Page 80 of Secrets Along the Shore (Beach Read Thrillers #1)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
I manage to escape Edward’s house before dessert by feigning a headache. James offers to follow me home, but I tell him I’m fine.
I am anything but.
The ten-minute drive is a blur. I’m a bag swirling in a tornado of revelation and doubt. I may be hoping for an explanation that makes all this okay, but what I can’t deny is that Edward is connected to Donner and is doing whatever he’s doing in order to protect James.
But protect him from what?
I try to imagine a scenario in which James doesn’t know what’s going on. Where he isn’t involved somehow. I’ve managed to come up with a couple before I pull in my drive.
It’s possible that the bid to purchase the property was legitimate, and now Edward is concerned about how it’ll seem because a body was found on the land after the fact. It’s all a horrible coincidence that will look bad for James and hurt his chances in the election.
It’s also possible Edward was telling the truth about a shady buyer being interested in Taybolt’s property.
Like a drug-selling organization looking to move operations up north?
If Edward caught wind of it, maybe he was trying to buy the land out from under them, to keep them out of Mitchell County.
And it’s all a horrible coincidence that will look bad for James and hurt his chances in the election.
Then there’s the possibility I don’t want to think about .
Edward knew Kamden Avery was buried on the property when he had Donner make the offers.
I need a way to talk to Edward without accusing him. To talk to James without alienating him. These people are going to be my family. My only family for all intents and purposes. I don’t want to spoil it before it starts, because this could lead to nothing and then I’ve ruined everything.
My headlights illuminate the area near the entrance to my house as I roll up, the gravel crunching beneath my car. They also light up Bilbo, positioned right outside the door, and immediately I know something is wrong.
Bilbo is standing at attention, staring down the driveway. He’s not a pet at the moment. He’s a fierce protector.
I turn the Jeep off and step out, unholstering my Sig Sauer 9mm and sweeping my gaze around the yard.
“Bilbo? You good?” I keep my voice calm and approach with careful steps.
The dog doesn’t move an inch. I give the appropriate signal and he sprints toward me, coming to a stop at my feet, still eyeing the end of the drive.
“You hear something, boy?” I say, rubbing his head and muzzle. When I draw my hand back, a bright red streak paints my thumb and forefinger. Terror ripping through me, I drop to my knees and take his head in my hands, examining him thoroughly. It’s not his blood.
It’s something—or someone —else’s.
Bilbo isn’t a hunter, and he’s trained not to seek out critters in the woods.
The only way he would go after another creature—other than chasing birds during our walks, which I allow—is if it threatened me or invaded the area around the house.
And while I suppose that could have happened, Bilbo’s focus on the driveway makes me think the reason for the bloodshed is an unwelcome human visitor who hightailed it in that direction.
The alarm is still on and the door locked, both good signs. I let myself in and walk room to room, checking inside every closet and under every bed. After conducting a full sweep of the house and finding no indication of an intruder, I venture outside again.
The night is quiet, just a gentle breeze and the occasional hooting of a barn owl somewhere in the nearby trees. Bilbo, who hasn’t left my side since I got home, is parked at my right foot. I squat down and scratch his head again. “What happened tonight, bud?”
Bilbo’s so interactive and human-like, I halfway expect him to tell me. But instead, he grunts, probably frustrated I don’t speak dog.
“I get it. I’m ready to be done with this day, too. Come on, I think we’re finished here.”
When I turn to go back in, he follows, but it’s not until I’m in the doorway, glancing down at Bilbo that I see it—a thin smear of blood low and along the edge of the door frame, not noticeable until you’re looking straight at it.
And that clinches it. What happened to Bilbo did not involve an animal, not unless it was trying to break into my house—and this is not the door with the doggie door. I scan the property again, the hairs on my arms rising as my nervous system, already shattered, takes another hit.
This is not safe. I’m alone here. Four women are dead. I do not want to be number five.
I take out my phone to call James. Then I remember.
An utter sense of aloneness I haven’t experienced in a long while grips me. I don’t know who to call anymore.
And then I do.
It’s midnight, and Cole Hollis leans back into my couch, shaking his head. He’s had me go through everything twice, to make sure he heard it correctly.
He did, and I assure him I realize it’s as crazy as it sounds.
