Chapter 9 Carmen #2
“Please don’t ask me that,” June said, and her tone held a warning. “I have more information I need to find out first.”
Carmen’s stomach tightened.
“Does one of those new suspects connect to Holt,” Carmen pressed carefully, “or to someone else we know in town?”
June’s gaze hardened.
“Carmen,” she said, “I can’t say.”
That was an answer. A very clear one.
Carmen sat very still, letting the implications spread out in her mind like ink in water. June took another sip of wine, as if to keep herself from speaking too fast.
“Oh,” June added, almost as an afterthought, “and Holt asked me about my car accident.”
Carmen’s eyebrows lifted.
“Oh?” she said, and despite everything, a sharp, suspicious part of her couldn’t help it. “Is he trying to win back your affection by playing the worried co-worker now?”
June’s head snapped up, and frustration sharpened her features. “Carmen,” June said tightly, “it’s not like that between Holt and me anymore. Please drop it.”
Carmen held her hands up slightly, not in surrender but in recognition that she’d stepped on a nerve.
“Okay,” Carmen said. “Sorry. Why is he interested in the accident then?”
June’s reply sliced through the kitchen like a blade.
“Because he’s convinced it wasn’t an accident.”
Carmen blinked.
“What?” she asked, because she genuinely didn’t understand how Holt had gone from fires and threats and pink letters to digging into June’s recent car accident.
“We know the man behind the wheel fell asleep,” Carmen said, because she remembered the details, being the one who had responded to the call. “He’d been pulling double shifts. There was nothing indicating it was anything other than an accident.”
June’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Holt has evidence that says otherwise,” she said quietly.
For a second, Carmen couldn’t speak. Anger punched her in the gut, hot and immediate, not at June but at Holt. Carmen didn’t like being manipulated. She didn’t like men who played hero with information that could tear someone’s world apart.
“What evidence?” Carmen demanded, then caught herself and softened her tone, not wanting June to clam up.
“He is going to show me tomorrow,” June replied.
“June,” Carmen said, voice gentler, “we both know Holt can be wrong. Don’t let him scare you into seeing monsters everywhere.”
June nodded, but Carmen didn’t trust the nod. It looked like an action June took to end a conversation she didn’t want to have.
June changed the subject quickly.
“We’re going to walk the fire at Teacups with the fire investigator tomorrow,” June said.
Carmen didn’t let her off the hook entirely, but she followed the shift because she could see June needed it.
“So you think it’s all connected?” Carmen said, bringing them back to the thread that mattered. “All the fires. From the first one at the campground to Teacups.”
“Yes,” June confirmed. “At first, we hoped it was just random summer fires. Accidents. People being careless. But now we know differently.”
“And now you hope it’s not a copycat,” Carmen said, “or…”
“The real arsonist,” Carmen finished again, because the words tasted wrong, “if that YouTuber really wasn’t the perpetrator ten years ago.”
June’s expression tightened in agreement.
Carmen tried to absorb it all. It felt like too many moving parts, like someone had taken the neat, familiar town Carmen grew up visiting and turned it into a labyrinth.
Then a voice came from the kitchen door, and Carmen’s blood cooled instantly.
“So you and Director Dillinger also think that?”
Carmen and June both turned.
Willa stood there in a comfortable pair of sweats, her hair still damp from the shower, her face bare of makeup, but her eyes sharp. She looked calmer than she’d been earlier. For a heartbeat, June hesitated.
Carmen could almost see her sister calculating what to say, what to reveal, what to hide, and Carmen felt a slow, steady irritation rise.
“Uh…” June began.
“Yes,” Carmen said instead, finishing for her sister, and she didn’t look away from June when she said it. “It’s time all secrets were done with.”
June’s eyes met Carmen’s, and Carmen held that look deliberately.
“Starting with whatever is going on here in Sandpiper Shores,” Carmen continued. “If you think this person will come after you, too, June, then we all need to know so we’re prepared.”
Willa’s gaze snapped to June, shock flashing across her face. “What do you mean?” she demanded, and her voice had gone tight again. “Mom?”
June didn’t get to answer as her phone rang, saving her from the conversation. June pulled it out, frowned at the screen, and Carmen watched the way her posture shifted, as if the call itself carried weight.
“Sorry,” June said, in a brisk voice, already moving toward the kitchen door. “I have to take this.” She looked at Willa. “Your aunt will fill you in.”
Then June left the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall. Willa stared after her mother, her brows drawn.
