When the brush ran dry, Connor descended the ladder. The sun was setting, and besides, he was worried about Louise. Maybe he’d overlooked something in the house.
His shirt clung to his back and sweat trickled down his neck as he rounded the corner of Louise’s two-story cottage. It sat about fifty yards from his own house atop a small rise. The yards on this stretch of beach undulated with sandy dunes. The tall, sparse grass waved as a salty breeze swept over the landscape, cooling his skin.
He took the wooden porch steps, his eyes catching on the mailbox beside the front door. Maybe there was some clue in the mail. The lid opened with a squawk, and he pulled out the thick stack and began sorting through it.
A utility bill, circulars, a notice from the post office, a credit card statement, fliers from local businesses. He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to find, but it wasn’t here.
The sound of a car engine caught his attention. A black Volvo was pulling into the shelled driveway beside the house. One of the sisters had arrived. He caught a glimpse of dark hair and recognized Maddy from the photos on Louise’s wall.
She emerged, her eyes pinning him in place before she even closed her car door. She was taller than he’d expected, her trendy clothes only hinting at curves. The golden light glinted off long brown hair that fell straight like a dark curtain. She wore little or no makeup, he saw as she neared, and her eyes appeared swollen, a little bloodshot. His earlier impression of her softened at the hint of distress.
As she came up the porch steps her gaze swept over him, making him mindful of his stained jeans and T-shirt.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m Connor Sullivan—the one who called you.”
She reached out and took the mail from him, her eyes darting to the open mailbox, then back to him. The desire to defend himself rose up inside him, but he resisted the urge.
“I’m Maddy.”
“I know.”
She riffled through the mail. “She hasn’t turned up yet then?”
“Afraid not.” He nodded toward the mail. “I thought I’d check and see if I could find any clues about where she might’ve gone.” It irritated him that he felt the need to explain himself to a woman who never even saw fit to visit her grandma.
As she breezed past him, a soft, feminine scent pulled at him. “I couldn’t reach Emma. She must still be in the air.”
“I left it unlocked,” he said, but she’d already twisted the knob and slipped inside.
***
Maddy stopped just inside the house. She’d forgotten the smell—a blend of salt air, lemon cleaner, and a hint of mustiness. A hundred memories rushed over her, good ones she’d forgotten, filled with laughter and childish glee. Bad ones, from that last summer, that stole her breath and tightened a vise around her heart.
The sound of feet shuffling behind her snapped her attention back to the present. She moved toward the kitchen. Warm evening light filtered through the gauzy curtains, giving the room a pale golden glow. Nothing had changed in recent years except the tablecloth and refrigerator.
“I didn’t move anything except her address book,” Connor said. “She left the cereal bowl and coffee mug on the table just as they are.”
Maddy eyed the ceramic dishes. There was a bit of discolored milk in the bottom of the bowl, concealing the bottom of the spoon. A folded-up newspaper sat nearby with a pair of readers. Did Gram have more than one pair? Her eyes drifted around the room, catching on the knitting bag slouched on a kitchen stool.
“She wouldn’t have left her knitting if she’d gone on a trip. She wouldn’t have left her dishes out either. I don’t like the looks of this.”
She turned to Connor and realized he towered over her. She put some space between them. “Are you sure she didn’t mention a trip?”
“Not to me, she didn’t. Or to any of her friends I spoke with.”
He had long golden hair, and his jaw was covered with at least a week’s worth of scruff. A wayward lock flopped over his forehead—just like Nick’s. What was it with guys and that stupid flop of hair? His eyes were gray, but maybe it was only the lighting that made them appear void of color.
“And that’s unusual?” she asked.
“She normally asks me to keep an eye on the place. I live right next door.” He jerked his head to the south. “And she usually sets the thermostat to conserve energy.”
Maddy walked over to the wall. The air was set to seventy, and it was running even now. She didn’t even know Gram had gotten central air.
Chills popped up on her arms that had nothing to do with temperature. She crossed them, brushing away the gooseflesh. She went up the stairs, relieved when Connor remained on the main floor. Maybe he sensed her distrust.
The steps squeaked in familiar places, and the collage of photographs on the wall made memories bubble up. Collecting shells on the seashore. Kayaking with Emma. Fishing with her dad. She popped each one of them with an imaginary pin.
