Chapter 3 Carrie
CARRIE
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Andy, who hadn’t spoken in a while, said. “But who wants some tea?”
“I would love a cup,” Carrie told him.
A chorus of thank yous followed hers. Carrie's mouth felt desert-dry, her fingers twitching with the need for a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio—or maybe two—to quiet the tremor in her hands. She fixed her gaze on the whorls of the wooden coffee table, tracing each ring with her eyes, desperate for any distraction from the storm raging outside and within her. Every few seconds, Carrie’s mind conjured the image of Maggie's shiny head of curls or Cody's gap-toothed smile, somewhere out there in Key West, too far away for them to reach or do anything.
They were trapped and rendered helpless by Mother Nature.
Her heart clenched like a fist. She could almost see Alisha's face, pale as beach sand, and Trent's jaw locked tight the way it always did when he was keeping panic at bay.
Her jaw clenched tight enough to make her molars ache.
Carrie hadn't even been able to contact Tessa and tell her about Maggie's disappearance.
Nausea rose up in her throat like a bitter tide, and she swallowed hard, taking a deep, deliberate breath that expanded her lungs against her ribs.
She crossed the room to the third sofa—a plush loveseat upholstered in faded blue chenille—and sank into its soft cushions.
Matt followed, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and settled beside her close enough that his knee brushed against hers.
The contact sent a current of warmth up her thigh, an unwelcome distraction in the midst of her worry.
Carrie inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of salt and rain through her nostrils, and commanded her racing thoughts to settle like scattered birds coming to roost. Trent wasn't just any agent—he was one of the Bureau's best, with resources that stretched across state lines and a determination that mirrored her own.
She pictured him now, his broad shoulders squared beneath his dark windbreaker, the Florida downpour plastering his sandy hair to his forehead as he coordinated with Alisha, whose quick mind would be cataloging every detail.
The knot in her stomach loosened a fraction.
She smoothed her palms over the worn denim of her jeans and turned her attention back to Ian, whose weathered face held secrets like the tide pools along Lost Love Cove's shoreline.
Perhaps here, in this room heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, they could untangle at least one mystery—the labyrinth of property deeds and the shadow of Trevor's possible betrayal.
Andy rose from his armchair with a soft creak of wood, the movement stirring the heavy air in the room. His footsteps faded toward the kitchen as Carrie leaned forward, her elbows pressing into the worn denim covering her thighs.
She turned back to Ian, whose weathered face had gone still as stone beneath his silver-flecked beard.
"Let's talk about these properties." Her voice dropped an octave, steady as a detective's in an interrogation room, and her hazel eyes pinned Ian like butterfly wings to a collection board.
"How much do you know about the sale of Matt's house? "
A muscle twitched at the side of Ian's jaw, creating a ripple beneath his weathered skin like a stone dropped in still water.
His long fingers—tanned and spotted from decades under the Florida sun—curled into loose fists on his lap.
For a moment, he studied them as if the answers were etched into his lifelines before lifting his head with the heaviness of a man carrying an unbearable truth.
When his eyes finally met hers, they were the faded blue of a storm-washed sky, haunted by shadows.
"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's what ultimately killed Trevor. "
Ian's words fell like pebbles into still water, each one sending ripples of shock through Carrie's body.
She felt the chill start at her scalp and travel down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
His drawn face, half-shadowed in the dim light, bore the hollow-eyed look of a man who'd carried a terrible secret for too long.
Carrie leaned forward, the chenille upholstery rough against her palms. "Are you implying," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "that someone killed Trevor?"
"Not outright," Ian said, holding her gaze with eyes that had gone flat as sea glass.
"Trevor's health had been failing for years by then.
The chemo had hollowed him out—left him gaunt, his once-robust frame whittled down to sinew and bone.
The cancer went into remission, but his heart.
.." Ian's fingers pressed against his own chest, the handcuffs clinking.
