“He left when I was young. Mrs. Walton took in my mother and me and made sure my mom had a good job. She was always so good to us. Until… until.”
“You fell in love with her daughter.”
“Yes. It ruined everything. She had me escorted off the island and told me never to return. I was eighteen.”
“And then what happened?”
“Then, a few days later, Marcus killed Isla. It was the most awful thing in the world.”
“And who was Marcus Cole to her again?” I asked. “If you were the love of her life?”
“He was her cover, her boyfriend that her mother wanted her to be with instead of me. I suppose he became jealous upon learning about her love for me. No one really knows exactly what went on that night.”
“So, you weren’t there? You weren’t on the island?”
“No. I was staying with my uncle and his wife in Marathon Key. I heard what had happened from her Aunt Beatrice, who called me the next day and told me. A big part of me died with her that day. And even though I loved her the most, I wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral. Her mother wouldn’t let me. Marcus confessed to the murder the day after she was found, and that was it. I eventually moved on with my life. But I never forgot about her.”
My heart clenched as the pieces fell into place, the tragic mosaic of Emilio's past revealing itself.
"Thank you, Eva Rae," he whispered, his voice steadier than before. "For believing me."
"Thank you for sharing." My reply was simple, but it carried the weight of my resolve.
I spun on my heel, gravel crunching underfoot, as I marched back to the main house. Each step punctuated my thoughts—sharp, clear, determined.
"Think, Eva, think," I muttered, replaying Emilio's revelations in my head. The pieces were there, scattered, waiting for me to fit them together.
My mind scrolled through guest profiles, alibis, and timelines. Patterns emerged, a sinister tapestry weaving through Paradise Key's idyllic façade. I needed angles, leverage, something to pry open the tight-lipped secrets this place harbored.
"Hello, main house," I greeted the imposing structure as it came into view, its windows like watching eyes.
"Let's see what ghosts you're hiding," I said, more to myself than anyone who might overhear. "Time to shake things up," I promised myself as I stepped onto the veranda.
Chapter25
I restedagainst the old wooden veranda railing, my eyes locked on the horizon where dark clouds churned like turbulent thoughts. The wind, signaling an approaching thunderstorm, rustled the palm trees into a flurry of whispers.
The main house welcomed me back as I stepped inside. Guests had gathered, waiting for lunch, some already clutching drinks to quell the unease we all felt but couldn’t shake. I greeted my friends, Michelle and Jen, who were deep in conversation until I joined them.
“Ladies,” I nodded. “Seems like a storm is brewing out there.” They both smiled, nodding awkwardly, and I decided to let them continue their hushed discussion.
I picked up a plate to get some shrimp when I heard footsteps behind me. Not the soft kind, but deliberate and purposeful. I straightened, my instincts sharpened by years in the field. I turned to see her—the ice queen in all her splendor.
"Beatrice," I said, keeping my tone steady, my eyes narrowing slightly as I assessed her. I had hoped to encounter her here. "What can I do for you?"
"Let's skip the niceties, Eva Rae. We both know this isn't a friendly visit." Her voice cut through the room with the precision of her well-tailored suit.
"Then let's dive in." My response was brief, ready for the verbal duel to commence.
"Your investigation," Beatrice started, her steely gray eyes fixing on mine, "has it uncovered anything about Victoria?"
"Should it have?" I countered, leaning back against the table.
"Stop playing games with me, Eva Rae." She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a sharp whisper. "You and I both know that woman holds secrets darker than those black clouds approaching."
"That’s your sister. It seems a little harsh. Claims like that need proof, Beatrice." I held her gaze, refusing to waver under her intense scrutiny.
"Perhaps," she said, her lips curling slightly, "but intuition often leads where evidence eventually follows."
