CHAPTER 18
Chapter Title: Sundresses and Lies
Kathy
As soon as I introduced myself, Emma froze.
"I read in your father’s report that you, Emma Morgan, were one of the two people last seen with Kimberly before she boarded that SUV.”
The color drained from her face, her freckles standing out starkly against her paling skin. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, and for a moment, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I swear—I thought it was an Uber. I even asked her if she wanted me to ask Cole so someone could drive her home, but she insisted—” She stopped abruptly, her lips snapping shut as if she’d just realized she’d said too much.
“Cole?” I asked, my tone sharp but controlled. The name was unfamiliar, a new piece in the puzzle. “Who’s that?”
“He’s the owner of Delish,” she answered, her voice quieter now, like she knew there was no use hiding it.
I took out my phone and made a quick search, my fingers moving swiftly over the screen. Within seconds, the name Cole Jones popped up, along with a brief bio and a photo of a man with a charming smile and a knack for ocean-to-table cuisine.
“Cole Jones,” I muttered, scanning the details. A local restaurateur, well-liked, with a reputation for hosting lively gatherings at his supper club. “You guys close?”
“In a way,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, but the gesture was stiff, unconvincing. I decided to file Cole Jones away for later and focus on Emma. There was more to her story, and I wasn’t leaving until I had it.
“According to Hank’s missing persons report, you texted him when Kimberly arrived at Delish. Told him she was drinking heavily.” I tilted my head, letting a hint of skepticism creep into my voice. “Was there a reason why Kimberly would be drinking that night?”
“She, uh…” Emma looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper bag she’d pulled from under the counter. “She had an argument. With Divine. Hank’s mom.” Her voice was barely audible, and she winced as she spoke, as if the words themselves were painful.
“About what?” I pressed, leaning forward slightly, my elbows resting on the counter.
“Something to do with wine.” She winced again, her eyes darting away, like even she didn’t buy her own excuse.
I arched a brow, letting the silence stretch. “Wine?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Look, I wasn’t there. But I heard it was about the prenup.” The admission came reluctantly, her voice low, as if she were betraying a confidence.
“From who?” I asked, my tone sharp enough to keep her on edge.
Emma looked cornered, her fingers tightening on the bag. “Kimmie’s lawyer might know more. Janet Rivera.” Her voice was steady now, but her eyes betrayed her unease, flicking toward the door as if she wished she could escape.
Now we were getting somewhere.
“Divine doesn’t strike me as someone who plays nice when money’s involved,” I said, my voice casual but pointed. “Was Kimberly upset when she arrived at Delish?”
“She didn’t look upset,” Emma replied, her gaze dropping to the counter. “But that’s the thing about her. She hides things really well. Smiles through it. Acts like everything’s fine until it’s not.”
I studied her, searching for the lie in her words, but she was right. Kimberly was good at hiding things—I knew that better than anyone. Growing up, she’d always been the one to smooth over our parents’ arguments, to flash a bright smile and pretend everything was fine, even when it wasn’t. The memory stung, a sharp reminder of why I was here, but I pushed it down. I wasn’t here to reminisce. I was here to find her.
“How long have you known the Williamsons?” I asked, shifting gears to keep her off balance.
“Since I was a kid. Hank and I are distant cousins. Grew up together.” Her voice was steady, but there was a slight edge to it, a defensiveness that hadn’t been there before.
I blinked. That was new. “Hank went to school here?” From what I’d seen in his photo—polished demeanor, tailored suits, the kind of confidence that came from money—Hank had screamed East Coast elite, the kind of guy who’d spent his teenage years at some ivy-covered prep school, not in a small town like Crisfield.
She nodded. “All the way through high school.”
“Not boarding school?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“No. He stayed in Crisfield.” Her answer was quick, but there was a tightness in her jaw, a subtle tell that she was holding something back.
“How about college?” I pressed, watching her closely.
Her hesitation was subtle, a slight tightening of her jaw, but I caught it. “We went to Salisbury University,” she said, her voice carefully neutral.
“Together?” I asked curiously.
“Yeah. He studied political science. I did business.”
Her tone felt too practiced, like she’d rehearsed the words in front of a mirror—as if someone had told her what to say and how to say it. I filed that away, too. Something about her connection to Hank felt… off. Too close for distant cousins. Too guarded for childhood friends. There was a history there, one she wasn’t eager to share.
“Were you and Kimberly close?” I asked, shifting gears again, keeping her off balance.
She shrugged, a little too casually. “Somewhat. We’d hang out sometimes. I’d stop by her bakery for that cheesecake of hers.” A wistful smile touched her lips, softening her features for a moment. “The New York-style one. It reminded me of NY—” She caught herself mid-word and quickly laughed, the sound forced and brittle. “I mean, reminded me of my visits to New York City.”
“How many times have you been?” I asked, my voice soft but probing, catching the slip.
“Three or four.” Another shrug, this one less convincing than the last. She was lying, or at least hiding something. Nobody stumbles over a detail like that unless they’re trying to cover a slip. I made a mental note to dig into her connection to New York later.
“Are you close with Divine Williamson?” I asked, watching her reaction closely. She opened her mouth to answer, but I raised a hand, stopping her. “Let me rephrase that. Do you know of any reason why Divine Williamson would want to get rid of Kimberly?”
“No,” she said flatly, the warmth draining from her voice like water from a cracked glass. Her jaw tightened as she reached for a crisp paper bag, folding the sundress with quick, sharp movements. No tissue paper. No ribbon. Just efficiency, like she couldn’t wait to be rid of me.
The boutique’s bell chimed again behind me, signaling another customer’s arrival, but I barely registered it. “Thank you, Ms. Hastings,” she said, shoving the bag toward me, her voice clipped. “But I have another customer to assist.”
I wasn’t done yet. “Just one last question—where can I find Allison?” Allison’s name had come up in the report, another thread I needed to pull.
Emma’s hands stilled on the bag, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. A flash of something—fear? guilt?—crossed her face before she shuttered it, her expression hardening. “As I said, I have another customer to assist,” she repeated, her voice like ice as she pushed the bag closer.
I gave her a polite smile, letting her think she’d dismissed me. But I wasn’t going anywhere. Not until I had answers. I turned to leave, my mind already spinning with the pieces I’d gathered—Emma’s lies, her connection to Hank and Divine, the mysterious Cole Jones and Allison—when I walked straight into a wall of muscle.
Or at least it felt like one.
I looked up to find caramel eyes staring down at me, thick lashes shadowing a face I knew too well. Ace Ryder. His lips twitched with amusement, but there was a sharpness in his gaze, like he was undressing me with his eyes and enjoying it a little too much. He stood close, too close, his broad shoulders filling the space, his presence as commanding as it was infuriating.
“Ryder,” I murmured, my voice steady despite the sudden spike in my pulse.
“Hastings,” he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that faint drawl that made everything he said sound like a challenge. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”