Beach Thriller(73)
Holly shook it off, gulping her coffee like medicine. She settled onto the couch with a blanket. She was up earlier than usual, and the house was quiet. Jade was still asleep—and still hiding something. Holly was sure of it, but Jade wasn’t opening up. She’d told Holly that she’d be extra busy helping Maeve with last-minute preparations for her fundraiser and might have to work late again. But Holly knew there was more to that story, too. Something was up at the Carmichael estate, and she couldn’t shake the feeling it was connected to her missing novel.
Chester, her ever-faithful companion, jumped on her lap, purring loudly.
Holly’s eyes closed, Chester’s purr working like melatonin. But then flashes of the nightmare returned. Who was chasing her onto the beach? The presence had been familiar, someone she had trusted, allowed into her home. Was it Ethan?
Holly dismissed the idea. Just because Ethan was probably a womanizer didn’t mean he was dangerous.
Whether her dream should be taken as a warning or not, Holly knew what she had to do.
Easy come, easy go, she told herself as she took out her phone and sent a message, hoping to catch Ethan before he left for the day:
Sorry, my headache is back. I have to cancel dinner and let’s wait on the repairs. I need some quiet time today. Thanks.
She hit send.
Holly reread her text. Thanks? Why did she feel the need to be polite even when she seriously questioned this man’s character? She was sure the answer went back to her childhood and gender roles in society, but that was more than she could tackle this morning. All she could manage was more coffee.
After her second cup and some snuggles with Chester, Holly felt better able to face the day. She made a plan. She needed a friend to talk to—a female she could trust. Holly got in the shower and prepared to head to the boardwalk.
Beach Thriller
vi
Princesses cry over boys. It comes with the territory. The arc of a princess story is to bring the characters close to their happy ending, then cruelly rip the proverbial rug out from underneath them.
Ariel was all blubber when she thought Prince Eric picked a girl without gills. Belle and Jasmine both cried rivers when they erroneously believed their respective true loves had perished. And Cinderella was a helluva hot mess thinking her prince would never come.
In later years, princesses got tougher and cried a whole lot less (looking at you, Pocahontas, Tiana, Mulan, etc.). But that’s not reality, either. Love hurts. Loss stings. And Anna felt every bit of her sadness as she sobbed into Conrad’s shoulder. It was evening, before sunset, and they had met in the guesthouse as had become their routine. He had brought dinner and candles, expecting a romantic meal; instead, he got an earful of bad news.
“It’s okay. I’ll talk to her, I promise,” he whispered, rubbing her back.
“No, don’t,” Anna said, pushing him away. “I’m done working here. Your mother and Elizabeth treat me like garbage. And your future father-in-law sees one use for me, and it’s not on my knees to clean.”
“Baxter is a pig. The stories I could tell you would make you sick. And don’t let Mother or Elizabeth rattle your cage.”
“It’s not them I’m most disgusted with. It’s me. I’m the other woman who has to keep reminding you of your promise to stand up to them. I feel like the stereotypical weak-ass female from every outdated story ever told. I can’t stand being that person and I won’t do it anymore.”
Conrad looked away, unsure what to say. He poured them both a glass of wine, but Anna refused.
“That’s the last thing I need after your fiancée accused me of drinking on the job. It’s unreal. You know I didn’t take those diamond earrings, right? If anybody stole them it was Krystal. But don’t tell your mother I said that. That poor girl lives on the edge, and I don’t want to be the one to push her over.” Anna knew she must look pathetic, with her red, swollen eyes, and puffy face, but that only made her feel more righteous.
“Anna, of course I know you didn’t take them.” Conrad stroked her cheek, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “And this is the last straw for me and Elizabeth. I promise. I don’t care how she or my family react.” He dropped his hand, his voice beginning to shake in anger. “I’ll fix everything. Fuck them both.”
His eyes darkened. The change came on so quickly, Anna took a step back, afraid of what he might do. She had seen his temper spark before, but this time it looked like he was about to erupt.
Anna parked herself on the window seat far from him, hanging her head in defeat. Her sorrowful state sucked the air out of Conrad’s rage, softening him back into the sweet, caring man she had mistakenly fallen in love with.
The problem was, she still loved him. She loved them.
Conrad went to the stove in the kitchen and filled the kettle. “Here, I’ll make us some tea. We can talk. Come up with a plan.”
Anna sighed. “Tea won’t fix this. Besides, you know that the stove is touchy. I wouldn’t even try to use it.”
“I know this is all my fault. But I don’t know what to do. I’m … so lost.” He sat beside her, his shoulders drooping. Tentatively, he took her hand as though she might refuse him. Then, unexpectedly, his expression brightened as if struck by a grand idea.
“Let’s leave,” he said, eyes wide with hope. “We can do it, Anna. Just go. Start over somewhere new—together. I don’t know how much money I’ll have if I piss my mother off this much, but we’ll make it work.”