"His heart never recovered. Some days, just climbing the stairs to the office left him gasping like a beached fish. "
"Yes." Carrie's voice caught as she nodded, her fingernails digging half-moons into her palms. "I know what the cancer did to him.
I was on the phone with Lori almost every night back then, hearing how he'd waste away one week, then rally the next.
Made it hard to know what he was capable of, even at the end. "
"I begged Trevor to leave that house sale to Dick.
" Ian's voice cracked as his fist came down on his thigh.
"Dick was the only one who really understood the labyrinth of Lost Love Cove's deals.
It wasn't even ours to sell, as all the land on the cove was Dick’s domain.
But Trevor—" He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.
"Trevor's eyes lit up like I hadn't seen since before the cancer when Matt's offer came in.
That place had been rotting for three years, windows broken, roof sagging, raccoons living in the walls.
Delia's mind had gone in those last years.
She'd wander the property in her nightgown, chasing away anyone who tried to help, until the day she passed away. "
"She was rich, why didn't she just hire someone?" Oscar piped up from his corner of the sofa, his lanky frame shifting forward as he rubbed absently at the bandage on his leg, eyes bright with curiosity despite the shadows under them.
"Her memory was going by then," Ian answered, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on his knee.
"Some days she'd recognize you, call you by name, offer you sweet tea.
Other days, she'd grab her shotgun if you stepped on the porch, convinced you were there to steal her mother's silver.
The paranoia came in waves—she'd tape her windows shut, change locks weekly, bury cash in coffee cans throughout the property.
Even had three different attorneys because she was certain each one was plotting with the others. "
“That’s just whacky,” Oscar said.
Ian nodded, his silver-flecked beard catching the dim light as he turned back toward Carrie and Matt. She moved into a more comfortable position, the cushion dipping beneath her weight.
"So Trevor took the sale without Dick's knowledge?
" Carrie’s voice lilted with cautious hope, while tiny lines formed between her brows.
Something fluttered in her chest—the fragile wings of possibility that her friend's husband might be vindicated after all—and she pressed her palm flat against her thigh to steady herself.
“No. Well, sort of, at first.” Ian’s head bobbed. “It was a slow month for charters, so I was in the office and helped him with it,” Ian confessed.
“Where was Dick?” Matt asked.
"He had taken his girlfriend on a European trip," Ian's voice tightened like a fishing line pulled taut.
"They were gallivanting through the vineyards of Tuscany while we were drowning in paperwork.
Trevor finally tracked him down at some five-star hotel in Florence, and Dick—lounging by a pool, no doubt—told Trevor to get the process started with Delia's place, promising he'd swoop in to finalize everything when he returned, but Cindy, his assistant, would be able to help. "
“So Trevor, with your help, took over the sale of the property,” Carrie prompted.
Ian's gaze drifted to the window before returning to Carrie.
"Trevor's assistant, Cindy, managed the initial paperwork for Matt's purchase.
Then she went on maternity leave, right when the transaction was at its most critical stage.
" He rubbed his thumb across his knuckles.
"Trevor stepped in and found discrepancies.
Small things at first—a missing signature here, a decimal point there.
" The handcuffs clinked as Ian shifted in his seat.
"The sale of Matt’s house closed before Trevor could untangle it all, but those irregularities haunted him.
He spent nights poring over twenty years of documents we'd entrusted to Dick since we were barely out of college.
" Ian's voice cracked. "Trevor assumed I was complicit.
I wasn't. When he finally showed me what he'd uncovered.
.." He shook his head, eyes hollow. "The worst revelation was about Lost Love Cove itself.
None of us owned our properties outright.
They were all leased land. And with Delia's death, everything had fallen into legal limbo while the courts searched for her heir. "
“The heir would be Cheryl Winters?” Matt clarified.
“Yes,” Ian confirmed.
“And you have no idea where she is?” Carrie asked, her brow furrowing.