Chapter 16 Holt #2
Holt and June moved up the road a short distance, scanning for anything that should have been there and wasn’t, or anything that was there and shouldn’t have been. Skid marks. Glass. A torn piece of cloth. A shoe. A footprint that didn’t match the emergency crews.
But there was nothing.
No scrape along the shoulder. No tire marks that indicated a frantic turn. No evidence of braking. It was as if the car had simply decided to leave the road.
Carmen’s earlier assessment echoed in Holt’s mind about Judy being buckled up in the passenger seat with no sign of a driver.
His head kept circling back to one ugly possibility.
That car didn’t crash. It was somehow pushed down the embankment.
He and June walked in silence for a few minutes, then Holt asked the question that had been sitting in his throat.
“At the inn,” he said, voice low, “did you see blood? Anything that looked like a scuffle around where her car would’ve been parked?”
June shook her head. “No,” she answered. “Nothing at all.”
Holt nodded once, more to himself than to her. That didn’t mean it hadn’t happened, but it did mean it hadn’t happened there, or it hadn’t happened in a way that left the obvious mess people expected.
He pulled in a slow breath. Whoever this was, they weren’t careless.
Holt's phone buzzed again, and the irritation hit before he even looked, because he didn’t need another complication today. He checked the screen and felt his jaw tighten.
“It’s Victoria,” Holt said.
June’s eyebrows lifted. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to dinner at her place tonight?” she asked.
He stared at the name on the screen. Part of him wanted to let it ring until the phone gave up.
“I’m going to cancel,” Holt said. “I don’t have time for this.”
June’s head snapped toward him. “No,” she said sharply, then caught herself. “No, don’t. You can’t.”
Holt frowned at her.
“Especially not now.” June’s eyes held his, intense now. “We need to stay close to her,” she corrected, and Holt heard the shift in her wording, the quick adjustment, the careful control. “You need to stay close to her. If she’s involved, this is your opening.”
Something in Holt’s chest tightened at the almost-we that slipped out before she corrected herself. He didn’t comment on it because it wasn’t the time, and because acknowledging it would make it real in a way neither of them could afford in public.
Holt nodded, trying to relax his tight shoulder as he answered the call.
“Hello, Victoria,” Holt reluctantly took the call, keeping his voice measured.
“Hello, Holt,” Victoria’s voice purred through the speaker as if she’d been waiting for him to prove he was still under her gaze. “Are you still coming for dinner tonight? I haven’t heard from you the entire day, and I was beginning to think you’d decided to back out on me.”
Holt didn’t step away from June. He didn’t lower his voice. He wanted June to hear, not because he was trying to prove anything, but because secrecy was how people got manipulated, and he was done letting anyone shape a narrative without him present.
“I’m still coming,” Holt said. “I’m just tied up with a case. I might be later than expected.”
Victoria’s satisfaction was practically audible. “That’s fine,” she said quickly. “I don’t mind waiting. I’m just glad you still are. Oh, and I need to know if you have any allergies.”
“I don’t have any,” Holt replied.
“That’s good,” Victoria said, and he could hear the smile. “I’m so glad. You’re going to enjoy the meal my chef has prepared for us tonight.”
Holt kept his gaze on the pond, on the rescue work, on anything that wasn’t the mental image of sitting at a dinner table with a woman who treated attention like ownership.
“I’ve got to go,” Holt told her. “I’m at a scene.”
“Of course,” Victoria replied, too quick, too polished. “I’ll see you later.”
Before either he or June could say anything, a shout went up from the crew near the water, and Holt’s attention snapped back.
“They’ve got it,” someone called.
Holt pulled on gloves and handed a pair to June, keeping his movements calm even as his mind raced. “Be careful,” he said. “There will be glass and debris.”
June gave him a small smile, the kind that did ridiculous things to his focus.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” she promised, and the steadiness in her tone helped him steady, too.
The rental car was finally secured enough to approach. It looked worse up close, not just damaged, but violated, as if whoever had handled it before the accident scene had treated it like a disposable tool.
Holt leaned into the open door and scanned the interior with a methodical sweep.
He wasn’t looking for drama. He was looking for facts.
He found sand on the passenger-side floor.
Not a few grains that could be explained away by summer.
Not the kind of sand that lived in a car because people wore flip-flops and forgot to shake their towels.
This was beach sand, damp at the edges, pressed into the mat as if someone had climbed in with wet shoes.
June saw it too, and her expression shifted.
“That’s why she was in her running clothes,” June murmured, eyes widening. “Maybe we didn’t find signs of a struggle at the inn because maybe she wasn’t taken from the inn.”
Holt’s gaze stayed on the sand as his mind started connecting points with a grim steadiness.
“You may be right that Judy could’ve been taken from the beach,” he said quietly. “From wherever she ran.”
June swallowed. “Judy told me she ran in the evening,” she said. “She said she liked sunset runs. She didn’t always go in the mornings.”
Holt checked his watch, then looked toward the road again, because time didn’t stop. Nothing waited while you made sense of it.
“There’s too much we still don’t know,” he said, voice tight. He straightened, pulled off his gloves, and looked at June. “I’m going to have to go soon.”
