Chapter 20
Naomi glances at the choppy waves of the deep-blue Atlantic as she drives north toward Port Wendigo. A red-and-white-striped lighthouse comes into view as she turns the corner, surrounded by rocky shores.
She imagines Harlow driving along this same route with Colton, the first inspiration for “Once Upon a Summer” stirring in her mind.
Instead of gray and cold late September, it would’ve been a sapphire and golden July, tranquil water sparkling under the high sun and boats filling the bay.
Naomi pictures their beginning like a polaroid-perfect romance.
Old money, new money, young, beautiful, famous, and in love.
Skinny-dipping under starry skies. Sunbathing on the rocks.
Lobster dinners. Sailing into the sunset…
Little did the lovers know they were heading into a deadly storm.
Or maybe Harlow did know, but didn’t care, Naomi muses. It’s clear their relationship was more complicated than it appeared.
Goosebumps prickle Naomi’s arm as she takes another bend. Across the inlet, perched atop a tall cliffside, a large Georgian-style mansion peeks through a row of pine trees. Harlow’s vacation home.
According to an article Naomi read in Architectural Digest, Harlow purchased the property when she and Colton were still dating but continued to spend her downtime there well after their final split.
Maybe she loved the location. Or maybe she wanted Colton to have a constant reminder of her, even in his hometown.
Naomi casts her gaze to the cliff below the mansion and, seeing how the waves crash violently against the rocks, her picture-perfect visions of Harlow and Colton become spliced with scenes more fitting of a horror film than a romance.
Colton’s laughter is replaced by a scream.
Harlow’s kind eyes, usually clear and bright, are bloodshot, devoid of emotion.
The thought unnerves Naomi as she pictures her sister in Colton’s place, and she wishes she could forget everything she learned yesterday.
Just for now. She’s already on edge as it is, knowing she’s sneaking into the wake, and obsessing over Faye’s death—wondering if she was actually murdered, like Jade—isn’t something she can handle now. She can’t spiral, not today.
Naomi exhales loudly, telling herself to focus on the scenic drive in front of her instead.
The rocky coastline soon turns into rolling hills of green grass, lined with trees in rich tones of red and orange, and the nervous pit in her stomach flares as she drives up the freshly paved road toward her destination.
She switches from Spotify to radio, feeling it’s in poor taste to pull into the post-funeral gathering playing songs from the alleged murderer.
Naomi looks down at her white shirt and black tie, the uniform of the country club’s servers, before fixing her side braid.
Since press is strictly prohibited and invitations will be checked at the door, her plan is to covertly enter the memorial service as if she’s one of the staff, before changing into guest attire and posing as a former colleague of Colton’s.
She breathes deeply as she passes through the wrought-iron gates, ready to find out if this is either an incredibly clever or foolish plan.
The security guard eyes her suspiciously as she rolls her window down, a clipboard in his hand.
She’s about to speak, but then he quickly waves her through, after spotting a few black limousines pulling up behind her.
A rush of relief and adrenaline courses through her as she realizes she’s made it past the first obstacle.
A spectacular white dome comes into view as Naomi reaches the top of the emerald hill. The multistory structure is lined with windows on the first floor and a wraparound porch on the second. Guests are already standing outside on the balcony area, smoking and conversing.
Naomi parks her car and surveys the entrance.
She notices numerous servers, wearing the same outfit she’s currently wearing, coming in and out of the door to the left.
To the right, elegantly dressed guests, all clad in expensive black attire, are making their way through the glass bifold doors.
It doesn’t look like any security is checking guests’ identification or stopping anyone trying to walk into the main entrance.
Aside from the men at the second gate, the only security are those looking out onto the golf course and surrounding property.
Naomi smirks, realizing they’re probably trying to make sure no press or paparazzi sneak through the wooded area. “And I drove right through the checkpoint,” she whispers to herself.
She inhales, absorbing the boost of confidence, and takes off her black tie.
Underneath her white shirt, she’s wearing a satin-black camisole tucked into black trousers.
She chucks the shirt and tie into the footwell of the passenger seat and pulls on a black blazer before swapping out her flats for stilettos and grabbing her clutch bag.
