8
Lucy had just peeled off her wet clothes when she heard someone pound on the back door. “Lucy? It’s Ford. Can I have a word
with you?”
She tensed. She’d never dreamed he’d follow her. What was she going to do now?
Since it was easiest not to do anything, she ignored him as she pulled on a pair of yoga shorts and a clean, dry tank top.
She figured he’d go away eventually. But when she didn’t answer, her phone went off showing a number she didn’t recognize.
It was odd to be getting a call this late, especially one that didn’t have a Nevada area code. No one had her number on this
side of the country except Dahlia. And this wasn’t Sharon Smoot’s niece...
Afraid Dahlia had shared her contact info with Reggie, and he was calling to threaten or harass her, she hesitated before
answering. But she felt it would be better to know if he was willing to go that far—and safer to take the risk of finding
out while another human being, no matter who it was, stood close by.
Flipping the wet hair out of her face, she pressed the Talk button. “Hello?” she said tentatively.
“Can you give me a moment? Please?”
It was Ford! “How’d you get my number?” she asked.
“How do you think?”
Dahlia, of course. She just couldn’t imagine Ford being interested enough to ask. But she shouldn’t be too surprised. The drama of having her back in town would probably pique everyone’s attention. “Why would you bother?”
“Because I really want to talk to you. I promise I’ll be decent. I won’t say anything upsetting or... or anything you’ll
need to worry about.”
Even if that was true, why take the risk of letting the tender emotions she’d once felt for him bubble up again when she was
already dealing with so much? She already knew what he was really like; there wasn’t any point in ever speaking to him again.
“I’d rather not,” she said and craned her neck around the corner to peer through the living room.
“I might make a good ally while you’re here,” he said.
“How?” she asked with a skeptical laugh. “You’re already allied with all the people who hate me—with your family and the other wealthy
families in the area.”
“I’ve never hated you. And wealth has nothing to do with it.”
She skipped the minefield that constituted the first part of his answer and focused on the second. “It did before.” Money
put all the power in the hands of those who’d treated her like a cockroach that’d had the audacity to enter one of their expensive
homes. She’d been left with nothing. No way to convince anyone that she hadn’t known about her father’s evil deeds. No way
to go to college. No way to survive, except to leave and scrape along as best she could. After she left North Hampton Beach,
she’d been homeless, living out of that old van, for nearly five years.
“I was young and impressionable, Lucy,” he said. “And... and I shouldn’t have listened to my parents. I know you won’t believe me, but I’m sincerely sorry.”
She didn’t want an apology. She didn’t want anything from him. But the quickest way to get rid of him was probably to let
him off the hook. “It’s fine. No problem,” she said. Then she disconnected and held her breath while waiting to see what would
happen next. She hoped he’d leave. It was too difficult for her to interact with him. His voice brought back so many memories—some
of which were among the very best in her life, which only made the problem worse. She’d been happier that summer than she
could ever remember—until it all came crashing down.
He pounded on her door again. “I’m not asking to be friends,” he yelled. “I just want you to know that... that I’m glad
you’re back here, and if there’s anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable, I’m just a few houses down.”
As if she could forget the proximity of his expensive beachfront property...
She squeezed her eyes closed. “Damn it,” she whispered. Why wouldn’t he just leave? On some level, she didn’t really blame
him for abandoning her fifteen years ago. Sure, she’d been devastated when he turned his back on her, just like all the others.
But she’d been stupid to believe he’d cared about her in the first place. They’d been teenagers, together for only five or
six weeks. They hadn’t really known anything about life or love.
Besides, she’d been well outside his socioeconomic class, wasn’t someone his family would ever approve of. She couldn’t expect
him to choose her over them, especially once her father’s murders came to light. “I don’t need anything,” she called back.
“But thank you.”
“Are you sure? Because if you have a moment, you might be interested in a conversation I heard between Patti and Nelson Clark.”
“I can easily guess the wonderful things they had to say about me.”
He didn’t respond to her sarcasm. “They were talking about Reggie.”
This caught her attention. Why would they be talking about Reggie? She wanted to ask, but that would invite more interaction.
Don’t be fooled. Don’t trust him. He had no reason to care or get involved. So... why was he?
Could it be that the Clarks wanted him to speak to her? Maybe they thought he’d be able to convince her to leave... “What did they say?” she asked grudgingly.
“I’ll tell you. But can you open the door first? It’s hard to talk like this.”
