Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marked in the Fog
Cass and Harmony walked, neither of them wanting to be locked inside. They reached a curve where the road narrowed, flanked by trees bent from years of wind and too little rain to strengthen their roots. Fog still hung heavy, like something alive.
A sudden sound broke the quiet—a low engine, fast, too fast for this narrow curve.
Headlights tore through the mist.
“Move!” Cass shouted, grabbing Harmony’s arm.
The car barreled toward them. At the last second, it swerved, the side mirror clipped Harmony’s sleeve, and jerked her sideways. Cass dragged her into the brush. They hit the wet earth hard as the vehicle roared past, vanishing into the fog.
“What the hell!” Cass gasped. She scrambled upright and looked at Harmony. “Are you okay?”
Harmony’s heart hammered. “I’m fine,” she managed, though her hands shook as she stared at her torn sleeve. Her composure wasn’t as steady as usual. “That wasn’t an accident.”
Cass stared down the empty road as a shudder rippled through her. “Do you think that was the killer?”
Harmony’s voice was shaking. “I think it was a warning.”
Cass stood on shaky legs, mud streaked across her jeans. “A warning for what?”
Harmony looked into the thickening fog, eyes narrowing. “Maybe, to stop asking questions.”
Or maybe it had nothing to do with the murders at all. Maybe it was something else entirely, someone who’d decided her curiosity was a personal inconvenience. Catalina had never lacked for grudges.
Cass’s voice broke into a whisper. “Will you stop?”
Harmony’s shoulders stiffened. “No.”
They both stood there for a long moment, rain misting down again, faint but cold.
The fog closed in even more tightly around them, soft and thick as clouds.
Somewhere far below, the sea hissed against the rocks—patient, beckoning, waiting.
Somewhere above them, an engine hummed, then cut out—so faint it could’ve been imagination, or someone idling on the ridge, just watching.
“Harmony, what if this means you’ve been marked?” Cass asked.
“Maybe it means we’ve both been marked,” Harmony said.
A tear slid down Cass’s cheek. “I want to leave now.”
Harmony gave her a hug. “We’re not allowed to. We’ve been placed on lockdown, remember?”
“They can’t make us stay if we’re unsafe,” Cass said, panic sharpening her tone.
“I don’t know if anywhere is safe, Cass. We just need to stick together.”
“We need to report this,” Cass insisted. “Right now.”
“I don’t know how much good it’ll do,” Harmony said.
“It’ll make me feel better,” Cass said. “And maybe we stay off the narrow roads for a while.”
Harmony let out a short chuckle as they limped forward. Cass stared at her, confused at how Harmony could laugh after nearly being run off a cliff. But what else could they do? They could let the fear control them—or they could carry on. Those were the only two options left.
They walked back into town in silence, fog muting everything. At the sheriff’s station, they filed the report and left it for Durante—who wasn’t there. Deputy Ciscel watched them a little too closely as they left, like he was filing away who walked in shaken and who walked out breathing again.
His gaze lingered not just on Harmony’s face, but on the tear in her sleeve, on her hands, on the mud streaking her jeans—memorizing the exact shape of her fear. There was nothing reassuring in it. It felt less like protection and more like inventory.
Harmony filed him away in return. She might not know his first name, but she’d remember the way he looked at her like a problem to solve instead of a person to keep safe.
Neither of them wanted to return to the cottage, so they headed to The Hotel Atwater.
Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of varnish and salt air, with bamboo-legged chairs and a worn safe in the corner—its massive steel door stamped Wrigley 1906, too heavy to feel real, now repurposed to hold board games for tourists.
They found Durante speaking with several people in the lobby. He turned the moment they entered. Harmony could tell he already knew they’d filed a report. Of course, he knew. His people were watching all of them.
For a flicker of a second, Harmony saw it—the way Durante’s eyes slid past her to the doorway where Ciscel stood, then narrowed the tiniest bit before smoothing over. The deputy wasn’t just watching suspects. He was watching his own men.
“Take a walk with me, Harmony,” Durante said. There were no greetings. They weren’t friends, and didn’t need to pretend they were.
Cass squeezed Harmony’s hand, then sank onto a couch, exhausted. Harmony suspected they’d be spending far less time alone at the cottage she’d once loved so much.
She followed the sergeant through the Hotel Atwater’s softly lit hallways, the air thick with that unsettling blend of fresh renovation layered over a century of someone else’s memories.
