Page 35 of The Summer that Changed Everything

“I was in law school fifteen years ago, Ford. I wasn’t paying attention to anything but getting laid and getting through—in that order.”

“At least you had your priorities straight.”

He laughed. “Exactly. Why don’t you give me a quick recap?”

Ford caught him up to speed, telling him about Mick’s tragic childhood, that he’d been shiftless as an adult and struggled to keep a job, that he’d eventually found work in North Hampton Beach managing the trailer park where he and his daughter were living, that he’d broken into a neighboring trailer and killed an old couple while attempting to rob them and ending with Aurora’s murder.

“That’s a tragic story,” Jack said. “But what does all that have to do with you?”

“I’m getting there,” Ford replied. “I was dating his daughter at the time.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. How old were you?”

“Seventeen. So was she. We were only together for like... four weeks, but yeah.” What Ford didn’t add was that the length of the relationship didn’t adequately represent it. Being with Lucy had been easy, comfortable, fulfilling—arguably the best weeks of his life. As a matter of fact, they’d fit together so well it’d been impossible for him to forget her even though he’d broken things off, as recommended by his parents, for the sake of his “future.”

“Don’t tell me this woman is stalking you or something like that...”

“No.” Lucy had actually toldhimto stay away fromher—advice Jack would probably echo if he knew what Ford was getting involved in. “Sheisback in North Hampton Beach, though, and she’s insisting that her father didn’t kill Aurora, which would mean the real culprit has gone unpunished.”

“Where’s McBride these days?”

“In prison. DNA tied him to the murders of the old couple—the Matteos. But in Aurora’s case, they convicted him on very shaky evidence.”

“How can I help?”

“I was wondering if you could find me a good investigator.”

“Seriously?Why?”

“To figure out if Lucy’s right.”

“But it’s been fifteen years, Ford. You’re now running the family business—meaning you have much better things to do. Do you really want to spend your resources trying to provesomething that’s unlikely to begin with? Or were you close to the girl who was murdered?”

No, this was about the other girl, the one who lost everything when her father went to prison. “It’s not that. I’d just like to see if there’s any truth to what Lucy’s saying.”

“Don’t tell me you’re interested in her again...”

There was a certain part of him that couldn’t help wondering, “What if?” Had he ignored his parents and stuck with her, would they have lasted very long? Been happy together in spite of everything? They’d been so young; it was probably a ridiculous thought. “No, of course not,” he said.

“Then let me be the voice of reason. What you’re trying to do could get expensive and ultimately go nowhere.”

Ford was aware of what that might look like over the next few months—and simply didn’t care. He was done listening to other people when it came to Lucy. “I’ve considered it from all angles.”

“And you’re set on proceeding?”

“Completely.”

“Okay. I’ll get you the best damn investigator money can buy.”

“Thank you.” After he hung up, he stood at the window a little longer—and smiled. Maybe he was about to waste a whole lot of time, effort and money. But somehow the call he’d just placed made him feel better than he had in a long while.

It was getting dark when Lucy heard a knock at the door. She hadn’t yet locked up for the night, so she felt a little vulnerable when she went to the window and peered out to see who it was.

A man, the muscles of his shoulders and arms thick and ropy like a powerlifter’s, stood on the porch with blond dreads pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head and tattoo sleeves extending below his white T-shirt.

It wasn’t until she turned on the porch light that she recognized Darren Clark. Then she grew even more apprehensive. She had no idea what he was like these days, but he’d been sullen and standoffish fifteen years ago, and she couldn’t imagine that losing his sister had softened him in any way—especially when it came toher, since his family believed it was her father who’d murdered Aurora and she was partly to blame.

Because she had no idea what he might do, she wished she had something she could use to defend herself, just in case. There were knives in the kitchen, of course, but she wasn’t about to grab one of those. He could take it away from her far too easily.

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