Page 84 of Secrets Along the Shore (Beach Read Thrillers #1)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

Everything tilts, and I have to grab my desk to stop from going over. I gulp deeply, hyperventilation threatening to kick in. I force myself to hold my breath while I try to digest what I’m seeing.

Now I have the answer I’ve been searching for.

Edward’s actions aren’t an attempt to avoid James being associated with something unthinkable that happened on the property Edward tried to purchase.

Edward’s actions are an attempt to protect James from something unthinkable James did on that property.

There has to be another explanation. Anything less than murder would be a better alternative. I let my imagination run wild in a frenzied effort to make sense of things.

What if Kamden and James parted ways after the video, but someone else got a hold of her? That someone could be framing him now…and Edward could be acting to protect James from his…connection…to Kamden Avery—to a murdered woman he had a relationship with.

It’s revolting, but at least it’s not murder .

I clutch this thread like I’m ten thousand leagues under and it’s my oxygen line. It’s something, but it’s tenuous.

A hard knot forms in my center, then grows, fed by anger and resentment and desperation. I’ve been swimming in this sea of uncertainty long enough. Galvanized by determination, I sprint to my Jeep.

It’s time to drag the truth to the surface.

I can’t possibly be the first person to steamroll into Roy Hutchins’s office, but going by the shock on the face of his assistant, Angie, as I blow through the room, you’d sure think I was. I’m through the door behind her and partially down the hall before she even rises from her desk.

“Wait!” she bellows. “You can’t go back there!”

“Try me,” I snap, without breaking my stride down the narrow shotgun hallway, forcing her to hustle to catch up.

“He’s with someone! He can’t see you now!”

“He’ll see me.” Three doors span either side of the hall. I pass an open bathroom on my right, but the rest of the doors are shut. I spin to her. “Which is his?”

She plants her feet, folding her arms across her chest.

“Okay, fine.” I keep going, throwing doors open. When I fling open the last one on the left, Roy Hutchins jumps up from his seat behind his desk, while his wide-eyed guest swivels in his chair to gawk at me.

“Whoa!” Hutchins’s face is red with outrage. “What’s going on? This is a—” His words and expression freeze as recognition floods his face.

Ahh. There it is.

A white bandage wraps around a six-inch section of his forearm. A sardonic smile slips onto my face. “Hello, Roy. Got yourself a boo-boo?”

The eyes of the forty-something male in the guest chair flick back and forth between me and Hutchins. Maybe he’s a client. Maybe he’s a colleague.

I don’t care. I fix him with a flat glare Adam Driver would be proud of. “Time for you to go.” Rather than argue, the man pops up and disappears down the hallway in less than five seconds.

“What do you want?” Hutchins straightens his shoulders in a move I think he means to be intimidating. I hope he’s not considering manhandling me out of here. I’d hate to make him look like an idiot in front of Angie.

“That’s interesting. Usually the first question is ‘who are you?’ But then, you already know who I am, don’t you, Roy?”

Hutchins’s stare darkens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I know who you are too.” I click my tongue. “Pretty shoddy surveillance skills, buddy. If I were you, I’d consider a weekend seminar to brush up.” I nod at the bandage. “For your burglary skills too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That won’t stand up in court, will it, when I bring charges against you for breaking into my house?”

“I didn’t break into your house.”

“No, you only tried to break into it. If I walk over and wrestle that bandage off, am I gonna find bite marks matching my pit bull’s mouth?”

More silence from Hutchins, though he does put his hand on the bandage.

“That’s what I thought—which is why we’re going to come to an understanding. Otherwise, I’m filing a report with the sheriff’s department the minute I leave here. That bite, along with video footage from my outdoor security system?—”

If it existed…

“—will be more than enough to land you in jail and yank your license permanently.”

I’m not exactly being honest about the video, but hey, I’m not perfect. And he did try to break into my house.

Hutchins sneers. “What understanding?”

“Unless you want to become Mitchell County’s next Most Wanted, you’re gonna tell me who hired you to keep tabs on me and on the Kamden Avery case?”

I’m making a few leaps here, but they’re reasonable ones .

He shakes his head and snorts. “I can’t tell you that.”

Thought so.

“Okey-dokey.” I step toward the door, then turn back. “When you get to the jail, say hello to Bubba in the drunk tank for me. He’s a regular and a real pleasure to be around on Saturday nights.”

Hutchins’s shoulders soften, though his face remains hard. “Look, I can’t tell you anything. I do that, and my reputation gets ruined.”

“Not as ruined as it’ll be if they slap you with a felony charge.”

Hutchins expels a disgruntled sigh. “Fine. But the truth is, I don’t know who hired me.”

This time, I snort. “Yeah. Nice try. I’m serious, Roy.”

“ I’m serious. One day I got a call from—what I’m sure is—a burner phone. The caller offered to pay me a lot of money to take this on, no questions asked.

“From where I’m standing, it looks like maybe you should’ve asked a few questions.”

“Yeah. You might be right about that,” Hutchins concedes.

“Okay, so what you’re telling me is, the sign out front that says ‘Full-Service Investigations’ really means full service —as in breaking the law if necessary.”

Hutchins’s nostrils flare. “I’m not talking to you about my methods.”

“You don’t have to. You and my dog already had that conversation. Tell you what—you don’t have a name to give me, fine. Give me the number they called you from.”

He lets out another sigh and picks up a pen. He whips a Post-It note out of his drawer, scribbles something, and smacks it on his desk where I can read it. “I told you I can’t give you any information about my clients.”

“Right. So you’re opting for felony charges, then.”

“ Buuuut”— he draws out the word—“I can’t help it if you come to see me, stay in that chair when I step out, and see this number where I wrote it down for myself.”

I see what you’re doing there, Roy Hutchins.

It’s an awfully feeble excuse and unlikely to help him save face if his clients hear about it somehow. But if it makes him feel better, fine with me.

It doesn’t make any difference to me how I get the number.

All I care about is who answers when I call.