Page 39 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer (Summers in Seaside)

thirty-eight

. . .

Elle

The second the door clicks shut I release the breath I’ve been holding so long my lungs ache. Amy grabs the counter for support like she might pass out.

“Oh my God,” she hisses. “He knows.”

“He suspects,” I say, throat tight, trying to keep my voice steady despite the whirlwind of panic swirling inside me.

“He knows.” She looks at me, wild-eyed. “Why didn’t he arrest us?”

I shake my head, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“Because he doesn’t have proof. And because—” I glance toward the door, half-expecting it to swing open again, revealing Noah’s serious face and those piercing eyes that seem to see right through me.

“I think part of him doesn’t want to find it. ”

Amy stares at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and fear. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I can almost hear the clock ticking in the background, each second a reminder that we’re running out of time.

Then she straightens, determination flickering in her gaze. “Okay. We need to move Doug, like, tonight.”

I nod, the gravity of her words settling heavily in my stomach. “We’re out of time,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “No more clever plans. No more hoping we get lucky.”

Amy’s mouth presses into a grim line as she processes what we’re about to do. “Backyard?” she asks, her tone clipped and efficient.

“Backyard,” I confirm, though the word feels like a lead weight in my mouth.

We both know what that means. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a finality