*Monday
Kyra’s eyes fluttered open. Cronk was stretched out alongside her. The room seemed to hum with the contented rumble of his purr. She stretched and sat up, trying not to disturb him. The room was bathed in a pink light, harsher than a sunrise. She checked her phone. It was well past eight. The sun had been up for hours.
She pushed back the covers and padded to the window. Outside, everything was awash in a rosy, golden haze. The cove, only just visible, twinkled amethyst. Despite the warmth in the room, the hair on the back of Kyra’s neck stood on end, and she rubbed away a chill. Something unsettling tugged at a memory. Shaking it off, she dressed and made her way downstairs. She checked the living room, but Tarek was already gone, the blanket neatly folded over the couch. Her heart sank a bit.
Cronk beat her to the kitchen and yowled for his breakfast. While her coffee brewed, she fed her mini-yeti and shot off a text to Charlie and Grace, thanking them for the previous evening.
She pulled her mug from under the machine and stared out at the cove. She texted Ali, updating her about the beach party and thanking her for the midnight support, leaving out not staying in a hotel and Tarek sleeping on her couch. Just the thought of that conversation made her head hurt.
“Would you and Cam want to come visit the island later this summer?”
“Is that an official invitation?”
Kyra chewed her lip. Is it an invitation? Did she want to come back? For Ali to show her the island? To play with Iggy on the beach?
“Yes. Official. This summer.”
“YES!!!” Ali texted back, followed by a bunch of balloon emojis and a calculator.
She must mean calendar. Kyra grinned. While not at all definite, she had the glimmer of a plan to return. And soon. In only a few months. The discomfort of discontent that had been building over the course of the last week eased like she’d been stooped over, climbing a steep hill, and she could finally stand up straight.
Cronk jumped onto the kitchen island and bumped his head against her hand. “You like that idea, don’t you? Coming back?” She scratched his chin, and he flopped over on his side, his floofy tail twitching. Kyra noticed the notepad. Tarek’s. He must have left it. She slid it out from underneath the cat and flipped it open.
Tarek’s notes were a jumble of his thoughts and idle doodles. She thumbed through the pages until she found his most recent entry. He was building a case against Chase for Brendan’s death. He suspects that someone in the family, maybe Phil or Margot, set the fire to protect him.
Kyra snapped it shut. She tapped her nail on the cover.
“I just don’t believe it, Cronk. I want to talk to him again.”
The cat blinked his big green eyes at her.
Kyra picked up her phone just as it rang. Assaf. Shit. She ignored the call and texted Beth asking for Chase’s number. Within seconds, her phone pinged with Chase’s contact information.
“Hi Chase, this is Kyra Gibson. We’ve met a few times at your family’s farm. I have some information about the night Ed Gibson died that you may want to hear, and I was hoping to ask you a few more questions. Can you meet me at Café Joy in Edgartown? Thanks.”
To her surprise, she received a response almost immediately. He’d be there in thirty minutes. She debated texting Tarek, but he’d insist on coming with her. I think I can get more out of him alone. Kyra pulled on a windbreaker and grabbed her purse.
She stepped off the porch and froze. A police cruiser sat in her driveway, the engine idling. The driver’s-side door popped open, and a man in a police uniform stepped out. “Miss Gibson?” The man took off his hat and held it in front of him. “I’m Officer Mark Evans with the Massachusetts State Police.” He pointed to his badge on his chest. “Detective Collins requested a security detail for the house. For you.”
“I … uh, I’m sorry?” She glanced at the officer’s car. It was the same color as Tarek’s. Officer Evans wasn’t with the Edgartown police.
“Yes, ma’am, oh sorry, miss.” He gave her a bashful smile and took a cautious step toward her, like he was approaching a frightened animal. “I’m assigned to stay here and make sure no one enters the residence unless you or Detective Collins allow it.” Kyra just stared at him. That she didn’t run away seemed to make him more confident, and his features stretched into a goofy grin. “I’ll just be in my vehicle, ma’am, ugh, miss.” He pushed his shaggy reddish hair out of his face and shrugged. “If you need anything, just give me a yell.” He slapped his hat back on his head.
