Page 56 of Behind These Four Walls
He scratched his stubbly cheek. His face was a little more filled out than it had been before. She wondered if he had a wife and kids like true adults were supposed to have, not living in the past chasing ghosts.
“Is this how it’s going to be with you? Vague answers and responding to questions with questions? I could take you in.”
She inclined her head. “For?”
“Not sure yet, but I can come up with something.” Those were triggering words to a Black person coming from a white one. But Bowen’s teasing smile showed he wasn’t serious. He was just a bad joker.
She decided she didn’t have time. She had to be frank. “Are you on duty yet?”
He shook his head. “Not till later. I just like coming here for breakfast.”
She waited expectantly for him to say something further. When he didn’t, she did. “Why are you bothering me?”
He almost looked hurt. “Because I lost you back then, and I don’t intend for that to happen again.”
Isla wasn’t expecting how sincere he looked. She didn’t know how to respond or what he meant. She only knew her stomach did somersaults, like it did when she was around Myles. God, was she about to be one of those women who couldn’t decide between two guys? The cop and the billionaire? Bowen could also be trying to do his cop thing, luring her in with niceties, and then bam! Hauling her in for questioning on her attempted murder. But looking into his gray eyes, which showed nothing but genuine curiosity and a touch of caution, she decided something had to give.
“Then can I borrow your library card?”
She said she’d follow his car, not wanting to draw attention. She wouldn’t put it past anyone on the estate to have her followed, especially after the incidents with Eden’s room and Victor’s drink. And riding in a cop car was not anything any girl aspired to do, unless she was trying to be a cop, which Isla was not. Plus, she didn’t want to be at Bowen’s mercy—stranger danger and all, even if he was a cop. He could be a Corrigan cop. She was sure the town was filled with them.
They parked at Central Library, and it turned out Bowen’s face, or badge, was enough, and they were directed to the area where themicrofilm was located. She hadn’t answered Bowen’s initial questions, and he was definitely intrigued by her lack of sharing and her search contents. She didn’t know why she let him tag along, probably because he was the only one around who had known her back then, even if it was for a few brief, highly charged and terrifying moments.
“No offense, but hush for a minute,” she said at the computer, the program for the microfilm pulled up. Bowen was amused but complied.
Then she found it—a slim article buried in the back pages of aGazetteissue, its headline unassuming and easily missed:
Tragic Accident Claims Family of Four on High View Drive.
Chapter Forty-Three
Through the rush of adrenaline, she read the short article of vague details. The crash had occurred thirteen years ago on a narrow road on the same mountain where the Corrigan estate was located. The victims were a vacationing family whose car careened off the road and rolled downhill. Witness accounts were even vaguer. The coroner ruled that the victims had died on impact. The police report offered little clarity, citing “driving too fast for conditions” and “driver error due to unfamiliarity with the area” as possible factors. It was the only article about the accident, written by a Nathan Collins. The family’s name had been withheld pending notification.
Bowen tapped the screen as he sat next to her, practically breathing in her ear as he leaned in. “I think I remember this,” he mused. “Happened a couple of years before you showed up.”
“Looks like it.” She studied the contents on the screen.
“Are you family or something?” Half joking, half serious. She was entirely something else.
“Did this turn into an interrogation, Officer Bowen?” she asked, turning to him.
He pulled a face. “That’sDetectiveBowen,” he said, mildly offended. “Put some respect on that.”
She apologized, motioning he should continue.
“I don’t think they ever followed up and said anything more about it. It was a tragedy. Whole family.”
“I see,” she said as he pointed out the obvious.
Something didn’t add up. The road described was one leading directly to the Corrigan gates. Why would a family from out of town go there at that time of night instead of nearby, to Jefferson’s Monticello? That was the tourist attraction, not the Corrigans. Isla pieced together what she knew.
Thirteen years ago, Eden would have been a junior in high school—around the same time her demeanor suddenly changed, according to Sara, and she eventually left for Daytona. And the lack of information in a town this size for an accident so tragic was odd. It was as if Isla’s team had swooped in and sanitized all the identifying information and the PR firm had pushed this story, or lack thereof. Who had called in the accident? Who else had been there? And why wasn’t there more? And the most glaring question ...
What was it about this accident that had had Eden so shaken?
Isla was deep in her thoughts, barely hearing Bowen speaking to her.
“Back then, you mentioned something bad had happened. You looked scared as hell, but you wouldn’t talk. You ran before I could get more out of you.”