The sheriff stared down at his sandwich for a long beat before glancing up. “Don’t have their names. Or their number. And they’re out of state. Dead end.”
“I’ll get their contact info,” Arthur said. “And the footage. Whatever they’ve got, I’ll get it to you.”
The sheriff sighed, still not meeting our eyes. “Give it a shot.”
Arthur got to his feet, and I followed.
“And close the door on the way out.”
I put a hand on Arthur’s arm as we climbed the steps. “What you said. Was that for real? Do those people have cameras that might show Clare’s driveway? Can we actually check?”
“They bought the house last year. They’re both New York City lawyers. Bought it as an investment. They’re rarely here. And they’ve been a pain in my ass. I’ve been after them to cut out the weekend rentals.”
“If you hate them and they hate you, how are you going to make this work?”
“Hate’s a strong word, my love. They know they have to stay on my good side. It took them a while, but they’ve figured it’s in their best interest, what with my connections in this town. That’s the name of the game. I need something for the sheriff’s office, and my guess is they’ll be more than happy to cooperate.”
Everyone needed an ‘Arthur’ on their team. I wished I could take him back to the West Coast with me. Maybe even get some marital advice while I was at it.
“Where are you off to next?” he asked.
“O’Connor Mortuary,” I told him. “Do you know what Clare wanted as far as arrangements?”
“No pomp and ceremony, that’s for sure. She wouldn’t want anyone pretending they’d been close. If anything, she’d want to leave them all guessing. Nothing would make her happier than to have them whispering and hoping she’d taken some secret of theirs to the grave.”
Chapter Eight
Ocean
* * *
If Grandma Clare’s house was a discovery museum, Arthur’s Rainbow Reef Bookstore had always felt a little bit magical.
Ocean’s grandmother was a big believer in supporting her friend across the way, and Skye had followed in her footsteps. They both made it a rule to avoid ordering from big chains whenever they could. Most of the time, if Skye wanted a book, she’d call Arthur and have his assistant ship it to California. Their logo—a reef, a rainbow and curling script—was always on the packages. Their whimsical bookmarks had it too, and they were scattered all over their apartment, tucked inside cookbooks, novels, even between couch cushions.
When Ocean was younger, she never really understood why her mom went through all that trouble. Why not just click a button and have the book arrive in two days? But by the time she got to high school, it started to make sense. All those little indie bookstores near them in California were vanishing, one closing after another. Supporting Arthur’s store wasn’t just sentimental. It was survival.
Even though they’d visited Harbor View many summers, Ocean never really got the chance to explore the bookstore on her own. So when her mom called her and rattled off the errands she needed to run before coming back to the house, Ocean perked up.
“Why don’t you go check out the bookstore for a bit?” Skye had said.
Ocean didn’t need to be asked twice. She was still freaked out about what happened in the attic.
So the bookstore it was.
George Pappas had been working for Arthur for as long as Ocean could remember. She’d met him a bunch of times over the years. From what she knew, he’d started part-time back in high school, and last night Arthur mentioned he was now a grad student at the University of Rhode Island.
She remembered him clearly. Tall. Black. Thin. Kinda good-looking in a laid-back, slightly nerdy way. Funny, too. Quick-witted with a dry sense of humor that sometimes caught her off guard. She’d always wondered if he might be gay, like Arthur. His glasses were perpetually crooked, and his curly hair, short now, was still just as untamable as hers. And every time she’d seen him, he had a book in his hand.
Crossing the street and going into Rainbow Reef Books was like stepping into another world. The smell of paper and old wood filled her senses instantly. And there he was, George, perched behind the counter, eyes glued to a thick paperback. Nothing had changed.
Except maybe she had. Because when he looked up, he didn’t recognize her at first. He was sizing her up like she might be a lost tourist or someone about to ask for the bathroom key.
“Hi, George. I’m Ocean,” she said. “From across the street? Clare’s granddaughter.”
It took a beat.
“Oh, man! Ocean!” His expression softened, the corner of his mouth tilting into a sad little smile. He hopped off the stool and came around the counter to give her a hug. “I’m really sorry about your grandma. I liked her a lot.”
