“Okay, hear me out,” Tech says, as if he’d been prepared for this conversation. He walks farther into the room and takes a seat in the chair across from me. “When I was going through the letters from Florence’s room, there was one that didn’t fit. No name, scratchy writing—not hers, from what I can tell. Most of the ink had faded, but what was there talked about going to Naples later that year, before she got married off. And that was the term, ‘married off.’ Kind of negative, right?”
“Definitely,” Noa says, leaning in to listen.
“The letter wasn’t signed, so I had no idea who it could be from,” he says. “Then my grandma comes into the kitchen, sees me searching through old papers. She asks what I’m doing, and I’m not going to lie to my grandma. I tell her I’m looking into what happened to Uncle Gabriel. You know what she did?” Tech asks. “She left the room and came back with a big manilla envelope. Then she dumped out twenty to thirty postcards, all unsigned. All from Naples. She said, ‘If you find him, tell him we’re having dinner on Sunday at four.’ And then she walked out.”
“Wait, find him?” Noa says. “So your grandma thinks Gabriel is still alive?”
“Seems so,” Tech says. “Up until now, the topic of my uncle has been off-limits or nonspecific. But suddenly, my grandmother comes in and drops this bomb like a badass.”
Tech reaches into his pocket and takes out a postcard, the edgesslightly frayed. He hands it to Noa, who reads it first, seeming confused. She passes it to me.
The picture is of a pier with the word “Naples” written above it. Who sends a postcard from Naples, Florida, I’m not sure. I turn it over and it reads simply:Safe travels.
I hand it back to Tech, who takes it protectively.
“All the postcards say the same thing,” he says. “Nothing extra, nothing missing—although the postcard pictures change. Well,” Tech says, nodding, “I think you can guess where this is going.”
“Not really,” Noa says, confused.
But it clicks for me suddenly. “It’s a match,” I say, looking at Tech. He grins.
“You’re good,” he replies. “Yes, the handwriting on these postcards matches the letter written to Florence. It’s definitely the same person, not to mention, who the hell else talks about Naples so much?”
“You think your uncle knew Florence?” I ask.
He wags the postcard. “I don’t know for sure,” he says, “but if these postcards are from him to my grandmother, then yeah—I think he and Flo had some history.”
“So how do we find him?” Noa asks.
“Well,” Tech says, sighing heavily. “The postcards stopped arriving about a year ago and they didn’t have return addresses anyway. But as it turns out, I have a great-aunt who lived on Keewaydin Island, accessible only by boat. It’s not far from Naples. Now, what’s strange is that no one in my family has spoken to her in decades.”
“Families sometimes lose contact,” Noa says, a twinge of sadness in her voice.
Tech presses his lips together sympathetically, but then stands up to let us know he’s serious. “That part of my family went silent just after the tragedy at the Starline,” he says. “Seems like a big coincidence. And nowI’ve got her address on the island—she’s in her eighties, but from what I hear, she’s a spitfire. We’re going to talk with her.”
Noa stands up, energized. “If Gabriel’s alive,” she says, smiling for the first time, “we end the curse of the Starline Hotel. We get him back, telling the truth. And once that’s broken wide open, we should be able to figure out what happened to Felix.”
Tech nods, meeting her in the middle of the room to give her a hug. I hope it’s true. I can’t imagine having to live with that kind of family guilt for your whole life. A judgment that you’re completely innocent of.
“Now,” Tech says, pulling back and turning to me. “We need a boat.”
To this, I deflate and sit back into the couch. “That… is going to be a problem.”
“Why?” Tech asks.
“Before my father confessed to being an accessory to murder…” I tell him, and he widens his eyes. “He took my boat. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me today, but it has left me boatless. I’m sorry.”
Noa tilts her head. “Not exactly,” she says.
“Not exactly what?” I reply. “Why do you look so shifty right now?”
She grins. “Well, your dad didn’t remove it from our dock, at least not yet. He just took you off as an authorized user. But… we have a spare key.”
Tech looks at me to see if I’m in. Honestly, it’s a good lead. I nod, and Tech slaps his hands together.
“Sounds like a plan,” he says. “Shawn’s already on her way in. Should we load up?” He waits for me to decide, including me in their group. And damn, it feels pretty good to be back.
Still, I look at Noa. “I’m not getting pizza or wings tonight, am I?” I ask. She laughs, shaking her head no. I sigh, standing up.
