Page 20

Claire

Now

I try to scream, but I hear nothing. I can’t tell if it lodged in my throat or if the dull blackness of the mine has swallowed it up.

Fear like nothing I’ve ever experienced courses through me. But beneath that there’s a flicker of understanding. I deserve this. To die the same way Phoebe did, buried alive in this discarded mine.

I can’t ignore this dark logic, but then I think of what Villanueva mentioned the other day: the scratches and nail polish remnants the police had found on the inner door to the mine.

Phoebe didn’t give up without a fight, and I won’t either.

I scramble up the steps with my hands out, the fear eradicating the pain I should feel in every bone of my body from my earlier topple down the stairs.

My breath comes quick, shallow. I imagine the lack of oxygen, the chemicals from decades of disuse that must be lodging in my lungs. Everything feels claustrophobic, the already narrow walls crowding in on me even further.

Until my hands hit something hard, solid. The door.

The metal is heavy beneath my hands, and I brace my body for impact, prepare myself to throw my full force against it.

But the door gives way beneath my palms, and the next thing I know, I’m stumbling outside, my knees dropping into the dirt, chest heaving.

Whoever pushed me down hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind them.

I was only in there for a few seconds, but tears stream down my face as I think of what could have been. How close I’d come to Phoebe’s fate.

I blink hard, the sunlight burning my corneas after the darkness of the mine. And that’s when I see it.

A figure, barely visible over the ridge of the construction area in the direction of the Inn. His back is towards me, that much I can tell, but I squint, trying to make out any defining characteristics.

I inhale sharply. There’s no mistaking who it is. The burly shoulders, the bright red hair glinting in the sun.

Nick Gould.

***

“You’re sure it was him?”

The others stare at me over the Inn’s version of a continental breakfast—dry Weetabix cereal and untoasted bread with a jar of Vegemite.

“There’s no question,” I answer Ellery.

“But why would he do that?” Josh asks around a mouthful of bread.

It’s the question I asked myself the entire walk back to the Inn, once I waited for Nick Gould to disappear from my view. My mindset may have been far from calm, but I was at least of sound enough mind not to confront him on my own.

“I think I must have intruded on him,” I say, presenting the most logical theory I’ve come up with. “Maybe visiting the mine is some sick way for him to relive what he did to Phoebe all those years ago.”

I can tell the others aren’t buying it. They still don’t seem sold on the fact that Nick killed Phoebe. Kyan’s eyes narrow and Adrien’s lips twist upward in something like a grimace. But thankfully—likely given my apparent fragile state—no one contests it.

“Well, we should probably report this to the AFP,” Declan proposes. “I mean, what’s to say he’s not going to try to hurt you or one of us again?”

“No.”

Josh’s response is adamant. His face appears calm, but there’s a sharp line running between his brows.

“I mean,” he says, appearing to catch himself, “does Detective What’s His Name know that we’re back here?”

“No, but if we’re in serious danger, I’m sure they wouldn’t be hung up on the fact we left Sydney,” Ellery pipes up. “Especially if it would help their investigation.”

“I just think we should give this some time.” Josh again. “Making an accusation like this could really fuck up a guy’s life. Even if it is Nick Gould.”

I shoot Josh a curious glance. He’s never seemed too concerned about Nick’s well-being before.

But I don’t challenge it. The fact is, I’d rather not share my suspicions with Villanueva either.

Not only would it mean her catching me in a lie, but I need to buy more time.

I need concrete evidence to get the police to stop investigating.

Thankfully, the topic of conversation changes before anyone else can disagree.

Josh’s phone dings with a news alert, his eyebrows immediately scrunching.

“Shit, have y’all seen this? The wildfires?”

“Yes, Josh,” Adrien says, pedantically. “That’s the whole reason we couldn’t fly back yesterday, remember?”

“No, I mean, I know. But this says they’re evacuating the area around Cullamonjoo, the national park we went to. Where Tomas…” He trails off, covering the rest of his unspoken sentence with a cough. “That’s only a few hours from here.”

Ellery’s eyes widen. “Should we be concerned?”