June’s mouth curved slightly. “For your big dinner date.”
Holt rolled his eyes. “For my business dinner,” he corrected, and then his phone buzzed again, a message lighting the screen. “It’s a message from Harvey.”
Rad’s car is ready.
“It’s about Rad’s car.” Holt stared at it for a heartbeat. “I need to go pick it up,” he said aloud, more to himself than to June.
“I’ll take you,” June offered immediately. “Or rather, you can drive us there.”
Holt glanced back at the scene. Chief Morrison had arrived, and Holt’s gut tightened at the familiar conflict. Tom was still Tom, but Tom’s family sat too close to the edges of this case, and Holt was struggling to balance fairness with caution.
Tom approached, face set with professional focus. “We’ll cordon off the area,” he said. “I’ll oversee the forensic teams until the state unit gets here.”
Holt nodded, keeping his reaction neutral. “All right,” he said. “I’ll want the car transported to Harvey’s workshop when the tow arrives. We’ll need forensics to go through it with a fine-tooth comb.”
Tom’s eyes flicked to June, then back. “I understand.”
Holt turned back to June. “I’m ready to go if you are,” he said.
They drove toward Sandpiper Shores, the road stretching ahead like a thin line between what they knew and what they didn’t. June sat quietly for a few minutes, her gaze fixed forward, and Holt could tell she was replaying the same thought again and again.
“To ensure the evidence isn’t disturbed more than it might be,” June’s voice broke the silence, “I can go to the beach in Cedar Keys after I’ve dropped you off,” she said. “I can check the parking lot and then go back to the inn. We need to do it before anything changes.”
Holt’s hands tightened on the wheel. “No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
June turned to him. “Holt—”
“We can go first thing in the morning,” Holt insisted. “We can go together.”
“And what if the evidence is gone by then?” June pressed, and Holt heard the fear under her logic, the fear she tried to hide behind competence. “What if it’s already being cleaned away?”
He pulled into a small parking lot near the auto shop and stopped, because he needed to look at her while he said it.
“Please don’t do that. Don’t go there,” Holt said, and he hated the softness in his own voice because it made him sound like he was pleading. He was. He was pleading. “June, whoever we’re dealing with isn’t playing around. You’re on the envelope. Your name is there. They know you’re involved.”
June’s jaw tightened. “I know,” she replied. “But we need answers.”
Holt stared at her, and for a second, he thought he might be able to talk her into waiting, into letting him handle the risk.
Then his phone rang again.
This time it was Rad.
Holt answered quickly. “Hello, son.”
“Hi, Dad,” Rad said. “I’m ready to go home. I can’t get hold of Gran. Can you come pick me up?”
Holt glanced at his watch, then at June.
He had two problems and not enough hands.
“I can,” he said. “Give me twenty minutes.”
Rad exhaled audibly. “All right,” he said. “See you soon.”
Holt ended the call and looked at June.
“How is he?” June asked quietly.
“Ready to go home,” Holt replied. “Which is a bit of a dilemma for me right now.”
“I’ll get Rad for you,” June offered before he could even form the sentence.
Holt hesitated. He didn’t want June driving around alone, not today, not after everything. He also didn’t have another option that didn’t waste time or leave Rad waiting.
Holt nodded once. “Thank you,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”
They got out of the car together. The air outside felt too bright for the things they were dealing with. Holt walked around the front of the vehicle with June, holding Carmen’s key fob in his hand, and when he passed it to her, their fingers brushed.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even deliberate.
But their eyes met, and for one breath, the world narrowed down to just them. Holt felt himself leaning toward her without thinking, pulled by something familiar and unreasonably alive.
June’s lips parted slightly as if she’d forgotten to keep her face neutral. Then Harvey’s voice cracked through the moment like a rope snapping.
“Mrs. Carter! Director Dillinger, ” Harvey called, greeting them.
Both of them jerked apart as if they’d been caught doing something far worse than almost forgetting where they were.
June pulled her hand back quickly, her fingers curling around the key fob as she turned toward Harvey. Holt forced his expression into something steady, something professional, something that didn’t show how hard his pulse was hitting his ribs.
Harvey stood near the shop entrance and waved back at them.
June cleared her throat, then looked at Holt again.
“I’ll fetch Rad,” June told him, and her voice was soft, just a little rough at the edges. “You get Rad’s car and then get to your dinner.”
Holt nodded, still staring at her as if his brain hadn’t caught up with his body yet.
“Be careful,” June added, and the words carried more weight than they should have.
“You too,” Holt managed. He watched her slide into the car. He watched her adjust her mirrors the way she always did now, slower, more careful, as if every reflection could become a threat.
She waved briefly at him and Harvey, then pulled out of the lot and drove away, keeping to a speed just below the limit, her shoulders stiff but steady.
Holt stood there until her car disappeared from view.
He didn’t move until the road was empty.
Only then did he breathe out slowly, the kind of breath you took when you realized you’d been holding too much inside your chest for too long.
He turned toward Harvey, forcing his focus back where it belonged.
Because whatever was happening in Sandpiper Shores was no longer playing around.
And Holt had the unnerving feeling that it was just getting started.