Page 209 of Secrets Along the Shore

I remembered the fireworks, but none of this fiasco he spoke of. The lights flashing across the lake. The smell of smoke and lake water. The girls not showing up…then Livvie was there, alone.

And that’s all my mind replayed.

“She wasn’t breathing when they pulled her out,” he said. “No pulse. They tried CPR. Nothing worked. No autopsy could determine if it was drowning or something else. The water had washed everything away. Or someone else had.”

“She was a good swimmer,” I said. “We both were. We swam across that lake for fun.”

“I know.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

He looked down at the folder, then slowly pushed it toward me. I opened it.

There were photos—black and white, grainy. Livvie’s pale face. Her wet hair. The blanket draped over her. A line of people standing behind yellow tape. Some crying. Some staring blankly.

“They said it was an accident,” he said. “That she might’ve hit her head. That she had a seizure. That she was alone. That she was racing against someone. Too many stories to know which was true. None of them added up.”

“So why didn’t you keep digging?”

“Because I was told not to,” he snapped. “By her parents. By the school. By people who didn’t want the attention.”

“Scanlon?”

He hesitated. “He wasn’t headmaster for much longer after that. Retired early.”

“Do you think he knew something? Did something?”

Sheriff McNealy stared at me for a long time, then gave a small nod. “I think a lot of people did. I think a lot of people decided it was easier to look the other way and did a whole lot of nothing.”

“But you didn’t.”

He looked at me, old sorrow softening his expression. “I tried, Scarlett. I really did. But there were too many closed doors. Too many people protecting themselves.”

“And now?” I asked.

He leaned forward. “If you’re digging into this again, you need to be careful. Not everyone will appreciate it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

I stood, folder in hand. My fingers curled around the edge of the paper. “If I find out who killed her—if it was someone at the school, someone we trusted—I won’t care. I’m not stopping until the truth is out.”

“Then you’re stronger than I am.”

I looked at him one last time. “Can you tell me who else was there that night? Anyone specific?”

He sighed. “Scanlon was. Her parents. Mine, for that matter. Some of the other staff from the school. The Bishops’ neighbors. You’d need to go back and dig up the roster of vendors from the July 4th event. I might have it archived.”

“Please find it.”

He gave a slow nod. “Give me a few days. And Scarlett…if you really want to know who was there that night,” he said without looking at me, “ask the other Bishop girl.”

“Becca?” I whispered.

“She knows more than she’s letting on. Always did. The fact thatshe lives up there now, all alone, tells me everything I need to know. Whatever happened that night, she had something to do with it. Her and that boy she was sneaking off with.”

My breath hitched. “What boy?”