CHAPTER 33
Chapter Title: The Glow of Bayview Heights
Kathy
I followed Ace’s Lexus back into Crisfield, my headlights cutting through the foggy night. The road was narrow, winding along the quiet shoreline of the Chesapeake Bay. The water lapped softly against the marshes, and the air smelled like salt and damp grass. My hands gripped the steering wheel tight, my body tense, but my brain was moving faster than my car, spinning with questions.
Ace said he wanted to find Kimberly, and I believed him—mostly. But he was also dead-set on protecting Divine Williamson, and that made me uneasy. The more I poked into Kimberly’s disappearance, the more it felt like Divine, or someone she paid, was hiding something big. Those two goals—finding Kimberly and shielding Divine—didn’t seem to line up, and that could spell trouble for Ace. Maybe for me, too.
What was Divine hiding? Where did all that cash in the warehouse come from? What was this “transfer” she said at the yacht club? And who was this Al person she mentioned?
Divine...
Divine’s smirk when she caught me and Ace kissing flashed in my mind like a warning flare. That wasn’t shock—it was smug satisfaction, like she’d just played a winning card. She wanted me distracted, tangled up with Ace, so I’d stop sniffing around her business. That meant I was closer to the truth than she liked.
I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes narrowing. No way was I going to let her play me like a pawn.
As we rolled through Crisfield’s quiet streets, we passed the so-called posh district of Bayview Heights, where waterfront homes and manicured lawns caught the first glints of dawn. My eyes snagged on a shiny sign that read Lace and Timber. It was bolted to a sleek, five-story building with huge glass windows, crisp white walls, and fancy terraces with potted plants. The shop on the ground floor was dark, but the upper floors pulsed with soft, warm light. At four in the morning? That was weird.
I slowed, catching sight of a group of twenty-somethings spilling out a side gate, their laughter sharp and careless, like they owned the night. They wore casual clothes—jeans, tees, sneakers—but not the weathered gear of Crisfield’s fishermen. These were city-casual, curated, expensive in their simplicity. Something about them felt… off.
I turned onto a side road and pulled up near the group. They were hanging out by a bench under an old, twisted tree, puffing on cigarettes. I rolled down my passenger window, and the sharp smell of smoke hit me. The trash can next to them was overflowing with cigarette butts, like everyone in that building smoked nonstop.
“Hey!” I called out, leaning over. “Do you know when Lace and Timber opens?”
A redhead in a white crop top, jeans, and sneakers turned, her ponytail swinging. “Usually eight, but it’s been closed for days. The owner’s out of town—some seminar in New Jersey, I think.” Her voice was friendly, but her eyes studied me, like she was trying to figure me out.
“Closed for days?” I echoed, pretending to frown. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to grab something for breakfast.”
The redhead snorted. “Breakfast? Not unless you like overpriced cheese and soy candles. Allison’s stuff is… bougie.”
“Cheese, huh?” I forced a laugh, casual. “My friend swore it was the best around. Any idea when she’ll be back?”
The redhead shrugged, flicking ash into the can. “Couple days, maybe. Or not. Allison keeps weird hours. World traveler type.” She glanced sideways at her friends, who were pretending not to listen. “Why? You know her?”
“Not really. Just heard about the place.” I let my eyes drift like I was only half-interested, but I caught the lanyard around her neck: PrimeVoice Solutions. Bold yellow letters.
A call center. My stomach tightened.
No sign said this place was a call center—just the boutique branding of Lace and Timber, like it was some artisan haven. The building was too polished, too pristine for a scam hub, but the signs were there. I’d worked enough fraud cases to recognize the setup: graveyard shifts, international calls—likely targeting Asia, where ex-pats with fat retirement accounts or wealthy clients with dollar deposits in U.S. banks were easy marks. A friendly American voice was the bait; the scam always came after.
“That’s a bummer,” I said, feigning disappointment. “Guess I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
The redhead tilted her head, still studying me. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
I smiled thin. “Is it that obvious?”
She laughed softly. “Everyone knows everyone here. And I don’t know you.”
Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it carried a warning.
And that was my cue. I nodded, rolled up my window, and drove off, my mind racing. The owner—Allison, as Ace had said—had been gone for days, since Kimberly disappeared. That was too convenient.
Allison was now on my radar, and Lace and Timber was officially suspicious. A pretty building like that hiding a call center? It felt like a cover for something shady, maybe even tied to the cash in the warehouse. I needed to dig deeper.
The glitz of Bayview Heights faded as I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Greasy Fork Diner. I parked next to Ace’s shiny Lexus and stepped out, my boots crunching on the stones. The sky was starting to glow with soft gold and gray as dawn crept in. My stomach growled loud, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the yacht club.
Ace was leaning against his Lexus, arms crossed, eyes locked on me as I approached. His gaze was sharp, unreadable, but something flickered there—like he wanted to say more than he dared. The diner’s neon buzzed overhead, promising comfort in eggs and coffee, but the real weight was in the silence between us. Lace and Timber, Divine, Allison—all of it could wait. For now, it was just me, Ace, and a charged tension that felt like it could split Crisfield wide open before breakfast even began.