Page 30 of Sound and Deception

Gram had given me the plot number and supplied some loose directions, which I’d memorized. Now I just sat staring through the windshield at the little church that had been filled with islanders that day over two decades ago. In my mind’s eye, I glimpsed two mahogany caskets, a large photo of my parents set on an easel just to the side, and dozens of flower bouquets. The combined stench had been overwhelming. I’d run out half-way through the service to hide behind a tree.

I pulled in a deep breath, cracked the door open, and stepped out into the cold, misty afternoon. The only ambient sound came from the ocean, gulls, and wind sifting through the needles of fir trees forming an inland half-circle around the cemetery. Everything else came from within me—the beating of my heart and the rush of my breath. Pausing, I grabbed the two wrapped roses from the backseat, bumped the door shut and headed up the hill. Behind me, Noah followed suit, but kept his distance.

It didn’t take long to find the double plot.

Sandra Katharine Bishop

1961-1997

Michael Jason Bishop

1960-1997

I will follow you into the light.

I’d known they’d been deeply in love, but couldn’t articulate that knowledge as a child. As an adult, I’d left it behind, and shame now filled me. Reading the quote on their epitaph, I dropped onto the cold, yellowed winter grass, and my vision blurred.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come here to see you. I’m so very, very sorry.” I placed both flowers at the base of the stone, taking care to overlap the stems.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but I sensed Noah step up behind me. He didn’t say a word, but settled next to me, folding his long legs into a criss-cross.

My parents had had twelve years together. It had only been a fraction of what should have been. They should still be alive and dancing in the kitchen in their fifties. Instead, a tired driver had brought their beautiful moments to an end forever.

I wondered if the half-life of theirs was the reason for my own ambivalence toward relationships. Stay busy, stay on the road, don’t get too close. Stay independent, keep those walls up, don’t dare fall in love. It might end badly.

I thought about what Gram and I had talked about the previous day. I’d encouraged her to allow someone else into her life and take it moment by moment. Would I have offered the same bit of advice if I hadn’t allowed Noah close again? Maybe. Probably. I just wouldn’t have taken my own words to heart.

“Mama, Daddy, I’m here now, and I’ll always love you. I think I’m finally home.”

I leaned my head against Noah’s shoulder and closed my eyes.

Chapter Thirty-One

The man was in withdrawal. That could be the only explanation. His twitchiness, his short temper, his racing mind. It had become harder and harder to hide behind his façade. If he didn’t act soon, he’d be in danger of becoming sloppy. That had never occurred before, and the idea pissed him off.

He pushed himself into a full run, pounding the ground in anger and resentment. Exhaustion was a poor substitute for peace, but it was all he had. He’d started to reconsider going to the mainland to hunt. Seattle was full of homeless and runaways. If one disappeared, the authorities wouldn’t blink. They had bigger issues on their plate, so someone on the fringe wouldn’t cause a blip.

The idea held merit.

Still risky, though. A fragment of bad luck could fuck everything up.

He drove himself up the steep trail, noting the burn in his muscles, and the perspiration running down his face in rivulets, despite the cold temperatures.

The last time had been Ms. Phoebe Fox from Eugene. She’d been a tall, skinny redhead with an easy laugh that bled away quickly. He couldn’t even take comfort from his souvenir knives, their wicked blades darkened from the gifts given him. As much as it pained him, it was important he keep them separate from him. He just had his perfect memory, but it no longer was enough.

Maybe he should have taken the writer to ease some of his pent-up stress.

No, no, no. It would have been a mistake. An outsider going missing would bring the island under scrutiny, whether a body was located or not. Even worse, the Holt Farm would be shoved into the spotlight if a guest disappeared, and the law would come knocking from every angle. Klahanie might be lost to him for who-the-hell-knew how long.

He pushed his body harder, leaping over a felled branch with grace and ease. He used to be on the skinny side, but years of hard work had chiseled his physique into the apex predator he was. He knew he wasn’t invincible, but he also knew he was pretty damned close.

No. He just needed to be patient a little longer. The opportunity would arise. It was inevitable.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“What are you thinking?”

The baritone of Noah’s voice rumbled through his chest, and I smiled against it. For the first time ever, I felt content. It was new territory for me. “Not a lot of thinking going on. Much too tired. Very satiated, though.”

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