Chapter 4
HOLT
Holt woke before dawn with Victoria Morrison’s hand still fixed in his mind.
They were fresh, angry red lines across the back of her hand, standing out against her polished skin and expensive composure.
A cat could have done that. He had seen Mr. Snuggles launch himself like a furry missile with murder in his eyes, and the animal had looked perfectly capable of taking offense at being handled.
But Judy Vernon had fought back against her attacker hard enough to leave marks like the ones on Victoria’s hand.
Lucy had confirmed there was skin beneath Judy’s nails, proof that she had fought her abductor.
It was enough to make a man distrust coincidence.
Holt lay still for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom at the lighthouse cottage, listening to the familiar hush of the place before the day started moving.
The house had old bones. It talked quietly to itself in the early hours.
Wood settled. Pipes clicked faintly. Somewhere outside, water moved against the rocks with that steady rhythm he had known since he was a boy.
Holt pushed the covers back and sat up slowly.
The ache in his side was still there, but it had dulled into something more manageable. Lucy had been right. He was healing. He only wished the rest of the mess around them would cooperate and do the same.
He showered, dressed in dark slacks and a pale blue shirt, and checked his phone before heading downstairs.
There was a message from June telling him Carmen had been given use of the EMT captain’s vehicle, which meant June now had Carmen’s car while they were in Sandpiper Shores.
Holt smiled faintly at that, knowing Carmen was one step away from selling up in Miami and moving here.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and headed downstairs.
The smell of coffee met him halfway, and his mouth watered at the freshly brewed aroma.
The kitchen came into view a second later, and Holt stopped in the doorway, pleasantly surprised.
Rad was already up, standing at the stove with a coffee pot in one hand, while Tyler sat at the table finishing a plate of eggs and toast. The boy looked freshly showered, his hair still damp at the temples, and he eagerly munched through his breakfast as if trying to appease his teenage appetite.
Holt sighed, wishing his own metabolism still worked the way Tyler’s did.
Both of them looked up.
“Morning,” Rad said.
“Good morning, Grandpa,” Tyler added.
“Morning,” Holt replied, stepping fully into the room. “You’re both up early.”
“I had to get up early.” Tyler shrugged. “I didn’t want to oversleep, and the smell of bacon pretty much dragged me downstairs.”
“I wish it had been that easy to get your father out of bed at your age,” Holt told him.
“It’s my favorite food,” Tyler said. “I’m like one of those cartoon characters floating toward the smell of sizzling bacon.” He picked up another piece and bit into it.
Rad snorted softly as he poured another cup of coffee and handed it to Holt.
“Where’s your grandmother?” Holt asked Rad.
“Gran is lying down. She has a migraine.” Rad moved back to the coffee pot and refilled it.
Holt’s attention sharpened at once. “How bad is it?”
“She says it’s manageable,” Rad replied. “But she’s in her darkened room with a compress on her head.”
Holt felt immediate concern tighten through him.
Mina had dealt with migraines off and on for years, though she tried to pretend they were an inconvenience rather than an event.
Stress could trigger them. So could wine, especially if she let herself drift from one glass to two over dinner, and then there was the matter of her ice cream habit.
Tyler gestured toward the stove. “There are plenty of eggs, bacon, and toast. I can dish up for you if you want,” he offered.
“Thank you, Tyler. That would be great,” Holt said, accepting his grandson’s offer. “While you dish up, I’m just going to check on my mother.”
“Sure, no problem,” Tyler called after Holt as he left the kitchen.
He took the stairs two at a time at first, then slowed, mindful of the healing pull in his side.
Mina’s door was slightly ajar, as it always was.
Holt couldn’t remember his mother ever completely closing it unless she was having a shower or getting changed.
I like to hear what’s going on in the house, she would say.
He tapped lightly before easing the door open.
The room was dark except for the thin line of morning light sneaking around the sides of the curtains. His mother lay propped slightly on her pillows, a cold compress over her forehead, and one hand resting on it.
“Hi, Mom. So how bad is the migraine really?” Holt asked quietly as he stepped inside and walked toward her bed.
She let out a delicate sigh. “Bad enough that I actually let Rad cook breakfast this morning.”
Holt grinned despite himself and moved closer to the bed. “What brought it on?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you have two glasses of wine with dinner again?”
“No.” Mina lifted the compress enough to peer at him with one eye. “If you must know, I ate ice cream last night.”
