Page 67 of Last Seen
“You’re welcome.” She looks at Halley, squinting. “It’s so strange. You remind me of her.”
“I do? We didn’t look anything alike.”
“Yes, I know. But you make the memories of her stronger. Interesting.” And she’s gone, the door tinkling a farewell.
Halley looks at her watch. It’s after ten. She’s tired. She’s hungry. Her butt hurts from sitting too long. She wants to find a quiet spot—alone—and process all she’s just learned. She gets in the Jeep and drives back to the General Store.
The kids are still inside, playing a game of cards. They look up guiltily when she enters.
One stands and approaches. No smiles this time. “Unfortunately, the Inn doesn’t have room for you this evening. I called around, but none of our short-term rentals are free, either. Sorry about that.” She is no longer the chirpy, happy girl from earlier. It’s like a darkness descended when the sun went down.
“That’s all right. I’ll find someplace by the highway. Thank you anyway, Jenna.”
“Drive carefully,” she says flatly. “And thank you for coming to Brockville.”
Halley decides to check for herself if the Inn has room. She looks at the map, then winds through the hamlets, looking for and finding the sign to Avalon. She passes the writing retreat; there’s a wooden sign with the name painted on it, lit with small spotlights. She’s half tempted to turn in and take a look around, but she needs to find a place to stay. Tomorrow is soon enough.
The parking lot of the Inn is empty of cars. No one’s here. Surely there’s a room for her. She knocks on the entrance door, then tries it, only to find it locked.
Weird. Maybe it’s off season; maybe they just don’t open all the rooms until summer. The retreat doesn’t run all year, either. Maybe they didn’t feel like opening to accommodate a single guest for a night. Maybe they’re sending her a message.
With a sigh, she tosses it over. Sleep in the Jeep in one of the parking lots or drive back over the mountain to a hotel near the highway. It’s an easy choice. Brockville at night, without the charming lights and ubiquitous golf carts, feels somehow menacing. She’s out of here.
She winds her way back out of the hamlet to the main road. She isn’t surprised to see a police vehicle sitting at the intersection. But she is shocked when he turns on his light bar as she passes him, and taps his siren, a familiar sharp squawk.
Why is he pulling her over? She’s done nothing wrong. That doesn’t mean her heart doesn’t leap into her throat and try to choke her in its anxiety. A natural reaction to sirens.
She guides the Jeep to the edge of the wide road and puts on her hazard lights. She pulls out her license and registration and sets them on the dash, then puts down her window and makes sure her hands are visible on the steering wheel. A courtesy.
The sheriff swaggers in her rearview. She rolls her eyes and waits.
He stops by the window. He has a Maglite, shines it right into her face. She shields her eyes, catches his face for a heartbeat, and sucks in a breath. He, too, looks so familiar. Like some sort of handsome movie star vampire. Square jaw. Sharp teeth.
His brother, Noah, is a taller and younger version, she realizes. She needs to look up Miles Brockton. Some men really do pass on their genes. The similarities tell her this is probably the case.
“Hey,” she exclaims “Ouch. That’s bright.”
“Halley James? I need you to get out of the car, please.”
“Why? Was I speeding?”
“Out. Now.” He has a bark on him, she’ll give him that.
She doesn’t like this. There is no one around, no friendly headlights or walkers or golf carts, just her and the sheriff and the looming woods. The trees seem closer than ever, claustrophobically close.
He wears a tan uniform and sports a thick gold band on his left ring finger. His hands are huge, fingers thick, nails buffed. He is not used to being defied.
“Out. Of. The. Car. Now.MissJames.”
The sheriff puts a hand on his weapon. Halley gets out of the car.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sheriff efficiently and not very gently turns Halley around and slaps handcuffs on her. The metal bites into her wrists, and she feels the external claustrophobia settle into her body. She has to breathe squarely so she doesn’t start struggling.
He kicks her legs apart.
“What the hell are you doing?”
