Chapter 39. Holly
Holly
Jade arrived home later than usual, plunking herself on the sofa, looking exhausted. Her eyes were heavy, her shoulders sagging forward. Chester was there for emotional support—for himself, not Jade, but that was a cat for you.
Holly approached with tea for two and an important question for her housemate. She took a seat across from the coffee table and poured hot water into their mugs.
“Jade, I’m not mad, but I’m wondering if you went against my wishes and borrowed Beach Thriller to help with the writing. Did you go into my room and take the pages out of the box?” Her voice rose with a dash of hopefulness.
Jade blinked. “Um, no,” she said, sinking deeper into the couch, arms folded, on the defensive.
Holly bristled. She had to be lying. “Please, Jade, now isn’t the time for games. I need a straight answer.”
Jade looked confused. “I didn’t take anything from you—certainly not your book.”
Her conviction was undeniable, but there was a look in Jade’s eyes—a hint of deception? She may not have taken the book, but Jade was hiding something, Holly had no doubt.
“I don’t understand. It’s missing. What could have happened to it? The pages didn’t get up and walk away on their own.”
Jade leaned forward. She peered at Holly as though she were being dim.
“And books don’t often take matches to themselves and write warnings telling you to get out of town.
” She fell back against the couch cushion, satisfied, and drank from her mug.
“Good tea,” she said, looking pleased with herself.
Holly reared back. She didn’t want to consider this possibility—it was too fraught. Her voice was an anxious whisper. “You think … whoever sent me that book broke in and took my novel?”
Jade raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly, basically saying: Come on. Don’t be stupid.
Holly looked around the room as if the intruder might still be hiding in a shadowy corner. “Fuck,” she said, crossing her arms. “That is so damn scary.”
Jade rested her elbows on her knees, fixing Holly with an intense, unwavering stare. “Don’t you see, Holly? We have to get answers, and you have to finish the book. That’s the only way to make any of this stop.”
“It’s gone. That’s the only copy.”
Jade shook off the objection. “The beginning doesn’t matter. You can write that part of your story over and over again if you have to. It’s the end that counts.”
Holly awoke early from a fitful sleep. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was in New York, Beauport, or somewhere else entirely. The dissociation made her feel nearly as unsettled as last night’s dream.
The images were obscured, but the intensity of emotion carried into the morning as Holly poured herself coffee, feeling a rush of cortisol as though she were actively being chased.
In her nightmare, she had been. Someone was after her—had been in her home—and Holly had run outside and sped toward the beach, desperate to escape.
But the presence—was it even human?—followed her down the path and onto the sand that swallowed her footsteps, making her progress excruciatingly slow.
The edges of her dream were unclear, as if they had a vignette filter.
Still, Holly remembered her frantic effort, heart in her throat, as she stumbled toward the water, crashing into the waves, each one getting progressively larger and more powerful until she went under.
She tried to swim, but her limbs were heavy and weak.
Then she felt someone grasp her ankle, pulling her deeper, until she woke up, gasping for air.
Holly shook it off, gulping her coffee like medicine.
She settled onto the couch with a blanket.
She was up earlier than usual, and the house was quiet.
Jade was still asleep—and still hiding something.
Holly was sure of it, but Jade wasn’t opening up.
She’d told Holly that she’d be extra busy helping Maeve with last-minute preparations for her fundraiser and might have to work late again.
But Holly knew there was more to that story, too.
Something was up at the Carmichael estate, and she couldn’t shake the feeling it was connected to her missing novel.
Chester, her ever-faithful companion, jumped on her lap, purring loudly.
Holly’s eyes closed, Chester’s purr working like melatonin. But then flashes of the nightmare returned. Who was chasing her onto the beach? The presence had been familiar, someone she had trusted, allowed into her home. Was it Ethan?
Holly dismissed the idea. Just because Ethan was probably a womanizer didn’t mean he was dangerous.
Whether her dream should be taken as a warning or not, Holly knew what she had to do.
Easy come, easy go, she told herself as she took out her phone and sent a message, hoping to catch Ethan before he left for the day:
Sorry, my headache is back. I have to cancel dinner and let’s wait on the repairs. I need some quiet time today. Thanks.
She hit send.
Holly reread her text. Thanks? Why did she feel the need to be polite even when she seriously questioned this man’s character? She was sure the answer went back to her childhood and gender roles in society, but that was more than she could tackle this morning. All she could manage was more coffee.
After her second cup and some snuggles with Chester, Holly felt better able to face the day. She made a plan. She needed a friend to talk to—a female she could trust. Holly got in the shower and prepared to head to the boardwalk.