“Please, call me Kyra.” The man gave her the impression of an overgrown golden retriever. “I was just going to go out for coffee.”
“Okay, Kyra.” He bobbed his head. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
She gave him a weak wave and climbed into her SUV.
*
Kyra pushed open the door to Café Joy, and a bell jingled. The brightly decorated coffee shop was busier than the last time she’d been there. Was that really only a week ago? So much had happened in a few short days. She’d tentatively made a go at keeping her father’s house, stumbled onto a mystery, made new friends in Grace and Charlie … and Tarek. Last Saturday, packing her bags in her London flat seemed like another lifetime.
Nina was behind the counter again. She gave Kyra a wave and gestured for her to sit anywhere. Kyra settled at a table a little out of the way by a window and set up her laptop.
“Coffee?” Nina asked, holding up a carafe.
“Yes, please. Thank you,” Kyra said, wrapping her hand around the warm mug. “I’m also meeting someone.”
“We officially opened for the season yesterday.” Nina handed her two menus. “We have a lot more options now. I’ll come back to check on you and your friend.”
“Ms. Gibson?” a soft voice said, and Kyra looked up from her laptop. Chase stood a few feet away from the table, hands stuffed in his jeans’ pockets and his golden hair flopping down over his forehead.
“Kyra.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Please, sit.”
Chase pulled the chair out and sat down. He pushed his body close to the wall, his shoulder wedging up against the window like he was trying to melt into the building.
“Thank you for coming.”
“What did you want?” His blue-green eyes were dull and bloodshot, but he held her gaze.
She had expected to see suspicion, maybe fear, but she could read nothing on his slack, sallow features. He’s given up, she realized, and her heart lurched.
“I wanted to ask you a few questions about Brendan. Would you mind?”
Chase shook his head, but his expression was pained.
“Did he have money problems?”
Chase frowned. He rolled his lips like he was carefully choosing his words. “He wasn’t wealthy, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t know how much he made working for my dad, but he seemed okay. He insisted we split expenses, like meals. He never mentioned having money trouble.”
“Do you think he could be bought? Would he take money to use his influence to persuade your dad to vote a certain way?”
Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me if Brendan was bribing my father?”
Kyra swallowed. Perhaps she’d pushed too far. She gave a nod. Her hands tightened on her coffee cup.
“No. Brendan wasn’t that kind of person. He actually believed in politics.” Kyra heard the scorn in Chase’s voice. “But even if he wasn’t an idealist, Brendan didn’t have any influence with Phil. Phil probably didn’t know he existed before he died. Senator Hawthorn is much too important to trouble himself with such trivial affairs as what aides work in his office. He leaves that to Grover.” Chase cleared his throat and looked down at the table. He sat up and his eyes locked on hers. “Brendan knew something, didn’t he?” He leaned forward, his voice a hoarse whisper, “What did he find out?” Chase Hawthorn was no fool. He just played one.
“I’m trying to piece it together.”
Nina came by to refresh Kyra’s coffee and pour one for Chase. He added cream and stirred.
“I know you didn’t kill my dad,” Kyra whispered once Nina was out of earshot.
The spoon stopped moving.
“You didn’t have anything to do with his death.”
Chase sat frozen for a beat. Two. Then he deflated. His face went slack. His shoulders rounded in, making him small. He sucked in a ragged breath.
“You were given a ride home by the bartender from the Crow’s Nest the night my dad died. Do you know Daphne?”
“The bartender at the Nest?” He blinked. “Yes, I know her.”
“I spoke to her. The night of the storm, January third, you were at the Crow’s Nest. The bar closed early because of the storm. It was raining pretty hard. Daphne said you sat with her while she cleaned up, and she took you home. You never went to The Island Pearl that night, or at least not after the bar. My dad died sometime after seven p.m. You couldn’t have killed him.”
