Arthur fast-forwarded the video, and in the next shot, the same person came back into view, quickly disappearing down the street.
Arthur backed up the video and zoomed in on the man’s face.
I didn’t recognize him. Though, to be fair, I hadn’t lived here in years. “Who is he?”
“Mateo.” The handyman cursed under his breath. “One of my helpers. He’ll be senior at the high school this fall. Comes in before and after classes. Weekends too. He’s a good kid. Rough home life, lots of family trouble. But damn it, he’s solid. What the hell is he doing here?”
“I have to hand this over to the sheriff,” Arthur said.
“Don’t,” Bernie barked. “You know what happens to kids like him. Toss ’em in jail and lose the key. That boy can’t afford a lawyer. His family depends on every dime he makes and brings home.”
He kept talking about Mateo as I looked closer at the image on Arthur’s phone. It was difficult to make out his features, shadowed by the hoodie.
“Let me bring him here after school this afternoon,” Bernie said. “You can talk to him then. He was helping me move furniture into the barn that morning. There’s got to be a reason why he came back. He only turned seventeen last month. I don’t want to ruin his life if he can explain.”
I had a teenager. I knew how vulnerable they were and how easily they made reckless decisions. The impulsiveness, the need to prove themselves, it made them susceptible to things they didn’t fully understand. I had seen the stupid choices, the mistakes made in the heat of the moment. My head was still pounding, but I forced myself to focus.
One thing was for sure. The three of us had a better chance of getting answers than some bored sheriff sitting behind his desk. I’d met Craggs. He was more focused on his breakfast and his retirement than on getting to the bottom of any possible crime. He’d definitely shown no interest in figuring out what happened to Clair.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s talk to him this afternoon.”
Chapter Eleven
Ocean
* * *
Ocean opened her eyes as the muffled sounds of conversation in the kitchen pulled her up from the edges of sleep. She recognized Arthur’s voice, but the other one didn’t ring a bell. Her mom had said today was supposed to be a ‘stay home and deal with paperwork’ kind of day.
Last night, Ocean had grabbed the blanket from her grandma’s favorite chair. Wrapped in its softness—with its faded colors and the scent of something old and comforting—grief had crashed over her like a wave, making sleep impossible.
Grandma Clare was gone. For real. No more random FaceTime calls. No more talking about school drama or annoying girls or what she should wear to the next dance. No more secret surfing lessons Clare had slipped her the cash for. What they had was their own thing—Ocean and her grandma. She’d talked to Clare way more than she ever talked to her mom. And every time they did, it felt like a hug. Safe and warm, like everything was going to be okay. Her grandmother had been her rock.
When it hit her last night, she’d cried into her pillow, keeping the sobs quiet so her mom wouldn’t hear. Eventually, exhaustion had dragged her under with the damp pillow pressed to her cheek and Clare’s blanket wrapped tight around her.
Now, blinking back a tear that had slipped free, Ocean swiped at her face and reached for her phone. Crying wasn’t going to bring her back.
She texted Ivy.
You up?
No answer. She checked the time. 8:27. She didn’t even know what time zone Ivy was in anymore.
She breathed in the familiar scent of the blanket one more time before tossing it aside and sitting up.
She gasped.
Last night, the room had looked like a hurricane had blown through it. She’d planned to get organized today. When she went to bed, her suitcase had been open on the floor, clothes spilling out. The books she’d gotten from Arthur’s bookstore lay scattered everywhere.
But now?
Everything was…neat. Weirdly straightened out. Some of her clothes were folded and tucked back into the open suitcase, neater than she ever left them. Neater than when she packed. The closet door was open. Dresses and shirts hung up. They were evenly spaced, as if someone had been looking them over, judging them or something.
“What the fuck?”
The Harbor View history and map books were now stacked in a perfect little tower on the desk, spines all lined up. A few had sticky notes sticking out like bookmarks. It looked like someone had actually been reading them and leaving notes on pages that needed to be checked out.
Ocean rubbed her eyes and blinked, still half-convinced she was dreaming.
