Chapter 9 Carmen
CARMEN
Carmen stared at June as if her sister had just spoken a different language, one Carmen understood in theory but had never expected to hear in her niece’s kitchen.
June’s voice hadn’t been dramatic. There’d been no theatrics, no hand-wringing, no spiraling monologue. June had said it the same way she said the roof is leaking or we need to get the kids’ vaccinations updated. Calm enough that you almost believed it was solvable with a clipboard and a pen.
That calmness was what made Carmen’s stomach tighten.
June didn’t say things like this unless she believed them.
Carmen swallowed, setting her wine glass down with controlled care. She wanted to ask a dozen questions at once, but she didn’t. She forced herself to do what she always did at a scene, even when her pulse was too loud in her ears. One question at a time. Establish what you knew. Work outward.
“June,” Carmen said slowly, keeping her voice steady because the last thing her sister needed was a hysterical echo. “What on earth is going on?”
June’s shoulders lifted on a quiet breath and lowered again. She looked tired in a way Carmen didn’t like, tired around the eyes, tired in the posture, tired in that contained, careful way that suggested she’d been holding herself together with sheer willpower for days.
June nodded once, as if acknowledging that Carmen had a right to ask.
“You know Holt and I have been working on the fires,” June began. “The campground, Henderson Farm, the old vet clinic, and now Teacups.”
Carmen watched her intently, reading the way June chose her words, the way she avoided certain details, the way she kept her tone even. It reminded Carmen of how June used to speak in court, when she needed a jury to follow her without realizing she was guiding them.
Carmen’s spine stiffened, not from fear, but from a different feeling that always showed up when June was in trouble—protectiveness.
“Not just the fires,” Carmen said, and kept it a question. “You’ve been working on the accidents, too.”
June’s gaze flicked up. “Yes.”
“Are the fires connected to the accidents?” Carmen asked, because that was the simplest way to keep her own head from spinning. “Or are we chasing two different nightmares at once?”
June hesitated, and that hesitation was an answer in itself. “At first,” she admitted, “I thought they were connected. I still do, in a way. But now I’m not sure it’s as clean as that.”
Carmen held her sister’s gaze, waiting.
“It could be a copycat,” June continued quietly. “Someone repeating patterns from ten years ago. Or it could be a new arsonist altogether. Or…” June trailed off, jaw tightening.
Carmen finished the sentence because the thought had already been growing in her own mind since Teacups had gone up like tinder. “Or the real arsonist didn’t die in the fire ten years ago,” Carmen said, voice low, “and the man everyone blamed back then was a fall guy.”
June’s eyes narrowed slightly, and the way she looked at Carmen was almost a confirmation and a warning all at once.
“Yes,” June said. “That’s what Holt and I have started to think.”
A cold sensation ran up Carmen’s spine, the kind that had nothing to do with air-conditioning or wet hair.
She pictured Sandpiper Shores ten years ago, the way the town had felt like it was holding its breath for months.
The smaller fires people joked about. The “accidents” everyone shrugged off.
The gossip that traveled faster than the tide.
Then the big one, the one that had ripped the heart out of this place and left the rest of them walking around with scar tissue.
“And if that’s true,” Carmen said slowly, “then someone has been sitting in this town for ten years, knowing they got away with it.”
June nodded.
Carmen’s hands curled against the edge of the counter. “So where do Lucy and you come into it?” she asked. “Because you said you share a common enemy.”
June’s face tightened. “We do,” she said. “For some reason, someone has decided Lucy has to go, and Lacey got caught in it because she was mistaken for her. And now my name has been dragged into it too.”
Carmen leaned forward slightly, eyes hard. “You said they haven’t done anything to you.”
“Not yet,” June said quietly.
June’s gaze flicked away for a heartbeat. The movement was small, but Carmen caught it. It was the look June got when she was weighing whether to tell the truth or protect someone from it.
Carmen’s stomach clenched.
“You know who it is,” Carmen said, not as an accusation but as a recognition. “Don’t you?”
June shook her head, but the movement didn’t convince Carmen. “No,” June replied. “I don’t know. Not for sure.” She swallowed, then added, almost reluctantly, “I do have a suspect in mind.”
Carmen didn’t breathe.
“And,” June said, voice dropping a fraction, “as of this afternoon, I have two more possibilities.”
Carmen’s eyebrows shot up. “Three suspects?” she repeated, because that was a lot of new information to be sitting on while pretending everything was normal enough to buy salad vegetables.
