4
The inside of the cottage was about what Lucy had expected—worn but functional with dated furniture and lots and lots of books.
Lucy was hoping Sharon Smoot would be able to come home. The former librarian was kinder than most people, had brought over a casserole and homemade rolls after
Mick was arrested. Sharon never specifically addressed the murders or Lucy’s father’s involvement when she stopped by that
night with dinner. Lucy guessed she’d been as shocked as anyone, and yet she’d offered a scared seventeen-year-old girl a
warm smile and a meal and didn’t rush to judgment.
That Sharon had shown some self-restraint and compassion was part of the reason Lucy had wanted to rent her cottage—it was
one of the few places left in North Hampton Beach with which she had a positive association. She was also drawn to it for
its location, of course. She liked that the cottage was sheltered and out-of-the-way. She didn’t want to attract too much
attention.
But once the Clarks learned she was in town, they probably wouldn’t allow her to lie too low, so maybe she wouldn’t be able to avoid it.
After she finished putting away the groceries she’d purchased, she went back out to get her suitcase. Whoever was taking care
of the yard was doing a fabulous job, she thought, as she noticed the carefully tended bushes, shrubs and flowers. She didn’t
remember the place looking this nice when she lived in town before and was surprised Dahlia hadn’t posted photos of the exterior.
If she had, the cottage probably would’ve rented before Lucy could even inquire about it. It was tourist season, after all.
North Hampton Beach didn’t get as busy as Virginia Beach and some of the other towns, but it still received an influx of people
looking for sun and sand and a chance to get away.
Apprehensive about being seen, she took a furtive look around before hauling her big suitcase out of the SUV she’d rented
at Ronald Reagan Airport, where she’d flown in. She felt safer inside the house. But there didn’t seem to be anyone else in
the immediate vicinity, so she breathed a sigh of relief and used her key fob to lock the vehicle. When she’d first moved
to North Hampton Beach with her father, most people didn’t even bother to lock their cars or their houses. Such precautions
hadn’t seemed necessary.
That’d all changed with the murders, of course. Or maybe it’d been long enough that things had gone back to normal, but she
guessed she’d still be a target for the vandalism and other acts of hate she’d begun to experience once her father was tied to the deaths
that’d occurred here, so she was going to do what she could to protect herself.
As she dragged her suitcase inside, she noticed a roll of plastic lawn bags, some clippers, pruning shears and a rake at the side of the house. Apparently, the gardener had forgotten some tools. So she went to retrieve them and put them in the detached garage, which was full of storage anyway, to save them until he or she came next time.
After that, she tried to distract herself by becoming acquainted with the contents of the kitchen so the nostalgia—and the
more difficult memories that kept bubbling up—wouldn’t overwhelm her. But staying busy wasn’t enough. As the sun started to
set, her spirits began to sink, too. Had she been a fool to return here? What did she really hope to accomplish? How would
she go about it? And how long would it take?
That was probably one of the biggest questions because she wasn’t convinced she’d be able to last the entire summer.
She was pacing in the living room, trying to decide if she should give up before she even started and go back to Vegas, when
her phone rang. She hoped it was one of her friends, checking to see if she got in okay. A familiar and friendly voice would
probably help. But Caller ID indicated it was Dahlia Hunsacker, Sharon Smoot’s niece.
If she was going to have to interact with the locals, Dahlia would be a good place to start. They’d already spoken over the
phone and she’d been decent, so Lucy drew a deep breath and answered.
“Hi, there!” Dahlia responded once she’d said hello. “You in town yet?”
“Just got in,” she confirmed.
“Great. How was the flight?”
It’d been interminable—a very long time to second-guess her decision. “Tedious.”
“I bet. Well, I hope the cottage is comfortable, at least. Everything okay there? I stocked the kitchen with water, coffee,
creamer and some snacks to tide you over until you can reach the store.”
Her kindness nearly brought Lucy to tears. It was more than she’d expected. “That was very nice of you,” she said and meant
it.
“No problem. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I’ll be fine from here. I’ve stopped by the store on my way into town, so I have plenty of supplies. And everything looks great, especially the landscaping. I don’t know who you hired, but you definitely don’t want to let go of him or her.”
“Landscaping?” Dahlia repeated in apparent confusion.
“Yeah, the yard.”
“But I haven’t hired a gardener.”
“You did it yourself?”
There was a slight pause. “I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even think about the outside. It was... it was pretty overgrown
when I was there last, so I should have. But...”
Lucy crossed to the window and peered out at the dogwood, yellow border forsythia and mountain laurel—she didn’t know the
names of the rest of the trees and plants. “It’s not overgrown anymore,” she said. “It’s all been groomed very recently.”
“How?”
Lucy had no answer. “I don’t know, but I found a bunch of gardening tools on the side of the house, which also suggests someone
was here recently.”
“I’m completely baffled!” Dahlia exclaimed. “I mean... it’s hard enough to get someone to do a good job when you’re paying
for it. But to have someone clean up the yard without charging me or even telling me about it is... just plain odd.”
