Page 107 of Secrets Along the Shore (Beach Read Thrillers #1)

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

I watched Evan drive away from the library, the red of his Jeep fading into the sweltering heat. I appreciated his willingness to help but was glad I kept him from seeing what I was seeking here.

I made my way to the reference desk, where a woman with silver hair and smart tortoiseshell glasses looked up from her screen.

“Can I help you?”

I signed as I spoke. “I’m looking for articles on the Bayberry Deaf School. The one that used to operate a few miles out of town. I want to find any from within the last thirty years.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Bayberry? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“I used to attend,” I said. “I’m trying to trace some…classmates. Names, dates. Anything you have would help.”

The woman studied me for a moment, her gaze sharp, and I wondered if she recognized me. Then she stood and motioned for me to follow. “You’re not the first to ask,” she said over her shoulder.

That stopped me. “Who else? ”

She paused, hand on the key to a locked door marked ARCHIVES. “Tall man. Mid-thirties. Wore a suit even though it was ninety degrees outside. Didn’t give a name.”

A chill ran the length of my arms. “How long ago?”

“Week and a half. Maybe two.”

She opened the door, and I stepped inside. The archive room was small, lined with metal cabinets and dusty shelves. There was a single table, a flickering overhead light, and a box fan in the corner. The woman turned it on for me.

“He asked for student rosters from the early 2000s. And anything we had on Headmaster Scanlon,” she said. “Didn’t find much, though. A lot of those records were never officially submitted to the town. But if you’re looking for newspaper articles, you might find more than he did.”

I nodded, pulse quickening. “I don’t need much. Just enough to trace names.”

She pulled a few file boxes from a back shelf and set them down with a soft grunt. “Start with these. They’re all on microfiche. Haven’t caught up to the digital world yet. Most days, it’s just me inside these walls, and it’s all Greek to me.”

I sat down at the machine and opened the first box to scan. Most of the files were administrative—permits, newsletters, old event posters—but eventually, I found something interesting.

An article about a female child being in a car accident where both parents were killed.

The Bayberry School for the Deaf had taken in the child who had no living relatives.

The year of the accident was the year I began at the school as well.

The child would have been my age, but I didn’t recognize the name.

Katherine Nieves.

I stared at it. Something about it scraped at the inside of my skull. I changed to a roster of students at Bayberry that year. I scanned the lists twice but found no listing for the girl.

So what happened to her?

I turned the dial of the viewer, moving on to any other articles available. Lines of grainy text flashed across the screen, one headline at a time. Most of the town’s history was unremarkable—local election results, holiday parades, bake sales. But then I found her name again.

Katherine Nieves.

DEAF SCHOOL STUDENT PRESUMED ABDUCTED

My breath caught. I leaned forward, the words swimming slightly as I read.

Six-year-old Katherine Nieves was reported missing from the Bayberry School for the Deaf late Tuesday evening. According to staff, the child was last seen in the courtyard just after dinner. A search of the grounds yielded no clues. Authorities have not ruled out the possibility of abduction.

School administrators stated Katherine had been brought to the facility earlier that summer after her parents were killed in a car accident. Katherine became Deaf after a severe illness resulted in permanent hearing loss. The school was her legal guardian.

Outrage has erupted across the county as details emerge about the school’s handling of Katherine’s care.

Parents of other students have demanded greater oversight, and at least three families have withdrawn their children.

“We were told this place was safe,” said one mother, Beatrice Mahoney.

“Now a little girl is gone, and no one knows where she went.”

I kept reading, my eyes devouring each article, following the fallout.

The town had turned inward on itself after the incident.

Scanlon made one public appearance to speak to reporters, claiming Katherine had wandered off and that the school bore no responsibility for her disappearance.

It didn’t stop the speculation. Or the rumors.

And then the coverage ended. Just like that.

No follow-up. No resolution. No recovery. Katherine Nieves had vanished, and the school had buried her story.

Hours must have passed. The light outside had shifted to gray. I sat back, neck stiff, head spinning. The librarian suddenly stood beside me, grabbing my attention. “Did you find what you needed?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes. Thank you.”

I didn’t explain. Just copied the name down, tucked the note inside my pants pocket, and walked out into the summer heat.

Katherine Nieves.

Who was she? Where did she go?

The street was deserted. Stores closed. Lights out. The bakery sign no longer glowed. Across the way, the general store was closed, and no there was no red jeep parked in front of the realty agency.

Had Evan come and gone? He was supposed to pick me up.

I stared down the street. No sign of his Jeep.

I pulled out my phone again, praying for enough juice to text. The screen flickered to life. One percent.

I tapped his number and sent a message.

Scarlett: I must have missed you. Not to worry. I’ll start walking.

A knot of unease pulled tight in my gut. But perhaps he had been more embarrassed about the incident in the secret room and needed to lick his wounds.

I started walking, heading toward the sheriff’s department. Maybe I could ask for a ride back, and I could show him the tires.

The sheriff’s department wasn’t far. Only a few blocks past the diner. When I reached the station, only one light inside was on. A deputy I didn’t recognize sat behind the desk.

He looked up as I entered.

“Evening,” he said, then paused as I signed slowly and spoke. “Is Sheriff McNealy around?”

The deputy shook his head. “Out for the evening. Something come up?”

I hesitated. “I need a ride home. To the old Scanlon lodge. I was supposed to get picked up. Didn’t happen.”

