Page 95 of The House Beyond the Dunes

That makes me laugh. “My life’s a hornet’s nest, Mr.Not-a-Detective-Any-Longer.”

He’s a man in full who doesn’t need to push a woman, but he’s not above suggesting. “I’m not looking for a white picket fence,” he says.

I grin. “In that case, I just might be in touch.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

LANE

Monday, January 1, 2024

7:00 a.m.

I wake to the sound of a text pinging on my phone. Thebeepburrows deep into my brain, dragging me up toward consciousness. The instant I sit up, I regret it. My head pounds. The champagne that tasted so good last night is now chiseling its way through my head, carving out pieces of gray matter as it also churns my gut. Happy New Year to me.

Devon and I finished the bottle last night, and then she opened a second bottle of wine and then a third. By the time Devon left around midnight, she didn’t appear affected. I was barely able to follow her to the front door, wave, and lock the door behind me before I collapsed on the sofa. Now my entire body aches.

Devon and I talked some about Kyle, but she talked mostly about the houses she manages and the people who own and rent them. She never lacked for things to chatter about as she refilled my glass over and over.

Six hours of sleep. That should be enough for me. I’ve gotten by on far less when I had a paper due or a double shift to work at the coffee shop. But my eyes feel as if they’re filled with sand and were closed for seconds, not hours.

Pushing off the couch, I rise and walk to the window that faces Reece’s house. The lights on the second and first floors are on. I see him pass by a window, and then his front door opens. He steps out and Devon follows. Her hair is tangled, and she burrows deep in her jacket. Reece is wearing his jeans, a pull-on shirt, and boots that don’t appear to be laced.

Devon pauses, rises on tiptoes, and kisses Reece on the lips. His hand comes to the base of her back, but he makes no move to pull her closer.

I angle my body so I’m out of their view, but I keep watching them. She clings to him and then cups his ass with her hand.

Am I jealous, angry, or disappointed that I’m not the one walking home smelling of sex? My emotions roll around like a game show wheel. Finally, the wheel stops on angry.

Devon knew I had dinner with Reece, and last night she returned to stake her claim. She’s as familiar and relaxed with touching his body as she is in Kyle’s kitchen. I don’t belong. And she’s showing me.

Devon releases Reece, and then she shoves her hands in her coat pockets and trots down the stairs. She’s smiling when she turns west on the dirt road and quickly vanishes into the thicket of trees.

Reece pushes fingers through his hair and then rubs the back of his neck. He’s not smiling, and his expression is grim. I hope he has regrets.

My phone dings with a text.

I cross the room and check the text.Did you see the morning show? Any doubt in your mind who Reece belongs to now?

The text sounds as if it could be from Devon, but the number isn’t the one I have for her. It’s the number linked to the original PDF containing Stevie’s diary. There’s a new attachment. Could this be Devon using a different phone? Or is there someone else watching me?

I open the attachment and find Stevie’s now-familiar handwriting. Whoever is connecting us, she’s become my partner in crime. And I don’t feel so alone now.

In the kitchen, I set up the coffee maker as the printer spits out pages in Kyle’s office. As the coffee maker hisses, I move into the office and take the ten pages off the tray.

Back in the kitchen, I reach for the coffee, dress it with hazelnut creamer. Hot and strong.

Cup cradled in my hands, I carry the pages to the front window, where the light is better, and begin to read. Again, a stranger is pulling me into her world. She has more to tell me about the man she’s been hunting. Judging by Kyle’s notebook with her name scrawled in it, she did visit his office.

My phone dings with another text.

Shelly here on a borrowed smartphone. That cop came by yesterday, or the day before. He was asking about you. Asked about Stevie. I told him I haven’t seen her in a while.

The text stares back at me. Shelly, my neighbor, knew Stevie? I text back:Shelly, what do you remember about Stevie?

There’s no response. I know Shelly well enough to know she’s returned the phone and is now sleeping. She rarely rises before twelve noon.

Tucking the phone in my back pocket, I finish the coffee. I don’t see Reece’s truck in the driveway. No idea where he’d go this early on New Year’s Day. Maybe he needed a break after a night with Devon. I do. Devon is likely back home, curled up under the covers.

---