Chapter 22
Kitty Hawk, NC
Over the next few months, Rosie and Peter’s relationship flourished. They were seen all over town, strolling arm in arm through the park or having quiet dinners at some of the finest local restaurants. They even began attending church together, always sitting in the same pew near the back.
With Judy consumed with thoughts of Steve and her future, and Rosie enraptured by her blossoming love, I felt a little left out, a little lonely.
I loved my friends and was genuinely happy for them, but their happiness only highlighted the absence of my own romantic interests.
By most accounts, I was considered an old maid, having passed my thirty-first birthday without a husband or even the prospect of one.
But then one day, a curious thing happened, something that would alter the course of our lives forever.
It was just before dawn when I heard the sirens approaching.
The high-pitched wail grew louder and louder, slicing through the quiet of the morning.
I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the window, peering out onto the desolate beach below.
Red lights painted the row houses in an eerie glow as two police cars pulled onto the beach.
No more than a hundred yards from my window, a body had washed ashore. It was a man, cold and lifeless, his face frozen with an expression of fear and shock. It took a few days, but eventually he was identified as Peter Sullivan, Rosie’s boyfriend.
His death sent shockwaves through our little community, but no one felt them quite so strongly as Rosie.
Judy and I did our best to console her, but the grief that shadowed her eyes deepened with each passing day.
Her once warm brown eyes were replaced by a dull and distant stare, her smile a mere memory.
The weeks that followed were hard on all of us.
Questions swirled, theories were tossed about, and every conversation seemed to revolve around the mysterious circumstances of Peter’s death.
But before anyone could piece together a plausible explanation, the police arrested Rosie and charged her with murder.
The news of her arrest was like a bombshell.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Rosie, sweet Rosie, who I had come to know and love, being accused of murder?
The thought seemed preposterous. Yet the evidence against her was damning.
They found Peter’s watch in her purse, a handkerchief smeared with blood in her bedroom, and a letter that was interpreted as a threat against him.
Almost instantly, the town was divided. There were those, like me and Judy, who believed in Rosie’s innocence, knowing that the sweet woman we knew could never be capable of such a horrendous act. But there were others, mostly men, who were quick to condemn her.
Being so close to the situation, I was drawn to the mystery, captivated by the unfolding drama more than I’d like to admit.
The empty hours of my afternoons were filled with hushed conversations and speculation about Rosie’s fate.
And the more I heard, the more I was convinced that there was more to this story than met the eye.
In the ensuing weeks, I spent every free moment I had talking to anyone who would listen, gathering information, piecing together the facts of Peter’s life and death.
But there wasn’t much to go on. Rosie had kept Peter at arm’s length from me and Judy, making it hard to know who he really was, or what their relationship was like.
Despite the lack of information, I was determined to uncover the truth.
Before I got carried away, Judy reminded me that I was no detective, and that poking my nose into other people’s affairs was a dangerous game.
She was right. I was no Sherlock Holmes.
I was an ordinary woman who, until recently, had lived a very quiet life.
So I decided to take a step back and let the professionals handle the case.
But my resolve didn’t last long. One lazy afternoon, about a week before the trial began, a stranger walked into my life and rekindled that fire.
He was an unassuming man, average height and build, with bright blue eyes that reminded me of the ocean.
And he wore a smile that was equal parts charm and mystery.
“Miss,” he said, settling onto a weathered wooden stool at the counter, “could I trouble you for a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee?”
“Of course,” I replied, mustering up a warm smile.
It felt strained and foreign on my face, but it was sincere.
That's something I vowed never to lose—sincerity, no matter how cold the world got.
I brought him the pie and coffee, watching as he enjoyed each bite with a childlike enthusiasm.
His simple joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling, a real, unforced smile.
“This pie… It’s delicious,” he said. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Yes. It’s my mother’s recipe,” I said, a tinge of sorrow creeping in at the mention of her. “I’m glad you like it.”
His face lit up. “Like it? I love it. Miss…?”
“Sara,” I said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“Sara.” He rolled the name on his tongue as if it were a sacred chant. “Well, Sara, this may be the best apple pie I’ve ever had.”
The compliment was simple, yet it left a warm glow in my heart. His words were like a sudden splash of color on a drab canvas, brightening the mundanity of my day. “You're too kind, mister...”
“Andrew,” he said, extending a hand. “Andrew Hastings.” His grip was firm yet reassuring as I shook it lightly.
“Nice to meet you, Andrew,” I said, pulling away and returning to the task of clearing the counter.
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
I could feel his eyes following me as I collected the dishes.
There was something about him, about the way he looked at me, that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t in a long time.
His gaze wasn’t invasive or overbearing, but kind and appreciative—of my efforts, of me.
It was equally refreshing and unsettling.
“What brings you to Kitty Hawk, Andrew?” I asked, returning with a fresh pot of coffee to offer him a refill. “Business or pleasure?”
“Business, actually,” he said, accepting the refill with a nod.
“What kind of business?”
“I’m a lawyer. In fact, I’m the defense attorney for your friend, Rosalie Flores.”
My heart gave a little lurch. “Really?” I gave him a closer look, noting his casual clothing and easygoing demeanor. There was nothing about him that screamed “defense attorney.” “You don’t look like an attorney.”
He laughed lightly at that. “Thanks, I think. I find it much easier to do my job when people don’t realize I’m doing it.”
I raised an eyebrow at his candidness. “You certainly had me fooled. Let’s just hope you’re as good at your job as you are concealing it, because my friend is innocent, and she needs a lawyer that can prove it.”
