Page 36 of Still Missing You

I want to tell him I’m fine, but the truth is I’m not sure that I am. “Yeah, maybe. Probably for the best.” Admitting that costs me more than I want to acknowledge.

He helps me climb into the passenger seat before hurrying back to the driver’s side and climbing in behind the wheel. As he slams the door closed behind him, I pop open the glove compartment and dig around until I find the bottle of ibuprofen I keep there. I can feel Dylan’s worried gaze on me while I dry-swallow two pills. When I finally look at him, he asks, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that bad, just stiff, and it kind of went out on me back there, but I’m okay now.” Mostly.

He doesn’t look as if he believes me. “Do you need a doctor, or maybe we should take you to the hospital, get it checked out?”

Shaking my head, I toss the pill bottle back into the glove compartment and close the door. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s the damp, and sitting cooped up in the car all day yesterday made it stiff. The painkillers will help, and I’ll ice it once we’re back at the inn.”

Before Dylan can argue anymore, the back door opens, and Justine climbs into the backseat.

“I need you to drive before someone sees me,” she says, eyes flicking toward the store.

Chapter Fourteen

Dylan

Istart the truck and glance at Hunter, but he just shrugs. Justine shifts in the backseat, her gaze bouncing from one window to another as if she’s trying to watch every direction at once.

“Are you in danger?” Hunter asks, turning in his seat. I catch him wincing, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and rub his knee. I know it’s hurting more than he wants me to believe, and I want him back in our room on our bed, so he can rest.

“I don’t know,” Justine says, settling behind me and pulling on her seatbelt. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea that anyone sees me talking to you. People notice things in this town, and once they do, they don’t forget it.”

“Where should I go?” I ask, backing out of the parking spot.

“I don’t know.”

Justine guides me from the parking lot, through downtown, and to a pretty park on the edge of a fast-running river. Surrounded by bare trees, it was probably prettier in warmer months, but on a rainy day at the end of winter, no one is around.

I steer us into an empty parking lot next to a playground and cut the engine. Silence settles over the car, except for the steady hush from the river and the squeak from the metal chains on the swings in front of us every time the wind kicks up.

“You know,” Hunter says, twisting in his seat and flashing Justine a disarming smile that softens his features. “We appreciate you agreeing to talk to us, but this is a pretty remote spot to meet two strange men you don’t know.”

“I know,” she says, looking out the window next to her. “It’s weird. Lately, I feel safer with strangers than with people I’ve known my whole life.”

Hunter frowns. “Why is that?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns away from the window and looks at me. Her eyes are dark and hard, and I feel like she can see right through me. “Are you really Matthew’s cousin?”

“No,” I tell her. The way Kirkland easily poked holes in my cover story yesterday proved how flimsy it had been. No point in keeping it going. “He worked for me for a few weeks, and we became friends. When he disappeared, I wasn’t sure there was anyone else who would look for him.”

Her throat bobs as if she’s struggling to swallow, and her eyes turn glassy. “You’re not wrong. I don’t think anyone else would look for him, except me.”

“Doesn’t he have an aunt back in Maine?” Hunter asks. “I thought she looked after him after his mother...”

“Disappeared?” Justine asks. She knew about Matthew’s mother. He’d confided in her more than he ever had me. How much did she know about why he’d come to Coldwater, and how much would she actually tell us?

Hunter leans closer. “That’s right. Did he tell her where he was going, or why?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. Matty said he felt like an obligation, and she seemed relieved when he told her he was leaving.”

He couldn’t have told her about his plans for his movie. No matter how ambivalent his aunt’s feelings were toward him, I doubted she would have been okay with him coming here if she’d known the subject of his film.

“I don’t think he spoke to her once he started living in Coldwater,” Justine adds.

“Did he tell you about his film?” I ask. “What it’s about?”

Justine nibbles on her lower lip and nods. “He told me he wanted to make a movie about the disappearances connected to Coldwater. I thought it was kind of dumb, you know? I mean, people disappear everywhere. If Coldwater were any different, wouldn’t the police be doing something about it?”