Chapter 11 June
JUNE
June had driven too many miles on too little certainty that day, and by the time she pulled into the junkyard’s gravel lot, her hands felt as if they belonged to somebody else.
They were steady on the steering wheel, but only because she was forcing them to be, and she did not like how easily fear had started living under her skin here in Sandpiper Shores.
It was like the place had always known how to get to her, and now it remembered exactly where to press.
Dan’s Junk Yard sat back from the road behind a chain-link fence topped with a bar that looked like it had once been a simple security measure and had become something more deliberate over the years.
There were rows of vehicles beyond the gate, some stacked, some stripped, some sagging like exhausted animals.
A few lights glowed in the gathering dusk, and the air smelled of hot metal and oil and that sharp tang of rust that always reminded June of old wounds.
She found Dan standing near the small office, arms folded, waiting as if he had been expecting her car all evening.
Harvey stood beside him, shifting his weight in that restless way of his, his cap pulled low, his jaw set like he was braced for bad news even though he had been the one who had insisted on coming.
June parked, climbed out, and shut the door a little harder than she meant to. She took a breath and tried to get her bearings before her mind ran off without her.
Dan’s expression softened when he saw her.
“Mrs. Carter,” Dan greeted, voice cautious but polite. “Thank you for coming to fetch Harvey and saving me from having to drive him to Sandpiper Shores.”
“Of course,” June replied, her head turning as she scanned the yard. “Is it still there?”
Dan nodded once.
“Yes, of course it’s still there,” Dan assured her. “It only arrived a few hours ago.”
June stepped forward.
“Can I see it?” Her eyes held Dan’s, and he nodded again.
“This way.” Dan started walking, with June and Harvey following him.
They walked between rows of vehicles, and June kept her eyes moving, not because she thought someone was hiding behind a stack of tires waiting to leap, but because she could not stop the instinct anymore.
It was in her now. It had been in her since she’d seen Lacey lying in blood near that burned cabin, and since she’d read the names on that pink envelope.
It had been in her since Holt had said the words that had cracked her sense of reality open.
Your accident wasn’t an accident.
June’s stomach tightened again at the memory. She pushed it down and focused on the path in front of her.
Dan led them to a section that looked newer than the rest, the vehicles there less decayed, more recently dragged in. He stopped, pointed, and stepped aside.
“There,” Dan’s voice was low. “I can’t believe what they did to that classic truck.”
June’s gaze hit the truck, and her body reacted before her mind could.
It was Lucy’s truck. There was no mistaking it. Even stripped and battered, she knew it was her friends’ vehicle. A vehicle that had been kept in top-notch condition now looked violated.
The windshield was shattered. The doors bore ugly marks, as if someone had forced them open with tools rather than keys. The wheels were gone. The bumpers were gone. There was damage along the frame that made June feel as though she were staring at a body that had been dismantled after the fact.
June swallowed hard.
“What on earth…” June whispered, and she did not finish the sentence because she had no words that fit.
Harvey stepped closer, his expression tense and eyes filled with anger.
“They stripped it,” Harvey said through gritted teeth. “They didn’t even bother being subtle.”
Dan shifted awkwardly.
“It came in like this,” Dan insisted, as if he feared June might blame him for the vehicle’s condition. “It was left at the side of the road outside Gainesville. My guys towed it in. We didn’t take a thing off it.”
June nodded slowly. She believed him. She also knew it didn’t matter what Dan had or hadn’t done. The message was the same. Someone wanted Lucy’s truck found like this. Someone wanted it to look like a trophy.
June forced herself to breathe.
“Dan,” June turned to look at him. She kept her voice calm but firm. “Please don’t let anyone touch this vehicle until Director Dillinger sees it.”
Dan nodded quickly. “I won’t. I promise.”
June turned to Harvey. His hands were clenched at his sides, and the look in his eyes was part fury, part fear, and part something else she did not like at all. It was the look of a man realizing that trouble had walked into his life and was now staring back at him.
“Let’s go,” June said quietly.
Harvey nodded once, stiffly. “Yeah.”
They walked back toward June’s car.
“My car had better not be touched,” Harvey warned Dan as they neared June’s car. “Not one scratch.”
“Don’t worry, Harvey,” Dan said with a sigh. “Your Pontiac Firebird will be safely locked behind the gates until you come get it tomorrow.”