Her question is met with a throaty scoff emanating from the front desk. I shouldn’t be surprised. Back when we were first here, Randy had a habit of eavesdropping on our private conversations. I guess nothing has changed.

“Something you want to say, mate?” Kyan asks. The question is casual, but there’s a streak of hostility in his tone.

“I wouldn’t right consider myself your mate, mate.

” Randy’s voice takes Kyan’s hostility and raises it ten levels.

It also carries a slight slur. I check my watch.

Barely nine. Looks like Randy starts on the bottle early these days.

“But it figures yous’d be worried about wildfires.

You aren’t cut out for a place like this.

I don’t know why yous bothered coming back.

Did you want to gloat at the rest of us?

Check that we’re still where we belong?”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says, her tone making clear she’s anything but. “Have we done something to offend you?”

This elicits another scoff and a mumble of something unintelligible.

“We just found out our friend was murdered,” Ellery says. “That’s why we’re back.”

“Ah yes, that slut bitch of yours who—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s enough,” Declan says standing up. But Kyan’s beat him to it, knocking his chair over in his haste to get to the front desk. Within steps he’s face-to-face with Randy, and for a moment it seems like he’s going to punch him.

“You can say what you want about us,” Kyan says, his fingers balled into his palms. “But have some respect for the dead.”

Randy sneers. “You didn’t know the first thing about her, mate. You think you were the only one she was screwing back then?”

Kyan lunges forward. Somehow Josh jumps up quick enough to pull him back, but not fast enough to hide the momentary panic that alights Randy’s face.

“Yeah, get your bitch under control,” he says as Josh shoves Kyan towards the door, telling him to cool off. But the embarrassed flush on Randy’s face is evident before he retreats to the stairway.

“Fucking loser,” Kyan mumbles, before shouting at Randy’s back. “Might want to lay off the hard stuff before noon. One of these days it might get you in trouble, Randy .” He says his name like a swear word before slamming the back door behind him. Adrien and Declan rush after him.

“Well, that was…something.” Ellery gives a humorless chuckle as we sit back down at the table.

“Yeah, it really was,” I say inanely, still processing everything that’s happened in the last hour.

“I guess we’re all a little on edge,” Josh considers.

“Well I’m going to go take a shower before any more brawls break out,” Ellery says, cleaning up the leftovers from breakfast and dropping them in the lobby trash can before heading upstairs.

“Never a dull moment in Jagged Rock apparently,” Josh says when it’s just the two of us.

I’m supposed to laugh at his attempt at a joke, but the easy comfort that usually lies between us is absent. My mind keeps snagging on something he said earlier when he was shooting down Declan’s proposal to report Nick Gould to the AFP. Does Detective What’s His Name know that we’re back here?

Sawkins must have been the one to call him, just like he did me, but Villanueva was the one leading everyone’s interviews; that much was confirmed by the others when we debriefed yesterday. And she was the one who told us not to leave the city.

“How was your interview yesterday?” I aim for a casual tone, but Josh’s wrinkled brow confirms it falls short.

“Wow, okay, giving me whiplash with that change of topic.” He chuckles. “It was fine, I guess. Detective Sawkins is a piece of work.”

I nod. I should let it go, but something pricks at me. A suspicion I can’t shake.

“Yeah, he was. What did you think of the other guy? His partner. Detective Anderson?” I try, wondering whether Josh will take the bait.

Josh’s tone is breezy when he answers. “I mean, he seemed a little more down to earth. I feel confident he’s got the investigation under control.”

No flick of his eyes to the left, no wringing of his hands. Nothing to indicate Josh is telling anything but the truth.

“Yeah,” I say, my mouth dry.

“Ellery had a good idea,” he says, standing. “I need to clean myself off after yesterday. Hopefully the water heater in this place can handle two of us showering at the same time. I’ll catch you down here in a few.”

He leaves, but I stay where I am, alone in the lobby. Thinking of everything he just gave away.

He never went to the AFP when he arrived in Australia like he told us yesterday.

Josh is lying.

But why?