Roy lumbered to his feet and trotted over, big tail whipping. I gave him a scratch behind the ears, feeling the rumble of his pleased huff under my fingers.
“Hey, Willa.” Madden’s voice shifted into an odd formality, the syllables clipped. Her shoulders squared in that polished, courtroom way I was starting to recognize as some kind of armor. “It’s a bit late, but congrats on your marriage.”
Willa angled her head in gracious acknowledgement, her own posture taking on a bit of the polished edge she usually didn’t bother with anymore. “Thanks.” Her focus came back to me. “How can I help?”
“We need to see the security tapes for the past two days.”
“I thought that might be it. Sawyer told me last night about Astrid’s student, and the police were here this morning. They took a copy of the footage for themselves, but we still have ours on our server. Do you expect to find something they didn’t?”
“Already have. That’s why we’re following up.”
Willa frowned. “That sounds ominous. Come on. Elliott’s in the security office.” Willa hooked a thumb toward the back hallway. “He’s been with us since before my grandparents retired. Knows the system better than the company that installed it.”
Roy padded ahead like he knew the way, nails clicking on the tile. We followed Willa down the corridor, past a break room and a tiny HR office. The security room was at the end, door propped open with a plastic wedge.
Inside, three monitors glowed above a desk cluttered with coffee cups and a bowl of individually wrapped mints. A man in his fifties with a sunburnt neck and thinning hair swiveled in his chair when we stepped in.
“Boss.” He tipped his chin at Willa. “Twice in one day? To what do I owe the honor?”
“Same reason, I’m afraid. This is Rios Carrera and Madden Reilly. Y’all, this is our head of security, Elliott Carver. They’re helping look into Priya Shah’s disappearance.”
Elliott frowned. “Thought the police handled that.”
“We’re just being extra thorough,” I said, which was far more polite than anything else I could manage.
“You want the footage from yesterday morning?”
“From about four-thirty to six-thirty,” I said. “Ticket line, lobby, boarding ramp. Anything that would show the passengers getting on that first ferry.”
“I already pulled that for the chief.” Elliott spun back toward the monitors and started clicking through folders with practiced efficiency. “You want to go through the same files, or you want a wider window?”
“Let’s start with the same,” Madden said. “See what they saw. Or say they saw.”
Willa glanced at her, the corner of her mouth tightening. It wasn’t disagreement, exactly. More like silent alignment.
Elliott loaded up a four-way split-screen video: top left the parking lot, top right the ticket counter, bottom left the waiting area, bottom right the covered pedestrian walkway leading down to the ferry ramp. Timestamps glowed in the corner of each feed.
He clicked play. The footage rolled forward at normal speed—too slow for what we needed. Lines of people, blurry faces, bags, kids. Life.
“Speed it up until we get closer to boarding,” I said.
He obliged. The movement on screen shifted from casual to jittery, everyone just a little too brisk.
I stepped closer, folding my arms over my chest as the digital world scrolled by. Madden stood to my right, arms at her sides, knuckles pale where her hands curled into loose fists. Willa stayed back near the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, Roy sitting pressed to her leg like a black shadow.
Casually, I glanced between the women. Objectively, they came from the same strata of island society—old family names, big expectations. Willa had cut herself loose from hers years ago, after her parents put her through unfathomable trauma in the wake of Gwen’s disappearance. She’d made her own quiet path here on the island.
Madden, as far as I knew, had done the opposite. Ivy League law school. DA’s office in LA. Textbook high-achiever track. I hadn’t considered what that had cost her before. Now, watching the stiffness in her shoulders, I wondered.
On-screen, the timestamp ticked past 4:50 a.m.
I forced my attention back where it belonged.
“Elliott, can you flag any passengers traveling alone?” Madden asked.
He snorted softly. “In real time? Not really. But we can watch the line and see who matches your description.”
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and swiped to the photo Astrid had sent me—Priya standing on the beach, hair in a low ponytail, wind tugging strands loose around her face. Brown skin warmed by the setting sun, dark eyes behind glasses. Small, warm smile.
