Astrid glanced at the screen and jiggled the mouse, presumably opening her inbox. Then her jaw dropped open. “It’s from Priya.”
I hurried around the desk and read over her shoulder as she opened the message.
From: Priya Shah
* * *
Subject: Departure
* * *
Dear Dr. Thompson,
* * *
I’m sorry for the short notice, but I’ve had a family emergency come up, and I need to leave the island immediately. I won’t be able to return for the rest of the season. I appreciate the opportunity you gave me to work on the project, and I’m grateful for everything I’ve learned.
* * *
Sincerely,
* * *
Priya
We read it twice in silence.
“That’s it?” I said finally. “No details. No ‘I’m okay, don’t worry’? Just… ‘family emergency, I’m gone, thanks for everything’?”
Astrid’s eyes raced over the lines again, as if more information might materialize if she looked hard enough. “This… this doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s conveniently vague.” My prosecutor's brain ticked through the phrasing on autopilot. “And stiff as hell. Does she normally write to you like she’s drafting a form letter?”
“No.” Astrid’s voice sharpened. “She calls me Astrid in emails. We joke about sea turtles and coffee. If something had happened back home, she would’ve called. Or at least texted. She knows I’d move heaven and earth to accommodate her if she needed to leave.”
“Yesterday, when you were blowing up her phone, there was nothing.” I tapped the monitor frame lightly. “Now, suddenly, she has time and bandwidth to send this one paragraph of corporate goodbye?”
Astrid’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, then dropped to the desk with a soft thunk. “I hate this. I hate that part of me is relieved to see her name at all, and the rest of me is screaming that this is wrong.”
“It feels manufactured,” I said. “Like whoever wrote it pulled ‘polite exit email’ from a template.”
“Whoever?” Her gaze snapped to mine. “You think somebody else wrote this?”
“I think it doesn’t sound like someone reaching out to the advisor they’ve spent months working under,” I said carefully. “But I also don’t know her. You do. What’s your gut say?”
“My gut says I’m going to call her again.” Astrid snatched up her phone and stabbed at the screen. She put it to her ear, pacing the small office in tight, agitated loops as it rang, then went to voicemail. Again.
“Priya, it’s Astrid.” Her voice wobbled. “I got your email. I’m… I’m sorry about whatever’s going on with your family, but please call me back. I want to make sure you’re okay. Just call. Or text. Anything.”
She dropped the phone onto the desk hard enough that a pen skittered off the desk, rolling toward the edge before I snagged it and set it upright in the mug with the others.
Astrid blew out a shaky breath. “I’m calling Carson.”
“Good.” I hadn’t liked the way he’d talked to us last night, but I’d still let that old reflexive trust in authority smooth some of the edges. “Make him earn his paycheck.”
The chief himself showed up ten minutes later.
Astrid startled when his shadow crossed the frosted glass, but I just sat back, unexpectedly hit by a ripple of déjà vu. That same steady gait. That same measured pause before entering a room, like he needed to school his features into professional calm. It tugged at something deep in my memory. Being seventeen, brittle with terror, watching this man set down his coffee and promise my aunt he would leave no stone unturned.
