“I’m glad you called me,” she said. Like all of Alexis’s friends, Skye was young and fashionable in an Instagram way. She pushed at her cuticles. “When your mother started asking me questions about the last time I saw Alexis, it took me off guard. I just . . . I don’t know Fiona very well. And also, I couldn’t remember a lot about the last time I saw Alexis off the top of my head. So I didn’t say much. Then I felt badly, afterward, that I hadn’t been more helpful.”
“I get it. It’s okay.”
“A few things have come to me since, so when I heard from you, I was like, oh good, a second chance. Even though the things I remembered are really little. Probably nothing.”
“What did you remember?”
“I remembered that Alexis seemed happier than usual. She was kind of . . . beaming. I commented on it and she blew it off, made a joke about how her happy glow was from the retinol she was using. But I came to the conclusion that it was you making her happy. It was just . . . that kind of glow.”
A manhadbeen making her happy. But that man hadn’t been him.
“She mentioned how she was in the mood for night hiking,” Skye went on. “She was really wanting to go and asked me if I was up for it. I told her no because I went night hiking with her once and it scared me to death. I almost broke my wrist. And that was on an easy half-mile hike. She was talking about hiking all the way to Maiden’s Cliff and I was like, what? That’s steep and remote. Anyway, I told her no. Then after I found out where she died, I felt guilty. Because if I’d gone with her, maybe that wouldn’t have happened to her.” Her expression asked for understanding.
“There's no reason for you to feel guilty. What happened to Alexis had nothing to do with your decision.”
“There was just no way I was up for a hike like that. In the dark.”
“I understand.” He thanked her and spent as much time chatting about her life since Alexis’s death as politeness demanded. They exchanged goodbyes, and he made his way to his car.
So Alexis had been wanting to go night hiking to Maiden’s Cliff well before her death. Skye had turned her down. Who had Alexis found to go with her?
He hadn’t discovered anything the last time he’d made a trip to Maiden’s Cliff. But Skye’s comments had motivated him to return.
Jeremiah reached Maiden’s Cliff in time to watch the sun rise. He took a seat near the cliff’s edge, his athletic clothing and down jacket keeping him just warm enough to remain stationary. The white metal cross stood over him like a still and patient bodyguard as he watched the clouds turn pale peach, then gold as the sun made its appearance. Far below, the surface of the lake glimmered a deep sapphire color.
Since the start of his separation from Remy, he’d had very little sleep, which was why he’d come here at such an early hour. He’d already been awake. A lot hinged on this day. Hopefully, he’d talk to Remy at Anton and Camille’s house and, by some miracle, convince her to give him a second chance.
He looked to the left. No hikers yet today. No movement whatsoever—
A reflection of light blinked at him.
The last time he’d come here with Remy, he’d looked in the same direction and seen that same small reflective surface. There had been activity here that day, so he’d assumed the light was shining off sunglasses or a metal water bottle.
He no longer thought so because this reflection originated in the same spot as before.
Moving quickly, he followed the trail toward the reflection until the trail curved away from his target. At that point, he left the path and stomped through foliage.
The reflection was situated on an outcropping below the elevation of Maiden’s Cliff. When he came to an exposed patch of land, he glanced back at the white metal cross. His elevation was about right but he hadn’t gone far enough yet.
Jeremiah continued over a fallen tree and around a shallow ravine. Finally, he drew near a ledge of bare rock. Breathing hard, he pushed his way to it. A Canon camera fastened to a short tripod pointed back toward the cross of Maiden’s Cliff. The sparkle he’d seen must have come from sunlight hitting its lens.
Someone was . . . photographing activity on the cliff?
A narrow footpath snaked away from the tripod into the woods. He followed it uphill. Five minutes later, the track ended at a small, scruffy cabin. Smoke drifted from its chimney and masculine junk cluttered the yard. The shell of an old Ford. A rusted-out gas pump. A steering wheel. He was willing to bet that a man lived here.
An early rising man might not mind a visit from a male trespasser as much as a late-sleeping woman.
The porch screeched beneath his weight. He knocked on the peeling door.
A few seconds later, the door pulled back to reveal a wiry seventy-something man. He wore a dingy plaid shirt and baggy corduroys. White tufts of hair stuck out in every direction from his beige face.
“Jeremiah Camden?” the man asked with disbelief.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what do you know!Jeremiah Camden.” His palm pressed to his chest. “I’m Gil. Gil Gilderson.”
“Sorry to disturb you so early.”