“Maybe it’s someone who has fond memories of Sharon—a favor to her. As I remember, she was good to the whole community.”
“But we don’t even know when she’ll be back,” she said. “And no one seems to be paying any attention to the cottage. The only
person I’ve seen around there, at least in the past few days, is Ford Wagner.”
Lucy had just taken a drink from her water bottle. At the mention of Ford’s name, she nearly choked before she could swallow.
“Ford Wagner was here?” she asked in sheer disbelief once she could speak.
“Yeah, but there’s no way he’d ever act as gardener for anyone. Rich as he’s always been, I doubt he even knows how to mow a lawn.”
Lucy cleared her throat. “I thought... Well, I assumed he’d be somewhere else—Bethesda where they lived before, I guess—helping
his dad with the family business.”
“His dad died in January. Ford’s running the show now.”
“What about his older brother?”
“I get the impression Houston’s still not up to much.”
Closing her eyes, Lucy pressed a finger and thumb against her eyelids. She’d purposely not allowed herself to think about
Ford in a very long time. He’d been her first love, so the fact that he’d no longer had any interest in her after her father
was arrested had ripped her heart out. She’d given him her virginity only days before news of her father’s killings had broken
and still hated herself for being so stupid as to believe he might truly have been interested in her as a person. She’d thought
she saw something deeper in him than she’d first expected—judging by the friends he’d hung out with—but she should’ve known
better. “I’m sorry to hear about his father.”
Her words had been clipped so as not to invite more conversation on the subject, but Dahlia didn’t veer away from it. “I guess
it was totally unexpected. A heart attack. Came out of nowhere.”
“That’s too bad,” she muttered. Then, before she could catch herself, she asked the question that was suddenly burning uppermost
in her mind. “So where’s Ford now—I mean, today? He’s not here in North Hampton Beach, is he?” Please, God, no...
“I think so. He told me he’s planning to stay for the whole summer.”
Shit! “What about... Didn’t you say he was in charge of the family business these days? If that’s the case, how can he be gone
for so long?”
“Apparently, he has plenty of people to help him. Besides, he said business is slow this time of year.”
Lucy dropped her head into her hand. That wasn’t something she’d bargained for when she decided to return to North Hampton
Beach. What was she going to do now?
She didn’t want to bump into Ford. She didn’t want to speak to him. She didn’t even want to think about him. Ever. Again.
“Lucy? You still there?” Dahlia asked when she fell silent.
Trying to shake off this latest blow, she pulled her mind out of the well of her own thoughts and quickly formulated an answer.
“Sorry. I was just... distracted by a text that came in.” It wasn’t true, but it was a believable excuse, which was what
she needed. “I’d better let you go. I have to get back to... to this other person.”
“No problem. I won’t keep you,” she said. “I just wanted to welcome you to North Hampton Beach and make sure you’re comfortable.”
“I appreciate that.” Dahlia had obviously turned into a kind adult, like her aunt.
Before Lucy could disconnect, however, Dahlia spoke again, “I also wanted to tell you that... that the word is out.”
“The word ?” she echoed, once again confused.
There was an uncomfortable silence before Dahlia clarified. “Everyone knows you’re in town this summer.”
“How?” she asked.
“I wanted to break the news ahead of time, so it wouldn’t come as such a shock. I thought it might help, that maybe everyone
would treat you better for having been prepared. But I also want to warn you, just in case... just in case they aren’t as nice as I’m hoping.”
Damn it . Why did Dahlia have to give her presence away so soon? Lucy had been hoping for a few days to acclimate before she had to contend with the hostility of the community. “Thanks for letting me know,” she said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible.
Dahlia still didn’t say goodbye. “They’re mad at me for renting to you.”
Lucy wanted to say, Then maybe you shouldn’t have told them . But she swallowed those words and curbed her tone. At least Sharon’s niece had been willing to let her have the cottage.
Dahlia could easily have decided not to accommodate her. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make anyone’s life more difficult.
Would you like me to find somewhere else to stay?” By now, there had to be people who’d bought homes in the area who were
willing to rent to her and wouldn’t realize who she was—or care.
“No. I would like to ask you something, though.”
Tension knotted Lucy’s back and neck muscles. “What’s that?”
“What is it you want here? Why have you come back?”
Lucy couldn’t tell the truth. That would send the whole community into an uproar—not to mention put the person who really
killed Aurora on high alert. “I was happy here, for a while,” she said. “I’ve missed it, wanted to see it again and have as
much right to be here as anyone else.”
“You’re not out for any sort of revenge...”
“Against a family who has already lost a daughter? That would almost make me worse than my father.”
“Good to hear. Okay, then I hope the summer goes well for you. Call me if you have any trouble with anything at the house.”
“I will.”
“And if the gardener ever comes back to get those tools, let me know who it was and why he or she went to so much work,” she
said with a laugh.
“You’ll be the first person I call.” The yard was certainly a mystery. Lucy didn’t quite understand why Dahlia couldn’t at
least guess at who’d done it. But neither did she care. She had much bigger questions to answer.
