Page 32 of Light of Day
That was Gabby for you. She loved to post cryptic messages, hoping to get people talking. At first glance, Heather figured it was just another of Gabby’s memes. That was another thing she specialized in—find an evocative image, pick an inspirational quote, add a filter, then post it with a string of hashtags such as #MondayMood or #DeepThoughts.
But this post had no hashtags at all. Gabby never left off the hashtags, because that would impair the discoverability of the post. The algorithm wouldn’t know what to do with it. In other words, she hadn’t meant this one to be seen by people who knew nothing about her.
Heather studied the image more closely. Why had Gabby chosen this shot in particular? She usually used images she found in her various stock photo subscriptions. On occasion, she used one of her own photos, but it didn’t happen often. Then again, she wasn’t usually anywhere as scenic as Sea Smoke Island.
But was there more to the choice than Heather had first assumed? Was she pointing to secrets kept here on the island, ones that she was trying to expose? Or maybe it was even more specific than that. Maybe she was saying that the lighthouse had secrets? No one ever went out there except for maintenance crews. Or maybe she was saying thatthis hotelhad secrets.
She jumped as the bartender—a slim Asian woman who wore a tiger lily in her hair—tapped on her shoulder. “You said you wanted to meet with John Carmichael?”
“Yes. Yes.” She closed her iPad and slipped it into its sleeve. “Can he see me now?”
“He has about ten minutes for you. He said to send you to the library.”
“How far is the library?” Heather could already feel those ten minutes ticking away.
“Fastest way is the service elevator around back.” The bartender winked at her. “But don’t tell anyone I told you.”
“Never,” Heather promised. She gathered her things and slung her backpack over her shoulder.
On the service elevator, she caught a glimpse of herself in the dull reflection of the metal wall and decided to take Luke’s advice a little more seriously. She combed her fingers through her hair and undid one extra button on her blouse. Since it was an oversized soft chambray top, not exactly the sexiest item she owned, it seemed a little pointless. But if some extra freckles got John Carmichael to open up, why not?
The library held much more than books. A large telescope pointed out to sea, and three glass cases displayed everything from horseshoe crabs to old newspaper clippings. She wished she had time to examine them more closely, but a deep voice summoned her to a seating area in the corner. Three leather armchairs were positioned near an antique writing desk holding a vintage lamp with a Tiffany style stained-glass shade.. The rich reds and blues lit up John Carmichael’s white hair like police lights—which probably wasn’t the intention.
The hotel owner rose to his feet. He was even taller than Luke, with a hulking posture that made him look extra intimidating. His hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears, emphasizing his sagging jowls.
A much younger woman sat in the other armchair, her legs curled under her.
“Heather McPhee, eh?” John shook her hand. His deep voice rumbled like an idling boat engine. “McPhee, McPhee, McPhee. The Bloodshot Eyeball serves some of the best coffee on the island. I tried to hire Sally to oversee breakfast here, but she has a good thing going.”
Should she remind him that her mother used to work in his gardening crew? He couldn’t be expected to remember such details, she supposed.
“This is Celine, my wife.”
Celine stayed where she was, but leaned forward to shake Heather’s hand as well. Her blond pixie cut made her look even younger than she probably was, and her slim form barely filled the imposing leather chair.
“Thank you both so much for seeing me. I know you’re busy so I won’t take too much time.” She perched on the edge of the third armchair.
Celine checked her watch, a stunning luxury piece Heather had seen in an ad inThe New Yorker. “Six minutes. You got here quickly.”
“I was very anxious to talk to you. I?—”
“Soccer.” John interrupted, snapping his fingers. “I remember now. You played soccer. You’re one of the more impressive products of our island school system.”
Luke had warned her that he’d try to charm her. It was working, too. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks. The idea that John Carmichael, friend of senators and generals, knew who she was nearly overwhelmed her.
“That’s very kind of you to say.” Enough chitchat. Tick-tock. Gabby was still missing, and this man might know something. “The reason I wanted to speak to you was that my friend and business partner is missing. Gabby Ramon. She was staying here, so I was hoping that you…might…”
She trailed off as a vertical line appeared between his eyebrows. It sounded insane to think he would know anything about a lowly guest. How could she make it make sense without busting Heidi?
“Records show that you sent a text to Gabby. I’m curious what sort of…communication, or contact, or relationship you had with her.”
She wanted to fall through the floor with embarrassment. Of all the tactless ways to approach this, had she just implied that he and Gabby had an affair? In front of his wife?
Luckily, John Carmichael took no offense—at least visibly. “Did I text her?” He glanced at his wife, who gave a puzzled shrug.
“I can’t imagine why you would have. Should we check your phone?” With a languid motion, Celine picked up an iPhone from the engraved leather end table between their armchairs. She scanned through it, then shook her head. “I don’t see anything like that. Who told you that he did?”
Heather bit her lip. Celine was sharper than she’d seemed at first, unfortunately. “The text said something like, ‘glad you’re up for this.’ Maybe that rings a bell?”