When he finally digests it all, he spends twenty minutes consoling me, insisting there must be another explanation for Edward’s phone call, other than my fiancé and future father-in-law conspiring to cover up a murder.
Or, heaven forbid, two murders, if Teresa Anders—the other woman wrapped in plastic, though likely killed after Kamden—somehow figures into this nightmare.
When I simply can’t talk about the situation anymore, we get back to the reason I called him out here—the attempted break-in, or possibly an attempt to lie in wait for me to come home.
I nod at the clear evidence bags containing swabs of the blood from both the house and Bilbo’s muzzle, as well as the fingerprints I collected with the evidence kit I keep on hand.
“I need these typed and DNA-tested, but I can’t do it as part of the Kamden Avery investigation because someone’s watching it closely and leaking information.
I don’t want anyone to know I’m doing this.
I don’t want whoever this is”—I point to the materials—“to know I’m onto them.
If you submit it instead of me, and file it as a generic, informational field report for the time being, no one will be the wiser. ”
“Sure. And we can still file an official incident report if you decide to prosecute later.”
“I told you, I don’t plan on prosecuting this. There isn’t anything to prosecute anyway, except maybe trespassing. Bilbo thwarted whatever they had planned.” I look over at my warrior dog, sprawled upside down, asleep, with his head against Cole’s leg. “I just want to know who was here.”
Cole rubs Bilbo’s belly, and the dog yawns, unbothered by the night’s events. “I can’t believe you don’t have video cameras outside. You’ve got an alarm. Why not cameras? You’ll be safer. And you would’ve been able to see what happened—have something to prosecute.”
“Ugh.” My face sours. “I don’t want cameras. I’ve avoided them so far.”
“I don’t think you can avoid it any longer. And I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want them.”
“Anything can be hacked. And Goat tells me these systems are easy to break into. I don’t want someone knowing when I’m coming and going.”
“If they want to know that, all they have to do is watch your house. They don’t need to hack your video system. You’re being ridiculous.”
“That’s what Daniel used to say. He wanted one.”
“Well, he was right. Promise me you’ll call somebody later today and make arrangements, or I’m coming back out here to install a system myself, and I won’t tell you where the cameras are. No more dancing around, singing Whitney Houston, using your dish brush as a mic.”
I glare at him. “I don’t do that.”
“Uh, yeah you do. I’ve seen you. Your Cyndi Lauper’s better, though.”
I groan. “Fine, I’ll get cameras. But I don’t have to call anybody. I can use those self-install ones.”
I’m not putting up much of a fight, because he’s right. My job’s never brought trouble to my literal doorstep before, but now that it has, I admit it would have been nice to have a recording of whoever had a run-in with Bilbo.
“Good,” Cole says.
“Well, now that you’re happy, I need you to do me one more favor,” I say. “Find out who could have accessed and deleted the message John Parry left on the tip-line Sunday morning. Assuming his wife is right about him calling, something happened to it and it didn’t erase itself.”
Cole groans. “Come on, Sophie. You’re not really going there, are you?”
I shrug. “Kinda think I have to.”
“Do you honestly think someone on the inside is interfering with the case? Isn’t it more likely that Parry’s family got confused? Maybe he called the wrong number.”
“Maybe. But we don’t know. Which means we keep our minds open and check every angle.”
“Okay, yes, I’ll check. Now—” He scoots down to lie flat, pulling a knitted throw over him—“go to bed. I need some sleep.”
“What are you doing?”
Cole tilts his head up, peering at me through squinted eyes. “I’m not leaving you here alone tonight. Daniel would have my hide. What if that guy comes back?”
James should be the one to stay on my couch to make sure I’m all right. To be here if anyone else tries to break in.
You may never be able to trust him again, a little voice in my head taunts. I do my best to ignore it.
“What’s Lucy going to say? ”
“I can tell you what she’ll say if I leave you here by yourself after what happened. ‘Get your butt back over there and make sure Sophie’s okay.’”
“I’m not by myself. I’ve got Bilbo.” Unfortunately, Bilbo picks that moment to yawn and burrow into the blanket he’s now sharing with Cole.
“I think he’s gone off duty,” Cole says, smirking.
“Don’t let the fur-ball routine fool you. He’s never off duty.”
“Either way, tonight, you’ve got me too.”
Cole isn’t buying my I’ve-got-this-on-my-own schtick.
Thank goodness.