Page 23 of Shark Cove

Malia clicked around on the site and found a drop-down menu: ‘Special Circumstances:“If your daughter is unwilling to attend, a chaperone can be provided to accompany her to camp and ensure compliance with the program.”

Regina William probably had one of these “chaperones” frog-march Camille to the camp!

At least, Malia could call the camp and check if Camille was really there.

Malia found theContact Usinformation and dialed, but of course with the time zone differences, it was much later in Idaho. A recording came on telling her to call back during business hours.

Malia hopped up and ran down the stairs to where her mom and Kylie were in the kitchen, prepping food for the next day. “I know you want this case to be over, Mom, but I just don’t believe that’s where Camille is. Isn’t that camp a form of child abuse? It seems abusive.”

“I personally think it’s wrong, and girls, obviously I’d never do something like that to you—but Regina is legally able to put her daughter in a program that she thinks will benefit her, even if Camille isn’t willing.”

Malia drooped against the kitchen counter. “It’s just so wrong that Ms. William did this—and I know she has been abusing Camille. What about the rat poison?”

“Malia.” Harry turned fully toward her; the knife raised. The full brunt of her mother’s level, searing eye gaze made Malia want to look away, even step backwards.This must be how perps felt when Harry had them in her sights.“I looked into all your concerns. There’s no proof of abuse. I even tried to subpoena Camille’s medical records, but the judge wouldn’t sign off on it without more probable cause. If it’s any consolation, I did pass your concerns on to Child Welfare Services. They may do their own investigation on Regina, but I doubt it. Without bruises and blood, there’s no case.” Harry brought the butcher knife down so hard that celery flew through the air. Malia and Kylie jumped.

Clearly, Harry was frustrated too.

Malia headed back upstairs. She wouldn’t give up on finding her friend until she heard from Camille herself that she was okay.

Her mom’s Maui Police Department laptop sat outside the bedroom door in its black case—Harry usually took the laptop out of the case and locked it up with the gun, but she must have been distracted and had forgotten to do so.

Malia grabbed the laptop and slipped into her own room, closing and locking the door. Removing the slim silver laptop, Malia’s pulse beat in her temples in heavy thumps. It was one thing to cut school and sneak into her friend’s house snooping—but getting into her mom’s work laptop was probably an actual jail time offense.

Well, Harry had accepted Regina William’s lies because she had to. Malia couldn’t.Wouldn’t.And to hell with what came after. Looking at the police file, she’d be able to see where Camille’s dad was, and maybe even contact him. If anyone could get Camille out of purgatory in Idaho, it was Camille’s scary dad, Leonard William.

Malia could picture Mr. William clearly. She’d seen photos of him at the helm of his yacht, every inch the intimidating tycoon captain: a square-jawed, dark-haired older man with wings of silver above his ears, a cigar clenched in his teeth, and eyes squinted into the wind.

Leonard William wouldn’t put up with his daughter being anywhere she didn’t want to be.

The MPD logo filled the laptop’s screen with its little security code login. Malia knew most of Harry’s favorite codes and systematically entered each of them: birthdates and pet dogs’ names from the past. The cursor turned red, repulsing her efforts over and over.

Sweat gathered under her arms as Malia listened to the muffled conversation and a burst of giggles from the kitchen below—there was no telling how long she’d have before they called her down to dinner.

Malia put her head down and considered. What was something her mother knew by heart, something she’d never forget, something obscure, not well known?

The wedding anniversary date of when she’d married the man who’d left her.

Her parents had been married on June 9, fifteen years ago. Malia counted back and entered the date in two-digit combinations and pressed Enter.

She froze as the computer spiraled open to an unfamiliar desktop arrangement.

Even in the “Open Sesame” moment of overwhelm as the computer gave up its secrets, a sliver of sorrow pierced Malia’s heart: that anniversary date still meant something to Harry—enough to type it over and over throughout the day.

Malia forced herself to focus, finding an icon in the corner of the welcome screen markedMy Cases.

She clicked on it.

The icon opened into a window with file folders in neat rows of numbers and initials.

Nervous sweat spread from under her arms to along her spine as she scrolled through the folders, finally clicking on the one with the initials “R & CW.”

The file opened into a form, completed by Regina William, and then pictures of the note, the pill bottles, and something else Malia hadn’t found on her trip through the house, or any of the other times she’d been there—a secret “safe room.” She frowned at the sight of screwed-in metal loops in the wall, then saw the caption her mother had labeled it with:“Soundproof hidden safe room. Metal restraints used for S&M sex, per Regina William.”

“Gross!” Malia exclaimed, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “I could have happily lived my whole life without knowing that,” she murmured as she went back to the original missing person report. She scrolled through the “Contacts” section until she found Leonard William’s cell phone number and e-mail address and hastily forwarded the info into her own contacts. She closed the files, getting up to scramble toward the door as she powered down the laptop, stopping to grab a tissue and polish her fingerprints off the keyboard before slipping the laptop back into its case.

“We made some dessert!” Kylie hollered up the stairs.

“Coming!” Malia took a moment in the bathroom, splashing water on her face and washing her hands. Her wide brown eyes stared at her from the mirror: curving brows that made her look surprised all the time, olive-brown skin, a mouth too full and dark for lipstick, chocolate-brown hair springing up from her forehead and tangling down her back.

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