Page 47 of Lost Petal

Chapter 27

J

“You’re back.”

Malia looks up from her tablet, squinting as the sun blinds her. I found her sitting on the deck facing the sea, a fresh breeze greeting me as I stepped outside. The air tastes of fall, announcing the coming end of Indian Summer. The leaves have changed, immersing the town in a sea of orange, red, and yellow while people still walk around in short sleeves, pretending that summer hasn’t ended yet. It’s still high season for tourism, and the masses of people meandering along the cliff walk right in front of my house doesn’t seem to recede. If anything, they’ve been coming more now that it’s no longer blazing hot outside.

There’s a vast garden and high fences shielding us from their unsuspecting looks, but it still fills me with unease to hide my dark secret this close to public life.

“I had a feeling you didn’t want me inside the house,” Malia says. “Isn’t that why you sent me out for a walk?”

There’s a reproachful undertone in her voice that I don’t care for, so I decide to ignore her as I step out on the deck, my gaze fixed on the ocean in front of us. The sea is wild today, an upheaval brought by the strong winds that chase colorful leaves off the trees, blowing away the last remnants of summer. A family with two young children strolls along the cliff walk, passing our gates and casting envious looks up to us. When one of the children, a boy of maybe six or seven years, jumps up and down and excitedly points his finger at me, his mother hurries to grab him by the arm. She doesn’t waste a single look at me as she hastily pulls her son away from the high fences, lowering her head in shame as she scolds him. The beauty and fame of this area is what drew me here years ago, when I bought this house as a second home for myself. I never imagined myself living here full time, and the high frequency of tourists passing my property every single day is the main reason for that.

“Jayson.”

I’m startled by Malia’s voice, and by the fact that she calls me by my name. She avoids addressing me as much as she can. It’s something I’ve noticed from the start. My eyes trail over my shoulder, meeting her black eyes while she looks at me with her head tilted to the side.

“Is she okay?” It’s all she ever wants to know: if her friend is doing okay. That’s why she’s here, after all.

I nod. “She’s upstairs now. I think we might take a big step today.”

A slight frown appears on Malia’s face. “Did you hurt her?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Does she need anything to eat?”

“Not for a while,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll be back with her soon.”

Worry laces Malia’s expression, but she refrains from adding anything to the conversation. I’m pretty sure that it’s not only our agreement that keeps her from asking too many questions, but also her own fear. She’s afraid of some of the answers she may receive. As she should be.

“Did you hear about the body they found?” she asks, out of the blue.

I furrow my eyebrows in question when I turn, taking a seat in one of the lounge chairs next to her and twirling my hand, beckoning her to elaborate.

“So, you didn’t?” she says, arching her eyebrows in surprise. “They found another dead girl, out near Lake Nippenicket. It was the one they announced missing about half a year ago.”

I press my lips together, understanding where she’s going with this. “The Bridgewater murderer?”

Malia nods. “Yes, they think it was him. Again.”

She sighs, swallowing hard before she adds, “I’m pretty sure that Christopher is working on the case. And once Robert goes to the police...”

“They’ll believe she’s another victim of that bastard,” I conclude her thought.

“Yes,” Malia says. “Don’t you think that’s what they’ll believe? Now that there was another discovery? It’s always been like that... a girl goes missing, nothing happens for months, and when her body is found, another one disappears. It’s the gruesome routine of the Bridgewater murderer.”

I growl in anger as I nod in agreement.

“That monster,” Malia whispers. “That would be his fourth victim. The girl from the lake.”

She looks at me. “The police have asked you about him before, haven’t they?”

I nod. “Yes. They hoped I’d be able to tell them something that could lead to solving the case.”

“But... you couldn’t?” She’s careful in asking this question, hugging the tablet in front of her chest as if she were scared of the answer. Her tension eases visibly when I shake my head no.

My profession forces me to harbor a lot of people’s darkest secrets, some of which I’d love to forget. It’s my burden to carry the terrible truths that my clients want to leave behind, and part of a job that made me rich and famous. But as ugly and horrific as some of those erased memories were, a sin this bad has never been shared with me. So far.

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