Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I woke up a little after six on Sunday, and after a long, tense night, morning felt like relief.
I needed to get out of bed and get my imagination under control.
I didn't know what I had really heard last night.
Another guest might have been in pain or had gotten bad news.
Maybe someone had knocked a lamp off the side table, causing a crash.
Rolling out of bed, I checked my phone. Tessa hadn't responded to my late-night text, which meant she'd been asleep while I'd been wide awake and terrified. That was Tessa—she could sleep through anything, her conscience clear, her mind unburdened by the what-ifs that constantly plagued me.
It was too early for breakfast and yoga, but I needed to move, to burn off my lingering anxiety.
Running had always been my escape, the one thing that cleared my head when everything else felt chaotic, so I pulled on a pair of warm leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and a jacket.
The temperature was in the low forties, so I also pulled out my running gloves and a beanie to cover my ears.
Tucking my phone and room key into the zippered pocket of my jacket, I left the room.
The inn was very quiet as I made my way downstairs. No sign of Ellen or Ray or anyone else. I slipped out the front door as quietly as I could, pulling it shut behind me with barely a click.
Outside, the fog was just beginning to lift.
My breath puffed out in white clouds as I started down the driveway, my muscles protesting the cold before gradually warming up.
The rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement was soothing and meditative.
Left, right, left, right. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. This I could control. This made sense.
I jogged down the path that ran along the road, past the lighthouse that stood sentinel on the bluff, its light still sweeping across the gray-blue water, past the large building with a sign that bore my last name, Clarke and Sons Boatworks.
I wondered if my father had worked there before he'd left town to start a new life far removed from here.
But my father was the least of my concerns right now.
Maybe at some point, I'd figure out why he'd left, but my primary focus had to be Natalie.
We needed information for the podcast—something to keep listeners engaged so we could grow the audience and attract more sponsors.
Following the path into town, I ran past a quiet harbor with a few fishing boats heading out to sea.
The shops were dark, the streets empty, and the eerie feeling crept back into my brain.
I told myself it was just early. This wasn't a ghost town.
It was a thriving small coastal town that I would come back to visit later in the day.
Turning around, I headed back up the hill.
I was about a hundred yards away from the inn when I saw a sandy path leading down to the beach, and I decided to take a detour.
The path was steep and rocky, winding between trees and scrubby vegetation.
When I finally broke through onto the sand, I stopped, hands on my hips, catching my breath.
The tide was out, leaving a wide expanse of beach below the bluffs. The sand was wet and dark, scattered with seaweed and shells, and while the cove provided some protection from the wind, the ocean beyond was wild and rugged, and not at all inviting.
As I looked away from the sea, I saw a man by the rocks at the base of the bluff.
He was tall and fit, wearing dark jeans and a black jacket.
His gaze was turned upward, and he appeared to be studying the cliffs or the inn above us with an intensity that seemed a bit out of place, as if he wasn't just a curious tourist.
He turned suddenly, and our eyes met across thirty feet of beach.
I froze. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then, because standing there staring at him felt ridiculous, I gave a small wave.
He moved toward me.
"Good morning," I said. "I didn't expect to see anyone down here so early."
He studied me before responding, his gaze sharp and assessing. "You're lucky the tide is out. This beach isn't always accessible. This is the first day I've been able to get down here." Pausing, he added, "Are you staying at the inn?"
"Yes. I got in last night."
The words were out before I could think better of them. I didn't know this man. He didn't need to know my business. But something about the directness of his question had pulled a direct answer from me.
"What about you?" I asked.
"No. But I'm close by." He paused, then said, "Aren't you nervous about staying there?"
"What do you mean?"
"Women seem to go missing after staying at the inn."
My mouth went dry. "Women?" I repeated. "Are you talking about Natalie Warren? What do you know about her?"
"I know she disappeared."
"That was after she checked out," I said, repeating the official line I'd read in every article about the case.
"So I've heard." His tone suggested he didn't believe it for a second.
