Chapter Thirty-one
Audrey wasn’t easily rattled, but the ugly rumors creeping through town were starting to feel like a slow poison.
She and Maggie had gone to Bayside Pharmacy to pick up Maggie’s blood pressure medication, and while waiting at the counter, Maggie had overheard two women whispering in one of the aisles.
“I’m telling you, Norma,” one of them muttered, “I won’t eat their chowder again. Not after two deaths.”
The other hummed in agreement. “I mean, what are the chances? First Chips Hogan, now Griffin Mead? Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Audrey tensed, but Maggie’s expression remained neutral—a lifetime of high-stakes family debates over recipes and restaurant deals had made her an expert at keeping her cool under pressure.
Maggie took her time, then, with surgical precision, drifted into their line of sight, plucking a bottle of antacid off the shelf.
“Heartburn?” she said sweetly. “Funny thing—I get that sometimes when I hear people spreading nonsense.”
The two women froze.
“Maggie, I—I wasn’t sayin’—”
Maggie smiled, but there was steel behind it. “You were. And let me remind you, the Holbrook chowder recipe has been around for generations. It’s been enjoyed by fishermen, lobstermen, tourists, and presidents.” She tilted her head. “Not a single one has dropped dead after eating a bowl.”
Norma gripped a bottle of Metamucil like it was a lifeline.
The other woman cleared her throat. “Of course, I’d never suggest—”
Maggie held up a hand. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s not your fault if you don’t know the difference between gossip and fact.”
The women shuffled away, defeated, while Audrey tried not to laugh.
At the counter, Doug, the pharmacist, handed Maggie her prescription bag with an amused grin.
“Don’t let the town chatter get to you,” he said. “My wife and I still order your chowder every Sunday night at Ethel’s place. Not gonna stop now.”
Maggie patted his hand. “Doug, you and your wife have impeccable taste.”
As Doug rang up the total, Audrey’s eyes drifted to the newspaper rack beside the counter.
And then her stomach dropped.
There, bold as day, was the front-page headline of the Halibut Cove Chronicle:
CHIPS HOGAN’S DEATH LINKED TO LONG-LOST MISSING PERSON?
She snatched up the paper and scanned the article.
A missing persons case from decades ago.
A man named Billy Sawyer—Rhonda Barker’s ex-boyfriend.
Connections between Chips Hogan and the missing man.
And rumors swirling about whether the Barkers knew what happened to him.
Was the land dispute somehow connected to Sawyer’s disappearance?
How a source identified Griffin Mead as someone who had knowledge of what really happened to Billy Sawyer.
A direct mention of Audrey visiting Lou’s office, inquiring about Billy Sawyer and the Barkers, which “sparked” Lou’s interest in reinvestigating the case.
Audrey exhaled sharply.
She had started this.
She looked at Maggie, who was still chatting with Doug, then steeled herself.
“I have to get to the diner. I’m filling in for a couple of hours for Isabella,” she told her grandmother. “I’ll be home for dinner.”
Before Maggie could question her, Audrey was already heading for her car, her mind racing, worried how Lou’s article would turn the case on its head.
The bell above the diner door clattered violently as Phoebe Barker burst inside, her face flushed, hair disheveled, and a look of frantic desperation in her eyes.
A few diners startled, forks clinking against plates, conversation halting mid-sentence.
Audrey barely had time to react before Phoebe stormed toward her, gripping the newspaper like a weapon.
“You did this,” Phoebe hissed, shoving the crumpled copy of the Chronicle at Audrey.
Audrey took a step back, eyes flicking to the damning paragraph with her name.
Lou had spelled it out—her visit to his office had sent him digging, ultimately leading to this explosive article.
Phoebe’s hands shook. “You handed this to him! You put my family in the spotlight—now everyone thinks we’re murderers!”
Audrey exhaled, keeping her voice calm. “Phoebe, I never meant for him to publish anything.”
“Cord already thinks all of us Barkers are monsters,” Phoebe whispered harshly. “Now the whole town will, too. Lou Grady basically claimed my parents killed Billy Sawyer and buried him on our land! I need to prove my parents are innocent.”
Audrey folded her arms. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Phoebe’s breath hitched. “We dig up the land.”
“We?”
“Yes, come with me now.”
Audrey blinked. “Oh, hell no.”
“I’m begging you!”
“I’m working, Phoebe!”