Brown leaves crunch beneath her feet as she steps out of the car. She shouldn’t be surprised by the cool breeze that greets her—it is Maine, after all—but still she shivers as she marches forward.
*
The mood inside the country club isn’t as somber as Naomi expects. She was worried that going to a funeral would put her off her game, that it would bring back floods of painful memories. But this lavish event is a far cry from the low-key gathering she held for her mom and Faye.
Aside from the black attire, it feels more like a wedding reception with the impressive tables of food, loud chatter, and laughter.
Naomi scans the crowd for Casey Scott, taking in the sea of famous and influential cliques.
A group of politicians, including Colton’s uncle Kenneth Scott, are gathered around a high-top table to her left, while a group of bank CEOs and hedge fund managers are huddled by the bar to her right.
She can almost smell the money coming off them, that group alone worth the GDP of a small country.
Then there are the lone wolves, using the wake as a networking event.
Naomi pushes through the crowd, stopping when she notices the impressive ensemble in front of her, including most of the Mr. America cast alongside a few supermodels and musicians.
It’s strange to think Harlow isn’t here.
Of course it makes sense, but still. It’s also odd that Colton’s ex-fiancée, Meghan Rhodes, doesn’t seem to be among the guests.
But one face in particular stands out—because it’s impossible to miss.
In the center of the room, a giant oil painting of Colton stares back at her. She recognizes him by his boyish grin and lush eyelashes. But the warmth of his appearance is gone—as if his ghost has taken possession of the photo and is waiting to haunt everyone here.
Everyone thinks he’s this can-do-no-wrong hero, but he can’t be as great as everyone makes him out to be.
Not to talk bad about the dead, but I didn’t like him.
A shiver crawls up Naomi’s spine as she recalls both Bobby and Trevor’s comments.
Until now she’d chalked them up to him potentially being a cheater, a playboy who’d toy with Harlow’s emotions.
But staring at his painting now, hypnotized by his dark-brown eyes and thick lashes, she can’t help but wonder if his heroic persona was hiding more than that.
If, like Harlow, the world thought they knew him, but really had no idea.
What was your secret, Colton? she thinks. Did we not know the real you either?
*
Naomi almost doesn’t recognize Casey Scott with her new bob haircut, but the former model is one of the tallest women in the room.
She’s wearing a loose-fitted black dress and a deep-red lip, reminding Naomi of Daisy Buchanan.
Casey says something to the bartender and then looks down at her phone.
Her husband, James, Colton’s brother, is next to her, casually leaning on the bar as he quietly speaks to another man, his face turned away from Naomi.
She decides to take her chance.
“Excuse me,” Naomi says exasperatedly as she approaches the bar. Once Casey turns, Naomi reaches past her and grabs a napkin from the tray.
“Sorry.” Naomi grimaces. She points to her top, which she pretends has just been soiled by something. She dabs at the dry fabric with a napkin.
“Well, at least it’s black,” Casey says. “I can’t even see anything.”
A metaphorical lock clicks in Naomi’s mind, and she is relieved Casey didn’t just smirk and turn away.
Naomi sighs, throwing the napkin down at the bar. “It’s only from Target anyway. Don’t tell anyone, though.”
Casey smiles, and Naomi knows her self-deprecating comment worked.
Naomi has a strategy planned for various people she might encounter today, and her strategy for Casey is to appear down-to-earth and utterly average.
She read that Casey’s parents were both public school teachers, so figures she’ll respond better to someone who doesn’t seem pretentious or materialistic. And she’s right.
“I’m Faye,” Naomi says, mentally cursing herself the second her sister’s name comes out of her mouth. She was planning on using Amelia’s name for a cover, but Faye slipped out instead. Just when she thought she was keeping it together…
Forcing herself to quickly recover from the mistake, Naomi stretches out her hand to Casey. “I used to work on Colton’s PR team.”
Casey shakes her hand and smiles. “He’s my—was my—brother-in-law. I’m Casey.” She thanks the bartender as he hands her a dirty martini.
