Page 35 of Light of Day
“I don’t like to be patronized or dismissed. Those are my triggers. It’s a problem, because when you’re interviewing people or trying to gather facts, people act all kinds of ways. I’ve had to train myself not to react when someone talks down to me. Gabby helped me with that.”
Fear flashed in her eyes, just for a moment, but he could see her pull herself back from that panicky ledge of worrying about her friend.
“How so?” he asked gently.
“Because I saw the way people treated her, just because she’s a Black woman. Not all the time, not everyone, obviously, but enough times. It made what I experienced look minor in comparison. It bothers her, she feels it. But she’s really good at keeping her eyes on the prize, as she says. So I try to channel her in that kind of situation.”
“She sounds like a very smart person.”
“She is, and she’s a great podcast co-host. The whole thing was her idea. She dragged me into it kicking and screaming. I didn’t think we could make any money on it, but it’s doing pretty well, considering we’ve only aired five episodes. We’re going to miss this week’s, I guess. I’ve been trying to figure out what to say or run.”
He put a hand on hers, trying to comfort her, only to be surprised when she turned her hand over so they were palm to palm. So much more intimate that way. “Can I help in some way? Want to interview a small-town constable about what you do when a dead body washes up in a cove?”
Her eyes lit up with glints of gold. “That is actually a great idea. It’s a true-crime podcast, after all, among other things. Those kinds of details are fascinating to people.”
Oh shit. What had he gotten himself into?
“I didn’t bring any equipment with me, but…” She snapped her fingers. “Gabby probably has some gear in her suitcase. She has a portable setup she takes everywhere.”
“Cool,” he managed, making her grin.
“You didn’t think I’d take you up on it, did you?”
“Not really.” He threw up a hand when she started to respond. “But I’ll do it. Happy to, if it’ll help you out.”
“We’ll see. It’s more important to find her, but I really don’t want to let her down. It’s a side gig for both of us, but she’s done a lot more than I have.”
The server took their order—she ordered the fish chowder, while he asked for a burger and fries. At the mention of fries, she perked up and added some to her own order.
Once they were happily dipping their French fries into ketchup, Heather returned to the topic of Gabby. “The last thing she posted on Facebook was a photo taken from the inn, looking out over the ocean, toward the lighthouse.” With one hand, she scrolled through her phone to show him the post.
He read aloud. “Where the deepest secrets lie, only the truth can bring the light.”
“Does anything seem significant to you about that post, given your knowledge of the inn and its location?” she asked.
He studied the image behind the words. It was pretty enough—endless gray ocean, fog drifting across the surface, the lighthouse barely visible through the mist.
“Nothing jumps out,” he finally said. Then he peered closer and used his fingers to expand the photo. “Look at this.”
She leaned over the table and he angled her phone so she could see too.
“Is that a cobweb?” she murmured. “At the edge there?” She pointed at the same silvery wisp he’d noticed.
“That’s what I was wondering. I think she might have taken this photo from inside the Inn, maybe from her room.” He moved the photo around to see if any more anomalies appeared.
“It couldn’t have been from her room. Those windows are too small, we would have seen the frame. She must have been somewhere with bigger windows. The conservatory? By the way, what kind of pretentious name is that?”
“Every English manor has one, didn’t you know?”
They both laughed, but he kept scrutinizing the shot. “Anyway, I don’t think she was there. Those windows always have mist on them. It blows off the ocean and flows right to that area. It’s a pain in the ass for the grounds crew. They squeegee those windows twice a day, but they’re still usually misted up. Besides, the angle is wrong.”
He thought about the layout of the Inn, the balconies, the three stories, the widow’s walk. “The library,” he finally said.
“Thelibrary? Holy smokes, I was just there. I don’t think I paid any attention to the view, though. I was completely focused on the extremely intimidating John Carmichael the Third. So you think she was there?”
“Yup.” He realized he’d forgotten about the burger in his hand, and bit into it, nearly dislodging a juicy pickle slice onto his plate.Very suave, dumbass. “That’s where she took this photo, no doubt about it.”
“Maybe that’s where she had her conversation with your father.”