“It had better be.” Harvey pinned Dan with a stare. “My grandfather left that car to me.”
“I remember,” Dan told him with a smile.
Harvey climbed into the passenger seat. June got in behind the wheel and locked the doors immediately, even though she knew it was irrational. But something about the distorted way Lucy’s truck had been left had given her the creeps and instilled fear in her bones.
June pulled out of the lot and drove back toward Sandpiper Shores. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. The road was darker now, the sky turning that bruised purple-blue that meant night was coming fast.
June glanced at Harvey.
“So,” June said carefully, “they didn’t find the bumpers. There’s no indication of what happened to Lucy’s truck?”
Harvey shook his head, staring straight ahead.
“No. Nothing useful. I knew as soon as Dan called me that I had to get out there and see it. I was already in Gainesville.” He glanced sheepishly at her.
“Why were you in Gainesville?” June’s brows knitted together, although she feared she already knew the answer.
“Because I went to the other auto repair shops.” Harvey glanced at her. “The two I mentioned to you earlier today. The ones where my buddy said there were cars with front-end damage.”
“And?” June asked.
“You have to see the photos,” Harvey replied. “And I took pictures of the reports each shop wrote up. I’ll send them to you as soon as we stop somewhere with better reception, if my phone behaves.”
June tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Tell me anyway.”
Harvey hesitated. June could see him weighing his words, trying to decide how to say something that was going to sound like an accusation, no matter how carefully he wrapped it.
“What I can tell you,” Harvey said finally, “is that each car had front-end damage that looked very similar to what Clive’s car had before it was…” He made a motion with his hands, a helpless little gesture that said everything without saying it. “Before it was crushed.”
June’s stomach turned.
“We need to go to Holt with this,” June said immediately. “He needs to know.”
Harvey’s jaw tightened. “If you think it’s wise.”
June shot him a look. “What does that mean?”
Harvey’s gaze stayed forward. “It means,” he said slowly, “that I hope he isn’t involved.”
June felt the words hit her like a slap. For a second, she couldn’t speak. The idea had not occurred to her, not in that way, not with Holt. She’d been thinking of Holt as the one stable piece in a town that felt like it was shifting under her feet.
“No,” June said sharply, and she heard how fast the defense rose in her voice. “I don’t think he is. Holt is… he’s rigidly law-abiding. It’s practically his personality.”
Harvey shrugged slightly, but there was an apology in the movement. “I’m not saying he is,” he said. “I’m saying this town has secrets, and everyone is connected to everyone. If somebody is doing this, they’re doing it with knowledge. They’re doing it with access.”
June kept her eyes on the road because if she looked at Harvey any longer, she might lash out, and he didn’t deserve that. He was trying to help. He was also scared. She could hear it in his voice.
“Harvey, Holt is not like that.” June’s voice was softer now and more encouraging. “We can trust him.”
“Then I agree with you,” Harvey added, trusting her decision. “We need to talk to Director Dillinger.”
“I’ll call him and find out where he is.” June found a safe stretch of road and pulled over.
Her hands were steady when she picked up her phone, but her heart was not. She hit Holt’s name and put the call to her ear.
He answered quickly, as if he’d been waiting for the phone to ring.
“June,” Holt greeted. “Is everything okay?”
“Where are you?” June asked, skipping everything else. “We need to talk. Urgently.”
“I’m at the lighthouse,” Holt replied. “My mother’s out with Tyler, Willa’s kids, and the Peltz girls. I’m here on my own if you want to come around.”
June glanced at Harvey. He was watching her intently now.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” June said, then hung up before she could overthink it. June pulled back onto the road. “We’re going to the lighthouse.”
Harvey’s shoulders tightened. “Maybe you should drop me off first.”
“No,” June said, firm. “You need to tell us both what you saw.”
Harvey didn’t argue after that. He just nodded once, as if he knew she was right and hated it.
The drive to the lighthouse was short, but it felt longer. June kept checking her mirrors even though she didn’t know what she was looking for. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the night had eyes.
When they pulled into the lighthouse driveway, Holt stepped out of the door almost immediately, as if he’d been standing there listening for the engine.
The porch light threw a warm glow across him, but it didn’t soften the tension in his posture.
He looked like a man holding himself together with habit.
June parked and climbed out.