Winnow #2
I shrug, raising my tea to my lips and blowing across the steam as I decide just how much information to keep to myself and how much to give away.
“It’s a small town. Everybody knows everything in no time,” I reply after a sip that burns my palate.
“Are you sure you want to join today? I can guarantee that it’ll be going on for a while yet. No need to rush into things.”
Tylor shakes his head, the motion final.
Resolved. “No, I’ll go crazy just sitting around the hotel room, thinking about what the hell just happened.
And this is what Charlie would have wanted.
” His liquid brown eyes scan the space behind me as though cataloging every detail before settling on me once more. “To get to the bottom of this place.”
“‘The bottom of this place,’ huh?” I let out a low whistle that reminds me a little too much of something Yates would do. “Well, that might take a while. Cape Carnage isn’t the most straightforward town.”
“Yeah. That I know. Speaking of which,” he says, slipping a hand into the interior pocket of his jacket. He withdraws a folded piece of paper. I already know what’s going to be on it before he slides it across the table toward me. “Do you happen to know who this woman is?”
I take the photo, giving him a suspicious glance. “You a cop or something?”
“An investigator with the Sleuthseekers.” Tylor gives me a wary smile, catching my questioning look. “It’s a collective of online investigators. We specialize in solving cold cases. We think she might know something about why my friends Sam and Vinny were here.”
I stare down at the image of Harper striding away from the camera, the same one that was on the Discord server. Every second that passes is a struggle to keep my hands from warping the paper in my iron grip. “Can’t say that I know her, no. Where’d it come from?”
“It belonged to Sam,” he says flatly, as though he’s unwilling to share more about his fallen leader’s unorthodox methods.
I want to ask Tylor how it came into his possession—whether Sam sent it to him before he died, or if it was another source, but I don’t, not wanting to arouse suspicion with prying questions. “Did you show it to the sheriff?”
Tylor’s eyes darken. “No. I . . . ” He glances around before returning his attention to me. “I’m not sure that what happened between Sam and Vinny went down the way he said. And I’m not sure he can be trusted.”
“Why not?”
“I knew those guys for years,” Tylor says, his gaze sticking to mine like an emphatic plea.
“I solved a case with them last year. I know how they worked together. I just can’t see a world in which they’d turn on each other like Yates claims they did.
I dunno . . . ” He trails off. Shakes his head.
“Maybe he wants to sweep it under the rug, so tourism doesn’t dry up. But something doesn’t seem right.”
I glance one last time at the image of Harper, then pass the paper back to Tylor.
I battle every instinct in my body not to tear it up and shove the pieces down this fucker’s throat until he chokes in my grasp.
He’s right that Sam didn’t die the way that Yates seems to believe he did, of course.
And I can’t deny that it’s always felt a bit strange that Vinny would attack a sheriff so brutally.
Something about that continues to feel a little off.
Even though Sam had me handcuffed and kept at gunpoint, I didn’t get the sense he wanted to kill me—only find fame with my demise.
“Well,” I say, nodding toward the paper Tylor slides into his pocket, “can’t help you with that woman, I’m afraid. But I can get you set up for a volunteer rotation. Follow me.”
I lead the way toward the registration desk, stopping in front of Maddison, the young barista from the coffee shop who’s been managing the list of volunteers. “I’ve got a new one for you, Maddison,” I say, gesturing toward the man at my side. “This is Tylor . . . ”
“Knightsbridge,” he offers, and for a breath of time, I go completely still.
KnightofTruth, a beacon flares at me from the black recesses of my spiraling mind.
“Tylor Knightsbridge.” I plaster on what I hope is a charming smile when Maddison looks between us, trying to determine what it is that feels strange about this moment.
Even though I’m desperate to dig my fingers into Tylor’s neck and pull out his fucking spine, I need to be the dependable leader. So I soften my smile and lay my accent on just a little thicker when I say, “Why don’t you put him with the Simmons Loop crew? They could use a hand.”
“Sure thing, Nolan,” Maddison says, a blush rising in her cheeks.
I turn to Tylor. “I’ve gotta get back to it. You’re in good hands here. Thanks again for joining the search, especially under these circumstances.”
