Page 55 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“Assuming you’re right ...”

“I’m right.”

“Then you know your clients well.” He rises and fishes a stack of twenties from his pocket.

My battle stance eases. Bourbon might open up if he thinks he’s in control. “I like to think that I’m good at my job.”

His gaze roams the room, settles briefly on White Wine. She smiles, tucks a strand of blond hair behind her ear. He beams a one-hundred-watt smile in her direction. “I bet you see a lot in this room.”

I chuckle. “You would be surprised, Bourbon. Hey, quick question. Do you remember the gal working with me here the other night? Nikki. Cute girl, great figure. The one that ghosted us?”

“Hard to forget a woman who flirts so well.”

“Did she say if she was leaving town or not? She owes me money. Be nice to settle up.”

“She said something about moving to DC because she wanted to give the big city a try.”

Nikki in DC. She can barely handle the bustle of Nags Head. Why would Bourbon lie about Nikki? All he had to say was he didn’t remember her. “Thanks.”

He lays the bills on the bar. “Take care, Stevie.”

“You too, Bourbon.”

Bourbon turns, eyes White Wine across the room who is now boldly staring at him. He always pays with cash, but White Wine uses a credit card. When I swipe it, I make a mental note. Jeanne Williams.

After closing, I open Joey’s computer in the back room and log in to his Facebook account. I find Jeanne Williams easily. She lives in Chesapeake, Virginia, operates a home health service. There are several recent pictures of her on the Outer Banks. Sunsets, beach walks, seafood dinners. The usual lineup. I wonder if she’ll post pictures from her date with Bourbon? Something tells me he’s not fond of public attention.

“Stay safe, Jeanne Williams.”

Chapter Fifteen

LANE

Sunday, December 31, 2023

11:15 a.m.

When the front doorbell rings, I’ve read several pages of Stevie’s diary, combed my hair, and changed into clean jeans and a light-blue V-neck sweater. If I’ve learned anything from my job, it’s not to show anger or frustration. I’ve also had my share of circle members who’ve railed at me, screaming obscenities, yelling curses, or crying endless tears. But I’ve never lost my cool. I pride myself on being calm and controlled.

Inhaling, I channel serene energy. I can deal with Detective Becker. I’m innocent and should have nothing to fear from him.

I open the front door and am surprised by Detective Becker’s appearance. He’s not as buttoned up and formal as he was in Norfolk. No suit and tie now but jeans, a sweater, and a puffer jacket. His hair isn’t slicked back, but wind tousled. I can’t decide if I hate this version of him less. There’s something wild, perhaps unpredictable, about him. Random is never good.

“Detective, please come in.” I’ve not made coffee. Hell, I barely cleared my lunch plates from the counter. The goal is not to entertain but to answer whatever questions he has and send him along.

He steps inside, carrying with him the scents of wind and ocean. “I’m surprised you came back here. I’m sure there was someone to call to retrieve your things.”

“I didn’t want to wait.”

“For the sleepwalking medication?”

“That’s right.” I decide not to tell him the pills are missing. The less said the better.

“Have you ever walked far in your sleep?”

“A few times when I was little.” I don’t mention the time I woke up on the side of Shore Drive in Norfolk, ready to cross on a busy Saturday night. I was fourteen. Or the time I turned on the burner in my apartment, cracked a couple of eggs, and went back to sleep. That was last summer. The smoke detector woke me up. “Not anymore.”

“Good. That can be very dangerous.” For a moment he says nothing, as if gauging his words. “I’ve heard of some people ending up in other towns.”

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