June understood that. Too well.
Holt seemed to understand it too, because his expression softened, even if only a little.
“Then do that. Just don’t push yourself too hard.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
“I’ll try not to.” Margo looked at June once more, then at Holt, and drew in a steadying breath. “I’ll see you both later at the Sandpiper Inn. What about around four-thirty this afternoon?”
“Perfect,” June answered before Holt could.
They said their goodbyes, and Margo turned and headed toward her car.
June watched her go. Margo’s walk was steady, but there was something brittle under it, something June felt in her own chest. She waited until Margo had pulled out and driven away before she looked back at Holt.
“Do you think she’s right?” June turned and looked at Holt, who stood towering over her.
He didn’t ask her what she meant. He simply slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and looked in the direction Margo had gone.
“It’s feasible,” he said after a moment. “But feasible isn’t proof. Right now we’ve got theory, pattern, and timing. We don’t have anything concrete.”
June folded her arms lightly, thinking it through again and hating that the shape of it still refused to settle into anything clean.
“None of it fits neatly.” Frustration clawed at her.
“No.” Holt’s mouth flattened. “It doesn’t.”
One minute, it had seemed as if Lucy and June were the obvious targets. Then Lacey had ended up trapped in a fire. Then Margo had nearly died in Teacups. Now Judy lay in a coma, and the lines between victim, witness, and intended target had turned into a knot with no clear signs of how to untangle it.
June glanced toward the street, though there was nothing to see except ordinary traffic, a couple walking past with iced drinks, and a gull strutting along the curb like it owned the town.
Sandpiper Shores looked exactly as it always had on the surface. Bright water. Breezy storefronts. Sun-washed sidewalks. Flower boxes. Tourists. Locals. The kind of small town people imagined when they talked about safety, family, and second chances.
But right now, underneath it, something poisonous kept moving.
“I need to check whether Lacey can have visitors later,” June murmured, more to herself than to Holt. “If she can, I want to stop by.”
“That’s a good idea.” Holt nodded. “No one has been able to speak to her since she was found unconscious in the forest.”
“Except for Dean,” June told him. “Have you asked Dean to speak to her for you?”
“I didn’t want to impose,” Holt admitted.
“I can ask Dean for you,” June said.
“Or you could just both ask me now,” Dean’s voice had them turn to see him stepping onto the sidewalk beside them. “Sorry, June, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I saw the two of you across from the store and thought I’d stop by to see how everything was going. I’ve been out of touch with everything.”
“How is Lacey?” June asked.
“Getting better,” Dean said. “Her memory is still fuzzy, and she hasn’t said anything more about who attacked her because she doesn’t seem to remember. Lucy explained that the head injury appears to have wiped out her memory of what happened rightaround the attack. She might get pieces of it back, but there’s no guarantee, and Lucy doesn’t want anyone pressing her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Holt said, and June could see the flash of resignation in his eyes, realizing the one person who may have seen their attacker would be able to help them. “Please send her my love and let her know my family and I are thinking about her.”
“Please send her the same message from us as well,” June told him. “I was going to ask Lucy if I could see Lacey today.”
“I’ll tell Lacey,” Dean assured them. “Lucy is still being very selective about who gets to see Lacey because she doesn’t want her getting stressed out.” His eyes flashed with concern, and his voice lowered slightly. “Early this morning, Lacey had a panic attack and didn’t know why. She said she felt as though the danger was right in front of her, but whatever she was remembering wouldn’t come fully into focus.”
“Oh, no,” June said, her heart squeezing. “That must be so frightening for her. Especially someone as independent and in control of things like Lacey always is.”
“It’s not the first one she’s had since the attack, either,” Dean told them. “Between Noah, his wife, Lucy, and me, we take turns to ensure one of us is at her side all the time. Lacey won’t admit it, but she gets very anxious when left alone now.”
