Chapter Four
The wind swept across the slope above the barn, rattling the warped siding like old bones and carrying with it the scent of damp earth and salt. The barn’s red paint had long since faded, and the slanted roof was buckled from the weight of too many Maine winters.
Asa stood at the edge of the gravel path, boots sinking into the frost-soft mud like some omen. He hadn’t set foot here in twenty-five years.
Behind him, Declan whistled under his breath. “Hard to believe it’s still standing.”
“Barely,” Eli muttered. He adjusted the strap of his tactical bag and swept the perimeter with the practiced eye of someone expecting trouble.
“You good?” JT asked in a low voice.
He wasn’t, but he nodded anyway and swallowed the knot in his throat. “I need to walk in first.”
The others held back, falling into formation behind Asa as he crossed the threshold into the worst memory of his life.
The interior was dark and bitterly cold. Rickety rafters sagged overhead. Shafts of sunlight bore through the holes in the roof and walls.
Asa’s world narrowed to the place where his father had fallen. A blackened scar marred the nearby beam, lingering proof of the fire that had been set to try to erase the truth. It hadn’t started naturally. Someone had lit a match here and had tried to destroy something specific.
He reached out and brushed his fingers over the charred wood. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I remember what happened, Dad. You died protecting her.”
A gunshot exploded in his mind. Rain. A little girl frozen in terror.
JT, Declan, and Eli entered behind him. Eli inspected the burned wood. “Look at the burn pattern. They only set fire to this section. They weren’t trying to torch the whole place—just whatever was there. To destroy any evidence. He left Maya behind, even though he knew she might identify him. Why?”
“Maybe they knew she would be too frightened to talk,” Declan said.
“Maybe.” Asa didn’t buy it. “Still, the killer had no way of knowing she’d be so traumatized by what happened that it would wipe away every single memory of her past.”
According to the file, the small fire was extinguished because holes in the roof allowed rain to douse it before it could fully take hold.
They’d found Maya huddled outside by the front of the barn.
She’d probably fled when the fire was set.
She was shivering from the cold and unable to tell them what happened.
JT inched slightly closer, his voice steady. “The fire might have been put out, but I’m guessing it accomplished what the killer wanted and destroyed anything useful to the case.”
Asa stared at the scarred beam. The truth pressed against his ribs like a weight he’d carried too long. “Whoever killed my father believed they got away with it all these years.”
“They didn’t count on you coming back, though,” JT said.
The vow he’d made to his father settled over him.
“I should have come back sooner. I told myself I was letting Jonas handle things for me, but in reality, I’ve always been a little uneasy about coming back to Hope Island.
To here.” His hand swept the barn. “What if I found out something bad about my father?” The admission was hard to force out.
JT shook his head. “You won’t. Your father didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
That was the one truth Asa had never doubted.
They filed out of the barn together, then followed the overgrown path toward the Dutton house. The old structure emerged through the trees—the windows boarded over, porch warped, chimney leaning as if the house itself remembered the violence that took place nearby.
Asa voiced his fears aloud. “Do you think one of the detectives who worked for my father removed the information from his file?” That someone whom Raymond trusted was in on the cover-up was a hard pill to swallow.
“I don’t know,” JT told him. “But it stands to reason someone removed information that would have been useful to finding the killer.”
Declan pointed back to the barn. “We should set up cameras to cover both the barn and the house. If the killer is still watching, this will make him nervous.”
JT nodded. “We’ll sweep the house’s interior.”
Asa’s thoughts weighed him down as he climbed the steps to the house he still owned alone and pushed open the door. The hinges groaned, echoing through the hollow rooms. Dust hung thick in the air. The furniture had been scavenged or reduced to rot. Wallpaper peeled away like old scars.
A wooden rocking horse lay on its side in the corner, a faded ribbon still tied around its neck.
Asa bent and picked it up. “This was mine.”
Eli stepped through the entryway, his gaze scanning patterns in the dust. “No squatters at least, but someone’s been here recently. Footprints.”
JT stopped inside the living room. “We’ll need forensics to go over everything before we continue our search. Let’s get out of here.”
