When Ismay left LA to come to Mariners, the last thing she could’ve imagined was waiting in a police station to talk to an officer about Remy. But she felt strangely empowered, as if she was finally drawing a line after all the little slights and other evidence that he wasn’t being as good to her as she deserved. Cheating aside, they hadn’t been fine for a long time. Maybe they’d never been fine, and she just hadn’t known him well enough to realize it.
“You look nervous,” Jack said as they waited, sitting in cheap plastic chairs just inside the main doors. “You okay?”
“It’s not every day you have to go to the police about your former fiancé,” she whispered.
“I hope this doesn’t make things worse...”
He was worried about what Remy and Bastian might do in response. So was she. But she didn’t get the chance to agree. The female officer at the front desk called her name, and she and Jack stood at the same time.
“Detective Livingston can see you now.”
“Detective?” Ismay echoed. “We...we’re only here to file a police report.”
“You said you had a complaint against Remy Windsor, is that right?”
She nodded.
“Then you might want to speak to the detective.”
Ismay exchanged a glance with Jack before they were escorted to a small office that contained files and stacks of paper piled on almost every horizontal surface. A medium-sized man, probably in his fifties, with a sprinkling of gray in his dark hair, a jacket that didn’t quite go with his slacks, and a dated tie was just clearing off two seats so they’d have a place to sit down.
“Thanks for coming in,” he said, turning to shake hands. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to file a report,” Ismay said and started with what she’d found in the wall of the closet, showing the detective the picture of Lyssa she’d taken on her phone and telling him why she didn’t have other pictures—that the duffel bag had been gone when she went back to get it.
“This is alarming,” he admitted, frowning as he passed her phone back. “You said the duffel bag was in Remy’s room?”
“Yes,” Ismay confirmed. “In his closet, right by his notebook.”
“That notebook isn’t necessarily proof the bag belongs to Remy. It was Bastian we arrested on a Peeping Tom complaint when he was in high school.”
Ismay gripped the arms of her chair. “He was peeping in windows?”
Livingston sighed before replying. “Charges were dropped and nothing ever came of it. I was afraid it might lead to bigger problems. A lot of Peeping Toms progress into...” He waved his hand. “Well, never mind. But it’s been so long now I’d almost forgotten—until today.”
“That gives me the creeps,” Ismay said, “especially because he stole a pair of my underwear when I was staying at the cottage—I’m almost positive of it.”
“And what about the picture of Lyssa Helberg?” Jack asked. “Does anyone really know what happened that night?”
“The boys had a huge fight, possibly about Lyssa. Things got physical, which led to the fire. Witnesses said Lyssa wasn’t in the living room when it happened. She didn’t get out in time. I don’t think they meant to kill anyone.”
It still freaked Ismay out that Bastian had stolen a pair of her underwear—especially since he had a history of peeping. “So...what do we do about Bastian taking my underwear?”
“I’m going to have a talk with him to see if he can explain where your underwear went and where all the other underwear came from.”
Jack scooted forward. “Um, that worries me a little—given that they just tried to run us down before we came here.”
They showed the detective their scrapes and he rubbed the beard growth on his chin. “Sounds like I need to talk to his brother, too. Were there any witnesses?”
Jack shook his head and explained where it happened, that the bend in the road kept them out of sight.
“Then they’ll probably deny it. But... I’ll do what I can. Those boys have run unchecked for too long.”
His reaction to what they’d told him didn’t provide much comfort, but Ismay thanked him and kept her mouth shut until she and Jack were out of the police station and in an Uber on their way home.
“What do you think?” she asked Jack.
“I’m nervous,” he admitted.
So was she. Going to the police had felt like such a bold, decisive move—as if that was “the answer.” But now that they’d been there, Ismay realized how limited the police response would most likely be. Even if she was able to parlay the visit into a restraining order, would she be able to get one against both twins? And what did that do for the women whose underwear were in that duffel bag?
Nothing.
She feared their visit would turn out to be ineffectual, or worse—that it’d make Bastian and Remy angry enough they wouldn’t miss the next time they saw Ismay and Jack walking down the road.
The police were at the door. When his brother yelled up to him, Bastian struggled to return to consciousness, but it wasn’t easy. He’d finally fallen asleep at six-thirty this morning; it felt like he’d barely closed his eyes.
Lifting his head, he squinted to be able to see the alarm clock on the nightstand. Nine-twenty. Three hours wasn’t nearly enough sleep.
“Bastian? You coming?”
Bastian managed to bark out a yes. Then he dragged his tired ass out of bed, rubbed his face, and stared at himself in the mirror over the dresser as his sluggish mind caught up with what was happening. The police were here? Why? Was this about yesterday, when he and Remy had seen Jack and Ismay walking along the side of the road?
