“No, never heard of her before that.”
“…Donny was killed around that time.”
“When?”
I try to remember. “Late July, I think. Same year.”
“And your mum went missing in August…”
“Not missing,” I say. “She wasmurderedin August.”
“But nobody knew that at the time,” she protests. “And nobody knows about Donny, either.”
“…And let’s keep it that way.”
“If you’re going to look into this, you need to be careful, Minnow.” She steps forward urgently. “You hear me?” She nods at the water. “That Heath down there?”
“Yeah,” I say unwillingly. “Why?”
But she’s already backing away, breath bursting in and out. I think that’s all she’s going to say, but her eyes flicker to mine. They’re eerily bright in the dark as she issues a final warning.
“Be careful.”
Chapter 14
Chris lights a cigarette and only inhales once. He holds it loosely between his index and middle fingers, and I lean back in the passenger seat, watching it burn all the way down to the filter.
“When we get to Hannah’s mum’s place, I’ll introduce us.” He taps the butt with his index finger, and ash flies out the window.
I stare down at my phone at Hannah Striker’s photo. She’s knee-deep in the ocean in a purple wet suit, pale-eyed, fists on her hips, long wet hair falling over her shoulder.
He pauses, gives me a sidelong look. “Maybe I’ll tell her you’re my assistant.”
“Piss off.”
“Myvulgarassistant.”
I drain the last of my coffee and wedge it into his cupholder; he stares at it bug-eyed. I pluck it out again, dump it into the waste bin neatly tucked behind my seat. He visibly relaxes.
I offered to take my car. He recoiled at the clumps of sand pooled into the grooves, the dog hair sticking to the headrests, and backed away, pretending to shudder. “We’ll take mine.”
His car smells of ash and pine, the seats pillowy and cool. Polished rosewood lines the door panels and the dashboard, framing a touch-screen display. The caramel seats are fully reclinable, the roof lining soft and suede.
I hate it. All of it.
I wish we’d taken my car. Wish I was tucked into its snug front seat, smelling Jessie’s hair and cheese-smeared burger wrappers. Not lost in this casual opulence, giving Chris shit about the massaging seats to hide how uncomfortable I feel. How out of place. How unworthy.
“We should have just called her instead.”
He shakes his head. “Whenever you can, don’t call. Meet them face-to-face. Let them see you.” He takes a quick puff. “You’re empathetic, you’re interested, and you want to hear their story.”
Then he says something that leaves me sad and silent. “We’re all just one person away from having no one to talk to.”
“Gotta be honest.” I rub my neck. “If you showed up on my doorstep, I’d slam your fingers in the door.”
“May I remind you that you’re the one who showed up onmydoorstep?”
I ignore this and he reaches across my knees for the glove box. When I flinch, he draws his hand back, black Maserati watch winking in the sun. He flicks the cigarette out the window, clamps both hands on the walnut wheel.
