Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ISLA
My alarm goes off the next morning at five am and I peel my eyes open.
For a moment, I’m in that strange space between waking and dreaming where nothing feels quite real. Then someone shifts on my bed beside me. Reality hits me like a sunrise. A smile breaks across my face. Caden is here. Caden is staying.
I quickly shut off my alarm and turn to look at him. He’s got one eye open, narrowed in a slit. When he sees me, he throws his arm over his face.
“So early,” he says, his voice muffled.
I chuckle and kiss his wrist. “The life of a baker,” I say. “Can you handle it?”
“Let me think,” Caden says. Then his other arm darts out and scoops around my waist, pulling me into him. “Yes,” he murmurs, kissing me. “I can handle it. But I’m going to get you an automated coffeemaker. So at least I’ll have caffeine ready and waiting for us.”
I can’t stop the thrill that runs through me at his words, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. Us .
“I’ll get the water boiling,” I say.
“Wait,” Caden says. “Let’s go to Everton instead.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “We have an espresso machine, you know. I can make you a latte.”
“Now you’re just showing off,” I tell him. But a latte does sound amazing. And we need to get the things from his freezer anyway.
I take a quick shower then throw on a pair of old jeans and a Joan Jett tee. I grab a small duffel and pack a cute sundress with a cherry print and a pair of red strappy sandals. I’ll change for the festival at the Thorn once I’ve finished baking.
“Walk of shaming it to your house at five o’clock in the morning was not something I had on my summer bingo card,” I admit.
Caden kisses my temple as we leave my apartment. “You look beautiful.”
I roll my eyes but my insides are doing backflips. We get into my car and I drive us to Everton Estate. It looks majestic in the morning sunlight, the vines casting intricate shadows across the grass, the rosebushes that line the front of the house in full bloom. I can’t help thinking how different things are from the last time I drove to Everton early in the morning, all those years ago. We head to the kitchen, and I check on the dough while Caden makes us coffees. We sit at the island, and he pulls out his phone.
“Sorry,” he says. “I missed a lot of texts yesterday while we were otherwise engaged.”
“Business stuff?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s a lot to organize. Plus, we’ve got to get Sebastian and Esme here as quickly as possible. I’m going to oversee their visa process myself.”
Caden told me everything last night over dinner. The most shocking part was the fact that Russell Everton seems to now be encouraging Caden to date me. How times change. I smile at him over my coffee cup. I like this house in the morning. It’s quiet and comfortable. It almost feels like a home. The kitchen is large and pleasant, with a clear view of the bay, the lush green lawn, and Marion’s garden.
I glance at Caden and he’s frowning at his phone.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, quickly stowing it in his pocket and trying to look casual.
“Caden,” I say. “What is it?”
“Daisy’s been texting me about…it’s just…” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I have a flash of my fingers twining through it last night as I exploded in an orgasm and have to rip my thoughts back to the present. “She had already done a lot of prep for the wedding,” he says. “Ordered the wines Lucille Richards wanted, rented extra tables and chairs, that sort of thing. So now I’m trying to help her figure out what to do about it all.”
I lean my elbows on the island and sigh. “Crap,” I say.
“Lucille demanded back every penny she put down and we decided not to fight her on it. Didn’t seem worth it.”
I hate that this is putting Everton out. That seems unfair.
Suddenly, an idea comes to me.
“Caden,” I say. “What if you didn’t have to waste all that preparation?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You could use the lodge to have your announcement party,” I say eagerly. “Celebrate you taking Everton in this new direction.”
Caden’s eyes widen. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
“Oh, come on. It’s a great idea!”
Suddenly, I’m swept off my stool and Caden is whirling me around the kitchen. I laugh as he kisses my neck, pressing me against the wall.
“I love you,” he says softly.
My breath catches in my throat. “I love you too,” I say. The truth of my words take root deep inside me, spreading through my chest and planting themselves in the pit of my stomach. The rightness of them is undeniable.
I am in love with Caden Everton. I always have been. And I always will be.
“Listen,” he says, releasing me. “Dad is definitely up by now. Do you mind if I go tell him? We’ll want to get the ball rolling since it’s next weekend. But I think this will be perfect. You’re a genius. And we’ll invite the whole town—Mom would have wanted it that way. This is something Magnolia Bay needs to be a part of.”
My heart swells up with pride. I place my hand on his cheek. “You sound just like her,” I say softly.
