3
He had Lucy McBride’s— Sinclair’s —phone number, which felt strange after so many years. Ford had been excited about her once, could still remember how beautiful
she was with all that thick, curly dark hair tumbling down her back, her big, liquid brown eyes and her smooth, golden skin.
When she wasn’t in a simple bikini at the beach, she’d almost always worn the same pair of cutoffs that hung loosely on her
hips with a scooped-neck tee and a pair of flip-flops, and never bothered with makeup. Since all the other girls were highlighting
their hair, getting their nails done, tanning for hours each day and buying expensive clothes, makeup and jewelry, she’d stood
out. She didn’t seem to care all that much about her appearance, and yet, the more he’d looked at her, the more he’d thought
she was the prettiest one of all.
She hadn’t been part of the group of friends he’d hung out with, though, so it hadn’t been easy to get to know her. He was among the rich summer folk, staying in multimillion dollar vacation homes with a view of the ocean, and she was a year-rounder who lived in a trailer park and worked at the hot dog stand by the beach to help her father pay the bills. The first time he’d seen her, he’d been with his buddies, sitting on towels to protect them from the hot sand, enjoying some shaved ice after tossing around a football, and she’d been playing in the surf with the three-legged mutt she’d called Trip she’d adopted from a shelter because no one else wanted him.
He remembered being mesmerized by the fact that she didn’t care whether or not they were watching her—didn’t care if anyone
was. When her dog came hobbling over, she’d followed to drag him away, and from the start she’d seemed refreshingly wholesome
and unpretentious— real in a world where everything else seemed staged. She’d come as a relief to him. His mother, and the other girls he’d known,
were so concerned with the trivialities of life.
Of course, all that natural, God-given beauty made Lucy even more appealing. He wondered what she looked like now.
After spending the evening on the back deck with a glass of whiskey, staring out at the foaming waves washing up the beach
under a full moon, he’d slept in the master bedroom and had breakfast in town, where he ran into several people who welcomed
him back. He also heard Lucy’s name again, so he knew word was spreading fast and that the community wouldn’t be quite as
welcoming to her.
He was tempted to warn her. Now that he had her number, he could text her. But Dahlia had already alerted her. She knew what
she’d be facing here...
Before returning to Coastal Comfort, he drove past Shady Lane Trailer Park. The community had purchased the mobile home where
the Matteos had lived, yanked it out and burned it to ashes. Then they’d put a statue in its place honoring the three people
who’d been murdered in North Hampton Beach. Lucy’s old trailer was gone, too—replaced by a tiny park with a single bench.
His parents had contributed to make these changes. So had the Clarks, of course, and many others.
He remembered his folks talking about the project, but they’d been back in Bethesda, Maryland, by the time it was finished.
He turned off his engine and got out so he could read the plaque on the bronze angel.
Did Lucy know about the memorial? How would she feel when she saw it? And what about the park bench that’d replaced the home
she’d once shared with her father?
Nothing that summer could’ve been easy on her. That was what he kept coming back to—that and the fact that he hadn’t made
it any easier.
When he returned home, he had a slew of work emails waiting for him. That would probably be the case most days. He’d have
to wade through them and check to see if Renee needed him before he tackled any construction work.
But after he’d finished with his regular job, he wasn’t in a hurry to start on the house. Although the place was a little
the worse for wear—it could use new flooring, window coverings and paint—he enjoyed being surrounded by the familiar. Fortunately,
the service that’d managed the property had kept up with some of the bigger items. The roof and HVAC system had been replaced
over the last few years. So had the deck.
He figured he’d have time to update the hot water heater and deal with the cosmetic stuff. He’d come here mostly to have a
chance to heal from his coming divorce. He hoped he’d be able to do that. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Lucy...
Would she wait until the first of the month to move in? Or would she come in the next few days?
Maybe she was already in town, had shown up this morning, and the community just didn’t know it yet.
