Page 113 of Our Darkest Summer
I blinked, gathering my thoughts. “Did Eric tell you what happened to Lizzie’s… body?”
He stiffened, then sighed. “Not yet. He told us he was there, that he helped with everything. But he enjoys the attention. He’s taking his time telling us everything.”
My stomach churned.
I could still see the photo. Pinned on the corkboard. Just beside the one of Samantha in the Greek theater mask.
At the time, it hadn’t seemed important, but since last night, it had started haunting me.
I exhaled slowly. “It might be a far-fetched guess,” I admitted, but the image was too clear—Samantha, kneeling in the dirt, surrounded by flowers.
Then Eric’s words echoed in my head.
But in the end, it was us who buried her.
I met Isaac’s gaze.
“But maybe you should get a warrant to dig up the flower beds around the gazebo.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Thomas
Kinsley was right.My father’s car was parked next to the house, half-hidden beneath the shade of a pine tree. He wasn’t sitting inside. He wasn’t on the shore or the pier. Which meant he was already in the house.
My jaw clenched.
This was exactly what I needed after spending hours at the police station.
Not.
I pushed the car door open, inhaling deeply. Kinsley and Connor watched me, waiting for me to take the first step. Did they really think I’d turn around and drive away?
I shot them a look, then sighed.Fine.
Walking up the stairs felt like torture on its own, when you knew what was waiting for you at the top.
Joshua Rhodes.
I felt like Sisyphus, pushing the boulder up the hill. Except it wouldn’t roll back down, and I wouldn’t turn around. I was going to face my monster.
The door opened before I could reach for it, and I was faced with my father’s sharp features.
“Thomas.” His voice was measured, controlled. Then his gaze flicked past me. “Kinsley, Connor. I’d ask how your vacation is going, but I already had a chat with Isaac Miller.” His eyes landed back on me. “I suspect you’re familiar with the name.”
I scoffed and pushed past him, heading straight for the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Maybe something stronger would have suited his visit better.
Joshua’s footsteps were quiet, but his presence hovered over me like a shadow.
“We should talk,” he said.
I raised my glass to my lips and met his gaze over the rim. “Then talk.”
“In private.”
I huffed out a dry laugh. “Or you can just say whatever you want here.”
His mask didn’t slip, but I could see the restrained anger beneath his expression.