She rubbed her temples while trying to decide. “Fine,” she yelled at last. “Give me a minute.” Then she made him wait until
she’d combed and dried her hair. It took so long that he was walking away by the time she opened the door.
“I thought you were planning to leave me out here all night,” he grumbled.
“Nobody asked you to come over,” she reminded him.
He returned to the closed-in porch, where he stopped about five feet away.
She’d thought she’d grown into a confident person in the years that’d passed since she’d been absolutely leveled. But seeing
him again thrust her back in time and seemed to steal all the power she’d felt only a moment earlier.
“You look great,” he said.
She could’ve told him the same thing but swore those words would never pass her lips. He seemed to have gotten taller, had
to be six foot four, with a thin yet muscular build and wavy blond hair. She couldn’t help remembering the thickness and texture
of it.
She remembered a lot of other things about him, too—like the way his hands had felt on her body.
But only because she hadn’t been with anyone in months, and even then she’d just gone through the motions. It was difficult for her to get that close to someone else, to allow herself to feel something beyond the physical pleasure she’d first experienced with Ford. As a result, as she’d grown older, she’d begun to isolate herself from almost any kind of real intimacy.
Looking at him now, however, she suddenly felt every moment of that long period.
A boyish smile broke out on his face, so something in her expression must’ve given her away, making her wish she hadn’t been
foolish enough to agree to talk. Whatever he had to say couldn’t help enough to offset the impact of being this close to him.
Her heart was suddenly pounding out of her chest. What she’d felt for him had been so poignant...
Forcing herself to remember the agony of going day after day feeling as if she’d been staked in the town square for all to
mock and belittle, without so much as a call or a text from him, helped her overcome the impulse to forgive everything and
walk right back into his arms.
“Would you like to come in and sit down?” she asked.
His smile faltered at her cool tone, but he soon rallied and nodded. “Sure.”
She held the door before pivoting away from him and going into the kitchen. “I have a bottle of wine,” she called back. “Are
you interested?”
He didn’t answer. When she leaned around the corner to see why, she found him walking through the living room, examining the
various knickknacks. “It’s sad to think Sharon Smoot may never return to this house,” he said when he noticed her.
“I’m still holding out hope.” She had no more room in her heart for sadness. She had to block out what she could to be able
to move forward. Maybe once she got back to Vegas, she could allow herself to feel more empathy for poor Sharon. “Did you
want a glass of wine?”
Finally drawn out of his preoccupation, he looked up. “Yes, please.”
She went back and opened the bottle of Chardonnay on the counter before carrying two glasses into the living room. She was
about to set his on the side table and let him pick it up himself—she really didn’t want to get too close to him—but in three
long strides he was towering over her. Suddenly she found herself looking up into his face again, and his startling, sea-green
eyes were staring back at her.
Stepping away as soon as he accepted his glass, she cleared her throat. “So what did the Clarks have to say? Did they, by
any chance, ask you to come over to see if you could talk me into leaving town?”
He flinched. “I’m not acting on their behalf, Lucy.”
“Then I’m not sure why you’re here,” she said.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“And you did.”
“I also wanted to offer you some support. I—I was your boyfriend when everything... came out about your father. I should’ve
been better to you.”
She waved those words away. “Don’t be silly. None of that meant anything to me. We were just kids. Forget about it.”
He looked equal parts stricken and surprised. “O-kay,” he said, drawing the word out as if he didn’t really know how to respond.
“But thanks for making the effort.” She turned away so that he couldn’t see her face. “You mentioned Reggie...”
When he didn’t pick up the conversation, she turned back to face him and found his head bowed as he studied the rug.
“Ford?”
He looked up.
“What about Reggie?”
“He, um, called Patti as soon as you left his place and told her why you’re here.”
She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t surprise me. He feels threatened, so he’s gathering his army.”
He took a sip of wine. “You accused him of lying on the stand?”
“He was lying,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I know because my father didn’t kill Aurora.”
Ford appeared skeptical. “Can you really be that certain? It would be so easy for someone in your shoes to... to go into
denial.”
“This isn’t about denial. I’m not denying my father killed the Matteos, am I?”
“Maybe he’s looking for attention,” he argued. “Murderers often try to remain relevant in some way.”
It was a possibility she had to consider. But her gut told her he was telling the truth. “Ford, I tried not to believe him—for
fifteen years! But there’s something inside me that insists there’s more to the story.”
“Then you’re acting on intuition...”