As soon as he got off the computer, he went out for a walk and veered around to the Smoot cottage on the way back. It looked quiet and dark, like it had yesterday. He assumed Dahlia had finished with the inside, but she’d done nothing to tame the weeds or make the outside presentable. He didn’t get the impression she was even planning on doing that...
He told himself the outside didn’t matter. But coming back here had to be so daunting for Lucy that he wanted to do something to make it easier—something that wouldn’t be attributed to him but just might make it feel a bit more welcoming. And if she
didn’t move in until she was technically supposed to, which was still several days away, he’d have time.
After circling the house and assessing the flower beds, the broken gate and the overgrown hedges, he made a list of tools
and plants he’d need. Then he jogged back to his own house and got his car to head to the closest nursery.
June 1
Las Vegas
Dahlia had said she could move in early, but Lucy had needed time to make all the arrangements. Even if she could’ve come
earlier, she probably wouldn’t have. She’d spent fifteen years trying to distance herself from that terrible summer when her
life fell apart. She still couldn’t believe she was reversing that decision and going back.
But if he didn’t kill Aurora, then someone else did, and that person should be held accountable. It wasn’t like she could just call
the police and tell them they needed to reopen the investigation into Aurora’s murder. If she did, they’d probably laugh at
her.
The death of the Matteos had broken her heart. Lucinda used to bake the best chocolate chip cookies, and Tony always had a smile and a kind word for her. That her father could harm them was unthinkable. But it was Aurora’s murder that’d affected her the most, because she’d been blamed, in an indirect way. So maybe she wanted to redeem herself, too—to prove she hadn’t been involved at all .
She had to sit on the lid of her suitcase so she could zip it shut—she’d definitely overpacked—but if she was going to be
gone the whole summer, she’d need all the stuff she was bringing.
Once she had it closed, she checked her watch. Her Uber would be arriving any moment. Then she’d be off.
With a sigh, she wandered around the condo she’d purchased with cash from her poker winnings. It was a decent place, one in
which she felt secure and far from the girl she used to be in North Hampton Beach. That would all change by the end of the
day, but at least this haven would be here waiting for her.
If things got too bad, she could always return early.
Ford had worked at the Smoot cottage for four days. What’d started out as a simple cleanup job had turned into an all-out
effort to make the cottage as appealing as it could be. Other than purchasing some basic supplies and plants, he hadn’t spent
a lot of money. It didn’t make sense to spend too much on someone else’s property. But he’d invested plenty of sweat equity
and was so pleased with the results that he kept going back to do just a little more and a little more after that until he
was damn proud of how it had turned out.
He didn’t know anything about landscaping when he’d started and yet the place was now as appealing as the ones he’d found
on Instagram and used as inspiration. As a matter of fact, he wished he could be present when Lucy arrived so he could witness
her reaction. He thought she was going to love it. Who wouldn’t?
There were a few things he wished he could go over with her, to make sure that what he’d planted would survive if he couldn’t manage the watering and such. He didn’t want to freak her out by coming onto the property again and again, especially when he knew she’d probably rather not see him, not after how it had gone the last time he’d seen her.
He’d never forget stopping by the trailer after the trial was over. He’d felt bad that with her father in prison for life,
she was suddenly on her own, cast adrift at seventeen with no family to help support her—and he felt guilty for walking away
from her as soon as the police arrested her father—so he’d gone over to see how he could help.
He’d found her selling all the furniture they owned, wrestling what she could outside and taping a piece of paper on each
item with the price, but she’d acted as if he was absolutely invisible, as if he wasn’t standing right in front of her. If
he blocked her, she’d simply move on to something else. She wouldn’t respond to him even when he’d said he wanted to give
her some money to help with the move. So then he’d tried to buy something, but she wouldn’t even look at him let alone take
his money.
In the end, he’d left five hundred dollars on the counter—which she returned the next day by leaving it on the seat of his
Jeep.