“Nice to meet you. And so sorry for your loss. You must have been really close with him…”
Casey stirs her martini with an olive stick before taking a sip. “He was like a little brother to me. Always causing problems for James and the family, as I’m sure you know…”
Naomi tries not to look confused. What does she mean?
From her experience working in the industry, knowing how hard publicists work to sweep things under the rug, she guesses that maybe Colton’s PR team had to work harder than she imagined.
Maybe Bobby was right. Maybe Colton wasn’t so perfect.
Maybe it only seemed that way because they made it seem so.
“Don’t I know it.” Naomi laughs awkwardly, signaling the bartender. She quickly orders herself a glass of Pinot.
“I still can’t believe Harlow did this. It doesn’t seem right.”
She studies Casey’s response, noting a sadness sweep over her face.
“Were you close with her?” Naomi presses.
“We were, yeah.” Casey stares into her martini, lips pursed in a sour yet distant expression.
“Do you think…” Naomi grimaces as she lets the words hang in the air. She’s on tenterhooks as she waits for Casey’s response. After all, Casey was close to Harlow just before Faye died.
Casey chews on the olives and shrugs. “If you asked me three years ago, I would have said never in a million years. But I guess I don’t know her at all anymore.”
Naomi swallows hard, feeling a small weight fall off her shoulders. “So you don’t think she was just…” She waves her hands in the air. “Going around killing people?” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Young aspiring musicians. Like that other woman, Jade?”
Casey side-eyes Naomi. “No. I mean she had her jealous moments. Who doesn’t?
But as angry and sad as I am about everything and the possibility she could’ve done this to Colton, and of course that poor girl, who definitely is Colton’s type, I don’t know.
A part of me just doesn’t believe it at all.
I desperately hope it isn’t true at least, as much as I’d like closure for James’ family.
” She gestures toward her husband, who is still deep in conversation at the bar.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Naomi presses, racking her brain for how to ask the question she’s really interested in—was she with Harlow the night Bill Lever died?
Casey sips her martini and then cocks her head to the side, blowing air through her cheeks. “Pshh, I honestly can’t remember.”
Naomi leans in. “Sorry, I only ask because there’s a rumor going around that Harlow killed someone else in January of 2022—Bill Lever, I think?” She waves her hand dismissively, as if it’s ridiculous. “But I don’t know, seems crazy. Right?”
“Bill Lever?” Casey lets out a laugh. “No. I remember when that happened. Don’t get me wrong, she didn’t like the guy—total sleazebag, but I remember texting her about it when the news broke.
Because we’d been together for my birthday the night before.
She was with me in Maine until at least midnight.
” She stares down at the floor, frowning again.
“Can’t believe that was almost three years ago now. ”
Naomi tries to do the math in her head. No way Harlow made it to California in time to kill Bill Lever then. And that photo in LA was taken of her closer to lunchtime, so she probably had gone straight to Rodeo Drive after her flight.
Casey’s eyes glance at something behind Naomi and she smiles.
“Sam, hi.” A sad smile crosses her face as she reaches out her arms.
The man comes over, and Naomi gets a whiff of his musky cologne as he squeezes past to greet her.
Naomi flounders, realizing who it is. Colton and Harlow’s manager, Sam Brixton.
She inhales through her nose, trying to calm herself as he turns around, his wavy brown hair bouncing as he moves, unlike his tailored suit, which fits perfectly to his body. Naomi watches his pearly-white smile fade into a scowl.
She looks around, wondering what could have irked him. Until she realizes it’s her.
“How’d she get in here?” he asks, his small dark eyes now boring into hers. “It’s astounding how low the media is willing to stoop these days.”
Fuck, she thinks. How the hell did he know? Naomi’s eyes dart toward the possible exits, worried she’s about to be thrown out by security.
“Sam,” Casey interjects, trying to calm him down. The room has quieted and people are starting to stare. “This is Faye, she used to work with Colton’s PR team.”
Sam’s face drops for a second, looking from Casey and then to Naomi, perplexed. “No, Casey,” he says, exasperated. “She’s a reporter. From fucking C*Leb News.”
Before they can call security, Naomi slips into the crowd and makes a dash for the parking lot.