Page 205 of Secrets Along the Shore
CHAPTER
NINE
The storm had passed,but inside me, determination churned. I could no longer pretend this was someone else’s responsibility. It was mine.
I sat up slowly after a night of tossing and turning. Sunlight slanting through the blinds cast bars of gold across the bed but did nothing to comfort me. The lodge now felt like a witness. A keeper of secrets. It knew the truth about what happened to them all, but it wasn’t talking.
Livvie’s killer was still out there.
Or maybe not out there at all.
Maybe her death had been a tragic accident just as the authorities deemed it.
Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was the killer. Programed to silence the child who knew too much.
The thought sat in my stomach like a stone, cold and immovable. But I had to face it. If I’d been part of what happened to Livvie, then the truth deserved daylight, even if I paid the price.
I dressed quickly, stuffing a protein bar in my mouth and grabbing my keys from the counter. I didn’t bother to clean up the mess I’d made the night before when I’d tracked mud through the house and half-packed my suitcase in a panic. Let the house rot. I didn’t care if itsold or not. Nor about the hardwood floors or the antique cabinets or about the faulty wiring.
I just wanted the truth.
The drive into town was quiet, the road winding peacefully. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, their weakest leaves and branches released to die in the gutters or flattened beneath my tires. A symbol to shed what weighs us down.
I parked outside the Sheriff’s department and stared at the modest brick building. It hadn’t changed much since I was a kid. Same dusty windows. Same crooked flagpole.
Inside, a young deputy stood behind the front desk. Early twenties, clean-shaven, with a buzz cut and a badge that looked like it still had its factory polish.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Ma’am. God, I felt old.
“I’m here about the Bishop case. Livvie Bishop. She was found in the lake fifteen years ago. I was a friend of hers.”
His brows lifted, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a woman behind him—older, with steel-gray hair and glasses hanging on a chain—spoke up from her desk. I missed her first few words but caught the tail end.
“…was so tragic. Sweet child.” The woman looked at me a moment longer. “You were the one who was with her, weren’t you? A witness said she had been out with a friend on the water that night.”
I nodded, my throat dry. “Yes. Scarlett. Scarlett McBride.”
The deputy turned toward the woman. “Wait, what case is this?”
The receptionist waved a hand. “Long time ago. Sheriff McNealy worked on it when he was still a deputy. He’s not in right now—should be back after lunch.”
“I’d like to speak with him when he returns,” I said.
“You can wait, if you’d like. Or come back.”
I checked the clock on the wall. It was just after ten. Lunch felt forever away.
“Thanks. I’ll come back.”
I left the station with my nerves buzzing like a live wire. Sheriff McNealy. I remembered him. He had kind eyes. Maybe he’d tell mewhat the old reports left out. Maybe he’d help me sort out what was real and what had been fabricated in rumors.
I had time to kill, but I didn’t want to waste it. There was another place I needed to go.
The real estate office to see Evan.
I parked along Main Street and stepped inside the Scanlon Real Estate Agency. The front room smelled of coffee and lemon-scented polish. Evan looked up from his desk, startled for a second before recognition set in.
