Chapter 233: Island Rumor (Part 2)
Jasmine's POV
As we stepped onto the dock, a tall, weathered man approached us. "Mr. Russo," he greeted Marcus with a firm handshake. "Everything is prepared as you requested."
"Thank you, Klaus." Marcus turned to me. "Klaus is the caretaker here. He's been briefed on our situation."
Klaus nodded to me, his face solemn. "Mrs. Mitchell. I hope we can help you find the answers you seek."
The main house was a sprawling, open-air villa that seemed to grow organically from the landscape. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the sea and surrounding islands.
"The island isn't large," Klaus explained as he showed us around. "About three miles across at its widest point. Besides this villa, there's a smaller guesthouse on the western shore and a few utility buildings. The rest is mostly untouched—beaches, forest, a small freshwater lake in the center."
"How many people live here?" I asked.
"Usually just myself and three staff members—a housekeeper, a gardener, and a handyman. We're quite isolated, especially in the off-season."
"And has anyone unusual visited recently? Anyone asking questions about the island, trying to gain access?"
Klaus hesitated, glancing at Marcus.
"You can speak freely," Marcus assured him.
"There have been inquiries," Klaus admitted. "A man claiming to represent a potential buyer. He was persistent, wanted to tour the island, but of course, I explained it wasn't for sale."
"What did he look like?" I asked, tension coiling in my chest.
"Gray hair, glasses, very well-dressed. European accent, though I couldn't place it exactly. Called himself Alexander something."
Alexander. Alexander Bennett. Alan Blackwood. It was him.
"When was this?" Marcus asked sharply.
"About a week ago. He visited the mainland office twice, then disappeared. I haven't seen him since."
Marcus and I exchanged glances. Alan had been here, asking about this specific island, before he vanished from our surveillance in Paris. It couldn't be a coincidence.
"Klaus, I need you to think carefully," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Has anyone else shown unusual interest in the island? Anyone at all, even years ago?"
Klaus considered the question, his weathered face creasing in thought. "Not that I recall, Mrs. Mitchell. This place is quite off the radar, you see. Most people don't even know it exists."
"What about locally? Any rumors, stories about the island?"
A shadow passed over Klaus's face. "Well, there are always legends about isolated places like this. Nothing of substance."
"Tell me," I insisted. "Please."
Klaus sighed. "About three, maybe four years ago, some of the local fishermen began avoiding the waters near the western shore. They claimed they'd seen lights at night, heard voices when no one should have been there. Some even said they'd glimpsed a man watching them from the rocks. The owner investigated, of course, but found nothing."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "And what did they say this man looked like?"
"That's just it—the descriptions varied. Some said he was tall, others not. Some described him as thin to the point of illness, others as strong. Island myths like this, they grow and change with each telling."
"When did these stories stop?" Marcus asked, his voice betraying the same tension I felt.
"They haven't, not entirely. Even now, some of the older fishermen won't go near the western shore after dark. But the sightings grew less frequent over time."
I turned away, struggling to control my breathing, to think rationally through the surge of hope and fear. Could it be? After all this time, could Louis have been here, on this island, just miles from where we'd searched the mountains for him?
"I need to see the western shore," I said, turning back to face the men. "Now."
Marcus looked like he wanted to object, to urge caution, but something in my expression must have stopped him. "Alright. But we go together, and we move carefully. If Alan's interest in this place is what we think it might be..."
"He could be watching," I finished. "I know."
Within the hour, Klaus had arranged for a small motorboat to take us around the island to the western shore. As we rounded the curve of the island, the landscape changed dramatically—the gentle slopes gave way to rugged cliffs, the sandy beaches to rocky outcroppings. The western shore was wild, untamed, accessible only by boat or through dense forest.
"There's the guesthouse," Klaus pointed to a structure nestled among the trees on a small plateau above the shoreline. "It's rarely used these days. Too remote, too difficult to maintain."
I studied the small building, my eyes searching for any sign of habitation—smoke from a chimney, movement behind windows, anything. But it appeared abandoned, overgrown with vegetation.
"Can we land?" I asked, already moving toward the bow of the boat.
"There's a small dock around the next bend," Klaus replied, directing the boat toward a hidden cove.
As we approached, I scanned the shoreline intently. The rocky beach seemed deserted, the forest beyond silent and still. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that somewhere among those trees or rocks, someone was observing our arrival.
The boat bumped gently against the small wooden dock, and Klaus secured it with practiced ease. Marcus helped me onto the weathered planks, his hand firm on my elbow.
"Stay close," he murmured. "Something doesn't feel right."
I nodded, grateful for his protective presence while equally determined to explore every inch of this place, regardless of the risk. If there was even the slightest chance Louis had been here—might still be here—I would not leave until I knew the truth.
The path to the guesthouse was overgrown but still visible, winding through dense forest before emerging onto the plateau Klaus had pointed out from the boat. The building itself was small, rustic, its wooden exterior weathered by years of exposure to the elements. The windows were shuttered, the door secured with a heavy padlock.
"When was the last time anyone was here?" I asked, approaching the structure cautiously.