“I wasn’t there?”
“No. But why do you think you were?”
He closed his eyes, and his head fell forward.
“I didn’t … don’t remember, and my mother…” Chase looked up. His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, like he was searching for something. He glanced away. “My mother thinks I did it.” Chase shuddered. “She convinced my dad. They’ve been trying to protect the campaign. Keep it out of the media. Keep me out of the public eye.” His voice was flat.
Kyra realized he wasn’t angry. He expected nothing less from his family. The campaign came first.
“But why?” she asked. “Why would they think that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure the reason matters to them. I was in Edgartown. I blacked out. I’m a disappointment. That’s enough for them. Mother thinks Ed was using me to get dirt on the family. She’s always been suspicious of him, of the media in general.” Chase stared out the window. “That isn’t true, though. Ed was always nice to me. He never asked about Dad or politics. He’d ask me about sailing or the farm. Sometimes he’d talk about you, his daughter, a big-time lawyer in England.” Chase’s mouth twitched.
Kyra started. What? Me?
Chase turned to face her, then dropped his eyes to his coffee. “Last year, I got into trouble. With another boat. I guess it’s what I do.” He shrugged. “Get wasted, do something destructive. Stupid.” His voice cracked. “There’s more.” He gave her a helpless look.
“What do you mean, more?” She shifted in her seat, nervous.
“They’re convinced I killed Brendan, too. Or that I’ll be arrested for it. The truth doesn’t matter, just what the people believe.” He said it like he’d been fed that line his whole life.
“What do you mean?” Kyra asked. “You were in Boston when he died.”
“I was in Boston when the fire started. The lawyers say the police will argue that I killed him and left. Someone else started the fire. I probably paid that person off.”
That is what they’re saying…
“Did you?”
“No!” His face blanched, but he held her gaze. “I’d never have hurt him. I didn’t even know he was coming to see me … or if he was coming to see me. I didn’t know he was on the island. If I’d known, I’d have told him not to come, to meet me in Boston or somewhere else.”
“But why would they think that?” Kyra asked.
Chase finally broke eye contact and stared at the table. His hands clenched into fists and his shoulders raised and lowered. He was quiet for a long time.
Finally, in barely a whisper, he said, “Because I have the gun.”
She leaned forward and grasped the table.
“What?” Her brain was spinning.
“A few days after Brendan died, I found a gun in my room. It was hidden between my bed and the wall. There’s a crawl space back there. I’d hide weed there when I was a kid.”
“Is the gun yours?”
“No. Before this week, I’d never touched one. I don’t know how it got there.”
“Who else knows about the crawl space?”
“I’m not sure. Mom might know. Beth and the staff, probably. My sister. It connects our rooms. I’d crawl through to see her when I was little. She hated that.” The ghost of a wry smile fluttered across his lips before he cleared his throat. “After I found it, I told Mom, thinking we’d go to the police. Maybe the gun could be tested or … or something. But she flipped out. Accused me of sabotaging Phil’s career. Destroying her life. She made me promise to get rid of it and never talk about it again. I don’t think my dad even knows.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Chase looked at her. Under the gaze of his piercing eyes, she felt exposed.
He shrugged, but it was a halfhearted motion. “You seem to want to help. To find the truth about what happened to Brendan and Ed. Even if they accuse me, I want that, too. For them.”
Kyra searched his face for any sign of dishonesty. She let out a breath.
“Did you get rid of it?” She almost hoped he had, for his sake.
She couldn’t keep this from Tarek, and once he had the murder weapon, the detective would arrest Chase. But maybe if they brought him the weapon together, they could persuade him that Chase was innocent?
“No, not yet. I hid it until I could take the Neamhnaid out. Throw it in the ocean.”
“The Neamhnaid?”
“Margot’s sailboat.”
Kyra thought for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, thinking through their next step.
“Chase?” She’d made her decision.
“Hmm?”
“Where did you hide it?”