Page 16 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

There was no question that Rhys would never move to Harbor View. The few times I had even mentioned that maybe we could get out of L.A., move just south as far as Orange County, he’d gone ballistic. Didn’t I understand what that would do to his career? To him?

The consequences of the decisions I had to make were flat out terrifying. And at the heart of it was one thing. My marriage.

Was my marriage worth saving? More to the point, was there anything left to save?

Rubbing the back of my neck, I felt everything pressing down on me. Squeezing me from every side.

The knock at the door cut our conversation short. I was actually relieved. Of course, it was a coward’s escape, but it gave me more time to make the decisions I wasn’t ready to think about.

Jo vanished without a word, and I drew in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as I crossed the room. Looking out the front window, I saw the trio waiting on the steps.

Arthur, Bernie, and a tall, skinny teenager I guessed was Mateo, Bernie’s helper.

When I opened the door, Arthur introduced us. He and Bernie came inside, but the young man lingered on the bottom step, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to follow them in or make a run for it.

Mateo Ortiz. Seventeen. Latino. Tall and quiet.

Hoodie and jeans. Hands buried deep in his pockets.

He wore a Red Sox cap pulled low over his brow, and when his dark eyes flicked up to meet mine, it was only for a second.

But it was long enough for me to recognize the nerves before he looked down again.

He was flushed, despite the cool breeze drifting through the open door. His posture was tight, every muscle tensed like he was bracing for a blow. That kind of tension didn’t come from nowhere. It came from seeing something you shouldn’t have seen. Doing something you couldn’t undo.

Was he the reason Clare was gone?

I hated even thinking it.

But Bernie’s words echoed in my mind. He listens. He’s a good kid. Solid. Reliable. I trust him. But these cops will never give a seventeen-year-old Latino kid a fair shake. You’re a mother of a teenager, Skye. It’s up to you. But I say, talk to him. Ask the hard questions. See what he says.

“Come on in.” I turned toward the kitchen. It was up to him if he wanted to come in or not. But I hoped he would.

A few seconds passed before I heard front door close, followed by the slow, heavy tread of boots trailing after me. Each footstep sounded reluctant, like he was trying not to make noise but couldn’t help it.

Bernie and Arthur were leaning against the kitchen counters, waiting for us. I opened the fridge.

“Want something to drink, Mateo?” When I glanced back, he was still standing in the doorway. Not quite in. Not quite out.

“No, ma’am. Thanks.” His shoulders were rigid beneath the hoodie.

“Sit down, kid,” Bernie said gruffly, jerking his chin toward the table.

“I’ll stand, boss, if that’s okay,” Mateo replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for exits. Or maybe answers.

My heart clenched. He really was just a kid. Only two years older than Ocean. And he looked trapped. Clearly, he was scared, uncertain, bracing for the worst.

“Hey,” I said gently, keeping my voice steady and calm. “Everything’s going to be okay. We have a couple of questions. That’s all.”

He nodded but didn’t speak. Just swallowed hard, took a half-step into the kitchen and stopped, lingering near the doorway. It looked like bolting was still very much on the table.

I grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and set them on the counter between us. Close enough for him to take one without making a thing of it.

I had no idea what Bernie had told him, if anything, about why he’d been brought here. But waiting only made things worse, and I figured the kindest thing I could do was to get to the point.

“The night my mother died,” I said quietly. “Were you in the barn?”

He paused and then nodded.

“Okay. Tell us what happened.”

His eyes darted toward the window, through which a section of the barn was visible. “I didn’t do anything. I swear. I just went in to get something I left there that morning.”

“What did you go back for?” Bernie asked.

“A joint.” Mateo’s shoulders slumped slightly. For the first time, he looked Bernie in the eye. “I never smoke when I’m working for you, boss. Never. I swear.”

Bernie scowled and looked away. I could tell he had more to say, but he wasn’t about to reprimand his worker. Not right now, anyway.

“I had school right after the job we did that morning, and it would’ve been stupid to keep it in my pocket. So...I hid it,” Mateo continued. “I figured I could come back for it later. So I did, that night, after I figured Miss Clare was already asleep.”

My mother had never locked the barn when I was still living here, and I knew for a fact her habits hadn’t changed.

Arthur was the one who spoke next. “What happened?”

“I snuck inside, trying to be all quiet and everything. But then, I heard a sound. Something hit the floor at the back of the barn...near the side door,” Mateo said, meeting my eyes. “That’s when I realized someone else was in there.”

“My mother? She was already in the barn?” I asked, even though I already knew that wasn’t true, based on what Jo had told me. Clare had gone out there after they’d seen Mateo going in.

“No. Someone else.”

“Did you see him?” I asked.

“No. But Miss Clare did. She came in through the side door. She must have seen the person ’cuz she called out. There was no answer. But then, I heard furniture getting shoved around. Like whoever was in there was trying to get out in a hurry.”

“So what did you do?” Bernie asked.

Mateo paused, breathing hard. “I panicked. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve helped her, but I freaked. I didn’t want to get caught, so I ran. I just ran.”