Chapter 8 June
JUNE
June drove like she always did when her head was full—carefully. Too carefully, as if keeping the speedometer just under the limit could stop the world from tipping over.
It didn’t.
Holt’s words kept replaying, looping in her mind with the stubbornness of a song you hated but couldn’t switch off.
Your accident… there’s something you need to know.
June tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles ached, then forced herself to loosen it again. Her shoulders were already tense enough to snap.
She’d left Teacups with the smell of smoke still clinging to her clothes and the sight of blackened beams still stamped behind her eyes.
She’d left Holt with a look on his face she hadn’t seen in a long time, the look that meant he’d weighed the cost of telling her something and decided the risk of silence was worse.
June could admit one thing, even if she hated admitting it.
Holt didn’t panic easily either. That was what shook her.
Not the possibility that her accident had been something more, but the certainty in Holt’s voice when he’d said he’d looked into it.
He hadn’t tossed the idea out like a theory.
He’d stated it like a fact he’d been carrying around for days, maybe weeks, and he’d only just decided she deserved to know.
June’s mind tried to do what it always did when something didn’t make sense. It tried to build logic.
If her accident hadn’t been an accident, then it had to have a reason. That meant someone wanted her hurt, or scared, or dead, and even thinking that made her throat tighten as if her body wanted to reject the thought entirely.
She ran through her cases in Miami, one by one, then dismissed each as quickly as she could.
An environmental spill with a company that had already admitted fault and was paying for remediation. A property dispute that ended in mediation. A dull, procedural appeal where no one had even raised their voice.
Nothing that would make anyone follow her, nothing that would make someone decide she should be taken out at a traffic light.
Surely not.
June’s gaze flicked to her rear-view mirror, then to her side mirrors, and the reflex embarrassed her even as she did it. She had never been a paranoid woman. She had always been cautious, yes, but not like this. Not scanning roads like a hunted animal.
The image of the pale pink envelope rose uninvited, the typed names, Lucy Tanner and June Carter, side by side as if they were a pair of targets pinned to the same board.
Someone had wanted June to read them and feel exactly this, the crawl of fear under her skin, the sense that her life had shifted into someone else’s hands.
She wished, with a kind of bitter longing, that she could just go and sit in Lacey’s hospital room and talk to her. She wished she could hold her friend’s hand and demand answers and feel the steady presence of Dean glowering at anyone who came too close.
But Lucy had warned her. Lacey was awake now, yes, but she was still fragile, still recovering, still being monitored.
Too many visitors would overwhelm her, and Lucy had that particular doctor tone when she gave instructions, the one that made it clear she would physically remove you from the premises if you ignored her.
June exhaled slowly as she pulled into the grocer’s parking lot.
She needed to get milk, fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, and something for dinner.
June shut the car off and sat for a moment, her hands resting on the wheel, and forced her thoughts into order.
She told herself she was being ridiculous.
She told herself Holt had been careful with his words because he cared, not because he had proof of a shadowy figure that had deliberately hit her car in Miami.
She told herself her mind was connecting every bad thing in the world because she was exhausted, frightened, and running on too little sleep.
Then she got out of the car and walked into the store like a normal person, because that was what you did. You kept moving. You didn’t let panic turn you into furniture.
The grocer was cool and bright, the air-conditioning humming softly, the fluorescent lights making everything look a little too stark.
It smelled of fruit, bakery bread, and cleaning solution.
Families wandered the aisles with carts, tourists in sandals stared at shelves as if they were puzzles, and locals nodded at each other with that small-town familiarity June had always found comforting.
She took a deep breath, grabbed a basket, and headed for the dairy section.
She picked up milk, then moved on to vegetables, and then fruit.
She selected them automatically, her mind elsewhere, as if her hands were shopping and her thoughts were trapped back at Teacups, back at the moment Holt had looked at her and decided she needed the truth.
She paid without really seeing the cashier. She thanked someone who held the door open. June stepped out into the warm late afternoon sunlight and nearly ran straight into Victoria Morrison.
