Page 85 of Deadline

Having been reassured that they were happily playing with the Metcalfs’ grandsons, she took the ferry over to the island. As she passed Mickey’s, she noticed that the yellow crime-scene tape was still stretched around the parking lot behind the building. The sight made her choke back a sob.

Bernie was puttering around the back of his house and, seeing her approach, waved. She pulled over and lowered the driver’s-side window. He closed the lid of his car trunk and hobbled over. “You’re just in time to see me off.”

“For good?”

“I’m driving as far as Charleston this afternoon. Eat a dinner of shrimp and grits. Th

en I’ll get an early start tomorrow. I see the boys aren’t with you. I hate to leave without saying good-bye.”

“I hate that, too. I had planned to bring them back for the remainder of the week, but I’ve changed my mind. I haven’t told them about Stef. Until I do, I thought I should keep them away from the beach, where they’re sure to wonder about her sudden absence.”

“Probably for the best. I saw two deputies tromping into your house earlier.”

“Deputy Tucker called and asked if they could look through Stef’s room, see if anything would point them to the person who killed her.” She told him about Dirk Arneson. “He owns up to knowing Stef, but claims to have an alibi.”

“Dawson Scott?”

“He spent last night in jail, but was released this morning. Tucker hasn’t ruled him out. Just to be obtuse, I think. They don’t like each other.”

“I don’t think he ever laid a hand on Stef.”

“Neither do I,” she said, meaning it.

He hesitated, then asked, “What about the two of you?”

“There’s no such thing, Bernie.”

Leaving that subject, she told him that she’d offered to relieve Stef’s parents of one unpleasant task. “I told them I would pack up her things, then I’ll close up the house. That job always makes me sad, especially when I don’t know when I’ll be back. Today will be particularly unhappy.”

“Want me to stay and keep you company? I could wait till morning to leave.”

She glanced toward her house. It looked terribly empty, and for half a second she was tempted to accept his offer. “No, thanks. You don’t want to miss your shrimp and grits.” She reached across the car’s interior and patted his age-speckled hand resting in the open window. “Be careful on the road.”

“Did I give you my e-mail address?”

“Stef—” She said the name automatically, and it was a cruel reminder. “She jotted it down for me.”

“Stay in touch. Tell Hunter and Grant I’ll see them next summer.”

“The kite will be here.”

After saying a final good-bye, she drove the remainder of the distance to her house and went in through the back door. The power had been restored, but that didn’t dispel the sadness she felt as she moved through the silent rooms. Not since her first visit to the house after her father’s death had she felt this forlorn.

Sandy footprints had been left on the stairs by the deputies who had searched Stef’s room. Her bedroom was no longer as neat as before. Articles had been left out, rearranged.

For five minutes, Amelia sat on the bed and cried for her young friend. Then, forcing herself to get to the unwelcome chore, she neatly folded all Stef’s clothing into her two suitcases. She packed all her personal belongings, too, leaving it to her parents to determine what they wanted to keep. When everything had been zipped into the suitcases, she carried them down to her car and stowed them in the trunk.

Bernie’s car was no longer there. She was completely alone, and she felt it.

The loneliness became a pressure inside her chest as she began shutting down the house for the season. A service would come later to do the deep cleaning, but she emptied the refrigerator and pantry of all perishables, stripped the beds, and gathered the laundry from the various hampers into one big bundle and took it down to the utility room.

It was a familiar routine, which she’d performed dozens of times. Today, the project left her severely depressed. Tears threatened as she went from room to room one last time, checking for lights left on, for ceiling fans still circulating, for dripping faucets, and unlocked windows.

Conversations with Stef, the boys’ laughter, echoed in her memory.

She went into her bedroom for a final inspection to see if she was leaving anything behind. As she went to pull down the window shades, unable to stop herself, she looked across the expanse of beach toward the neighboring house.

She knew which of the upstairs windows were in Dawson’s bedroom. He’d watched her through those windows. Disturbingly, her mind lingered less on the invasion of privacy than it did on the kiss he and she had shared inside that bedroom, on the bed, among twisted sheets redolent with his scent.