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I keep my gaze ahead, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of staring at my scars. “I have my reasons for doing so.”
“Fine. I won’t waste your time with formalities. I want to know who the members of Schadenfreude are.”
“No you don’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“Knowing puts you at grave risk. Consider it a favor that I keep you in the dark. By telling you, I’ll essentially place a big-ass bullseye on your back, and all that hard work you’ve put into this case? Gone.” Lips pressed to a hard line, I shake my head. “I’m not naming members.”
“Okay. Then, what is your role?”
“My role is obscure. I’m neither subscribed to their philosophies, nor bound by their laws. I’m a floating entity, tied only to them through a long lineage of loyal membership and shitty genetics.”
“You’re saying you don’t agree with them, but you follow them, anyway.”
“If that blows your skirt up, then I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
The sound of him huffing is laughable, like a toddler who’s been denied candy. Even if he has a clue what the group was about, there’s a skyscraper of an iceberg beneath the surface that’ll take him decades to chip away. “You agreed to this meeting for an exchange of information, and so far you’ve given me nothing.”
“Perhaps because that’s exactly what you’re searching for. Air. A void. The pause of an inhale. The space between one sentence and the next. Even if I gave you all the information you’re looking for, you’d never find them. They’ve spent years perfecting the art of hiding what they are.”
“Okay …” He shakes his head with a mirthless chuckle. “What’s the point of this, then?”
“I’m glad you finally asked. The real puzzle in all of this is what happens to Isa.”
“Isa? What about her? What does she have to do with Schadenfreude?”
“Or better, what doesn’t she have to do with it?” A quick glimpse at him, and I cast my gaze back toward the endless sea. “The future of this collective lies with me. When I’m gone, they have no funding. No research. No validity to their bullshit.”
“Yet, you don’t subscribe to their methods, at all.”
“Have you been paying attention, Mr. Goodman?” A sailboat sits on the edge of the horizon, nothing but a dot on the line. A point of convergence. Reference. Direction in a vast sea. The more I stare at it, the more it seems to encapsulate my thoughts. “Beyond Isa Quinn is a black void for me. A point on the horizon that I can’t see past. If you want answers, I suggest you pay close attention to her.”
A beat of silence follows, before he clears his throat. “Are you asking me to follow her?”
“I insist you follow her.”
“To what end? You haven’t given me anything valuable.”
“I have. By admitting what’s most valuable to me. But if that’s not enough, I’m willing to double whatever you’re currently being paid to be a pain in my ass.”
He snorts and rubs his forehead, as if a headache is blooming there. “Fine. You consider her valuable. Then, I’ll keep a close watch on her.”
“Good. And should you need to contact me, here is where you can reach me directly.” I slide a business card across the bench, which he accepts by sliding it toward him.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackthorne. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 59
Isadora
The small Tupperware container filled with my mother’s ashes sits in the sand beside me, as I tip back a bottle of Boone’s Farm I stole from Aunt Midge’s stash.
I’ve taken just a small bit of the ashes to scatter into the ocean, the one place I know my mom would love to be. The spot is a small cove where Aunt Midge brought me to swim, when I first arrived in Tempest. Away from all the tourists and meddling eyes, a small piece of heaven that belonged only to us.
“Do you remember the night, when I was eight years old, you and I ran down to the ocean? We plopped in the sand, and you let me try strawberry Boone’s for the first time. You told me it was your favorite, because it reminded you of hot summer nights and sunsets in Tempest Cove. And afterward, we stripped down to our underwear and jumped into the waves for a night swim.” Staring into the bottle of pink alcohol, I smile. “I think that was my favorite moment with you.” The setting sun casts vibrant colors over the surface, as I tip back a sip of the drink and slam the bottle into the sand beside me.
I swipe up the container of ashes and dig open the lid, careful not to spill any of the contents prematurely. With my blue jeans rolled up to my calves, I wade into the water, letting the waves crash against my ankles. Arm outstretched away from me, I sprinkle the ashes into the shallow waters around me, and watch as they gather on the surface, the bigger fragments sinking to the sand.