In the living room, a single photo hung crooked on the wall. Asa brushed away the dust with the back of his hand.
Raymond Dutton in uniform. A much younger Asa at his side. Both smiling into the wind as if nothing dark could ever touch them.
Asa’s throat closed. There was no running from this. Not anymore.
◆◆◆
Asa held the door open to Tide & Thyme Bistro for Rachel, the bell overhead chiming softly as they stepped into the warmth.
The scents of cinnamon, orange peel, and baked goods hung thick in the air.
The coastal fog blurred the windows, giving the whole place an insulated, haunted feel—as if they’d stepped into a memory instead of a room.
Maya stood behind the counter, tucking a few linen napkins into a basket. Her shoulders stiffened when she looked up and saw him.
Rachel smiled gently and stepped forward, taking the lead. “Hi, Maya. I’m Rachel Wyatt. I work for Hope Island Securities. We’re helping Asa with his father’s case.”
Maya wiped her hands on her apron before coming around the counter, visibly uncertain but not retreating, her gaze locked on Asa. “I told you I don’t know anything about what happened to your father.”
“I know, but please hear Rachel out first.”
Rachel glanced at Asa and then went back to Maya. “I know this may sound strange, but I went through something similar to what you’re going through.”
Maya folded her arms without speaking.
Asa didn’t push. Rachel knew how to guide the conversation at its own pace. She’d lived through this.
The bistro was mainly empty except for a couple of people seated by the windows sipping coffee, oblivious to the undercurrent of pain lingering in the room.
Rachel’s voice lowered. “After my father and cousin were murdered, I lost everything. Not just them, but the memory of what happened. My mind shut the door so hard it was years before I even realized what was missing.”
Maya’s face paled. “You forgot the murder?”
“I forgot me. Who I was before it happened. Who I became after. Trauma warps your sense of self. It changes the way you see the world. But the scariest part? It changes the way you see yourself.”
Asa watched Maya closely. Her hand drifted toward the delicate necklace she wore, her fingers absently tracing the chain.
Rachel continued. “Eventually, I underwent hypnosis. It helped, but it wasn’t without risk. Some memories were real. Others … I wasn’t so sure. I had to learn to hold the truth gently—like something fragile. Not force it.”
Maya’s voice was hushed. “Did you remember it all?”
“No,” Rachel said. “But I remembered enough to stop running from ghosts. That made all the difference.”
A long silence stretched between the three of them. Asa stayed quiet. This wasn’t his part to speak.
Maya turned away for a moment, staring at the foggy window. “I’m scared of what I’ll learn if I start digging. What if I saw something far worse than I imagined? What if it wasn’t just me witnessing something? What if I—” She choked off the rest.
Asa stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her back. “You were four years old, Maya. There’s nothing you could have done that would ever justify the shame or fear you’re carrying.”
Rachel nodded. “He’s right. What happened in that barn wasn’t your fault, but the fear of the unknown has been driving you ever since. You deserve to take that power back.”
Maya turned to Asa again. “And you? Is this about your father and getting justice for him?”
He met her gaze with even eyes. “It started that way, but it’s not just about my dad anymore. It’s about you, too. About not letting whatever happened that night continue to destroy lives—including yours.”
Her lips trembled. “How do you move forward with something like this?”
Rachel reached into her coat pocket and passed over a worn business card. “This person helped me. He’s a licensed trauma therapist. If you decide to explore the memories, do it with someone who understands what it can unlock, and don’t go alone.”
Maya grasped the card on its end as if it might burn her fingers.
Rachel touched her shoulder. “When you’re ready.”
Asa walked Rachel back to the door a few minutes later, thanked her, then returned to where Maya still stood.
The bistro had become quiet again, the low hum of conversation gone. It was just the two of them now.
“Thank you. For not forcing that on me,” she said after a while.
“I just want you to know you have options, not decisions forced on you. Just options that you can choose from.”
Maya stepped closer, her voice barely audible. “Asa, if I remember something about your father, something that changes everything—”
“Then we’ll deal with it. Together.”
She nodded slowly and touched his hand. Just for a second, but it was enough to steady them both.