He winced as he recalled how he’d felt when he found the money. He’d known how badly she needed it, so he’d gone back over
to try to get her to take it. But the trailer held only the remnants of her life in North Hampton Beach—what she hadn’t been
able to sell. She was gone, and he hadn’t heard from her since.
As far as he knew, no one had.
Until now.
Again, he wondered why she was coming back. She had to be a glutton for punishment. Or was she out for revenge against the
people here who should’ve been kinder but were so shocked and frantic over her father’s crimes they couldn’t help punishing
her—to some extent, anyway—along with him?
His phone went off. Setting the lawn edger he’d just used against the side of the house, he dug his cell out of his pocket— and cursed when he saw that it was his soon-to-be ex. Christina had changed so much since the day he met her. He still wondered how he’d been so easily duped. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but he’d always considered himself smarter than to be fooled by a pretty face.
Well, she was a lot more than a pretty face. It was her poise, her quick wit, her gregarious nature and her adventurous spirit
that’d drawn him in. It wasn’t until they were married that he encountered her darker side. She soon became so demanding there
wasn’t any way to satisfy her. She’d make her expectations clear, he’d do his best to meet them, thinking that was the only
way to find peace, and then she’d just raise her expectations again. In the end, it’d felt like she was devouring his very
soul.
He considered ignoring the call. He needed to finish gathering his tools so he could get off the property in case Lucy arrived.
Let Christina scream at his voice mail. Then he could text her back, thus avoiding what was sure to be an emotionally charged
conversation—because they all were.
Except she didn’t leave a message. She just kept calling him.
Steeling himself against the anger and irritation that welled up, he hit the Talk button. “’Lo?”
“Whoa! You answered?” she said.
Ignoring the accusation in her voice, he cut right to the point. “What can I do for you, Christina?”
“I heard you’re in North Hampton Beach...”
Someone at the company must’ve told her. She used to work for Wagner Business Solutions—that was where they’d met. But she’d
alienated so many people over the years, he was surprised she still had a friend there who would speak to her. “And that’s
of interest to you because...”
“You’ve told me a lot about that place.”
He still didn’t get it. “And?”
“God, you’ve gotten prickly!”
“We’re in the middle of a divorce,” he reminded her. “People who divorce usually aren’t on the best of terms.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“Friends?” he echoed.
“Look, I’ll be having your baby in seven months. Do you really want to give up on our relationship? Our biggest problem was
all the time you had to devote to your work and your family. You never knew where to draw the line.”
That hadn’t been their biggest problem; it had only been one of them. And he’d been willing to compromise, as much as he could.
But every time he took a step in the direction she wanted, she pushed him to take another. If he wasn’t free 24/7 to be at
her beck and call, she wouldn’t be happy. “I still have the same job,” he said blandly.
“But you’re taking the summer off, right? Why don’t I come join you and... and we can try to rebuild what we once had—for
the sake of our child?”
For the sake of our child... Everything she said was manipulative. She knew refusing a plea like that would make him feel terrible.
But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. When he’d agreed to reconcile on two other occasions, it hadn’t worked. She’d
already proved she wasn’t willing to put forth the effort necessary to change anything. She wanted him to be the one to please her, but that would require sacrificing his own judgment in favor of hers in every instance—becoming
a mindless drone who believed only what she told him to believe and did only what she told him to do. What she wanted was
control of everything , her way every time, and that was the one thing he couldn’t give her.
Closing his eyes, he chuckled mirthlessly while he imagined the summer with Christina in town. There was no way he wanted
any memory of her attached to this place.
And even if he didn’t feel that protective of North Hampton Beach, reconciling with her would be like getting back into a car with a drunk driver who was already careening out of control. It would be one hell of a ride—and then they’d crash, and he’d have even more healing and rebuilding to do.
“I wish I could do that, but I can’t.” He’d lost too much of himself already.
