Page 140 of Deadline

* * *

I wish I hadn’t thought of Golden Branch. Now it’s all I’m thinking about.

Stop crying, Flora! My crying always makes Daddy so mad. I mean Carl. He’s like Daddy that way.

* * *

He’s been gone for hours. I should use this time while he’s gone to write as much in this diary as I can, and then hide it before he gets back. But it’s dark and

* * *

it’s day again, I think. Carl isn’t back yet, but he will be soon, I know. Maybe I’ll sleep for a while and when I wake up

Chapter 25

Amelia was in the beach-house kitchen when Dawson knocked once on the utility-room door, then walked in. She wanted to melt at the sight of him, but somehow maintained her dignity. Both of them seemed a bit shell-shocked, unsure of what to do or how to behave. Was there a rule of etiquette for this situation?

They stared at each other until it became awkward. Finally she spoke. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He was wearing a white cotton shirt, tail out, sleeves rolled to his elbows, over a pair of jeans, all of which looked great. But he seemed immeasurably fatigued. “Are you all right?”

He raised one shoulder in a slight shrug, nodded once. “All things considered.”

“They called from the ferry dock to tell me you were on your way.”

“Had to run quite a gauntlet to get through. Island is crawling with cops of various sorts. But that’s good.”

“I feel safe. As long as I don’t look toward Bernie’s house. I can’t look at it without shuddering. I hope I’ll get over that in time.”

He gave a nod. “Is the woman deputy still staying here in the house?”

“She is. She’s on break at the moment. Several of the officers are staying in the house you rented. They take shifts sleeping, eating. Since you were coming, she figured it would be okay if she went next door for a while.”

“Hmm.” After that noncomment, his gaze moved aimlessly around the kitchen—more to avoid looking directly at her than to look at something else, she thought.

“Are you all right?”

He sharp-focused on her again. “You asked me that already.”

“Oh, right, I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes. Except, about Jeremy…” She took a deep breath, let it out through her lips. “I’m not sure what I should be feeling.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t grieve for him. But I do feel sad.”

“I can relate. Believe me.”

Dozens of questions about Jeremy’s final minutes were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask them. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to hear the details, and Dawson seemed equally disinclined to provide them.

They were acting like strangers, not like two people who had shared a passionate farewell kiss the night before. Although she wanted to feel his arms around her, to be surrounded by him, warmed by him, she hadn’t made an initiating move. Neither had he. It wasn’t for lack of desire. That hadn’t changed. His eyes burned with it.

But Jeremy’s death had made a difference. Had he died remotely, distantly, it might not have had this divisive effect. But Dawson had been there when he drew his last breath, and that had created an indefinable chasm between them. They were trying to find a way to bridge it.