Page 26 of Tourist Season
“What the fuck? Are you in trouble?”
“Everything is fine.”
“It doesn’t sound fucking fine. What’s going on?”
I shake my head, placing a hand on his when he starts to open the zipper. Lukas is not a man of darkness, despite how it has enveloped his life, often without his awareness. I’m not about to let Arthur’s lifetime of work collapse because of me. “This is aneed to knowsituation. And the less you know, the better it is for everyone.” With a single nod, I squeeze his hand. “Please. Just put it somewhere safe and don’t look inside. If something happens, send it straight to the FBI.”
“The FBI? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Sheriff Yates is about as useful as tits on a rock. It needs to go to someone with two brain cells to rub together.”
Silence descends in the shed. Lukas searches my face, dust motes twisting in the wedge of light between us, an ethereal boundary between two creatures who might as well belong to different realms. Lukas Lancaster is the angel of Cape Carnage. And I’m the devil who claims the souls that come to pollute his heaven.
When he tugs the strap of the backpack over his shoulder and gives me a nod, I can’t help but feel like I’m failing to keep his sanctuary safe.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I’m really worried about you,” Lukas says, his rich brown eyes searching mine, concern woven into his furrowed brows. For a guy who looks the way he does, with his dark hair and stubbled, chiseled jaw, his athletic frame and broad shoulders, you wouldn’t think he is the way he really is, all his worries laid out on the patchwork of plaid sleeves thatare rolled to his elbows and smell like malt mash. “I’m sorry you’ve taken on so much of the work of looking after Arthur. I can spend more time here—”
“No, Lukas.” I toss the canvas back over the Pocket Rocket, a plume of dust erupting around us like a pyroclastic ghost. “I love spending time with Arthur. And it makes him so happy that you’re restoring the distillery. I know it takes a lot of time. I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me,” I say, patting his arm on my way toward the door. Lukas rises to follow. “If I need your help, I’ll definitely let you know. It won’t be long now before you’re back to a more normal schedule, don’t worry. And it’ll be worth it. The whole town is going to be so excited to see the distillery up and running again properly.”
Lukas shrugs, turning to thread the chain between the shed’s door handles and close the padlock after us. He stops at my side, and we take in the view. You can see the whole town from our perch on the hill of Lancaster Manor. Puffs of white cloud shift high above us in the relentless coastal wind. Spears of sunlight pierce through their soft edges in search of the water, boats traversing its shining surface far in the distance. The Victorian homes in the heart of the downtown face off against the sea, bright colors that fight the gloom of depths that hold death and dark memories for those who have been here long enough. Every piece of this town exists in the shadow of Lancaster Manor. Even the people who live on its grounds.
“I don’t know if they will be,” Lukas says, as though he’s plucked my thoughts right out of my head. “Some people, sure. But not all.”
I look up at him, squinting as I take in his pensive expression. “What makes you think that?”
“I dunno. I just feel like they’ll never be ready to let some things go. Like what happened to my mom.” He lifts one shoulder, not pulling his focus away from the town as his grip tightens on the strap of the backpack. “When I went into Maya’s this morning to get some stuff for cleaning the gutters, she said some guy had come in to ask her questions about the estate for some documentary he’s filming. Adocumentary, Harper. It’s like someone is always looking to exhume my family’s past. You know?” He shakes his head, not looking down at me, which I’m grateful for. Because if he did, he might see the tension in my jaw as I clench my teeth, or the color that infuses my cheeks. “Apparently, he was talking to Daryl Winkle the other day about our piece of land out by the Ballantyne River.”
My eyes narrow, and he looks down at me as though sensing the alarm that suddenly pulses through the chambers of my heart. “Why would he want to know about that?”
“Probably because I sold it last month, though I’m not sure why that would matter to him.”
I nearly choke on a breath of air. “Youwhat?”
“Sold it,” Lukas repeats, a crease notching between his brows. “We didn’t need it anymore, and the council fast-tracked a development application—”
“To whom?” I realize too late that my tone is harsher than it should be, and a note of suspicion now sharpens the angles of his face as Lukas stares back at me. “I’m sorry. Arthur told me he signed over the power of attorney to you and it’s none of my business or anything. I guess I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“Does this have anything to do with what you’re asking me to hide?”
“No.” I shake my head as though trying to dislodge that lie from my throat. “No, I’m really just curious, that’s all.”
Though he is still scrutinizing my expression, Lukas’s concern gradually eases, and the tension in his clenched jaw unlocks. “Some property development company called Viceroy. They approached me a while back about building a new boutique hotel along the river. They’re pretty eager to get started. I heard from Bert that they’ve already gotten their permits and rented the diggers. Guess I’ve been so caught up with everything at the distillery that I just forgot to mention it—I’m sorry. That place has kinda sucked up all my time.”
“No, don’t apologize.” I muster a smile that I hope will be convincing enough. “That’s great,” I say, another complete fucking lie. A pang of guilt snaps at my heart. My existence is already full of enough deception that I try to limit the number of direct lies I tell to the people I care about. Aside from Arthur, Lukas is the only person I really let myself get close to, and I already feel guilty enough on a regular basis that he doesn’t know the kind of woman I truly am. I don’t like making that worse. “When does the sale close?”
“Three weeks from today.”
“Three weeks from today,” I parrot after him, swallowing the urge to bark a bitter laugh. “Cool … cool. Well, I’d better get going.” I try to temper the suspicion rising in Lukas’s eyes once more by giving him an easy, untroubled smile. With a brief yet awkward salute, I turn for the path that leads down to my cottage at the edge of the property. “Have fun with the gutters.”
“Next time, you’re the one going under the judgy bus,” he calls after me, but I just toss a middle finger back at him and fight the consuming urge to run the rest of the distance to my house.
When I get inside, my breath is uneven, my heart hammering every beat against my bones.Three fucking weeks.
I march toward the staircase, taking the stairs by two, turningtoward the guest room when I arrive on the landing. The air seems to never move in the room that belonged to Lukas when he was only a baby. Aside from the kitchen, it’s the room I know Arthur would be most reluctant to enter if he came searching for his bag, the memories of it seared so deeply in his brain that I don’t think even his illness would force them out. I only stay long enough to grab the bag from where I’ve stashed it beneath the bed and take it back downstairs.
