Page 196 of Secrets Along the Shore
I moved room to room, phone in one hand, the other clenched in a fist, just in case I ran into an intruder. My bare legs prickled against the cool air. The kitchen lights blared above the old pine table, still holding my plate from dinner. Nothing out of place. The stove clock blinked 12:00, still not reset from when the power went out. First an outage and now this.
Scanlon’s bedroom burned bright, the bookcase door flush to the wall. I opened it anyway. Everything was as I had left it.
I moved toward the basement. If someone had cut the breaker before and flipped it tonight, maybe they’d used the access door down there to get into the house. The lights beneath the stairs were steady with light—unlike the flicker I’d seen when I’d explored the basement days ago. Someone had been down there to install new bulbs. Like tonight.
My stomach rolled.
I started down, every footfall vibrating like thunder in my chest. Everything appeared untouched. The broken washer, the dusty crates, the rowboat’s outline still missing from the corner where I’d dragged it out.
But as I neared the bottom of the stairs, I stopped.
One of the boxes left by Scanlon was cut open. Its contents were scattered in a semicircle across the floor.
Papers. A photograph.
I crouched and picked it up.
It was of me. Here. In this lodge. Standing at the edge of the dock with Livvie beside me, a memory frozen on glossy paper. The image was dated July 24thon the back.
Four days before my birthday.
I shoved it into my pajama pocket and rose, backing out of the basement quickly. I reached the top of the stairs and slammed the door behind me.
Then I noticed it.
Out the kitchen window—the back deck post caught the light just right. A metallic shine.
I moved closer.
My breath fogged against the glass.
There was somethingstuckto the post. A long knife. A kitchen knife from the lodge’s own drawer, and it had beendriventhrough a folded sheet of paper.
I didn’t have to read it to feel the dread settle in my chest like a stone, but I went anyway, fingers trembling as I unlocked the door and stepped into the humid night.
I reached out carefully, heart hammering.
The note read:
You killed her. Murderer. See how close I came to you. Get out, or you’re dead.
My knees nearly gave out as I stared at the note. The writing was jagged. Angry. All uppercase. Sharp angles.
A man’s? A woman’s?
I had no idea. And that terrified me more.
My mind snapped back to my dreams—the water, the girls late…until one arrived. Livvie. She had met me that night after the fireworks…and I had been so angry.
But murder her?
That was impossible.
But could I have caused her death without meaning it? Maybe I left her alone on the water, and her boat tipped. Had she called me for help, but I couldn’t hear her?
I ran back inside, locking the door behind me, every window now feeling like an open invitation. Had someone beenwatchingme since I got here?
Had they known I was opening Scanlon’s secrets?
