32

 

With Carrie’s gorgeous necklace safely stowed in a little velvet bag in my jeans pocket and the mega-list rolled up in my hand, I took the beach way home. There was a strong chop in the water, the kind that smashed loudly against the shore, drowning out any sounds from town or the wharf. It gave you a false sense of being alone, which I appreciated.

I had much to ponder.

If Claude had been bludgeoned with Carrie’s candlestick in the midst of a frog robbery, the chance of the thief being the murderer jumped a thousand percent. Thank goodness it wasn’t Josh. He swore he’d never been inside Hunter Hall. Thing was, I really didn’t believe him. Which meant Josh lied and could still be our killer.

On the other hand, I honestly couldn’t picture Josh as a killer. Even if Claude caught him red-handed, I couldn’t see the kid lashing out like that. As for Claude, if he’d caught Josh stealing, he would have talked the kid into giving everything back and probably had him praying the sinner’s prayer before he went home.

Would Andrew and Inspector LeClerc see it that way? Or would they haul Josh in as their most likely suspect? Maybe they already had.

No wonder Ash was furious with me.

The sun beat hot on my head. I found a log that had washed up on the beach and sat on it. I needed to find a way to prove Josh’s innocence. Not that he’d trust me after I called him cheap, inconsiderate, and untrustworthy. I’d meant it in love.

I snorted. Who was I trying to fool?

I poked at the sand. If I convinced Ash that I wanted to help, maybe she could convince Josh. Except Josh had broken ties with Ash, might even be in custody at this very moment, so how would she convince him of anything if she couldn’t even talk to him?

Man, I’d made a mess of things. Tears of self pity stung my eyes.

Geoff would help clear things up. I know I had only to ask, but I hated to go to him, to admit what I’d done. To see the disappointment in his face.

I scrubbed at my tears.

And what if Geoff couldn’t fix it? What if the evidence, circumstantial though it was, satisfied police enough that they quit hunting for Claude’s real killer and set their sights on Josh?

What if poor Josh ran away because he knew police were about to charge him with murder? Or, what if he believed he’d be arrested and did something worse? He was just a kid, after all. Kids did dumb things. They reacted; they didn’t think about consequences. The police could use all those reasons to justify their case against Josh.

This wasn’t good.

Cresting waves smashed against the beach, sending spray into the air.

I wiped my nose with the front of my t-shirt.

Fifteen, maybe twenty feet from shore, something red bucked in the water. It surfaced, seemed to roll over, and disappeared. It didn’t look solid, like a buoy. It looked like fabric, swelling, shrinking back against whatever it covered.

What it covered looked like a shoulder.

I stood. It, he, whatever was out there, rolled closer, before dipping beneath the water again.

I’d been sitting here wondering if Josh might do something destructive and now it looked as if someone had.

I spun around, looking for anyone who could help. Twice I’d almost drowned. I knew how deadly the sea could be. Nothing, nothing was more terrifying than the ocean. It closed over your head, dragging you down to where there was no air, no breath, no light. I retched.

I watched the red.

Someone needed to wade into that churning swell, and pull whatever…whoever that was, to shore.

“Help!” I ran in a circle. “Help! Someone help me!”

No one came.

God, you have to send help. I stumbled toward the water’s edge, but when the breaking wave clawed up the beach, I scurried back in terror. The red sank from view.

I spun again, my eyes aching to find someone, anyone, who would run into the water and save the red.

But there was no one. Only me.

Lord have mercy, I had no choice.

“Help me,” I shouted at God. I coughed up bile as I put one foot after the other and forced myself into the swell.

It sucked the ground from beneath my feet and shoved me back. The red reappeared and sank. I stumbled further into the water. Within feet, I was past my waist, the waves slamming my chest, soaking my face.

I screamed at God. I reached. I strained. My fingers touched fabric, and I grabbed.

I fought my way back to shore, and the red came with me. Willingly.

I lost my footing and almost washed back into the harbor. But the wave receded, and it wasn’t that deep after all.

The next wave slammed against the back of my head. On hands and knees, I crawled up the sloping beach, dragging the red behind me, until both of us were safe from being sucked back to sea.

That’s when I rolled over and saw the entire red for the first time.

It wasn’t a body. It was a sack.