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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I knew I was in trouble the moment Reynolds made the wrong turn.

“Isn’t the sheriff’s office the other way?” I asked, keeping my voice light even as my stomach plummeted faster than an express elevator in a horror movie. The vinyl seat beneath my thighs suddenly felt slick and cold, and I shifted uncomfortably.

“Taking a shortcut,” Reynolds replied, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to meet mine. The kindly deputy who’d been a constant in our community since my childhood was gone, replaced by something cold and reptilian that sent ice water cascading down my spine.

Bad, bad, very bad.

My hand slid toward my purse, still clutched in my lap like a life preserver. My phone. If I could just text Dash…

“I’ll take that,” Reynolds said, his tone casual as he reached his hand back through the partition. “Can’t have you calling for help.”

“Now why would I need help? Aren’t you supposed to be the one giving help?

Protect and serve, right?” I asked, my voice emerging unnaturally high as I surrendered my purse, fingers trembling.

My mouth had gone desert dry, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth like I’d been chewing saltwater taffy.

Reynolds chuckled, the sound as warm and comforting as a shark’s smile.

“You know, this is your own fault. I’ve been coming to your shop for years, watching you serve tea with that perfect smile, pretending you’re some kind of genteel Southern lady.

All those conversations, and you never once suspected anything was wrong.

And now you’re diving into things you don’t understand, playing detective with those old busybodies. ”

“What?” I asked, his words barely penetrating.

I was paralyzed as icy fingers of fear traced down my spine.

This man who’d come into my shop almost daily for years, who’d shared his tea preferences and island gossip, who’d seemed like one of the good ones—he’d been lying all along. “What are you talking about?”

“And then I’d see you around town,” he continued, lost in his own thoughts now. “I’d stop in for tea, do my job to make sure the community knew they could trust me. That I was one of the good guys. Not like that idiot Milton.

“You’d give me free scones and coffee, living your perfect life with your tea shop and vintage dresses and old music.

” He shook his head. “And then the new guy comes to town and suddenly you take notice. You remind me of my ex-wife. Swayed by the idea of a bad boy giving a little adventure to your boring life. What were you thinking? That you were going to become some Mata Hari spy? You make tea, for God’s sake.

But here you are, right in the middle of a past that never should have resurfaced. ”

I swallowed hard as we turned onto the outskirts of downtown Grimm Island.

The familiar route was now transformed into something sinister.

Streetlights cast golden pools across the empty road, but instead of finding them comforting, I felt as if each illuminated circle seemed to emphasize the darkness between.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “What am I right in the middle of?” I tried to buy time while my mind raced frantically for escape options. The door handles were nonexistent, the partition secure. I was literally in a moving cage with a man I thought I’d known.

“You know exactly what trouble,” he replied, slowing the cruiser as we approached the harbor area. The usual tourist spots were closed for the night, leaving only empty parking lots and dark storefronts. “Should’ve left well enough alone, Mabel. Some secrets are meant to stay buried.”

Just like Elizabeth , I thought, a fresh wave of fear crashing over me.

The cruiser bumped onto a gravel road that led toward a cluster of old boathouses—weathered wooden structures that looked even more ominous in the darkness. My grandmother would have called this a come-to-Jesus moment.

For some reason , “Nearer, My God, to Thee” popped into my head and I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep a nervous giggle from escaping my lips.

“What are you doing?” Reynolds asked. “Are you laughing? Are you one of those crazy women? My ex-wife was crazy. Said it was menopause, but she was crazy long before that came along.”

“I’m not crazy,” I said indignantly. “And probably your wife wasn’t either. You’re a terrible person. You’re kidnapping me. I thought you were a good cop. A nice man.”

“I am a nice man,” he said. “Just ask anyone. I’ve served this community for almost thirty-five years.”

“You’re not a nice man!” I said, exasperated. “Nice people don’t do things like this. Especially not cops.”

He snorted. “Lady, if you’ve been on this island more than five minutes you know the cops here have never been nice.”

“Well, you’re a good actor then,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Maybe you should’ve gone to Hollywood. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Ahh, the high and mighty Mabel McCoy,” he said, chuckling.

“It’s called manners. You should get some. Your mother would be rolling in her grave if she could see you now.”

I didn’t know Deputy Reynolds’ mother. Had never met her, and had no idea if she was dead or alive.

But it was the only thing I could think of to say.

And it must have hit, because he looked like he was on the verge of apologizing just before he pulled the cruiser down a graveled road and parked to the side of a boathouse that had seen better days.

It looked like it was held together with splinters and stubborn seagrass.

And then I realized with a horrifying jolt that we weren’t far from where Elizabeth’s body had been found all those years ago.

He got out of the car and then opened my door. “Out,” he ordered.

It was then I realized his service weapon was in his hand. The metal glinted dully in the moonlight, and my heart thundered so loudly in my chest I was surprised it didn’t set off car alarms.

The night air hit me with a wall of sensations—briny seawater, rotting wood, the distant drone of a motorboat somewhere out in the darkness. Waves lapped gently against the pilings, a peaceful sound that felt obscene against the backdrop of danger.

I stumbled slightly as he guided me into the boathouse, my low heels not designed for navigating weathered dock planks.

The structure smelled of mildew and salt water, decades of humidity trapped in the wooden beams. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting sickly yellow light over what appeared to be an abandoned fishing operation—nets hung like ghostly curtains along one wall, and ancient tackle boxes were stacked haphazardly in a corner.

“Go,” he said, and I felt his gun against the middle of my back.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

This was not how I’d imagined the end of my life.

Who was going to remember me? I owned a tea shop and entertained myself with jigsaw puzzles and by buying clothes for my overweight dog.

I’d never done anything earth shattering or exciting.