Surely, Ismay wouldn’t have gone to the police. She had to know better than that...
“Bastian! Come on!” Remy yelled.
With a curse, Bastian pulled on a T-shirt with the basketball shorts he’d worn to bed and headed out of the room. He needed to be sharper to deal with the police. Being questioned for hours about the fire back when Lyssa died—it was all so traumatizing. Then there was the Peeping Tom complaint. That had been a close one. Bastian knew he had to be ready for anything. But Remy had no patience.
“What is it?” he bellowed as he descended the stairs.
When his brother had said police, he’d thought he’d find an officer in uniform at the door. But it was Detective Livingston wearing his cheap rumpled sports coat. Seeing him sent fresh alarm through Bastian. He remembered how unimpressed Livingston had been with the Windsor influence and wealth.
“I’d like a word with you, if you don’t mind,” the detective said when their eyes connected.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Bastian said.
Livingston smiled blandly. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”
He had plenty to worry about. “Do I have to talk to you?”
“If you want to be sure I get all my facts straight,” Livingston replied.
Bastian told himself he was overreacting. There wasn’t anything his mother couldn’t take care of. “Fine. Come in,” he said, and as soon as the detective had taken a seat in the living room, he added, “What’s wrong?”
Livingston pulled a pad and a pen from his pocket. “This might take a minute. Why don’t you sit down, too?”
Bastian chose a side chair, but Remy remained on his feet and said, “I don’t think it should take very long at all.”
Livingston’s eyes narrowed as he considered Remy’s response, but he started the interview anyway, and directed his first question to Bastian. “Your brother tells me you grabbed the wheel yesterday when the vehicle you were in nearly struck Ismay Chalmers and her brother Jack Chalmers, who were both on foot, about a mile from town.”
“What? Wait—Remy was driving!” he cried but knew he’d spoken too soon when Remy sent him a dirty look.
“I didn’t say that, Detective, and you know it,” Remy clarified. “I said it was an accident, that Bastian was reaching for his drink in the middle console as I took the corner a little too fast, and he fell against the wheel.”
“So it was just bad timing,” Livingston said.
“That’s right,” Remy responded.
Bastian could feel his heart beating in his throat as he glanced at his twin brother, who was, as always, completely calm and self-assured. Nothing bothered Remy. He’d acted the same way the night of the fire.
“And did you stop to see if they were okay?” the detective asked.
“No,” Remy replied with a shrug. “I could tell they were okay. I could see them in my rearview mirror.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Livingston said.
Remy chuckled humorlessly. “Maybe it wasn’t thoughtful, but you can’t charge me with not stopping to see if someone I didn’t even hit was okay.”
“You’re right,” Livingston said. “But what about the duffel bag that was in Remy’s closet?”
Bastian caught his breath. By now, he knew he was supposed to follow his brother’s lead, so he waited for Remy to answer.
“I don’t know about any duffel bag, and I’m sure Bastian doesn’t, either,” Remy said.
Bastian knew he wouldn’t be believed quite as easily, but he quickly agreed. “Remy’s right.”
Livingston was openly skeptical. “There was just an empty hole in the wall...”
Remy threw up his hands. “I guess so. I don’t even know about that. I’m not here that often. I’ve been going to UCLA for the past ten years. I’ve hardly been on the island since high school. If there was a duffel bag in the wall, maybe it belonged to the contractor who did the renovations. Or Bo Broussard.”
Bastian got the impression Livingston was tempted to laugh. “You’re pointing your finger at the caretaker?” he said. “Essentially telling me the butler did it?”
“In this case, that might be true,” Remy explained. “Maybe you’re not aware, but Bo’s real name is Beau Landry. He has a record. Shot and killed his own father.”
Obviously shocked by this statement, Livingston looked up from his notes, where he’d just written Bo’s real name.
“You can do a background check if you don’t believe me,” Remy added.
Rocking back, Livingston crossed his legs. “And yet your mother hired him to take care of the property?”
“She was unaware of his history at the time,” Remy said. “She just found out—and fired him.”
“I see. So he served time for murdering his father—a very different kind of crime—but you think he’s been stealing women’s underwear? How would he have a picture of Lyssa in that bag if he didn’t come to the island until...two years ago, was it?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Remy said.
“You don’t think it’s relevant that Bastian has a history of peeping on women?” the detective asked. “And that a pair of your ex-fiancée’s underwear has gone missing in his company?”
Remy took a step forward. “Who said her underwear’s gone missing?”
“She did,” Livingston replied.
“That could’ve been Bo, too,” Remy said. “She was having an affair with him while I was in LA trying to finish up my boards.”
