Page 57 of Tourist Season
“Hmpf.”
“Trade places with me and I’ll bring you back Milk Duds. You know they’re contraband.”
I barely get out my last word and Arthur is rising just enough to slide into my vacated spot. When I shift my glare to Nolan, he’s leaning forward in his seat, watching me with an intensity that hums through the confines of my skull. I feel tilted from my axis. Off-center. Like someone has shoved me to the edge of reality.
I blink and turn away. I just got up too fast, that’s all it is.
With a shake of my head, I shimmy my way down the aisle until I reach the stairs. And though I don’t look back, I still feel his eyes on the back of my neck. When I touch it, there’s a current beneath my skin. It doesn’t leave until I’m at the top of the stairs. But even when I’m consumed by shadow, the electric murmur is there.
I head into the bright lobby, where people are still mingling and standing in line for refreshments. I join the line, deciding I’m going to get myself a cocktail along with my popcorn. I need something much stronger than soda to deal with Nolan. I’m watching the bartender make a pair of cocktails with gummy eyeball candies stabbed with cocktail sticks when I feel a presence behind me. Someone watching me with intense, obsessive interest. But unlike the weight of Nolan’s gaze, which ignites a resonant pulse in my veins, this observer leaves only frost behind. I know who it is before he steps to my side and says, “You look so familiar.”
My heart lurches into my throat as I turn and give Sam Porter the most bland, unaffected look I can manufacture. “Really?” I squint and cock my head to one side. “I’m afraid you don’t look familiar to me at all, sorry.”
Like me, Sam also arranges his face into a mask. But it’s not infallible. Though his smile is benign, he can’t manage to subdue the kaleidoscopic gleam in his eyes. There’s excitement there, andthe anticipation of a hard-earned victory. But there’s urgency too. Maybe a bit of concern. He extends a hand to me, and I hesitate a beat before I slip my palm against his. “I’m Sam Porter. Pleased to meet you.”
I pump his hand once, and two of his fingers slip against my wrist as though he’s hoping to feel the beat of my hammering pulse, his eyes fused to mine. I slide my hand free. “Harper,” I say.
“Harper …?”
A beat of time seems to pull apart around us. All the sounds of the reception hall fade as my options are snipped away. “Starling.”
Sam nods, as though this is the response he expected. “That’s a unique name.”
“Is it?” I face forward, keeping my eyes on the reprieve of the ordering counter, which seems like a continent away with several people still in line before me. Sam stands at my side. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that people around us could think we’re some cute little couple on a quirky first date, me with my striped skirt and retro heels and red bow, Sam with his blond hair combed into place and button-up navy shirt and features that I qualify as “sensibly handsome.” Fuck, I hate the idea that people might think we’re together, though I don’t know why. It feels like a skin I need to shed.
I turn the opposite way from Sam to look over my shoulder, but I can’t see the familiar face I’m searching for. The person who would feel right at my side.
First, I can’t get rid of Nolan. And suddenly, it’s his presence I crave.
“You don’t look like a Harper,” Sam says, pulling my attention back to him. He leans a little closer to me as we move a step forward toward the counter. His voice is low and earnest when hesays, “The only Harper Starling your age was presumed dead when her car crashed into the sea after a hit-and-run accident in Maryland four years ago.”
“What a weird thing to say to a complete stranger.” Adrenaline siphons into my veins. My stomach churns. A swallow drags down my throat before I do my best to pin Sam with an unwavering stare. “I guess your data is wrong. Because I didn’t hit anyone and I’m certainly not dead.”
“Or maybe you’re just a different kind of ghost,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He stares back at me as though trying to reach the most hidden crevices of my soul. “Maybe one who goes by an entirely different name?”
My lungs seize around air. “What do you want?” I ask, reining in the sting in my throat.
“The truth.”
“My name is Harper, and Arthur Lancaster is not La Plume. There you go. Truth has been served. You can leave now.”
“From what I understand, you live in his cottage.”
“I’m his gardener. But I’m sure you know that too.”
“So you don’t have a vested interest in protecting him?”
“Arthur is an elderly man who isdying. He was just released from the hospital. Of course I want to protect him from anyone like you who’s clearly got him all wrong,” I hiss, managing to restrain my knowledge of whispers of McMillan’s disappearance. Those rumors already hit the Sleuthseekers Discord server thanks to one of my sock puppet accounts. “Leave him alone. He and I have both been throughenough.”
I feel the eyes of nearby patrons turn to me with the tension that hangs in the air, even if my words were too quiet to hear. Furious tears blur my vision no matter how hard I try to suppressthem. Sam’s expression softens when he sees them, and for some reason, that angers me even more. I step forward to the counter and try to focus all my attention on calmly ordering Arthur’s candy, hoping Sam will leave. But he doesn’t. When I turn with the Milk Duds in hand to stalk back to the theater, he’s right behind me, blocking me in among the crowd.
“Look, I’m sorry. That was unfair. I don’t mean to upset you, truly. I’m just looking for answers. I know something strange is going on in Cape Carnage. You’ve been here long enough, you must know it too. And you could be in danger here.” Sam slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws a business card, holding it up between us. “Please. I just want to talk. Even if it’s off the record. You could be the key to understanding what’s really happening in this town.” I stare at him, the card lodged like a white thorn in my peripheral vision. Someone in line behind us clears their throat in a wordless prompt to encourage us out of the way. But Sam and I remain unmoving. “Please,” he finally whispers.
I take the card and leave.
“I found some things that I think you might find familiar,” he says before I can move out of earshot. I turn and scrutinize Sam with a cautionary glare. But the look he gives me is a warning in reply. “They were hidden in an old house on Clarke Road. I’ll keep them safe until you’re ready to talk about how they got there and why they suddenly showed up three days ago.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” I say. With a final nod, I give him my coldest stare, and then I walk away.