“Did you hear that Lucy McBride is back?” Anna Stover shifted nervously, holding her phone to her ear while glancing over her shoulder at the patio where her husband was grilling hamburgers. She didn’t want him to overhear, didn’t want him to ask her who she was talking to or what she was talking about. He hated her brother with a passion, said he was a bad seed, and since Reggie couldn’t seem to keep himself out of jail for any length of time, he wasn’t welcome at their house any longer.
Reggie did have a terrible temper. Anna had always been extremely careful of how she behaved around him, and it didn’t make life any
better that he seemed to be getting more volatile as he aged.
Still, she couldn’t help trying to see the best in him. He had his good points. He was handsome and funny, the first to defend
those he loved and the life of the party, at least when he was in a good mood. But his drinking and drug use had grown worse
after Lynnette, his wife of five years, took their little boy, Zander, and left him several months ago.
“’Course I know she’s back,” he responded. “Everyone knows she’s back. It’s all I hear about when I go into town.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And what?” he barked.
She heard the edge to his voice, understood what it meant. The slightest thing could set him off. But this was important,
so she steeled her nerves and pressed on. “You’re not... uneasy, worried?”
“Why would I be?”
She lowered her voice so that neither of her children—a six-year-old boy and an eight-year-old girl—could hear her. She didn’t
know exactly where they were, but they were in the house. “Because of what you told me that day in the park!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dismissively.
Had he been too high to remember that conversation? Or was this pure denial—with a hefty dose of regret for revealing what he’d revealed to her in the first place? She certainly wished he’d never mentioned it. She’d been wracked with guilt ever since, trying to balance the love and loyalty
she felt for him with what she believed to be right. “You told me you made it up!”
“You’re remembering it wrong,” he said. “Without me, the police would’ve had a much more difficult time solving Aurora’s murder.
I did them a favor. I did her family a favor, too. Do you think the Clarks wanted McBride to get away with claiming he didn’t
do it?”
He could turn things around so quickly—twist them beyond recognition—and didn’t seem to feel even a flicker of remorse. “But
you lied!” she reiterated.
“Sometimes lying is necessary,” he responded, a shrug in his voice. “You’re not a child. You know that.”
“When you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings, maybe,” she allowed. “But this is different.”
“How? I brought them closure. Hell, I’m proud of myself.”
“But are you sure Mick McBride is the one who killed Aurora?”
“Anna, there couldn’t have been two murderers running around North Hampton Beach at the same time. That’s ridiculous!”
She agreed. That was why she hadn’t come forward, but knowing he’d lied haunted her, troubled her.
Before she could respond, he continued, “Look at it this way. There’ve been no more murders since McBride went to prison.
Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yes. I guess.” It did mean something, didn’t it? “But... you don’t plan on telling the truth— ever ?”
“No! And you’d better stay out of it! It’s over and done with. Everything turned out for the best.”
She could see why he’d think so. He’d been facing arson charges for burning down a house that was, fortunately, empty at the time he started the fire—all to get back at one of his druggy friends for ripping him off. Becoming a jailhouse snitch had enabled him to get away with another slap on the wrist. But the truth was the truth. She knew her husband would look at it that way, which was why she’d never told Joel that Reggie had perjured himself. “I just... I wonder if we shouldn’t speak to someone about—”
“Anna, stop!” he broke in. “Do you want me to go back to jail? For what? Telling the truth at this late date would only make
everyone mad. And I’m sure the Clarks would want me to remain silent. The same holds true for the prosecutor and the police.”
If only they hadn’t put McBride into Reggie’s cell the day they arrested him... “In other words, the end justifies the
means,” she muttered.
“You just need to let it go,” he reiterated. “The decision’s been made. It can’t be undone now.”
But she’d been only sixteen when he’d made her promise she wouldn’t tell anyone! “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive!”
“O-kay,” she said, reluctantly. Then she heard her husband open the slider. “I have to go.”
“But you’re good?”
“I’m good,” she insisted and disconnected.
Her husband had forgotten something in the kitchen. After he came in, he went right back out, giving her a little more time
alone, for which she was grateful. Maybe Reggie was right, and she was making a big deal out of nothing. Of course Mick McBride was the one who killed Aurora. Who else would do it?
A strange thought popped into her head, sending a shiver down her spine. Reggie had been out of jail when she was killed. And he’d done some terrible things in his life—besides burning down that house. He’d bullied other kids, sold drugs, broken into cars to steal wallets and purses at the beach, gotten too physical with his old girlfriend and been in more than his share of bar fights.
But there was no way he’d ever commit murder .
Or was she simply blinded by her love for him? Her familiarity with him? Although Reggie didn’t believe Lucy’s return meant
anything, Anna couldn’t help finding it rather ominous. If all Lucy wanted was a few months by the sea, she could’ve gone
to so many other places. Places that didn’t hold such terrible memories. Places where she wouldn’t have to face the friends
and families of her father’s victims. Places where she wouldn’t have to deal with the resulting prejudice.
Reggie had to be wrong, didn’t he? Because when Anna looked at the situation from all angles, she could only believe that
Lucy would not have come back without a very good reason.