Phoebe’s eyes burned with desperation. “We have to fix this, Audrey. You got us into this mess. Help me get us out.”
Audrey wavered.
Then, from behind the counter, Ethel sighed. “Audrey, go clock out. I’ll finish closing up.”
Audrey and Phoebe crept into the Barker garage, grabbing two shovels.
As they headed out toward the property line near Chips’s house, they heard an upstairs window creak open at the Barkers and froze.
They had assumed no one was home. Phoebe was under the impression Evan had gone to dinner with her parents.
Audrey barely had time to duck back inside the garage and hide behind a stack of storage bins before Evan’s voice boomed down from above.
“What the hell are you doing?” Evan barked.
Phoebe hesitated. “Just … grabbing a screwdriver from Dad’s toolbox.”
Evan squinted. “For what?”
Phoebe swallowed hard. “I have a loose drawer handle in my room. It’s driving me crazy. Thought I’d try fixing it.”
Audrey had to bite her tongue. Phoebe had never fixed anything in her life.
Evan narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you do handyman work?”
Phoebe forced a laugh. “Since I got tired of waiting for Dad to do it.”
A long pause. Then Evan sighed, rubbing his face.
“Whatever. Don’t mess up the tools,” he muttered, slamming the window shut.
Audrey let out a slow breath and emerged from her hiding place behind the storage boxes. “That was way too close.”
They hurried to the disputed patch of land, keeping their voices low, shovels slicing through the damp soil. The earth was heavy, each movement making Phoebe’s breathing more erratic.
After twenty minutes of digging, they found nothing.
Just plenty of dirt.
Audrey was about to call it quits when suddenly Phoebe’s shovel hit something solid.
Audrey froze.
Phoebe tossed her shovel aside and dropped to her knees, scraping at the dirt with her bare hands until bones surfaced.
She let out a choked scream.
Before Audrey could shush her, Phoebe’s eyes fell on what looked like a skull. She let out a bloodcurdling wail.
Loud enough for Audrey to see a neighbor looking out his window, his phone to his ear.
Then, without warning, a car pulled up, the headlights momentarily blinding them.
The car shut off, the lights went out, and Phoebe’s parents got out.
Bert and Rhonda had come home early.
Rhonda clutched her stomach, looking on the verge of collapse.
Phoebe stood up quickly and with a guilty look on her face, squeaked, “Why are you home so early?”
“Your mother’s got an upset stomach,” Bert said as his eyes fell to the hole in the ground.
Rhonda let out a horrified gasp.
Bert roared. “What is this?! What have you done?!”
A dog barked in the distance. A porch light flicked on across the street.
“Please, Bert, keep your voice down. We don’t need one of the neighbors calling the police!”
Bert’s eyes locked onto the hole—and the bones.
His face went white.
“Omigod!”
Before anyone could react, red and blue lights flashed.
Jill and Mason stepped out of the squad car.
Jill’s gaze swept over the scene. “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on here?”
Bert cleared his throat, trying for calm. “Nothing, Chief. Just a misunderstanding.”
Mason’s eyes scanned the property. “We got a noise complaint.”
“Just a family squabble, nothing serious,” Bert assured her.
Jill noticed Audrey hovering in the background behind Phoebe. “What are you doing here?”
Before Audrey could answer, Evan stormed out of the house, shotgun in hand.
“Get the hell off our property! You’re trespassing!” Evan cried.
Jill raised her hand. “Evan, put the gun down! Now!”
Bert’s shoulders sank. “Son, please, no. You don’t need to get in the middle of all this—”
Mason’s hand flew to his gun.
Evan whipped his gun in Mason’s direction. “Don’t do it.”
Mason kept his hand hovering over the gun in his holster.
Evan cocked the shotgun, chest heaving.
Jill’s voice was like steel. “I don’t ask twice, Evan. Pointing a gun at a police officer can land you in jail for a long time, so I suggest you stand down.”
A long, agonizing pause.
Then, Bert pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Evan, please. Go back inside. Don’t make this worse.”
Evan’s jaw tightened.
Then, finally, he turned and bolted back inside.
They all let out a breath.
Jill’s tone was sharp. “Does he even have a license for that thing?”
Then her eyes fell on the bones sticking out of the ground.
And a skull next to Phoebe’s feet.
Her expression hardened.
“Somebody better start talking.”