He studied me a moment, then stood and grabbed his keys. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you,” I signed and said.

The cruiser was warm. Smelled faintly of coffee and old leather. We pulled away from the station, and I turned toward him.

“Do you remember Katherine Nieves?”

His fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. “Haven’t heard that name in years. You digging into that situation, too?”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged and took a right turn. “Sherrif mentioned you were asking about the Bishop girl.” He was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, answered my question. “The Nieves girl…sad situation. A cold case never solved. ”

“Are there any pictures of her? I found an article, but nothing was posted of her. Just pictures of the school.”

“Sorry, I really don’t know. You could ask Sheriff McNealy. Or maybe the school has a record of her with a photograph.”

“The school’s closed now.”

“True. Sorry.”

The rest of the ride passed with no more conversation. When we pulled up the drive to the lodge, I sat forward quickly.

My SUV’s tires were no longer flat.

Evan had come back.

So why had he left me to find my own way home?

I turned back to catch the deputy’s gaze drifting upward, toward the side of the house, toward the little window—the secret room. I observed him, thinking it peculiar.

“You know that window exists?” I asked. No need to pretend I didn’t notice.

He blinked. “What?”

“That one,” I said, pointing. “Not many people do.”

He shrugged, a little too casually. “Just noticed it, I guess. Funny how old places hide things.”

I didn’t respond. My pulse had quickened. Something about the way he looked at it—like he wasn’t just guessing. Like he knew.

“Anyway, you get some rest now. I’ll let the sheriff know you’re looking for information on that cold case.”

I didn’t respond. Just got out, and he backed out of the driveway. I turned for the house. The windows were dark. The porch light was off. I pushed open the door, heart pounding, the name of Katherine Neives echoing through my mind.

Had she been taken? Kidnapped from the school? Or had something else happened to her? I needed to see the yearbooks. Even though I didn’t remember the name, she might have been listed still.

When I felt for the light switch on the wall, nothing happened. Three times I flipped it up and down with no change. Darkness continued.

The power was out again.

“Great,” I muttered, pulling my phone from my pocket. I tapped out a message to the electrician. Again.

Scarlett: Hey, the lights are out again. Can you please come by soon?

I hit send and turned on the phone’s flashlight for my steps. I didn’t hold out hope for Mr. Monroe tonight. Which meant I had to help myself.

The light’s glow lit up the hallway just enough to feel safe, but that didn’t mean I was up for the task. I’d watched the man before and hoped I could recall what he did. Maybe all it would take would be a reset.

Maybe.

I descended the basement stairs slowly, the narrow beam from my flashlight illuminating each step in pieces. My heart tapped a shaky rhythm against my ribs as I peered into the darkness beyond, trying to see where I was headed before I got there.

At the bottom, the familiar smell of mildew was mixed with a metallic scent I didn’t remember from the last time I was down here.

I swept the flashlight over the basement walls, searching for the gray box mounted near the back corner.

I headed straight for it but stopped cold when my light reached it fully.

I tried to process the condition it was in. The panel was torn open. Wires hung like snapped vines, frayed and useless. Some had been yanked clean from their connections. The casing was cracked, hanging by a single screw. This hadn’t been an accident. Someone had destroyed it.

My pulse raced. I took a step back, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, when my foot tripped on something hard. I fell sideways. My phone released from my hand.

“No—”

The word barely left my mouth before my phone hit the far wall under the stairs. It bounced off and shattered against the concrete floor. The light died instantly.

Darkness swallowed me.

I froze. The loss of sight only cut me off further from my surroundings. It felt suffocating. I reached for something to ground me and met something round, gripping it hard. My breaths came short and fast. I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face.

I crouched low, using the thing as a guide as I crept back from the wall. My hands swept along the floor, feeling blindly for my phone. Something hard brushed my fingers—a shard of glass. I shifted my hand, gingerly moving it aside.

Then I felt the phone.

No. Not the phone. Not glass or wood. I moved my hand over it until I was certain it had a rubber tread.

A boot. I was touching a boot.

I recoiled slightly, my fingers trembling, then reached forward again, cautiously. Both hands now. I traced the outline—thick laces, a pant cuff. A leg.

A leg that didn’t move.

My breath caught in my throat. I followed upward, higher—knee, thigh, hip. Fabric. Denim.

Then flesh.

I touched a torso. Still. Cold. Unyielding.

There was a person under the stairs.

And they weren’t moving.

I opened my mouth, a scream rising from my lungs. But stopped hopefully before a sound emerged.

Someone could still be in the lodge.

My scream died in my throat. I pressed myself back into the shadows, heart thundering in my ears. My body screamed to flee, but my instincts held me still.

They had destroyed the panel. Left a body. But whose? I had to get out of the house.

My only hope to escape was to use the darkness to slip back outside and drive away. I looked up to the ceiling, wondering if they would be waiting for me. Were they walking through the house right now? Without my sight and hearing, I was down to two senses while they had all of theirs.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared into the dark, desperate for my eyes to adjust. But the shadows remained impenetrable.

This wasn’t random.

I curled tighter beneath the stairs, beside the body, wishing I could disappear into the cement. My mind raced—who was the person beside me? Evan? No. No. Please, no. He only wanted to help me.

But I didn’t know. I couldn’t know.

And whoever did this wanted to make sure I never knew…anything.