Page 71 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“Terrific.”

He glances toward the sparkling espresso machine on the counter. “You know how to use that?”

“I’ve had a variety of jobs in my life, least of which is a barista.” I set the machine up, settle a white cup under the dispenser, and press the button. Coffee hisses out. “Sugar, cream?”

“Just black.”

“I would’ve guessed that if you’d stepped up to my register.”

“How can you be so sure? I might have asked for one of those triple vanilla monsters.”

I smile, feeling the first sense of normalcy in days. “You develop an eye for people when you serve them coffee all day.”

He takes a sip. “It’s good.” As I turn back to the machine, he asks, “What’s your flavor?”

“Hazelnut creamer.” I splash in the creamer. “Not exactly a purist.”

He studies the cup but doesn’t drink. “I never had much of a taste for the flavored stuff.”

“Neither did Kyle.” I regard him over the rim of my cup. “Hard to believe he’s from this area. That fact still doesn’t resonate with all that I knew about him.”

“He wanted to leave all this behind. Did his best to put distance between himself and the past.”

I could buy that if I wasn’t standing a half mile from where he grew up. “But he built two houses here.”

He reflects. “Hard to let go of our childhood. The good and bad can have a hold on us.”

You can let anything go if you want it enough. I’ve divorced myself from the past. I only look back on rare occasions, and when I do, I search out only the good times. Sometimes the bad finds me, but only rarely. “Do you come up here for old times’ sake?”

“I come up here for work, but I don’t live here. I wouldn’t be on this job now if I had more help, and it wasn’t for the holidays. The money was too good to turn down.”

I shift, move the weight off my left hip. It’s aching now, and I’ve overdone it walking on sand and climbing stairs. Doubt Dr.Jacksonwould call this a rest. “I’ve worked my share of holidays, either at a crisis hotline or at a church food pantry. I’ve never minded it.”

He sips his coffee. He grimaces and sets the cup down. “When you work for yourself, you don’t have a choice, especially when you’re trying to keep a business afloat.”

“How long have you been building?”

“I’ve had my own business for five years. Before that I worked for three years with another crew.”

He must be in his early thirties. “What did you do before?”

“Nothing important.”

Unsettled quiet wedges between us. He’s not going to answer, and I don’t pry. “How does a pipe just come loose?” I think about Earl roaming this area. “Was it really an accident?”

He draws in a breath. “The hose was loosened from the wall.”

“Are you saying someone intentionally separated the hose?”

“That’s what I think.”

“Someone broke into the house? Vandalism?”

He frowns. “The back window was broken. I never had a chance to tell Kyle that detail. We spoke on the phone while he was driving up here.”

There was a call when we were passing over the Wright Memorial Bridge onto the Outer Banks. The conversation was brief, and Kyle didn’t look happy when it ended. I asked, but he smiled and told me not to worry.

“Who would do that?” I ask.

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