She couldn’t help bristling because she could tell he didn’t put much stock in that. “And a few facts,” she said. “Reggie
had a lot to gain by saying what he did. And just so you know, my father wouldn’t tell anyone, especially a stranger and someone
as untrustworthy as Reggie, even if he had killed Aurora.”
“In a normal situation, maybe. But he’d just been arrested, had to be frightened, or at least off his emotional center. Then
they put him in a cell with another guy, and the two of them had nothing to do for days—more than two weeks—except talk. I
can see how long those hours might get, how easy it would be to dwell on what you’re facing.”
“That would require a degree of trust, and my father wasn’t a trusting person. He felt the whole world was out to get him. And Reggie was so much younger. He wouldn’t have said anything, not to him.”
“Then who else would’ve murdered Aurora?”
“That’s what I have to find out.”
He frowned. “I hate to discourage you, but you realize that Reggie could’ve been lying, just to get himself out of prison,
and your father could’ve killed Aurora. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. His testimony simply helped get a conviction.”
“Is that how everyone justifies not caring whether it was true?”
“Everyone?”
“The police. The Clarks. Aurora’s other friends and loved ones. You and your family.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, probably because she’d included him on the list. “My family never had a strong opinion.”
“Oh, really?” she said with a laugh. “That isn’t how I remember it.”
“I think this town was just grateful to get some closure on the whole thing.”
“In any way possible?”
“Considering we’re talking about a known killer and having him off the streets?” he responded. “Yes. I realize that took your
father away from you, and—”
“What if I’m right, Ford,” she broke in, “and it was someone else?” She didn’t want to make this about her or discuss what
she’d been through. That could cause her to get emotional, and being emotional made her vulnerable, which was something she
never wanted to be again, especially with this particular person.
He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “That’s a scary thought. If it’s true, it means there’s probably a killer running around
loose.”
“It also means that killer might still be right here in North Hampton Beach.”
“But your father had already demonstrated a capacity for that kind of violence. Who else would do such a thing to a seventeen-year-old girl? And how will you discover that?”
“I’ll probably have to hire a private investigator at some point. But I want to see what I can learn first.” She was already
taking three months away from poker, which meant she was losing any opportunity she had to make money. She didn’t dare spend
a lot until she felt more confident it would make a difference. She’d already lost so much here—family, friends, a home. She
didn’t want to add thousands of dollars to the list, not unless she became convinced that was the answer.
He drank some more of his wine. “If you’re right, there’s got to be at least one person who doesn’t want the truth to come
out.”
“I believe there is,” she said.
Concern showed in his expression. “I’m saying it might not be safe to dig up the past, Lucy.”
Hence the reason it was broiling inside her house right now. She didn’t feel safe leaving the windows open at night. She was
using two fans she’d found stored in closets, but they did far too little. “I’ve thought of that. Of course I have. But right
is right. I refuse to let fear dictate my actions.”
He sighed. “That scares me.”
She made a face. “Why? You have nothing to worry about.”
One eyebrow slid up. “I’m not scared for me.”
“Well, whatever happens, it won’t impact you either way, so there’s no reason for you to worry about it. And I’m doing what
I can—keeping my doors and windows locked.”
He wiped the sweat beading up on his forehead. “ Now I know why it’s so damn hot in here,” he said, looking at the moisture on his palm.
So what if she was scared? She wasn’t embarrassed by it. She had reason to be—which he’d just pointed out. “I said I wouldn’t let fear drive me away. I didn’t say I was going to make it easy for someone to climb through the window while I’m sleeping and hurt me.”
“No,” he said laconically. “I can plainly see that you won’t let anyone get that close.”
“You’re the one who taught me to keep my defenses up!”
His lips parted in surprise. He’d been joking—so her response had come off a little too harsh. “I guess you’ve got me all
figured out,” he said with a sad smile.
“I do. I’m fine. I don’t need you or anyone else to worry about me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Right.” He put down what was left of his wine. “Then I’ll get out of your way. Thanks for the drink.”
She’d wanted to make him feel bad so he’d keep his distance and never be able to hurt her again. And yet she didn’t feel any better after
he left. She stood in the living room for several long minutes, trying to convince herself that she’d done the right thing
chasing him off. She didn’t need his help, his support or his opinion. She’d made it this far without him. She’d do what needed to be done and, once
again, put North Hampton Beach in her rearview mirror—along with all the people she’d once known here.