Page 41 of Secrets Along the Shore

ELEVEN

“Where are you going?”

I stumbled to a stop halfway down the block from Livia’s apartment on the way to my car.

“To find you. Why are you here?”

Reuben lifted a manila folder. “I wanted to run some suspects by you.”

“Really?” Now that was a surprise. “I didn’t think you’d want to consult with me?”

“Consult?” An eyebrow winged upward. “That’s stretching it a bit. I just wanted your insight. You—see things from a different vantage point.”

“Was that a compliment?” I jested, reaching for the manila folder.

“No.” Reuben held it away from me. “It’s a statement.”

Yes. My own case. The fact I’d been a victim too. Well, if it got my foot in the door to helping Sophia solve her murder, I’d take whatever credibility I’d earned unwillingly and use it.

A few minutes later, and after Reuben had told me he was in desperate need of coffee, we ended up grabbing to-go’s from a drive-thru coffee shack on the corner and then monopolizing a picnic table at the park on the edge of town.

“So,” Reuben was down to business. “I ran your profile idea andcame up with a few possible people.” He opened the folder. Laying a few sheets in front of me, I looked down at unfamiliar mug shots.

He watched me carefully.

“It’s not like I can ID him from a photo,” I reminded Reuben.

“I know. Just look over the facts. See if something stands out for you.”

“Ok.” Our eyes locked for a second and I thought I saw something akin to hope in Reuben’s. Hope that I might see something he didn’t, and hope that we could bring resolution to this case.

It was a big ask, and while I knew in my soul that Reuben had no expectations of me, I did. I had huge ones.

I looked over the different profiles and faces. Men, with similar backgrounds and various degrees of prior offenses. If nothing else, I was getting a fast education that I wasn’t the only person with a seriously dysfunctional childhood. Of course, I knew that, but it hurt to see it on paper. I wished every kid who grew up could have a healthy family. Parents that loved them. Dads that protected and moms that nurtured. Instead, these men sported backgrounds not unlike mine. Abuse. Single parents or no parents. Raised by a grandparent. Foster care.

I glanced up at Reuben. “Some of these men don’t even fit the familial profile we talked about.”

“I know.” Apparently, there were reasons he’d pulled these specific profiles, but he wasn’t going to tell me.

“I don’t know.” I hated to admit it, but nothing jumped out at me. I had even scanned the park to see if Sophia had magically appeared in my vision again with some insight. But it was just me and Reuben, and the profiles of troubled men and broken lives. “Are all of these men local to Whisper’s End?”

“No.” Reuben looked off into the distance. “But within a distance where it could be plausible for them to have been in contact with the victims at some point.”

I did notice one suspect’s file. I pulled it from the pages and met the blank stare of a bald man with a hawk tattoo on his neck. “This guy.”

“Yeah?” Reuben studied me. He did that a lot, it seemed.

“I don’t think he’d fit. Not the theory I came up with anyway.”

“Why not?”

“He had a father,” I pointed out.

“But his grandmother lived with them.” Reuben countered.

“True, but if we’re going strictly by my theory, he’s trying to recreate his childhood to be a positive recreation of what he knew growing up. He was raised by women.”

“You’re really stretching, Noa.” Reuben’s sigh was heavy and I could feel the suffocation of its weight as I sat next to him.