Livingston nodded. “Ah, the real reason he was fired.”
Bastian could tell the detective was really pissing off Remy when a muscle began to twitch in his brother’s jaw.
“Look, I know you don’t like us,” Remy told Livingston. “Maybe you have some chip on your shoulder when it comes to the upper class. But I will tell you this—you have no proof, and continuing to accuse us of crimes we didn’t commit is going to cause you more trouble than us.”
Livingston stiffened. Bastian feared Remy had gone too far, but there was nothing he could do, not without making the situation even worse.
“I’ll keep that in mind and get back to you after I investigate this more thoroughly,” he said through a clenched jaw.
The detective left immediately after that. Bastian waited until he saw his plain brown sedan pull down the drive, then turned on Remy. “What the hell?” he cried. “Why’d you piss him off like that? Now he’s going to come after us for sure—and by us, I mean me!”
Remy shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing he can do.”
“So what’s the plan?”
Bo hadn’t realized his sister had come out of the house. When he heard her voice, he turned from where he stood at the water’s edge, watching the sunset, and mustered a smile, even though he wasn’t eager for company. He’d been deep in thought, trying to decide what to do about his future. More than anything, he wanted to return to Mariners, to see Ismay again. But by now, word of his past would have spread, so he’d have to face all the people he’d deceived. The locals gossiped about everything. Ivy at the library would know. Honey would know if she was home—thank God she wasn’t, because he cared about her opinion. So would the contractor he’d helped on the cottage renovations. The grocery store clerks. And Remy and Bastian would be right there, just down the street from Ismay and Jack, antagonizing him whenever possible.
But none of that had to do with the real reason he was hesitant. Although returning wouldn’t be comfortable, he cared enough about Ismay to run the gauntlet. The problem was that he didn’t believe she could be truly happy with someone like him, and he didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed.
“You’re thinking about Ismay,” Matilda said before he could answer.
Last night, while they were sitting on the porch, he’d opened up for the first time and shared a little about his dilemma. He still hadn’t told her he’d lied about his background and been caught and fired. He didn’t plan to ever tell her that because it didn’t matter now, didn’t change anything. But he had let her know he’d met a woman he cared about and would have a hard time moving on without her.
Then don’t move on without her, she’d replied.
She made it sound so simple. Her words had been ringing in his head as he finished painting the house today. But every time he convinced himself to take her advice, he backed away from the decision. Why would Ismay, someone who had everything a man could want in a woman, ever settle for him?
“I’m always thinking about Ismay.” He didn’t see any point in denying it.
She picked up a seashell and threw it into the Gulf of Mexico. “And?”
“I think she’s better off without me.”
“Really?” she said, as if she couldn’t believe all his thinking had brought him to that conclusion.
“It makes the most sense,” he said.
“To whom?” she responded. “To you? Of course, it does. Because that’s the safest route. Then you don’t have to risk your heart, risk failing in the relationship that’s most important to you.”
“I’m looking out for her,” he insisted.
She rolled her eyes. “Sure, you are.”
He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s a big girl. Why don’t you show her enough respect to let her look out for herself?”
He glared at her. “You realize there’s only a very small chance this would end well...”
“I realize you have no chance if you refuse to even try,” she said. “What are you afraid of exactly? Losing her? If you don’t go back and let her know you care, you’ll lose her for certain, right?”
He squeezed his forehead. “Damn, you’re hard on me.”
He could tell she knew he was joking when she put her arm around him and briefly rested her head on his shoulder. “That’s what sisters are for,” she said. “I’d better get back to the house to check on Chester after his shower.”
He chuckled to himself as he watched her go. He was glad he’d come home. It was the best thing he could’ve done. And maybe she was right. Maybe he was doing himself a disservice even thinking about walking away from someone like Ismay...
A text message came in on his phone. He checked it and laughed out loud when he saw that it was from his sister.
Go back to Mariners, you big dolt.
He’d pretty much decided he’d hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t, but it was the message that came next, almost right on top of Matilda’s—this one from Jack—that sealed the deal.
Remy and Bastian tried to run us down in the Jeep yesterday, so we went to the police about that and the duffel bag. Not sure it was a wise decision.
Bo cursed. He believed the Windsor twins were dangerous.
I’ll get there as soon as I can, he wrote back. No way was he going to leave Ismay vulnerable to the Windsor twins, not even with Jack around to protect her. Jack had never seen anyone who was truly evil, not like Bo had.
That meant Uncle Chester would have to get along on his own for a few days after Matilda left, but the old man was doing better all the time. Bo would also miss meeting his brother-in-law and nephews, but he’d make sure he had another opportunity soon.