Page 206 of Secrets Along the Shore

“Scarlett,” he said, standing. “Did you reconsider selling?”

I shook my head, arms folded. “No. But I thought we should talk.”

He tilted his head, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “About?”

“The secret room,” I said flatly. “The things inside it. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

His smile faltered. Just slightly. But enough.

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

I gave him a look. “We both know that’s not true. Maybe we’re looking for the same thing.”

There was a pause. A breath.

A standoff.

He tapped a pen against his desk, then leaned back in his chair. “You go first.”

Of course. It was always going to be me.

“I believe Livvie was murdered,” I said quietly. “She didn’t drown. Someone killed her and dumped her in that lake. I’m here to figure out who did it.”

Evan exhaled slowly, his posture easing.

“Same,” he said. “Been wondering about that for years.”

I raised a brow. “You knew her?”

“Well enough. We’re both locals. Went to the same church when we were children. My dad also did repair work at the lodge. Sometimes I tagged along. We all knew something felt…off.”

He opened a drawer, rifled through some papers, then looked up as the door behind me swung open.

A woman walked in. Late sixties, maybe early seventies. Expensiveclothes. Pearls. A small white poodle nestled in her arms like a fashion accessory.

Her gaze swept the room. Landed on me. Measured. Cool.

Evan stood. “Scarlett, this is Mrs. Clarice Scanlon. She owns the agency.”

“Scanlon had family here?” How had I not known this?

The woman’s eyes sharpened. “Correction,” she said, her voice crisp. “I’m Mr. Scanlon’sex-wife.”

My heart missed a beat, and then I remembered Evan said the relationship wasn’t by blood with the agency’s owner. And Tabitha mentioned a divorce. Now, here was Scanlon’s other half.

The question that resonated in my head was what caused the split in the first place?

“Wouldyou mind coming into my office, Ms. McBride?” Clarice asked. “Alone.”

Evan looked at me as if to ask if I wanted a way out. I gave him a small nod. I could handle her.

Clarice’s office was elegant and precise—much like the woman herself. A velvet armchair sat across from her desk. She gestured for me to sit while she placed the poodle in a dog bed near her feet.

“I don’t remember Mr. Scanlon ever being married,” I said once the door shut.

“We divorced around the time he became headmaster at Bayberry,” she replied. “The school took over his life.”

I studied her carefully. “He always struck me as kind. Some of the other kids said he was strict, but I never saw it. He cared about us. About me.”