He leans into my palm. “Be right back,” he says. “Then we’ll head to Thorn and get working on those croissants.”
It feels like a different universe, Caden helping me bake, preparing for my own booth at the festival. I’m giddy. I’m so light I’m shocked I haven’t sprouted wings. I want to be outside, feel the air on my skin and hear the birds singing their morning songs. I take the French doors out to the back terrace. I remember this view from the party, when I walked to the gazebo on the end of the dock. I make my way down the wide stone steps, skirting the pool, then onto the lawn, my tennis shoes getting damp with morning dew. I stop as I reach Marion’s little pottery shed.
I have the sudden urge to look inside. I’ve spent so much time reading her autopsy, looking at the crime scene photos, tracking down pieces of this puzzle with Caden. This shed feels like the crucible, the place where it all began. Or ended. I want to see it for myself.
I turn the copper knob on the teal painted door and step inside. Everything is covered in dust. Cobwebs hang from the ceilings and cover the huge kiln by the large window that looks out over the bay. There are some recent-looking smudges and footprints and I wonder if the police came in here again.
I can still smell the faint trace of clay, sharp and earthy. There is a bookshelf with various knickknacks and photographs, and one wall boasts some of her work, mugs and plates and such.
It feels like walking into a mausoleum. I look at her pottery wheel, untouched since the morning she died. I glance down at the spot where I know her body was and shiver.
I don’t think Marion would have wanted this shed to become a tomb. I think she’d want it to be used.
One of the photographs catches my eye and I walk over to the bookshelf. It’s a much younger Marion and Russell. The photographer caught them both mid-laugh. The joy that emanates from this photo is palpable. I don’t think I’ve seen Russell Everton smile, much less laugh. It makes him look a bit like Caden. I can see the similarities in his mouth and eyes.
I walk around the space, taking everything in, trying to see if there’s something else the police missed. But what? It’s all knickknacks and clay vases and stuff. Nothing that screams secret stalker. I have an approximation of where the killer must have been standing—almost directly in the center of the shed, about five paces back from Marion’s pottery wheel. I set myself there and look around. Everything seems normal. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find.
In front of me is the pottery wheel. To my right are shelves of Marion’s work. To my left, the bookshelf. It’s large and sturdy, reaching up to the ceiling, like something out of a different century where furniture was built to last for decades. There’re some signs of age at the corners, chips or stains. The top and bottom of the bookshelf have been beautifully carved, scrolled into shapes that remind me a little of the detailing on the dressers at the Thorn, like the one Caden is fixing up for my booth. Two arched cutouts that come to a point at the center, like an elongated heart, leaving a small space between the curve and the floor.
A glance at the dust around the base of the bookshelf tells me it hasn’t been moved. And while the cutouts are small, I know things can get under there. I lost an earring under one of those dressers when I was changing the sheets in one of the Thorn’s guestrooms.
I get down on my hands and knees. This is probably pointless, but it’s worth a shot. I take out my phone to turn on my flashlight. I shine the light under the right-hand curve of wood at the base of the bookshelf and see nothing but flooring and dust bunnies. I scooch a little closer and shine my light inside the left-hand curve.
At first, there’s nothing. Same as on the right side. I’m about to give up when my light catches on the tiniest glint of gold. I stop and run the light over the same spot again. For a moment, I can’t find it, and I wonder if I imagined it. Then my flashlight hits it again. It’s almost like you have to be in a certain spot in order to see it. It’s definitely some kind of metal, and it looks like it’s fallen into a space between two floorboards. My pulse starts to race. I don’t want to get ahead of myself though. It’s probably nothing—just a ring, or some other token of Marion’s, fallen under here a long time ago.
I scramble to my feet and try to move the bookshelf but it’s impossibly heavy. I can’t get it to budge, not even when I put all my weight against it. I look around the shed and see a thin length of wire on the floor nearby. I grab it and get back on the ground, sticking the wire under the bookshelf, trying to find purchase on the mystery object. I manage to poke at it enough so that it’s halfway out of the floorboard.
When I shine my light again, I see the object more clearly. Or at least, one end of it. A buzzing begins to grow in my ears.
It’s not gold—it’s brass. Thanks to my investigative work, I’m now intimately familiar with this object.
My heart starts pounding all over my body and my mouth goes dry.
It’s a casing from a bullet.