Chapter 20 Holt
HOLT
Point Drive always made Holt think of old money and newer arrogance, perched high above the town as if it deserved a better view than everyone else.
The Morrison house sat in pride of place at the highest point, all manicured hedges and coastal elegance, with the sort of porch lights that didn’t illuminate so much as announce.
He killed the engine and sat for a moment, hands still on the steering wheel, letting the quiet settle. The neighborhood was too calm, too polished. The kind of calm that made a man feel watched even when no one was visible.
He checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror.
He was wearing dark slacks and a dark cotton shirt, which was all neat and simple, nothing that could be interpreted as an invitation.
Holt had brought a bottle of wine, good enough to be polite and expensive enough to disarm suspicion.
He didn’t know what Victoria’s French chef was cooking for dinner, and he wasn’t about to turn up empty-handed.
As he got out and glanced around, he noticed the driveway was empty.
There were no other cars parked anywhere, and he wondered whether Sienna and Clive were home or even going to join them for dinner.
Holt didn’t think so, and he still couldn’t get over the fact that Tom’s grown kids still stayed at home.
He glanced at the huge house and thought he’d probably not leave home either if he lived in a house that was more like a five-star resort hotel.
He straightened his shirt, smoothed his pants, and walked up the wide stone steps, wine bottle held loosely at his side. Before he could even reach for the doorbell, the front door whooshed open like the house had been holding its breath waiting for him.
A butler stood in the doorway.
Alfred! The man was still as straight-backed as the day Holt had met him, when he and Tom were kids.
There was a flicker of warmth in Alfred’s eyes when he saw Holt, brief and quickly buried beneath perfect professionalism.
“Good day, Director Dillinger,” Alfred said.
“Hello, Alfred,” Holt replied. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you, sir. And yourself?” Alfred allowed a small smile to spread on his otherwise professional face.
“I’m managing,” Holt told him.
Alfred stepped back.
“Please come in. Mrs. Morrison is in the back living room and asked that you be shown in as soon as you arrive,” Alfred informed Holt.
Of course she did.
Holt stepped over the threshold, the scent of polished wood and expensive floral arrangements filling his lungs. The interior was bright, elegant, and curated. Everything had a place, and nothing looked lived in. It reminded Holt of a stage set more than a home.
Alfred led him through a hallway lined with framed photographs.
Clive and Sienna, at various ages, smiling into cameras, captured in moments that looked effortless and happy.
Tom in uniform. Victoria in summer dresses and formal gowns, always angled toward the light.
Not a single image of mess, sadness, or anything human enough to disrupt the narrative.
Alfred opened the door to the back living room.
Victoria was waiting exactly where Alfred said she was positioned, near the window with the ocean visible behind her, a woman arranged for maximum effect. She wore a fitted dress in a pale, expensive shade that made her look soft from a distance and sharp up close.
Her smile widened when she saw him.
“Hello, Holt,” she purred, as if she’d been waiting all day just to say his name. “Please come in.”
“Hello, Victoria,” Holt replied, stepping in. He held up the wine. “I brought some wine.”
Victoria glided toward him, her movement smooth enough to make him think of a snake in tall grass.
“That’s thoughtful,” Victoria said, taking the bottle and running her fingers along the label as if she were assessing it. “You always had good taste.”
Holt didn’t take the bait. He let her words land and die.
“Alfred,” Victoria called over her shoulder without looking away from Holt, “please take this to the kitchen.”
Alfred accepted the bottle with a nod and disappeared.
Victoria turned back to Holt, and her gaze ran over him, slow and possessive. Holt held still and suppressed the shudder threatening him.
“How are you healing?” Victoria asked with sudden warmth. “I heard you were shot.”
“I’m recovering,” Holt said. “It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”
She gestured for Holt to sit down and offered him something to drink. He asked for a club soda, and it seemed to appear in his hand before he could blink.
They made small talk about his work and their kids, and Victoria told him about Clive’s terrible confession from two days ago. Holt thought he was going to get some information about the cases.
“I think Tom was going to get sick when Clive announced he was quitting the police force as he’s just secretly passed his engineering degree,” Victoria told Holt.
His brows shot up. “Clive has been studying engineering?”
