Chapter 3 #2
“That could be both a blessing and dangerous.” Ryan stood, stretching carefully.
Mitch noted again how he favored his left side, protecting his right, and giving the slightest of winces.
Mitch put two and two together. Ryan was here two weeks early, and instead of the two weeks’ leave he’d spoken of, he now had four.
Cold slivered through his veins and held himself back from being an overprotective parent and demanding to know what had happened and just how bad it was.
Because if Ryan was off early, it meant it was serious enough to warrant medical leave.
“I saw you still had some boxes on the back of your truck,” Mitch said, moving his mind away from the injury.
“Yes. These are the boxes of items I asked if you would store in the attic now that I’m selling my apartment.”
“Well, let’s go get them,” Mitch said, turning toward the kitchen door.
They headed back outside into the afternoon sun. Ryan’s truck bed held five boxes. Mitch grabbed two of the boxes while Ryan reached for the biggest of the ones left. As his son lifted it, Mitch saw the small wince, the way Ryan’s jaw tightened briefly before he controlled his expression.
Yup. Ryan was definitely injured. Mitch made a mental note to keep an eye on it, make sure Ryan wasn’t pushing himself too hard. They were carrying items toward the house when Ryan stopped abruptly, frowning toward the road.
“Dad,” Ryan said quietly. “Who is that?”
Mitch looked up and felt his shoulders tense.
A woman was riding a pink bicycle down Pelican Bay Lane, heading directly toward them.
As she drew closer, Mitch could see that she was in her late thirties, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in what looked like expensive casual wear.
Jeans that probably cost more than Mitch’s entire wardrobe, a crisp white blouse, and designer sunglasses perched on her head.
A large tote bag sat in the wicker basket attached to the front of her bicycle.
The woman spotted them watching and waved enthusiastically, as if they were old friends, as she steered the bicycle toward them.
“I have no idea,” Mitch said, setting down the boxes and wiping his hands on his jeans.
The woman dismounted with practiced ease, flipping out a stand that kept the bike upright before approaching them with a bright smile, her hand already extended.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Clara. I just moved into Nature’s Cottage around the corner.”
Mitch shook her hand, noting the firm grip, the confident demeanor. “Mitch Brandon. This is my son Ryan.”
Ryan shook her hand as well, polite but reserved.
“It’s so nice to meet you both,” Clara continued, her enthusiasm seeming genuine but somehow too much. “I’m a nature writer from Boston. I’m doing a piece on Pelican Bay and the coastal wildlife patterns. Particularly the seabird populations. It’s absolutely fascinating work.”
“I’m sure it is,” Mitch said neutrally.
“Are you the owner of Sunrise House?” Clara asked, her smile not faltering.
“Yes,” Mitch said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. There was something about the woman that didn’t quite add up. Her overly cheerful facade didn’t quite match the way her eyes took in her surroundings in a way that only someone trained to observe did.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Clara sighed. “I was told I need permission from the residents on this lane to use the private beach. Is that correct?”
Mitch confirmed it was. “The beach is private property shared between the two houses here.”
“So I can use it?” Clara asked. “For my research? I promise I’ll be respectful and careful. I just need access to observe the feeding and nesting patterns of the terns and plovers.”
Ryan stepped forward slightly, and Mitch recognized the move. His son had noticed the same thing Mitch had. There was a lot more to this woman than first met the eye.
“Sorry,” Ryan said, his voice carrying polite inquiry. “Who did you say you were? You gave us a first name but not a last one.”
Clara blinked, and for just a fraction of a second, her smile faltered. Then it was back, brighter than before. “Oh, didn’t I?” she said with a little laugh. “How silly of me.” The pause was just a beat too long. Just enough to make Mitch’s instincts sharpen. “Clara Stark,” she said finally.
Mitch filed the name away, already planning to verify it. He was secretly pleased that Ryan had thought to ask, as Mitch wanted to, but hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it.