He stared at her.
“Yes, and with honey dribbled over it,” she added, sounding utterly unapologetic. “And I piled it full of caramel pieces.”
Holt sighed and shook his head. “You know it doesn’t agree with you, Mother.”
“I know,” Mina replied, letting the compress settle back into place. “But I do love vanilla with honey dribbled over it and caramel pieces.”
“Clearly enough to wage war on your own head.” Holt glanced at the pill bottle on the nightstand.
“A little indulgence is not war.” Mina dropped the compress to give him a one-eyed glare before pushing it back into place.
“Your temples would disagree,” Holt pointed out.
She made a small dismissive noise. “What can I say? I’m weak in the face of dessert.”
“Can I bring you anything for your ice cream hangover?” Holt asked.
“A little sympathy, perhaps?” Mina drawled. “And a lot less condescension.”
“You brought this on yourself. Ice cream has always done this to you,” Holt reminded her.
“Yes, yes, I know.” Her voice softened. “But no, thank you. Unless you have a spare brain, I don’t need anything.” She pointed blindly at her nightstand. “I’ve taken my medication. I’m just waiting for it to work.” She smiled faintly beneath the compress. “You can take my car if you need it.”
“No. June has Carmen’s car,” Holt told her. “She messaged me a few minutes ago. Apparently, Carmen has been given the EMT captain’s vehicle while they sort out a replacement, so June can use Carmen’s car for now.”
“Oh, so Carmen accepted the position until they find someone new?” Mina asked.
“I think so. June didn’t elaborate,” Holt replied.
Mina shifted slightly on the pillow. “How is June? Is she healing properly?”
“She seems fine,” Holt said. “Although I’ve noticed the odd wince or slight wobble when she gets a little too energetic and then refuses to admit it.”
“It’s good you’re keeping an eye on her.” Mina tried hard to keep her tone neutral, but Holt heard the question in it and chose to ignore it.
“I don’t think June would agree that she needs someone keeping an eye on her,” Holt said.
“And how are you feeling, my son?” Mina lowered the compress just enough to look at him properly, ignoring his last remark. “Not how are you pretending to feel. How are you actually feeling?”
“There’s less pain,” Holt admitted. “I get some pulling if I move too quickly. I have another checkup with Lucy in a few days.”
“Best not to forget it either,” Mina ordered. “Or Lucy will probably show up wherever you are with her doctor’s kit at the ready.”
“I won’t forget,” Holt assured her. “And how could I with you here?”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead carefully, avoiding the compress. “Get some rest. I’ll check in on you later.”
“Thank you, son.” Mina’s expression softened. “And you all be safe out there today.”
“We will.” Holt smiled down at her. “I’ll call you later.”
He left her room and pulled the door, leaving it slightly open behind him.
By the time he got back downstairs, the kitchen had changed.
Holt stepped through the doorway and stopped.
Willa was there.
She stood near the table in jeans and a pale green T-shirt, one hand around a travel mug, the other adjusting the strap of a bag slung over her shoulder.
Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she looked brisk and capable and already halfway through the day in spirit even though it had barely started. Holt also noted that Tyler was missing.
Willa smiled when she saw him. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Holt smiled back. “What brings you here this early?”
“I’m just here to collect Tyler,” Willa replied. “He’s going to a day camp in Ember Lake with my three and the Peltz sisters.”
Holt blinked. “They still have that camp?”
Willa’s smile widened. “They started it again about three years ago. It filled up in the first year, and now you have to book way in advance to get in.”
Holt let out a quiet laugh. “I used to love that camp. It was always popular.”
“It was stopped not long after…” Willa hesitated, her smile tightening slightly. “Ten years ago. But it was brought back by popular demand.”
Of course, it had been stopped after the fire.
So much in this town seemed to carry that pattern. Something broken. Something lost. Then, years later, some determined soul dragged it back into the light and insisted life keep going.
Tyler came into the kitchen then with a backpack hanging from one shoulder. Andy trailed right behind him, cheerful and half talking already, and Duchess bounded in at their heels with all the optimism of a dog who believed any gathering of humans clearly involved her.
Holt barely had time to greet Andy before Duchess looked up at Tyler with absolute confidence, and Tyler crouched to rub her ears.
“Not this time, girl,” he told the dog. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come.”
Duchess looked devastated.
Truly devastated.