Page 49 of Tourist Season

“ C ORPSIE THE C OPILOT, REPORTING FOR duty,” I say as I shove my crafted corpse into the rear seat of the Pocket Rocket.

My refurbished soapbox racer might not be the most elaborate contraption, but Corpsie looks pretty badass with her goggles and pigtails and the bloody slash across her throat.

I release the elastic bands around the long ribbons attached to the wands that I stitched to her palms, unfurling the colorful strips of fabric to rest them on the back of the car so they can trail in our wake when we hurtle down the hill.

“It’s very … lifelike. Or deathlike, I guess …” Nolan says, his brow furrowed as he pokes a finger into her silicone cheek. His eyes slide to mine, but the crease between his brows remains, an echo of worry etched in his skin.

“But you wouldn’t know anything about that, right?

” I wink, and regret it immediately. I probably look deranged, some unhinged winking murder woman with a corpse mannequin copilot stuffed into the back seat of her soapbox racer.

I resist the urge to look down at my retro aeronaut outfit, a white button-up shirt complemented with an old pair of Arthur’s pleated pants and suspenders. I look super hot .

… I don’t look super hot. At all .

Nolan’s frown deepens as he scrutinizes my soapbox racer before his gaze pans across the competitors ahead of me in line. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“I tested it on Arthur’s driveway. It seemed fine.”

“The driveway?” His glare becomes brutally cold. “That’s not really the same as the course. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

I scoff, looking down the twisting road that leads toward the glittering sea in the distance, the sidewalk flanked by onlookers.

A prickle of unease dances along my ribs as I take in the steep hill before me, the angle of which seems so much worse when I lower myself into the cockpit.

My bravado is entirely forced when I shrug and say, “No one has died yet.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence in me.”

“There are straw bales at the sharper bends and at the finish line. I’m sure tourists will buffer me if anything else goes awry. You can stand at the second curve and we can test it out, if you like?”

“Just … be careful,” Nolan says, leveling me with a hard stare, the kind of look that leaves you with no room to move. Even when I peel my focus away, I feel him. Somehow, his shadow is warmer than the sun. There’s a heat in it that pulls me back.

“Why are you so worried?” I ask.

“I’m not.”

“You sure about that?”

He doesn’t answer. I square my shoulders and grip the steering wheel, even though there are five competitors left to go before me.

When I dart a swift glance in his direction, I glean nothing from the stoic expression painted across his face.

I can’t decipher his emotions from his hardened features.

It could be apprehension I see, or it could be anger.

It could be regret. Whatever it is, it’s enormously frustrating.

Maybe it would be easier if I threw my own insecurities out into the open.

Like, What if I’m making the wrong decision to trust you?

Or, I don’t understand your motivations, and that scares me .

But it’s not so easy to step into the light when you’ve been hiding in a sanctuary of shadows.

The silence stretches so long that I land on the only viable interpretation of Nolan’s inscrutable expression, that maybe he’s worried about what might happen to his book and weapons if I’m injured on the course.

I’m tempted to say something sharp, something meant to wound.

Maybe I just want a reaction. To cut beneath the flesh and see if he bleeds.

But in the end, I just say, “Everything will be fine. Just go and get a beer and chill, or something. You’re freaking me out. ”

He glances around us. Swallows. “We need to talk later. About Sam. I—”

“You ready, Harp?”

Lukas strides past the nearby competitors, a wide smile plastered to his face.

He’s wearing a matching outfit with suspenders over a white button-up shirt and old-fashioned, pleated brown pants, a set of goggles dangling from his neck.

He turns enough that we can read the words Pocket Rocket Corpse Crew embroidered on his back.

I force an untroubled smile. “I hope you’re ready to see Sarah Winkle’s face when we win that fucking cake. She’s going to be so pissed.”

“That’s the spirit. Nothing’s a better motivator than spite.” Lukas comes to a stop next to Nolan, offering a handshake that he accepts. “You helping to crew for the Pocket Rocket?”

“Nah, he’s going to grab a beer and cheer from the sidelines,” I say before he can answer. “I think we’re covered.”

Nolan seems to hesitate, leaning away while his feet stay rooted to the ground. He looks at Lukas before he wishes me luck and walks away. I watch as he slips into the crowd, and it isn’t until he disappears that I feel like I’m able to take a full breath.

