Page 59 of Lost Petal

Chapter 33

J

I watch her from afar as she paces up and down, her hand absentmindedly traveling along the fence that secures my yard from the cliff walk right before the house while she presses the phone against her ear. I never liked walking this close along the fence, almost within reach of the many tourists that stroll along the cliff walk when the weather is fine. It was hard enough to get used to their gawking eyes from afar, pointing and staring, often with that hardened look of envy on their faces.

I like to keep my distance, enjoying the view of the ocean while pretending that the little path right between my property and the shore doesn’t exist. It’s easy to pretend from up here, because we’re elevated above the walk, merely allowing for a glance at people’s heads as they walk by. The house is located on a tiny hill, overseeing the cliff walk and much of the surrounding area, in plain sight while still providing privacy.

Malia has been on the phone for quite a while now, after running around like a headless chicken when it first rang.

“Oh my God, it’s him! It’s him!” she kept yelling, holding up her phone while casting me a horrified look.

I told her to answer it and remember what we discussed. She was so nervous, so frightened by the prospect of this call that we had to come up with a script for her, trying to cover every possible scenario that could present itself once we would get that dreaded call from Christopher. She nodded, took a deep breath and finally answered the call. And then she ran out of earshot, distancing herself from me as far as possible while she spoke to the man we have to fear the most—next to Robert.

I shouldn’t be worried, because we have considered every contingency in this regard. There should be no unpleasant surprises, nothing we haven’t prepared for. Everything is happening exactly as I thought it would.

Malia, however, is a weak link in all of this. She always was. She’s the only thing I don’t hold complete control over, and it’s driving me mad. I can’t help but grow tense and agitated as I watch her pace and talk, the look on her face alarmed and strained with focus as she recites her prepared answers.

Or so I hope.

I can’t be sure what she’s actually telling him, and I hate the fact that she decided to run away from me. But I could neither call her back nor follow her. I don’t want to put even more stress on her, or—worst-case—cause her to address me and tell me to stay away as she talks. That would only call unwanted attention to the fact that she’s currently with me, a fact that needn’t be advertised.

Time is moving agonizingly slow, and if you ask me, their conversation has already been too long for comfort. What could they possibly have to talk about this much? What is she telling him? Is she sticking to her script?

Or is this the moment where it all ends, when we were just getting started? Petal has just begun to wake up, to seek comfort in me and to gather the pieces of the person she’s meant to be. She’s still far away from being able to reassemble the few pieces she’s found so far. She still needs time.

We need time.

My pulse hiccups when Malia moves the phone away from her ear, holding the screen up to her face a few seconds before her shoulders sink. A sign of relief. That could be a good thing—or a really bad thing.

She takes a few more seconds to herself, her gaze wandering over to the ocean, facing the horizon that’s dipped in deep orange as the sun sets for the fourth time since all of this started. The breeze that’s sent across the shore is still balmy, but will soon turn uncomfortable as soon as the sun has set. Malia’s black locks dance in the wind while her stiff dress barely moves as she stands with her back to me.

I grow impatient and am just about to move toward her, so she’ll finally fucking tell me how that call went. I need to know, but I’d hate having to show my concern in front of her. She needs to think that we truly don’t have anything to worry about, and she needs to fear me as much as trust in my ability to control the mayhem that Petal’s disappearance has caused.

Just as I make the first step forward to tackle her about the conversation I wasn’t allowed to hear, she turns around, making sure to avoid eye contact as she walks up the hill to the house. It’s quite a long distance and it’s obvious that she’s in no hurry to get to me. She doesn’t dawdle, but her pace is just as slow as those of the strolling tourists outside my property.

Is she trying to infuriate me? I can’t let her have that.

“Tell me.”

My demand is loud and clear, spoken even before she reaches the terrace, but my voice remains firm, showing no audible sign of my nervous strain.

The look she casts me is a mix of annoyance and worry, spiced with a hint of disdain that’s always there when Malia looks at me.

“Well, just as we thought, they started an investigation. She’s been missing for more than three days, and Robert went straight to Christopher after he talked to me,” she says.

I scoff. “Is he leading the investigation, too?”

“Of course he is,” Malia replies, nodding. “He’s all over it, despite the department fighting him on it. He’s personally involved—for him, that’s all the more reason to go after it. For them, it was a reason to try to keep him out of it.”

Nothing she tells me comes as a surprise. Everything is happening just as I anticipated. Good. It will only make things easier for me. No surprises, no unexpected turns and obstacles.

“What about the Bridgewater murderer?” I ask, noticing how Malia jerks away from me as I step closer. “Do they suspect that it could be him?”

She looks up at me, hugging herself, either in response to the wind that’s gotten pretty chilly by now, or to protect herself from me. Either way, I don’t care much for her stance or the worried look on her face, already foreboding a response that puts a damper on everything I thought up until now.

“No,” she says, sounding surprised herself. “Not at all. I even asked him about it, because I thought it’d be so obvious. But he discarded the idea right away.”

She pauses, biting her lower lip as she furrows her eyebrows. “It seems a little odd, doesn’t it?”

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