June stopped so abruptly that she jolted her neck, and the plastic handle of her grocery bag cut into her hand.
Victoria was dressed like she was on her way somewhere more important than groceries, in a tailored blouse, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, lipstick too perfect for someone who claimed she was just running errands.
She looked June over with a slow, deliberate scan that made June feel as if she’d been weighed and found wanting.
“If you drive anything like you walk,” Victoria sneered, her mouth twisting, “it’s no wonder you had a car accident.”
The words landed like a slap.
For a brief, ugly second, fear surged through June so hard her stomach flipped. She stared at Victoria and felt something cold and sharp click into place in her mind.
It could be her.
It could be this woman with her easy cruelty and her polished smile and her eyes that never quite warmed, no matter how sweet her voice sounded.
June felt it, the instinctive warning that always came before danger, the one she trusted in courtrooms and negotiations and crowded rooms full of people who smiled while planning to ruin you.
Then she forced herself to breathe.
No, she told herself. You will not let Victoria see you startled and flustered like a rabbit caught on a by road.
June steadied her voice. “Sorry,” she said, because she refused to stand in a grocery store parking lot and match Victoria’s nastiness with her own. “I didn’t see you.”
“Well, we’ve established that,” Victoria said, the contempt in her tone thick and satisfied. “Are you just going to stand there gaping at me like a goldfish in a bowl, or are you going to apologize for nearly running me off my feet?”
June’s jaw tightened. She kept her expression controlled, even though her pulse was doing ridiculous things.
“How did you know about my accident?” June asked, and she didn’t bother pretending it was a casual question.
Victoria laughed softly, as if June had just asked something charmingly stupid.
“Everyone in Sandpiper Shores knows about your accident,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain.
“It was practically front-page news here when it happened. Your daughter is the fire captain, and your best friend is the town’s doctor. ”
June’s shoulders eased by a fraction. Of course. That made sense. In this town, someone sneezed, and half the street knew the brand of tissues the person used.
Still, June didn’t like the way Victoria had said it. She didn’t like the satisfaction in her voice, as if June’s pain had been entertainment.
“Of course,” June said, keeping her tone flat. “Well, have a nice evening, Victoria.”
She turned to go because she wasn’t giving this woman any more of her time.
Victoria’s voice followed her, smug and bright. “Well, if I don’t have a good evening tonight, I will tomorrow night,” she called. “Because Holt is coming to dinner.”
June stopped mid-step. She hated that she stopped. She hated that something unpleasant and sharp flickered in her chest, something she didn’t want to name, because she didn’t have time for it and she didn’t deserve to indulge it.
Holt had said he’d do it. He’d agreed, reluctantly, because the case demanded it.
Still, hearing it out loud like this, from Victoria’s mouth, like a trophy she was already displaying, made June’s stomach twist.
“Oh,” June said, turning, and she made her voice light, because she refused to give Victoria the satisfaction of seeing any reaction. “So you finally wore him down into accepting dinner?”
More pain stung her chest, and June ruthlessly pushed it away, reminding herself that she was the one who had suggested it. She’d pushed him toward this. June had no right to feel anything about it, not after all these years.
But she couldn’t stop the next words from slipping out, smooth as silk and sharp as a pin.
“I hope you checked for his allergies,” June said, giving Victoria a small, sweet smile. “Or your evening might turn into a visit to the emergency room. Now I have to go.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, June saw the anger flash, raw and ugly, before the woman smoothed it back into her smile. June turned and walked away, not looking back.
She reached Carmen’s car, tossed her groceries into the trunk, and was just closing it when she heard someone call her name.
“Mrs. Carter.”
June turned and found Harvey hurrying toward her, his breath slightly uneven, his face flushed as if he’d been jogging across the parking lot searching for her.
“I’m so glad I found you,” he said, and the urgency in his voice made June’s stomach tighten again. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh?” June asked, and her voice came out steadier than she felt. “What is it, Harvey?”
Harvey glanced around, then pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He didn’t hand it to her immediately. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.