I don’t wait long enough to process whatever it is that Tylor says in reply. I just clap a hand on his arm and walk away to lose myself in the chaos of the crowd.
The volunteers and their questions. The reporters hovering like vultures.
The scent of hot dogs and bitter coffee.
For once, I’m even grateful for Mrs. Evanston’s relentless dog.
I want the distractions from Vivian, and Tylor, and all the rest of the shit that seems to be piling up around me.
Maybe I’d like to find some reprieve from worrying about how I’ll bring up Arthur’s possible uxoricide with Harper.
But it doesn’t work.
In the time that I spend agonizing about how I’m going to broach this topic with Harper, I realize that I never expected to fall in love with someone so complex, so shrouded in secrecy.
Her own secrets. Her town’s. Her mentor’s.
Even mine. For some dumbass, naive reason, I thought love would be easy—a quiet river that snakes through life.
Not a storm in the night that pulls you apart.
Most days, I don’t know if I’m on course or navigating to my doom.
That’s my last thought as I grip the door handle and enter the cottage.
I’m greeted by music and the scent of cooking food mingling with the incense that burns next to the chessboard.
Harper is singing in the kitchen. Christ, she’s a terrible singer, but she goes for it anyway.
I love that about her. Morpheus is croaking along at the open window and she’s laying a piece of suspicious jerky down for him as he eyes me and caws.
“Oh Jesus,” Harper says when she whirls around and her eyes land on me. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” I reply, setting my bag down and taking off my boots. I head to the kitchen to greet her with a kiss before pulling a Blackstone beer from the fridge. I swallow a swell of nerves with the first sip. “How was the rest of your day?”
Harper shrugs, tearing pieces of basil apart to sprinkle them on the homemade pizza she’s pulled from the oven. “I tried my best to fix the topiaries. Took me all afternoon. The first round of judging is tomorrow.”
“I’m sure they look great.” I lean against the counter next to her and she shoots me a doubtful glare. “Great-er than they were before.”
“That’s very generous of you. Also, categorically wrong.
” Harper takes the pizza to the table, and I drift in her wake, every heartbeat an ominous thud in my chest. “How about you? How’d it go with Yates?
I was worried about you. It sucked that I couldn’t call,” she says, nodding to the unopened box of my new phone that must have arrived while I was at the search.
“Thanks for getting Maya to text me, by the way.”
“Sure” is all I can manage. Harper spares me a worried glance before focusing on slicing the pizza.
I take a sip of beer and set one of the pieces on my plate, but my appetite has suddenly vanished in a swirl of nausea.
“I’m pretty sure that Tylor guy is KnightofTruth, considering his last name is Knightsbridge.
You have to promise me you won’t come down to the command center until he’s gone, because he’s volunteering with the search. ”
Harper’s eyes widen, her brows climbing her forehead. “Seriously . . . ?” she says, and I nod. “Fuck. I got lucky in Maya’s.”
“Yeah. You did. And he showed me that picture of you, the same one from the Discord server.”
Harper huffs around a mouthful of pizza before washing it down with a long sip of her beer. “If you ratted me out, I’ll knife you in the balls.”
I only manage a weak smile at her joke, but she doesn’t seem to notice, her focus shifting to the middle distance of the room as she chews through her thoughts in silence.
“Yates was okay,” I continue. “He asked me if I saw or heard anything at the Capeside Inn. Apparently, Daryl Winkle said he saw me driving away from the inn with wet hair. I managed to make some excuse that your water heater is acting up and I took a shower at the inn instead. I’ve gotta buy you a new one, by the way. ”
“Fucking Winkle,” Harper growls, setting her beer bottle down with more force than necessary. “If I could chop him and his bitchass wife into tiny pieces and chuck them into Cookie Monster, I’d be doing this whole damn town a favor.”
Harper scowls down at her plate with murderously adorable rage.
Sarah Winkle’s letter in the Chronicle flashes through my mind as I pick at the crust of my pizza.
“Yeah. I don’t think anybody would be upset about that.
” I take in a deep breath, like I’m about to tear gauze free of the wound that’s absorbed it, then venture, “Yates said something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
Harper gives me a sidelong stare of suspicion, her chewing slowing down until she finally swallows. “Sounds like I’m about to be in for a good time.”