The Atwater had always been tied to the Wrigleys—built in 1920, named for Helen Atwater Wrigley—even after its recent facelift, nothing about it felt new, which Harmony loved.
The wallpaper alone, that distinctive coral-and-leaf pattern the hotel was so proud of, made the walls feel as if they were leaning in, listening.
Framed photographs of the island’s early days hung in perfect rows, but Harmony could never shake the feeling that the eyes in those pictures followed her, the way people do when they recognize something familiar—something dangerous—in a stranger’s face.
Beneath the carpet, she imagined the original floorboards, uneven and restless, shifting with the weight of everything the hotel had absorbed—secrets, confessions, quiet breakdowns behind closed doors.
Hotel Atwater pretended to be bright and welcoming, but Harmony sensed its true nature immediately. The building didn’t feel haunted. It felt aware, watching the way the island watched: quiet, patient, absorbing every misstep.
The Wrigleys had left behind more than legacy and fortune. The walls of this hotel remembered every person who’d ever stepped inside, hoping the island might help them forget who they really were.
One thing Harmony appreciated about the ghosts that walked the island was the fact that they were silent . . . they didn’t ask questions.
“You and Cass were nearly struck by a vehicle?” Durante asked.
“Yep, about an hour ago.”
“Do you know what kind of vehicle?”
“It was older. It happened fast, and it was so foggy we didn’t get a good look.”
“Big? Small? Truck? SUV? Car?”
“It was a smaller truck, I think, but I can’t even say what color it was.”
Durante nodded, making a note in his weathered notebook. “Okay, a small truck.”
“Maybe a jeep,” she added as she thought about it.
“There’s a big difference between a truck and a jeep,” he told her.
“The fog was thick, the lights were bright, and we were looking at the ground,” Harmony said.
“Do you want us to find this person?” Durante asked.
“No,” Harmony deadpanned. “I’d really prefer someone shove me off the cliff next time.”
“There are a lot of suspects. I’m simply trying to narrow it down,” he said.
“That’s comforting.”
“I’m not a counselor,” he said, zero apology in his voice.
They stepped out onto a small balcony. Harmony breathed easier in the open air.
“What did your note say?” Durante asked.
“You saw me.”
“Do you have any idea of who you might’ve seen?”
“I see everyone. And everyone sees something. I don’t know who’s doing this.”
Durante studied her. “Since you write about people for a living . . . what do you see when you look at the people on this island?”
“I see fear. A whole lot of fear,” Harmony said. She paused. “Except for the killer who has no fear and no remorse.”
“And you can’t figure it out by looking in people’s eyes?” he pushed.
“Everyone on this island has secrets in their eyes, Sergeant. They all have a story. They all have guilt.”
He gazed at her for several heartbeats. “Does that include you?”
She smiled. “Of course, it includes me. That’s why this island called to me so many years ago. It’s why it still calls to me. Did you ever watch those old Christmas cartoons? Catalina is the Island of Misfit Toys.” She chuckled softly. “I’m just one of many cast-out things waiting for a home.”
“Being good with words doesn’t help me solve this case,” he said.
“I’m not supposed to solve it. That’s your job. I’m just a spectator in this show like everyone else.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you’re as innocent as you want people to believe.”
Harmony laughed. “I’ve never claimed innocence. I have scars that the world doesn’t get to see. The difference between most people and me is that I get to write new stories. I can create any world I want. Then I don’t have to live in reality.”
“Well, you’re in reality now. How would you end this story?”
She grinned. “I can’t tell you that. If I did, it would ruin the ending.”
He studied her again. “I will figure this out,” he said, the words a warning.
“I have no doubt,” she said, meeting his eyes head-on.
They walked back to the lobby in silence. There was nothing left to say. On Catalina, everyone was guilty of something. Some sins were simply darker than others.
Cass sat curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket and holding a hot cup. She was still trembling. Mary sat beside her, eyes sharp.
“I’d like to speak with you next?” Durante said to Cass.
Harmony stepped in front of her cousin. “Do you want a private room to talk to him?” Harmony asked.
“I don’t care who hears. I have nothing to hide. I’d rather stay right here under this cover,” she said.
Durante nodded. He didn’t sit.
“How fast was the vehicle going?”
“Way too fast. Harm’s sleeve got ripped. We almost died. If we hadn’t moved—if the car had been three more inches to the left—we’d have been pushed over the cliff.”
A tear slid down Cass’s cheek. She lifted her cup and took a sip. Mary reached over and rubbed her leg. Cass gave her a thankful look. Mary sat back and glared at Durante.