June nodded.
“Who?” Carmen asked, and she kept her voice calm only because she didn’t want June to shut down.
June hesitated, then began, choosing a path Carmen could follow without being thrown into the deep end of a case file she hadn’t read.
“Victoria Morrison threatened Lucy,” June said.
Carmen’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Threatened her how?”
“Not directly in public,” June clarified. “She actually threatened her when she thought she was Lacey. She kind of told her to back off from Tom.”
Carmen felt a familiar anger crawl into her gut.
Victoria Morrison had always had a way of leaning too close and making people feel as if they had to step back to breathe.
Carmen had seen it even when they were younger, the subtle dominance, the smile that never softened her eyes, the way she spoke as if every conversation was a negotiation she intended to win.
“And then no more than an hour or two later,” June continued, “Lacey got run off the road while she was driving Lucy’s truck.”
Carmen’s head snapped up. “Lucy’s truck,” she echoed.
June nodded, and Carmen remembered the way Lucy had explained it in passing earlier, almost like it was a minor detail. Lucy’s husband had left her the truck. Lacey used it when she came into town. A routine arrangement.
“So you think Victoria tried to push Lacey off the road,” Carmen said, forcing herself to keep up, “because she thought Lacey was Lucy.”
June exhaled. “It’s a possibility.”
Carmen frowned. “But do you think she’s capable of locking Lacey in the old vet clinic, gassing her, and setting the building alight?”
June’s expression shifted, uncertainty tightening her features. “I honestly don’t know,” she admitted.
That answer made Carmen colder than the question had.
Because Carmen could picture Victoria’s face. Carmen could picture those cold, assessing eyes. Carmen could picture the way Victoria could make cruelty sound like polite conversation.
“The woman has always been an ice queen who would trample anyone to get what she wants,” Carmen said quietly, and images flashed through her mind like grim postcards. “But I’m not sure she’s capable of murder.”
June’s gaze sharpened. “Depends what she’s trying to get,” she said. “Or…” June’s eyes narrowed further, “what she’s trying to cover up.”
Carmen didn’t like the shape of that sentence. “Cover up what?” she asked, even though she already knew June wasn’t going to give her that.
June didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, she said, “Victoria was smug with me this afternoon. About Holt.”
Carmen watched June’s face, and her worry shifted, not because Carmen cared about Holt and Victoria, but because Carmen cared about June. Carmen knew her sister well enough to know when she was trying to pretend she didn’t feel something.
“Smug how?” Carmen asked carefully.
“As if she’d marked him,” June replied, voice clipped despite herself. “As if he’s hers.”
Carmen’s pulse ticked up. Victoria didn’t do subtle when she wanted an audience. If she was boasting about Holt, she wanted June to hear it. She wanted June to react. She wanted to win something that didn’t belong to her.
Carmen leaned back slightly, studying June. “Does it bother you?” she asked carefully.
June’s answer came too quickly. “Absolutely not.”
Carmen didn’t move. She didn’t nod. She didn’t challenge it. She just watched, because Carmen knew her sister’s tells. June’s voice stayed steady, but her eyes flicked away for the briefest moment, and Carmen felt that little ache of worry settle deeper.
June went on, as if determined to keep Carmen focused on the case and not on her heart.
“Holt and I are getting along now,” June said. “We’re just friends.”
Carmen let that sit for a moment, then nodded slowly. “All right,” she said, because if she pushed, June would shut down, and Carmen needed June talking.
“So Victoria is one suspect,” Carmen summarized. “What about the other two?”
June’s jaw tightened. “I need to check them out first,” she said. “I only got their names today.”
Carmen’s gaze sharpened. That wasn’t an answer. It was a delay.
“What does Holt think of these new suspects?” Carmen asked, because it was a sensible question, and because she wanted to see how June handled it.
June hesitated again.
Then, instead of replying, she stood, walked to the cupboard, pulled out a glass, and poured herself a glass of wine.
Carmen watched that movement with a growing unease.
June took a sip, then finally said, “I don’t know.”
Carmen’s brows rose. “You don’t know because you haven’t told him,” she said, and it wasn’t a question this time.
June didn’t deny it.
Carmen nearly choked on her own breath. “June,” she said, her voice low and incredulous, “why would you withhold information from Holt if you’re working on this together?”
June’s eyes flashed with irritation, but underneath it, Carmen saw strain.