Page 33

I had convinced Olivia we needed to go get some food, and she finally agreed to come with me to grab some dinner from the buffet that Clementine had put out.

We stepped into the main house, and the buzz of conversation died like a snuffed candle. The tension hung so thick you could cut it with a knife—no, that's too worn and cozy. It was more like the air turned to glass, fragile and sharp around us.

"Just ignore them. Keep your eyes on the prize, Olivia," I murmured, my words almost a breath as we navigated through the frozen tableau of guests. "Dinner, remember?"

Olivia nodded, her discomfort radiating like heat waves from asphalt. I hated seeing her this way, like a bird clipped of its wings.

"Right," she replied, her voice barely there but edged with steel. "Dinner."

We pushed forward, the silence splintering with every step we took toward the grand dining room. That's when I caught the acid tones slicing across the room—a verbal fight between Beatrice and Victoria.

"You never did understand, did you?" Beatrice spat, her facade of elegance cracking with each syllable.

"Understand? Oh, I understood plenty," Victoria shot back, her voice searing with resentment.

Their words clawed at the air, echoes of old wounds and bitter grievances laid bare.

"Family first, isn't that what you always say?" Victoria's laugh was devoid of humor, a jagged thing that wanted to wound.

"Family," Beatrice scoffed. She stood tall, her spine a rod of iron. "Your actions speak otherwise."

I edged closer, the investigator in me hungry for the unspoken tales between their barbs. My presence went unnoticed, just another shadow amongst many.

"The past is dead, Beatrice. Let it rest," Victoria hissed, her eyes two flints, sparking fury.

"Dead things have a way of resurfacing, sister," Beatrice countered, her tone as cold as an arctic chill.

“Like you. I never could get you to stay away. And now you come here and bring… him with you? The last person I ever want to see again on this island?”

"Enough," Beatrice said with a snort. "This discussion is over."

Victoria's mouth twisted, but she clamped it shut, burying whatever retort threatened to escape.

I edged closer. My ears pricked up as fragments of their heated exchange drifted to me—whispers of disloyalty and clandestine affairs.

"It’s been twenty-six years," Victoria spat, "and still you torment me."

"Because twenty-six years ago, you—" Beatrice's voice cut through like a knife, but the rest was muffled by a sudden swell of music from the grand piano across the room.

I leaned in, desperate for more, but Beatrice caught my gaze. Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before she doused the fire in them, replacing it with ice.

"Good evening, Agent Thomas," she said, every syllable crisp as if plated on silver. She turned her back then, signaling the end of their quarrel with a sharp pivot that dismissed me as effectively as it did her sister.

"Beatrice." I stepped forward, my voice low. "Mind telling me what that was about?"

She faced me again, her expression smooth, unreadable. "Oh, just ancient history."

"History has a way of repeating itself." I held her gaze, trying to peel back the layers of her composure.

"Doesn't it just?" A half-smile played on her lips—a masterstroke of deflection.

"Especially on this island," I pressed, hoping to steer her toward disclosure.

"Agent Thomas, you flatter me with your interest," Beatrice replied, her tone laced with a hint of amusement, "but really, it's nothing."

"Nothing doesn't usually spark such… passion." I gestured vaguely in the direction Victoria had disappeared.

"Passion is often wasted on the trivial, don't you think?" She tilted her head, assessing me with those steel-gray eyes.

"Depends on your definition of trivial," I countered.

"Touché." Another smile, this one acknowledging our little game. "But I'm afraid I have to see to our guests now. If you'll excuse me."

"Of course," I acquiesced, watching her glide away, the very picture of grace under pressure.

As she merged with the crowd, a voice in my head whispered, Not so fast, Beatrice. There were secrets buried here; I could feel them pulsing beneath the surface. And I intended to dig them up.

I hovered at the periphery of the room, the clinking of glasses and muted conversations creating a backdrop to my silent surveillance. Beatrice had retreated to an alcove, her back turned, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her calm exterior. I approached, careful to keep my footsteps light.