“Everything okay?” Lukas asks as he comes up beside me, readying to move the wooden block wedged beneath my front tires. My cheeks heat as he scrutinizes my face.

“Yeah. All good.”

“That Nolan guy seems … intense.”

I look in Nolan’s direction, though I can’t see him through the crowd.

Lukas’s words seem to hang in my thoughts like barbed hooks.

Intense . I wonder if that’s what other people see too when Nolan looks at me.

Someone intense . Maybe dangerous. And even without his belongings in my possession, maybe they’d look to him if something happened to me.

Maya saw our interaction in her shop. She could raise questions.

Lukas has seen his dark edge, even if he doesn’t understand it.

Nolan can be charming, sure, but only when he wants to be.

And it’s the first time I really realize that the damning evidence I have against Nolan doesn’t just keep me safe in case he suddenly decides to change course and make good on his plans to kill me. It also puts him in danger.

“He’s just really worried I’m going to crash or something,” I finally say, buckling myself in and clipping the harness into my seat belt. “He’s fine.”

“Something going on there with you two?”

“Going on …?”

“You know. Going on .”

Maybe? I don’t know? Does swing sex count …? “No.”

Lukas smiles. “Okay. I just heard you had dinner at Nightfog, that’s all.”

I roll my eyes, blush creeping into my cheeks. I love this town, but the locals are nosy as hell. “So? It’s just food.”

“At Nightfog . You know as much as anyone else that’s the date place.”

“If you’re hoping to annoy me into rolling faster down the hill, it’s working.

” I settle the retro aviator goggles over my eyes as Lukas puts his hands up in defeat, though his smile is one of teasing satisfaction.

I let a few minutes pass. Lukas strikes up a conversation with a few nearby tourists who are also waiting for their turn, but I don’t join in, my attention consumed by my blossoming fears.

It’s not until the next competitor heads down the hill and Lukas rolls me a space closer to the starting line that I finally say, “You know that bag that I gave you to put somewhere safe?”

A shadow falls across his features. “Yeah …?”

“Where is it?”

Lukas frowns at the crowd around us, as though he knows it’s important enough that he shouldn’t let anyone hear him. “It’s somewhere you would never look.”

He might not know everything about me. About how I keep this town safe. What that takes. What I’m capable of. But Lukas does know enough about my past to know where I would never, ever want to go.

“In the basement at the main house?” I whisper, my heart already climbing into my throat at the mere idea of searching it out.

He nods once. “In a box on the shelves next to the boiler.”

I nod and look at my hands, my fingers tensing and releasing from the steering wheel, the skin over my knuckles bleaching.

Maybe I’m about to make a big mistake. Or perhaps that risk is just the price of taking at least one step into the light.

“If anything happens to me, destroy it. Make sure no one ever finds it. Okay?”

Lukas’s brow furrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Promise me?”

It takes him a long second to consider it. A Lancaster vow is never delivered lightly. But finally, he says, “I promise.”

“And our next contender coming down the pike is Harper Starling,” Bert booms over the speakers.

Our connection breaks, both of us looking toward the makeshift tower where Bert and Bob are sitting.

“She’s piloting the Pocket Rocket, in her interpretation of Amelia Earhart, with Corpsie the Copilot riding shotgun.

” The crowd snickers and cheers. “Are you ready, Miss Starling?”

I give him the thumbs-up with one of Corpsie’s hands.

“Let’s count her down, folks,” he booms. “Five … Four …”

Lukas pulls the plank of wood from in front of my tires. The brakes groan against the weight of the wood and metal.

“Three … two …”

Lukas jogs to the back of my cart. The fuselage shifts as his hands land on the back edge.

“ One .”

There’s a bang as the starting pistol fires and I release the brake.

Lukas gives the car a powerful shove. Onlookers cheer.

My heart thunders. The wheels whir as I sail down the road, quickly gathering momentum on the thin bicycle tires.

Bert’s announcer voice fades into the background as he narrates the race over the speakers mounted along the route.

I’m so focused on making it around the first corner without tipping over that I almost forget about the smoke canisters Lukas installed beneath the wings, and I grin as I hit the button.

Smoke hisses behind me and the crowd cheers.

I look over my shoulder at the trail of blue fog in my wake and cackle at Corpsie, with her arms flailing in the wind and ribbons flapping behind her.