“Yes, on the quiet. None of us knew,” Victoria told him. “I’m delighted, of course. I always knew my baby boy was destined for greater things than being a police officer in this pokey little town.”
“I’m kind of liking being back here,” Holt admitted. “There is something settling about being in a town where your neighbors know you.”
“Until they know too much about you,” Victoria drawled, her eyes flashing with something he was sure looked like malice, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.
“Speaking of Clive, how is he after his accident the other day?” Holt asked.
Victoria’s expression didn’t falter. There was no flicker of concern, no hint of discomfort, no motherly irritation. Only a smooth, dismissive calm.
“He’s fine,” Victoria said with a flick of her hand, as if Holt had asked about the weather. “It was just a small fender bender with a tree.”
Holt kept his face still. “A tree?”
“Yes,” Victoria said, and her eyes sharpened. “That’s what you get when you drink and drive. You hit trees.” She let the statement sit, then added, “We had to hide the car so his father wouldn’t find out.”
Holt’s eyebrows rose despite himself. “You hid it?”
“Destroyed it would be the more accurate word.” Victoria waved a hand again. “Tom doesn’t need more stress, Holt. Not with everything going on.” Her mouth tightened. “Besides, you know how this town talks and what it would look like if the police chief’s son were drinking and driving?”
“What did you do with the car?” Holt asked, voice calm. “How did you destroy it?”
Victoria’s shoulders lifted in something like annoyance. “I had it removed, crushed, and then replaced with a replica of the damaged one.”
Holt’s focus sharpened. “You bought him a new car?”
“I had to,” Victoria said. Her tone implied Holt was being slow.
“We can’t have the chief of police’s son smashing into neighbors’ trees while blind drunk.
” She leaned in slightly, eyes bright with a private satisfaction she didn’t even try to hide.
“So yes, I replaced it with one exactly like it, so his father wouldn’t find out. ”
“What tree did he hit?” Holt’s eyes held Victoria’s.
“That big fir or whatever it is at the end of the road, by our closest neighbor’s gate,” Victoria told him.
Holt filed it away and didn’t comment, but was sure he was going to examine the tree when he had a chance.
“He should tell Tom,” Holt said, as if offering friendly advice. “Things like this never stay buried.”
Victoria made a sound of irritation.
“No. Not in this town.” Victoria spoke through gritted teeth for a fraction, then forced a smile back into place. “Which is why I can’t wait to leave soon. My townhouse is almost ready in Miami.”
Alfred appeared before Holt could respond.
“Dinner is served,” Alfred informed them.
Victoria stood and moved toward the doorway as if she expected him to follow. Holt did.
The dining room was formal without being warm, with a long table, heavy chairs, and candles placed for ambience rather than comfort. The place settings were so precise they looked like they’d been measured.
The scent hit Holt as soon as they stepped inside. It was rich and layered, the kind of smell that made a man hungry even when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be distracted. Whatever the chef had done, it smelled delicious.
Victoria took her seat at the head of the table, then gestured lazily for Holt to sit closer than he would’ve preferred. Holt chose the chair beside her but ensured that while they were close enough to talk, he was far enough away from her. Out of touching distance.
Victoria didn’t comment. She simply smiled like she’d already decided the outcome of the evening.
The first course arrived. It was elegant and delicate, followed by a second that was somehow more impressive. Holt ate politely, drank water, and kept his attention on Victoria’s face, the cadence of her speech, and the way she avoided certain topics without seeming to.
She talked about her townhouse in Miami, an elite complex with security, a view, and a concierge who knew how to keep people out. She talked about her new car arriving soon. She talked about starting again, as if she were shedding Sandpiper Shores like an old coat.
“I can’t wait,” Victoria said, eyes shining with anticipation. “A bigger city. Better people. Better standards.”
“Won’t you miss it here, though?” Holt took a sip of water. “What about your kids?”
Victoria’s smile thinned. “They can visit whenever they like.”
Her eyes slid over him, slow and heavy. “It would be convenient if you transferred to Miami too,” she said, voice turning silky. “I’d love to see where our friendship would go then.”
“I’m not looking for that,” Holt told her, making sure his voice held enough conviction. “My focus is my work, my son, and my grandson.”
Victoria’s smile stayed, but something cold flickered behind it.