For a moment, all is silent. This house feels strangely alive, like it’s breathing, talking, calling to me, but it won’t tell me its secrets. All it gives me are the few notes of that same, vaguely familiar piano melody, set on repeat, drifting down from atop the mysterious tower where I am not permitted to go.
I hear footsteps approaching from the kitchen.
“Maeve is ready for you,” says Sid.
But am I ready for her? Doubtful, but at least I have a plan. Checking my phone, I do some simple math: There are about seven more hours until sunset.
Chapter 35
Holly
A cop named Finn McNeil, middle-aged, with a friendly smile, sharp eyes, and an aquiline nose, escorted Holly into a cinder-block room devoid of windows. Inside was a small refrigerator with a coffee maker on top and a round table on which sat a simple cardboard evidence box. The room smelled of stale pizza.
“This is our break room and interview room,” said Finn. “Sorry we don’t have nicer accommodations. We’re a small operation, so most spaces are dual-use.”
Holly fixated on the box. It was like an urn, but instead of ashes, it held the details of a tragedy.
“I have to stay in the room,” said Finn. “Hope you don’t mind, but it’s protocol.” He wrote his name on the evidence tag under the Chain of Custody section.
Holly noted the last entry was made over fifteen years ago. This case wasn’t just cold—it was downright frigid. The last name written on the tag before Finn’s didn’t surprise her: Tom Walker.
“Do we need gloves?” asked Holly.
Finn shook his head. “No. Any evidence that needs protection is bagged and tagged. You’re free to look to your heart’s content.”
“And what do I do if I find something useful?”
“You tell the police.” Finn’s smile suggested the answer was obvious.
But Holly had another question that she kept to herself: What if I find something that points to the police?
Her throat tightened as she removed the lid. She leaned her head over the opening as if she were gazing into an abyss. Finn gave her space to investigate. The air grew heavy and oppressive. The walls seemed to close in. She reached inside, her hands trembling as she pulled out a file folder. An inventory sheet, clipped to the top, detailed the contents of the box.
Before she could open the folder, Finn said, “Hey, I reviewed everything beforehand, and just so you know—there are photographs in there you might find, uh, distressing.”