“You can use the beach, Ms. Stark,” Mitch said. “But we can’t be held responsible if anything happens to you down there. The rocks can be treacherous, especially if you’re not familiar with the terrain.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of holding you responsible,” Clara assured him quickly, and something flashed in her eyes so quickly that Mitch couldn’t define it. “I’m very careful. I’ve done fieldwork in much more challenging environments.”
Then her eyes shifted past him toward Seabird Cottage. “What about your neighbor? Carrie Ware? Is she home? I should probably get her permission as well, just to be thorough.”
Every alarm bell in Mitch’s head went off at once.
Why was she asking about Carrie? If she knew Carrie’s name, she had already known who he was before she asked if he was the owner.
Mitch gave himself a mental shake. Stop it!
You’re being paranoid. If she really is writing about birds, then of course she’d have done her homework.
As she said, she needed his and Carrie’s permission to use the beach.
Mitch berated himself. But still, something didn’t sit right with him about Clara Stark.
He kept his voice carefully neutral. “I’m the only permission you need for beach access. Carrie doesn’t want to be disturbed right now, and you only need one of us to give you permission.”
Clara barely seemed to hear him. Her eyes were still on Seabird Cottage, scanning the driveway, the windows.
“I don’t see a second car in the drive,” Clara said, as if Mitch hadn’t just told her his permission was sufficient. “So I guess she’s not home.”
The comment directly contradicted what he’d just said. Either this woman was genuinely oblivious, or she was deliberately probing for information. Mitch’s money was on the latter.
Then another thought hit him. She could be a reporter. There had been reporters swarming the island after the Whittaker shooting and the Judge’s arrest. Some of them had been persistent, intrusive, looking for any angle to keep the story alive.
Ryan, as if reading Mitch’s thoughts, asked another question. “When did you say you arrived?”
“Oh, last night,” Clara said, her attention returning to them. “It’s so quiet here. My eyes closed the moment my head hit the pillow. I slept in this morning, which is not like me at all. Usually, I’m up with the sunrise and first chirp of the birds.”
“It is quiet here,” Mitch agreed, humoring her. “Perfect for writing, I imagine.”
“Absolutely.” Clara beamed at him. “The solitude is exactly what I need for this project.”
Mitch gestured toward the path that led down to the beach. “Go ahead and use the beach whenever you need to, Ms. Stark. Just please be careful. Use that path over there, the one I’m pointing to. It’s the safest route down.”
“The other paths are really steep,” Ryan continued for him.
“If you’re not familiar with them, they can be dangerous.
Easy to slip on the rocks.” He looked at the sky, then back at Clara.
“But I wouldn’t go down there this afternoon, though.
The wind’s going to pick up. It gets quite rough down there when the weather shifts. ”
Clara’s smile widened. “Thank you so much for the advice. Both of you. I think I’ll go home and do more research for the rest of the day. I’ll come back bright and early tomorrow morning when the conditions are better.”
She said her goodbyes and then walked back down the garden path, humming a tune Mitch didn’t recognize, then climbed onto her pink bicycle with the same practiced ease she’d shown dismounting.
The bicycle looked expensive, probably vintage, the kind of thing someone bought because it looked good in photos rather than for actual transportation.
“You’ve both been super helpful,” Clara called to them as she turned the bicycle toward Pelican Road. “I really appreciate it.”
She rode off while Mitch and Ryan stood watching until she disappeared around the bend in the lane.
The silence stretched for several moments. Mitch was replaying the conversation in his head, analyzing every word, every gesture, every reaction.
“Well,” Ryan said finally, breaking the silence. “That was weird.”
“Very,” Mitch agreed.
Ryan turned to look at him fully. “What are the chances she’s linked to the strange things happening? Her timing seems too...”
“Coincidental?” Mitch supplied.
“Exactly.” Ryan crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. “She doesn’t give me the vibe of a nature documentary person.”
“No,” Mitch said, his mind already working through possibilities. “She feels more like a reporter or...”
Ryan finished Mitch’s sentence for him, the words hanging heavy in the air between them. “Or someone working with the beige windbreaker man.”