Page 51 of The Edge of Summer
While she sets about finishing the rest of her closing routine, I pull out my phone to text Clara.
I have a question, but you can’t ask any follow ups.
Clarebear
Ominous. What’s up?
How do you access security footage at Dockside?
Clarebear
Why??
No follow ups, remember?
Clarebear
If you tell me time stamps, I can just do it when I go in tomorrow.
I would prefer to take care of it myself.
If you don’t tell me how, I’m just going to press a bunch of buttons until something works.
Clarebear
Ugh. You’re the worst!
After my nosy sister begrudgingly gives me the instructions, I delete the footage from the moment I walked in through the back door up until Delilah hopped off the bar, clothing back in its proper place. By then, Delilahhas already shut off most of the lights and made her way to the break room.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
She slings her bag over her shoulder. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”
“‘Course I did. You never know what kind of trouble could be out there.”
She brandishes her keys between her knuckles. “That’s why I have these bad boys.”
I scowl. “And that’s supposed to make me feelbetter?”
Like the gentleman I am, I wait for her to lock the back door and then walk with her across the gravel lot. Her car sits under a flickering light, illuminated like it sits on a stage. Coupled with the moon, it casts an eerie glow over the surrounding areas.
When we round the driver’s side of the car, Delilah stops in her tracks. I nearly crash into her back, and the gasp she lets out sets me on edge. I lean around her, and my jaw clenches when I realize the problem.
There, written on the door in vibrant red paint, is the wordslut.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
LUKE
The morningafter Delilah’s car was vandalized, I follow her to the sole auto body shop we have on the island. Since they’re the only game in town, they do just about everything when it comes to fixing vehicles. And as it happens, I’m friends with the owner’s nephew.
The drive across town isn’t long, but it gives me plenty of time to stew about what happened last night.Slut. Seeing that one word, etched across Delilah’s car like a goddamn scarlet letter, had anger rushing through my veins. When I pulled up to her house a few minutes ago, the anger surged anew.
After Delilah left Dockside, insisting on driving herself home, I went back inside to check the security footage. She told me it wasn’t a big deal, but I didn’t miss the trembling in her hands that second time. I wasn’t about to let some punk get away with fucking up her car. But as I searched the computer for the parking lot footage, I realized that a chunk of time was removed.
I deleted the fucking footage.
