22

22
CLAIRE

By the time Evan and I reached the pier, my chest was so tight I could hardly breathe.

The crowd had gathered at the edge of the dock, their faces pale. They parted just enough for me to see past them, and then I stopped.

The body was there.

Lying on the damp boards like something discarded by the tide.

Her coat was torn with one sleeve half-ripped away. Her hair clung to her face. Purple and ugly bruises blossomed across her arms and neck, against her all her skin.

One eye was swollen, her lips split and dark with dried blood. Whoever had done this hadn’t just wanted her gone—they’d wanted her to torture her.

She looked smaller than she had on that street, like the life had been drawn out of her until there was nothing left but a husk.

“God,” I whispered. “It’s her.”

Then someone spoke from the back of the crowd. A man’s voice, hoarse, almost reverent: “Losing her son must made her go crazy.”

The name cut through me like a blade. Heads nodded, whispers spreading—“Lydia… poor Lydia Rourke…”

Another voice: “She never got over losing her boy. Cal. You remember Cal?”

It hit me like a jolt. Cal Rourke. The missing man. My chest tightened. Cal Rourke. The missing man Thomas had told me about when he first hired me. His mother had come to him in desperation, begging for help.

She must have been unraveling ever since, the madness in her eyes becoming less madness and more grief.

The notebook burned like fire in my memory. Spirals. Tide charts. “They took him when the tide went out.” She hadn’t been rambling. She’d been trying to tell me what happened to her son.

And I hadn’t listened.

She had slipped right through my fingers. If I had stopped her—if I had just held onto herher—maybe she’d still be alive

Acting Sheriff Nora Quinn was already there, standing over Lydia’s body with her hands on her hips. As usual she was chewing her gum.

She didn’t look shaken. She didn’t look sad. She looked irritated, as if Lydia’s death were an inconvenience more than a tragedy.

"Well,” Quinn drawled, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd, “looks like poor Lydia had herself an episode. Heart finally gave out. Shame, really. But not unexpected. Folks, this is what happens when the tide catches you in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. I stared at them in disbelief. They wanted to believe her. Wanted the easy story. A heart attack, a slip. Anything that meant they didn’t have to confront the truth standing bloody at their feet.

My blood boiled.

Her age? Lydia couldn’t have been more than mid-forties. I stepped forward before Evan’s hand tightened on my sleeve.

The deputies were already there—Murphy and Taylor—As usual,their movements were sloppy as they unfolded a black body bag. One of them cursed when the zipper snagged, and the other laughed under his breath. They weren’t treating Lydia like a victim. They were treating her like another piece of evidence to shove out of sight.

I couldn’t hold it in. “Stop.” Heads immediately turned.

Quinn’s eyes flicked toward me. “Well, if it isn’t Private Detective Monroe. And Evan… you’re here too, huh?”

She glanced at Evan, she had this teasing tone in her voice “Always playing the hero, huh? And you, city girl… can’t stay out of trouble for long. Whatever scheme you’ve got this time—it’s just a heart attack. Nothing more.”

Evan’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Good to see you too, Nora."

I had never seen Acting Sheriff Quinn show that kind of gentleness with anyone. It made me curious about their past. Their eyes locked for a long and quiet moment. No words were exchanged, but it was clear they shared history—something complicated.

But I knew i had to break that silence
“A heart attack? That’s your explanation? What’s that supposed to mean, Acting Sheriff? That we should ignore the bruises covering her arms? The split lip? The broken ribs? You expect us to believe she just fell over and the tide finished the job?”

Quinn smacked her gum “Means she’s been going crazy for months,” she said “Everyone knows it. Always ranting about her boy, making scenes and stirring up trouble. Sad case, sure. But this—” she tilted her chin toward the body—“this is misfortune, plain and simple. Body gives out, tide takes over. End of story.”

I stepped forward. “Look at her. She was beaten. She’s covered in bruises, her ribs could be broken—and you’re going to stand here and tell these people it was a heart attack?”

She laughed “You some kind of coroner now? Last I checked, you were just a tourist who likes sticking her nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

“I’m a licensed private investigator.” The words came out sharp. “And I know a cover-up when I see one. You already successfully swept Mason’s death under the rug, and now you’re doing the same with Lydia Rourke. How many bodies before you actually do your damn job?”

The crowd rippled uneasily,they were now shifting from foot to foot, but Quinn didn’t flinch. She just rolled her eyes, like I was some child throwing a tantrum.
“Folks, nothing to see here. Let the deputies do their work and For Christ's sake,Evan, put your dog on a leash.”

“Incompetence,” I snapped, “No, Sheriff. I’ll ask you again—how many bodies have to drop before you finally wake up and do your job?”

Heads turned. Murmurs broke out. I felt the heat climbing my neck. I didn’t care. Let them all hear it. Let them choke on the truth they didn’t want to face.

“Claire.” Evan put his hand on my arm“I know Quinn well. She’s sharp, manipulative… always looking for a reaction. She’s baiting you. Don’t give her what she wants.”

I tore my gaze from Quinn and met instead Evan eyes— they were calm despite the situation.
"She’s trying to rile the crowd, get them to pick sides. And if that happens, You're the outsider here. they’ll turn against you."

His words cut through my anger,enough for me to regain my self back,in that moment.

And then—like a jolt—the thought struck me.

The street beside the inn. Lydia had found me there, desperate and cornering me with her notebook, her spirals, her warnings. She’d been terrified, rambling about tides, about things taken when the water was low. And now, less than an hour later, she was lying dead on the pier.

How had she even gotten here?

My blood went cold. This wasn’t coincidence. Someone had followed her. Someone had watched our interaction. And when Lydia reached out—when she dared to speak—they silenced her.

The notebook. They knew I had it.My hand flew to my bag. My stomach twisted as a new terror crawled up my spine. If Lydia was dead, then—

“Lila,” I breathed. My voice cracked. “Mason’s sister. Oh God. She’s next.”

Evan’s head tilted “Claire—”

“No, don’t you see?” The words tumbled out “It’s a pattern. Mason’s dead. Lydia’s dead. They’re wiping out anyone who might still know anything. And Lila—she’s the last link. If I don’t get to her tonight, she’s gone.”

The crowd was already drifting, deputies snapping orders and Quinn striding away with that smug little tilt of her chin. Nobody cared. Nobody wanted to care.

But Evan was still there. He let me breathe, let me spill my panic into the night.

Finally, he said“Then you move fast. But you move smart. Charging in blind will only get you killed. And you’re not going to help Lila if you end up like Lydia.”

His words were pulling me back from the edge. His calmness wasn’t cold—it was a rope in the dark, something I could grip when my own fury threatened to drown me.

I s
wallowed hard, my fists were trembling. “Then help me.”

Evan gave the faintest of smiles. “Already am.”