Sophie, with her shoes, comes slower and more carefully.
But a minute later, they’re both poking around the old workbench, touching the statues and marveling at the stained glass.
Kane could be right—we must beclose.
I just don’t know if that’s wishful thinking.
I want to believe it and put this to bed so much.
Just like I want to believe that this man watching me so intently with his adorable kids could stay, rather than winding up like this cellar of artifacts, buried and forgotten.
16
DRIVE IT HOME (KANE)
The September sun warms my back as I walk down Sully Bay’s main strip with an Americano in hand that smells good enough to inhale through my nose.
Dan and Sophie are captivated by a couple street musicians.
There are three of them. One guy strums a guitar, his partner plays the accordion, and a girl belts out an emotional song with a violin tucked under her arm.
Her voice is haunting, but when Guitar Guy joins in, Sophie’s eyes start to shine.
Damn.
I might have to start worrying about her and boys sooner than I think.
Dan grins too, loving the way Accordion Man bangs a snare drum with his foot as he plays, perfectly synced.
“Super cool, Dad. Do you know how hard it is to play multiple instruments like a boss?” Dan asks.
Guitar Guy has long shaggy hair pulled back in a ponytail, and whenever he leans closer to the mic to sing, he closes his eyes.
“It’s something,” I agree, scanning to see where Margot went.
She came into town with us and ran off to the nearby craft booths to look for more info on stained glass and a safe way to pry that door open.
We figured the kids would be entertainment. They love the candied apples, too.
I couldn’t say no at the coffee shop when I saw the huge green balls on a stick slathered in caramel.
Soph bites into her half-eaten apple, smacking her lips.
I sip my coffee andgoddamn, is that good.
We needed this today.
Especially with more unsolved mysteries piling up.
Even so, Margot’s taking her time, and I crane my head, trying to spot her through the swirling crowd.
A lot of older folks crowd around us, making the most of the sunny day and easy atmosphere.
The woman crooning into the mic grins at us and winks at Sophie.
Finally, I see Margot—talking with Viola Babin.
They stand like alley cats, shoulders tense, their hands locked into fists by their sides, and—