“I wonder who that is,” Willa said, and then something bright and teasing flickered into her eyes, the way it always did when she tried to lighten the mood even if she was upset. “Maybe it’s the handsome ex-husband of Mom’s.”
Carmen blinked, surprised.
Willa’s smile spread, and for a moment, she looked younger, like the girl Carmen used to babysit, the one who used to run around the fire station pretending she was invincible.
“I think it would be good for Mom,” Willa said, and emotion flickered in her eyes. “It’s been eighteen years since Dad passed. As far as I know, Mom hasn’t even dated.”
Carmen’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
“It’s hard,” Carmen said softly, “when you’ve had your big love. It’s hard to find another.”
Willa’s gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted again.
“Maybe her first love came around a little too soon,” Willa said thoughtfully, “and this could be hers and the handsome director’s second chance.”
Carmen froze.
Not because the idea was impossible, but because Willa had noticed. Willa had seen the same thing Carmen had seen, that subtle tension, that familiarity, that way Holt’s eyes followed June when he thought no one was watching.
Carmen forced her face to stay neutral.
“I don’t know, Willa,” Carmen said carefully. “There was a lot more to what happened between them than your mother told you. So I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
Willa’s eyes narrowed.
“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me,” Willa surmised, suspicion creeping in.
Carmen didn’t blink.
“No,” Carmen replied evenly with a shake of her head. “It’s not my story to tell.”
Willa huffed, but she didn’t argue.
“Fine, be like that,” Willa sighed.
Not wanting to talk about Holt and June as she already felt like she was holding a whole bag of secrets that was going to burst open and destroy everyone in its wake, Carmen shifted gears and moved the conversation in another direction.
“Now,” Carmen said, leaning against the counter, “how are you feeling about Chief Hatchet Evans being here?”
“As I said before, we were called to Teacups,” Willa said with a frown, pouring herself another small glass of wine, “I don’t think he’s here to close down the station.
We do need it here. We don’t have enough staff for him to lay off.
So I have to believe he’s here for the reason he said.
To lend a hand. Help both my department and your department find recruits.
” Her eyes darkened. “And… for the memorial.”
Carmen nodded slowly. The memorial. The approaching anniversary that hung over this town like a storm cloud nobody could outrun.
“How are you holding up with the preparations?” Carmen asked, and she meant it. “If you need help…”
“Margo was helping,” Willa said, and pain flickered across her face. “A few of my staff, too.” Her voice softened slightly, and she gave Carmen a warm smile. “Besides, you’re already doing more than enough here on your holiday, Aunt Carmen. But if I need more, I’ll tell you.”
“Good,” Carmen said firmly.
They were both still when June suddenly rushed back into the kitchen, moving fast, grabbing her purse and Carmen’s car keys off the counter with that purposeful urgency that made Carmen’s instincts flare again.
“Sorry,” June said quickly, her breath slightly uneven, “I have to borrow your car again, Carmen. I have something I have to attend to.”
Carmen’s eyes narrowed. “June,” she said, voice sharp, “what is it?”
June didn’t answer directly. She glanced at Willa, then back at Carmen, and Carmen didn’t like the way June’s gaze avoided theirs, just for a fraction of a second.
“It’s to do with the investigation,” June said, and she forced a small smile. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
Willa slid off the chair and stepped forward.
“Anything we can help with?” Willa asked. “Or is this… Director Dillinger stuff?”
June nodded once.
“Yes,” June said a little quickly for Carmen’s liking. “It’s that.”
Then June kissed them both on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”
And then she was gone again, the front door closing softly behind her. Carmen and Willa were still for a moment, listening to the sound of the car starting outside, then pulling away.
Willa turned slowly toward Carmen, her brows lifting.
“Is it just me,” Willa said, “or is my mother acting…”
“Shady?” Carmen finished, and Willa nodded.
“Yes,” Carmen said quietly. “She is.”
Willa looked toward the window, as if she might be able to see June through the trees and the curve of the road.
“What do you think it’s about?” Willa asked, and her voice had gone soft now, the anger from earlier replaced by worry.
Carmen didn’t answer with a theory. Carmen answered with instinct.
“I think,” Carmen said, standing, “that if your mother is running off like that, she isn’t doing it for groceries.”
Willa gave a short, humorless laugh.
“No,” Willa agreed. “Definitely not.”
Carmen reached for her own bag, already moving. “Come on,” she said.
Willa blinked. “Where are we going?”
“To follow your mother,” Carmen said.
Willa’s eyes widened, then narrowed with fierce agreement.
“I’ll drive,” Willa said as the two of them moved toward the door together.