His reply met with silence. Displeased silence. Stubborn silence. At this point, he knew the conversation would go one of two ways. She would either start screaming that he was solely
responsible for the failure of their marriage, or she’d try to convince him to come back to her. She never listened to what
anyone said, never accepted a reality she didn’t like—she always had to push for more. And because she was carrying his baby,
she had incredible leverage over him. She knew how important it was to him that he be part of his child’s life, knew this
would enable her to retain a certain amount of control.
“Don’t you remember what it was like in the beginning?” she asked, cajolingly. “It could be that good again.”
Except it couldn’t be. That was an illusion. A lyric from a Taylor Swift song came to mind—something about a nightmare being
dressed as a daydream. “That ship has sailed, Christina. We’re no good together. We just need to figure out a way to move
on with mutual respect and kindness.”
“You don’t think I’ve shown you the proper respect?” she snapped.
When she got angry, she didn’t show anyone respect. She could be absolutely ruthless one minute only to shrug it off the next.
That she didn’t already know that about herself stunned him. But she was the least self-aware person he’d ever met, always
blamed the other party for provoking her instead of taking responsibility for the cruel things she said and did.
“I’m talking about the future,” he clarified. “Let’s move forward with a renewed commitment to kindness—for the sake of our
child,” he added, turning her own words back on her.
“That isn’t what our child needs. He needs both a mother and a father.”
“You don’t know it’s a ‘he.’” And a “he” wouldn’t tempt him back any more than a “she,” so she was throwing out another hook
that wasn’t going to snag him. He’d love a child of either gender.
“I have a feeling it is.”
“Well, you’re mistaken if you think I have a strong preference.”
“You’re not interested in trying to make our marriage work either way?”
“It can’t work! We’ve already tried,” he said, and considering how long he’d suffered over the breakup, he was relieved to find he
was truly done this time. He’d had enough.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Then I’ll just tell our child his father didn’t give a shit about him.”
“Christina—” he said, but she disconnected.
He sighed as he slid his phone back into his pocket. No wonder he’d enjoyed cleaning up the yard around the Smoot cottage.
It was something he could fix. Nothing else in his life seemed to fall into that category.
The sound of a car turning into the drive caught his attention, and he quickly ducked behind a thick bush. He’d lingered too
long. Now, if he didn’t want to be seen, he had to stay out of sight.
Was it Lucy? Or Dahlia, coming to see if Lucy had arrived and was getting settled in?
When the engine shut off and he heard a door open, he couldn’t help trying to peer through the leaves—and could immediately
tell it wasn’t Dahlia. This woman was taller, thinner and had the same long, curly black hair he remembered Lucy having. She’d
waited until the first of the month to move in, but she was here now.
She was in the driveway, and he didn’t have the best vantage point, so he couldn’t see her face clearly. The glimpses of her he did catch told him only that she was dressed in a white T-shirt, faded jeans and a pair of sneakers.
Her style hadn’t changed much. She still looked as if she preferred comfortable, casual clothing. But then... she’d been
traveling. What he saw might not mean much.
He waited while she stood looking at the house. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of a smile—but the most he got was a look
of cautious trepidation. Then she reached back in the car for several bags of groceries before jogging up the stairs to the
porch.
He couldn’t see her after that, but he heard the spring of the screen door as she held it while trying to get inside. It took
her so long he was tempted to see what the problem was.
She finally got in, at which point he was going to slip back over to Coastal Comfort, but she must’ve set the groceries on
the counter and turned around right away, because she came back for her purse and a backpack.
He waited until she’d taken that inside, too. Then he grabbed his edger, because it was close, and left his other tools where
they lay, figuring he could slip over and grab them after dark or when she went to town for something. He wanted to get away
while he could do it cleanly. Her first moments here had to be hard enough; he didn’t want to make them any worse.
As he started down the dirt path leading to the beach, he couldn’t help turning back to look, with some satisfaction, at the
landscaping he’d put in place. It was picture-perfect—unlike everything else.