Page 193 of Secrets Along the Shore

She drowned.

They said she drowned. But that word…it never felt right. Too easy. Too neat. No reason she was out on the water alone so late. No investigation.

I knew now what I had to do. This house was not for sale. Not yet. Not until I understood why I was brought here, summer after summer. Why I was favored. Why I was alone in that rowboat the night she disappeared.

Not until I understood what happened to Olivia Bishop…what I had suppressed.

Because maybe she didn’t drown. Maybe there was foul play. Maybe she was silenced long before her body hit the water. And maybe—just maybe—I was meant to remember her. To find her. Even if it destroyed everything I knew to be true.

CHAPTER

FIVE

The morning sunbled through the pine trees like blinding fire, warming my face as I lifted it to its rays. I stood barefoot on the back porch, a mug of reheated tea in my hand, watching the lake ripple in the breeze. The surface was calm, comforting, even as its history said anything but. The lake took a life, but as with any story, there was more that lay beneath.

The lodge loomed around me—massive and still. You’d think the work to be done would keep me busy, but suddenly, I wasn’t in a rush to complete the project. It was as though the house had things to tell me first, and I was now listening.

I couldn’t hear the old truck pull up, but I saw it come around to the back and braced for an unknown visitor. The beat up turquoise Chevy parked by the garden, and the door swung open. A woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat stepped out, holding a spade and mint green gardening gloves. She wore matching boots.

She looked to be in her late sixties, but she had the sort of upright posture that made you think she could outwork someone half her age. Her white hair was braided down her back, and her skin tan and lined from a lifetime in the sun. She wore denim overalls and a yellow flannel that clashed with her gardening boots.

I took the steps down to the landing, instinctively staying alert to anything that could happen. I’d come to expect the unexpected now.

She waved and approached with a slow, unthreatening pace, her expression open. “You must be Scarlett McBride,” she said, signing along with the words. Her signs were slow and deliberate like someone who’d once known the language and was trying to remember.

I nodded. “And you are?”

“Tabitha Rooney. I live just down the hill—closest neighbor this place has on this side of the lake. I used to wave to you girls when you played out there on the water.” Her eyes scanned the property, wincing a bit at the gnarled branches. “The place is looking a little wild. I thought I’d come by and offer to help clear some of the overgrowth. These flower beds used to be my pride and joy before Mr. Scanlon had me stop coming up. The rosemary shrubs have taken over, I’d say. He always had me cutting them back.”

“You worked here?” I stepped up to her.

“For years. Summers mostly. I maintained the grounds and did some light housekeeping for Mr. Scanlon, especially after the divorce. He liked things tidy. Hated mess.” She smiled and elbowed my arm. “Even the kind made by you children.”

I studied her weathered face. “I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. You were young and busy running wild with the Bishop girls.” Her grin softened. “They adored you.”

I swallowed, unsure if the growing lump in my throat stemmed from sadness…or guilt. “BeccaandOlivia?”

She paused, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“I remember only bits. Flashes. Her name came back yesterday. Livvie.”

Tabitha nodded. “She loved it when you called her that. She said it made her feel grown up.”

I smiled despite the guilty feeling.

“I was surprised to hear Scanlon left the place to you,” Tabitha went on. “He wasn’t one for sentiment. Cold man. Calculated. But you…you were different to him.”

My spine stiffened. “Everyone says that.”

“Well, they aren’t wrong.” Her choice of words cut sharp. “You were the last student he ever brought here. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“After that summer—the one where Olivia…well, the summer we lost her—he never brought another student back. Locked the place up, let the flowers die, and didn’t come back himself for a long time.”

I blinked. “But…he said I was done with the program. Not that it was over.”