"Beatrice," I said, injecting just enough warmth into my voice to seem nonthreatening. "I have a sister of my own, and we can get pretty heated sometimes, too."

She turned, and a semblance of composure snapped back into place. "Eva Rae, so you understand how families are. Emotions run high."

"Victoria seemed pretty upset."

"Victoria is passionate," she conceded, her lips tight. "It's her nature."

"Or maybe it's what the conversation was about?"

"Speculation isn't becoming of an FBI agent." Her gaze was steady, but her fingers twitched, betraying a frayed edge.

"Sometimes speculation leads to answers." I leaned in slightly, letting silence stretch between us.

"Perhaps." Beatrice's eyes narrowed. "But not today, Agent Thomas. Leave us be, please. We just lost one of our own, and the police don’t seem to be doing much to provide us with answers. It’s only natural that emotions run high."

"Understood." I stepped back, nodding.

But as I turned, I caught Emilio's eye. He edged closer, his movements deliberate.

"Agent Thomas," Emilio murmured, a knowing look crossing his features. "Beatrice won't say it, but I will."

"Oh?" I kept my voice neutral, but my pulse quickened. “Say what?”

"Victoria once had an affair," Emilio confided, his tone even. "The family was scandalized—still is. It’s the real reason Isla was never allowed to be with me—because of her mother’s history. The family wouldn’t allow it, and Victoria knew this because they wouldn’t allow it for her. They wouldn’t allow the scandal it would become."

"Scandal, huh? Would it be enough to kill?"

"Who knows?" He shrugged, his eyes dark pools of implication. "But secrets like that have a way of surfacing at the worst times."

"Thanks, Emilio." I nodded, storing away the information.

"A scandal?" I murmured to myself, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. The echoes of Emilio's words hummed in my ears like a swarm of agitated bees. Victoria, with her seemingly impeccable reputation, was now cloaked in the shadows of a clandestine past. Could that love affair be the skeleton rattling behind closed doors, enough to push her over the edge?

"Family honor," I continued, half-aloud, "can be a noose as much as a badge." My eyes scanned the elegant crowd, roving over faces that held smiles just a fraction too tight. Each one could be a mask, including my old friends Amy, Jen, Michelle, and Kara.

"Mom?" Olivia appeared at my side, her voice thin with concern. "You're pacing."

"Am I?" I hadn't realized my feet betraying the churn of thoughts within. "Just mulling over some details."

I turned back to the room, my gaze resting on Victoria. There she was, a portrait of poise, but the air around her seemed to crackle with latent energy. Was it possible? Had her secret love, once exposed, ignited a firestorm of disgrace so fierce it could drive her to silence Isla forever? Had she done the same to Mark?

"Rage," I whispered, the hint of a theory taking root. "Fear of humiliation driven rage…." My mind raced back to Isla's case files. If Victoria mirrored that same poisonous hate, could it explain the inexplicable?

"Victoria," I said under my breath, fixing the name in my mind like a target. Was she capable of something like that?

I never got to finish the thought.

BAM

The doors suddenly slammed open with a violence that sent a shiver down my spine. Marcus Cole stormed into the room, his presence like a live wire sparking uncontrollable reactions. Fear and confusion spread through the guests faster than wildfire.

"Marcus!" Victoria gasped, an electric jolt in the word itself. Confusion was evident on her face as she screamed. “It’s him, it’s him. The one who murdered my Isla. And he’s got a gun!”

Her words made the room erupt into chaos as everyone reacted simultaneously.

Chairs clattered against the polished floor as bodies lurched backward, creating a sea of panic that I found myself adrift in. The screams bounced off the walls, each echo a hammer strike to my calm. But calm I remained.

"Stay close," I murmured to Olivia, my voice a life raft in the chaos.

My eyes locked onto Marcus, taking in the graying temples and the shadowed eyes that scanned the room with such intensity it could cut glass.

"Easy there," I said quietly as I edged forward, my hand signaling others to give him space. "Let's talk, Marcus."