Page 46 of Liar's Point

She scanned the coastline, looking for anyone even vaguely resembling the man who Cassandra had described. But not only were there no runners in black clothes this evening, there were no runners at all. The only people out here were an elderly beachcomber and a fisherman up to his knees in the surf.

She kept a steady pace as she watched the waves. She’d always liked it out here. The beach was wide and spacious. As kids, she and her siblings were strictly prohibited from swimming at this point because of the rip current, but that taboo had only given the place more allure. They had loved to come out here with their dad whenever he went fishing. Their mom would pack a thermos of lemonade, and Nicole and Kate and Kevin would dig holes on the beach and search for sand crabs. And when their dad was done fishing, he’d walk them to the old lighthouse, where they would race each other up the grassy hill and log-roll to the bottom.

That was before the lighthouse had been renovated, back when it was still boarded up and empty, and kids used to say you could see ghosts in the upper windows on windy summer nights. Later, Nicole discovered that it wasn’t ghosts doing the haunting but teenagers looking for a place to make out and get high.

Nicole surveyed the lighthouse now as she jogged against the wind. She still found it strange that the crumbling old building from her childhood was now one of the island’s top attractions. So much had changed in her hometown—more tourists, more traffic, more crime—and even though all that growth was the reason Nicole had a job, she couldn’t help being nostalgic for the sleepy little beach town that was gone forever.

The cramp tightened, and Nicole slowed to a stop. Panting, she held her side and checked her watch. It was 6:25, the time Cassandra had said she liked to jog after work. But it was Monday, and she’d said she typically came out here Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, so maybe Nicole should try again tomorrow.

She turned around and spotted a man jogging toward her. Her heart skittered. He wore a black sweatshirt, black shorts, and a black visor. Even his running shoes were black, with the exception of the neon green laces.

Nicole’s feet started moving before her brain could catch up.

“Excuse me. Sir?”

His attention was focused on the horizon, and he didn’t even look at her until she was ten yards away.

“Sir?” She smiled as his gaze settled on her. “Hi. You mind stopping for a minute?”

He halted. “What’s that?” He swiped the screen of his phone, switching off whatever he’d been listening to.

“Hi.” She smiled again, trying to visualize how she must look to this guy. Her cheeks were flushed, and her sweatpants were spattered with wet sand. This man was barely breathing hard, and his legs were sand-free.

“My name is Nicole Lawson.” She pulled her badge from the zipper pack clipped around her waist. “I’m with Lost Beach PD.”

His eyebrows arched as he looked at the badge.

“I’m investigating a recent incident here.”

“Here... as in here on the beach?”

“That’s right. I’m interviewing some of the regulars. You know, dog walkers, wade fishermen, people like that. Do you jog here routinely?”

He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

“Have you ever jogged here before?” she amended, giving him a question it would be harder to say no to.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Are you here often? Like, several times a week?”

He glanced over his shoulder, as though she might be talking to someone else.

“I guess you’d say that,” he replied. “Five or six times a week, usually.”

“Great.” She stepped closer and tipped her head to the side. “Then maybe you can help me. Were you here last Saturday evening?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? I’m talking about this last Saturday. Just a couple days ago.”

Something flitted across his face, and she could have sworn it was panic.

“Saturday, yeah. I think I was here.”

She smiled. “You mind pinning it down for me? I’m talking about February fourteenth. Were you jogging on this beach that evening?”

“I was, yes.” He nodded. “The fourteenth.”

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