I hadn’t travelled except for the few places Patrick had taken me.

How pathetic was my life? I was going to die here and I was so isolated and boring that no one would give two flips.

“Are you deaf or something?” he asked. “I said go.”

Reynolds pushed me into a wooden chair that creaked ominously beneath my weight, and then he produced zip ties from his pocket and secured my wrists to the chair arms. The plastic bit into my skin, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“Are you crying?” he asked, looking slightly alarmed.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just having a bit of an existential crisis.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he said. “I guess I should’ve gone to college.”

“Maybe you would’ve learned not to kidnap people if you had!” I yelled, sounding slightly hysterical.

“Get a grip lady.”

“Let me guess,” I said, not bothering to hide my disgust. “I sound like your ex-wife.”

“Geez,” he said, rubbing the top of his head. He paced the small space, his boots leaving imprints in the dust that covered the floorboards. He seemed agitated, glancing repeatedly at his watch.

“You might as well tell me what you had to do with Elizabeth Calvert’s death,” I said. “Did you kill her?”

“No,” he said, looking much too offended considering my current condition. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Good to know,” I said dryly.

“What are the chances?” he asked, almost to himself.

“What are the chances the new sheriff would come into town and immediately start going through the cold case files? Took me off guard, otherwise I would’ve made them disappear.

But he took them and locked them away. And then all of a sudden I find out he’s deputized you and a group of people old enough to be on the ark. What sense does that make?”

“Considering you’re worried enough to kidnap me,” I said, “It makes a lot of sense to me.”

“I don’t remember you being such a smart-mouth,” he said.

“I think it’s a newly acquired skill.”

“Lucky me,” he said. “Thirty years.” He paced some more. “Thirty years of keeping my mouth shut, of looking the other way. I hadn’t been on the job long back when it happened—and I had a baby on the way and a mortgage I could barely afford.”

My mind flashed to the family photos I’d seen on his desk at the station—grown children now, grandkids. A life built on the foundation of a terrible secret.

“So yeah,” he said. “I went on the take. I don’t regret it either. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. And I was providing for my family. I was a good cop.”

I decided it was prudent I keep my mouth shut at this point.

“But someone found out what I was doing, and that’s when things went sideways,” he continued. “Now I belong to someone else, and I haven’t been free since.”

“That’s why you helped whoever killed Elizabeth?” I asked.

“It wasn’t me that killed her,” he said. “I swear. But yeah. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You helped dispose of her body,” I whispered, the pieces clicking into place. “You helped cover it up.”

He nodded, a muscle working in his jaw. “Like I said, I didn’t have a choice.

I’d taken a lot of money from Harrington Construction to look the other way on some permit violations.

Did some other jobs for them too. Enough to end my career before it began.

He found out about it. I don’t know how, but he did. ”

“He?” I asked, immediately thinking of Clint Harrington and the conversation we’d had.

“Doesn’t matter who,” Reynolds snapped. “What matters is, it happened. And when Sheriff Beckett started digging it all up again, I had to take action. Break into the evidence room, get rid of anything that might lead back to me.” His laugh was bitter.

“Never expected you to find that diary. Or that ledger in the lighthouse.”

“How’d you know about that?” I asked.

“I got a call,” he said. “Nothing stays secret long on Grimm Island.”

“You planted the watch in my house,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Had to keep you off balance. Figured if you were scared enough, you’d back off.” He shrugged. “Should have known that wouldn’t work. You’re as stubborn as those old fossils you run around with.”

“Was that you following me too?” I asked.

He looked confused at that. “I followed you because the sheriff told me to.”

“That wasn’t you in the dark sedan?” I asked.

“Stop trying to confuse me with your nonsense,” he said. “I’ve got a pounding headache.”

“Maybe it’s a brain tumor,” I said.

“You’re a real pain in the behind.”

“So what now?” I asked, working my wrists against the zip ties as subtly as possible. The plastic was unyielding, but I’d noticed a rusty nail protruding from the arm of the chair. If I could position my hand just right…

“Now we wait,” Reynolds said, checking his watch again. “He’ll be here soon and then he can handle the situation.”

My blood ran cold. “You mean kill me.”

“Not my problem what he decides to do with you,” Reynolds said. “I’m washing my hands of the whole thing. You’re the one who kept pushing, kept digging. Some secrets are worth killing for.”

“Like Elizabeth’s secret? What did she know that was worth dying for?” I pressed, my fingertips inching toward the nail.

“Wrong question,” Reynolds replied. “It’s not what she knew. It’s who she threatened.” He moved to the boathouse door, peering out into the darkness. “She would’ve ruined everything.”

Before I could press further, his phone rang, the shrill tone slicing through the tense atmosphere. Reynolds pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His face paled visibly.

When he answered I couldn’t hear the anger in his voice, but I could see it on his face. “Yes, she’s here. No one followed us. I made sure of it.”

I strained to hear the voice on the other end, but could make out nothing beyond a muffled baritone.

“Understood,” he said. “Twenty minutes.” He hung up, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Arrogant jerk.”

“Who was that?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know the answer.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “Then you’re his problem.”

My heart rate kicked up several more notches, jackhammering against my ribs with such force I felt light-headed. I forced down the hysteria that wanted to bubble up and focused instead on the nail that was now pressing against my zip tie. If I could just get the right angle…

A flash of headlights swept across the boathouse window, illuminating Reynolds’ face in a ghastly white glow.

“He’s here,” Reynolds said, and I felt fear like I never had before. Something in his voice made me realize that Reynolds was afraid too. We were both expendable. Loose ends to be tied up.

“False alarm,” he said. “It was just a boat cutting across the water.”

The zip tie at my wrist snapped, and I felt the bite of the nail as it penetrated my skin. I’d worry about tetanus later. For now, I was worried about survival.