My investigative instincts kicked in, overriding my unease. "Do you think something else happened?"
"I do."
The certainty in his voice made my stomach clench. I stared at him, trying to read his face, understand what game he was playing. "If that's true, have you said anything? Have you spoken to the sheriff?"
"A lot of people have come here asking questions. No one is talking."
"Who are you? Why are you so interested in Natalie Warren's disappearance? Did you know her?"
"I didn't." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you? Because her name came right off your lips."
I'd been too eager, too quick to show my hand. "I didn't know her, but I heard about her disappearance."
"What's your name?"
I hesitated. Giving him my name felt like giving him power, but refusing would only make me look more suspicious. "Cassidy. And you?"
"Tyler."
"It doesn't sound like you live here."
"No, I don't."
A wave crashed closer than I'd expected, and I jumped back as cold water splashed across my feet. "Damn!" The icy shock penetrated my running shoes instantly, soaking my socks, chilling my feet.
"You should never turn your back on the sea, Cassidy." Tyler's voice carried a warning that felt like it extended beyond ocean waves. "At least not around here."
As I met his gaze, I became acutely aware of our isolation. If something were to happen to me right now, who would know? The calm I'd found during my run evaporated like the morning fog, replaced by creeping dread.
"I should go back," I said, but I didn't move because he was standing between me and the beach path.
"You should go back, pack your bag, and leave," he said, his tone grim.
"Are you trying to scare me?"
"I would hate to see anyone else go missing."
Anyone else. There it was again. That plural. "Wait a second. You said women. Did someone besides Natalie disappear?"
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and his jaw tightened. "I have to take this. Be careful, Cassidy. More careful than you think you need to be."
He turned away to answer his call, and I seized the opportunity to leave. I hurried past him and started up the steep path toward the inn, my pulse racing from our conversation.
Had he been warning me? Threatening me? Was he involved in Natalie's disappearance, or was he just another person who'd become obsessed with the case?
And what had he meant about other women going missing?
When I reached the inn, I felt breathless and unsettled. Ray Connors was outside the inn, high up on a ladder, nailing boards over a broken window on the third floor. My pulse jumped again. Was that my room?
As Ray climbed down the ladder, I approached, my wet shoes squishing with each step. He noticed me, his expression unchanging. Not friendly or unfriendly. Just... blank.
"What happened to the window?" I asked. "Is that my room?"
"No, not your room." His voice was curt, dismissive. "A guest had an accident. Knocked something into the window."
I wanted to ask, but Ray had already collapsed the ladder, slung it over his shoulder, and walked away. My mind raced with more questions. Was the guest who'd broken the window the same one I'd heard crying through the vent?
I pushed the questions aside and headed into the inn, telling myself I was overreacting. I needed to take a shower and get on with the day.
Back in my room, I stood under the hot water for a long time, trying to shake off not only the physical cold but also the unsettling conversation with Tyler.
Who was he, and why did he care so much about what was happening at the inn?
His words echoed through my head: Women seem to go missing after staying at the inn.
Women. Not just Natalie. But who else? Why hadn't my research turned up other disappearances?
Unless they hadn't been reported. Or they'd been reported in other jurisdictions, no one connecting their disappearances to Stonecross.
Still thinking about that, I dried off and dressed in yoga pants and a tank top under a soft gray sweater.
I needed to talk to Tessa. She'd either reassure me I was overthinking everything, or she'd be as alarmed as I was.
Either way, I couldn't sit alone in this room, trying to make sense of everything by myself.
Tessa opened her door, a bright smile on her face. She looked pretty, her blonde hair shiny in the light, her blue eyes filled with energy. "There you are! I was just about to come find you. How did you sleep?"
I almost laughed at the question. "Not great."
Her smile faded. "That's too bad. Couldn't stop thinking? Or was the bed uncomfortable?"
"The bed was fine, but the night was not. Can I come in?"
"Of course." She stepped aside, and I entered the garden-view room, which was slightly larger than mine and did indeed have a spectacular bathtub visible through the bathroom door.