He gave a wry smile. “Trust me, Sara, I’m very good at what I do.” There was a confidence in his voice that was assuring, though I wasn’t quite ready to trust him with Rosie’s fate. “There it is,” I said, leaning against the counter. “That lawyer ego I’m familiar with.”
He laughed again. “Guilty as charged. You seem to know us quite well. Let me guess, you’re related to someone in the business?”
I shook my head. “No, but I once had aspirations of becoming a lawyer myself.”
His brows shot up in surprise. “Really? What changed your mind?”
I shrugged. “When I was younger, I had this fear of speaking in public. The thought of standing in front of a courtroom, all eyes on me, made my stomach churn. But over the years, I’ve outgrown that fear, found my voice. I only wish I’d found it sooner.”
He gave me an understanding smile. “It’s never too late, you know.”
I smiled wistfully. “I’m sure you’re right, but I’m happy here, for now. More coffee?”
“Sure.” He slid his cup across the counter. As I filled it, he steered the conversation in a different direction. “Would it surprise you to know that most of the people I’ve talked to around here seem to think Rosalie did it?”
I frowned, my hands gripping the coffee pot a little tighter.
“No, but that’s because they don't know Rosie the way we do. Me and Judy, that is.” I gestured in her direction.
“Judy owns this place, and Rosie and I work for her. I’ve heard the rumors, that Rosie was upset because she found out Peter was cheating on her, but she wouldn’t throw away her life over some man’s foolishness.
She has too much to lose, like her dream of becoming a nurse. ”
“I’ve seen people throw away their lives for less,” Andrew replied with a casual shrug. “But I believe you, Sara. I don’t know Rosie like you do, of course, but I don’t believe she murdered anyone.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t have taken the case if I thought she did it. Besides, I’ve spoken to Rosalie. I’ve seen the evidence. And something doesn’t quite add up.”
Not that it changed anything, but it was comforting to know that someone else was on our side.
“Does that mean you can help her?”
“I'm going to try my best,” he said, his gaze earnest and steady. “That's a promise.”
Hope flickered in my chest. For the first time since Rosie’s arrest, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. After tending to some of my regulars, I returned to the counter and asked Andrew where he was from and how he had learned of the case.
“Atlanta,” he answered with a slight drawl. “I received a call from Paula Fox, one of my dearest friends. She expressed some doubts about the public defender’s ability to try this case. Paula knows I have a knack for these types of situations, so she reached out to me.”
I knew Paula well. She and her husband frequented the restaurant and always sat at the same table. She’d mentioned having a famous lawyer friend once, but I never imagined I’d meet him, or that he’d be here to help Rosie.”
“This place must be quite a change for you then if you come from Atlanta. It’s a far cry from the big city.”
“You could say that,” he agreed, glancing out the window at the ocean. “But it isn’t an unpleasant one. The pace here is calming and the view…stunning,” he said, bringing his eyes back to me. “Yes, I could definitely get used to a place like this.”
I smiled at his appreciation for our little town. “To be honest, it took me some time to adjust as well.”
“You’re not from here either?”
I shook my head. “Moved here about a year ago…from Tennessee.”
“Tennessee, eh?” He gave a nod of approval. “I spent a little time up there a few years back. What part are you from?”
“East Tennessee…around Knoxville.”
“Ah, Knoxville,” he mused, his gaze becoming distant. “I have a cousin that lives in Knoxville. That’s a lovely part of the country. The lakes, the mountains. I considered moving there myself, once. So why’d you leave such a beautiful place?”
The question had been asked before, by nearly everyone I’d met. But this felt different, like he was genuinely interested in the answer.
“I was tired of chasing after dreams that would never come true,” I admitted, shocked at my own candor. “So I left.”
He gave an understanding nod, swirling the last of the coffee in his cup.
“Well,” he said, checking his watch, “I hate to eat and run, but I’m afraid duty calls.
” He slid off the stool and reached into the pocket of his jacket, producing a handful of bills which he laid on the counter.
“But thank you —for the delicious pie and the conversation. This has been…helpful.”
I nodded, my fingers brushing over the crisp bills as I mentally calculated the tip. “Any time.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked as he pivoted toward the door.
I nodded and he gave me a lopsided grin. “Good. In that case, I’ll see you then.”
When we had closed up for the night, Judy and I sat down at the bar and ate our dinner.
We were quiet. The words exchanged earlier with Andrew filled my thoughts.
The restaurant was different when it was empty, like a stage after the actors have gone home.
It had a certain hollowness that could only be filled by patrons.
“Who was that man I saw you talking to earlier?” Judy asked, eyebrows arched in curiosity.
“Rosie’s lawyer…Andrew Hastings.”
“Andrew,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she chewed her lip. “He seemed quite taken with you.”
“Seriously? We were just talking.”
Judy smirked. “Just talking, huh? That’s how it always starts.” She popped a fry into her mouth, grinning at me over her plate.
I rolled my eyes at her but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at my lips. “I highly doubt getting to know a waitress at a random restaurant in the middle of nowhere is at the top of his priorities list. Besides, he’s here on business.”
Judy took her plate to the sink and rinsed it off. When she returned, her playful expression was gone, replaced by a more serious one. “Did he give you any indication that he would be able to help Rosie?”
I paused, my mind replaying our conversation. “He seemed hopeful, but he also said it wouldn't be easy. That he’d seen guilty verdicts with far less evidence.”
Judy nodded, her gaze lingering on the empty tables before she spoke again. “We can only hope he knows what he’s doing, and that Rosie will be okay. Otherwise, we’re all going to be in for a very rough time.”