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On the same night, a long-time acquaintance of the Cavallaros, Giovanni “Carp Face” Ferrara, was found floating face-down in his hot tub by a maid. Sixty-seven-year-old Ferrara, who was often seen driving around the area in a vintage Rolls Royce, was rumoured to be Vito Cavallaro’s right-hand man. The two had known each other since they were teenagers. One acquaintance said of Ferrara, “he died as he lived—quietly yet terribly.”
The words warmed Nico’s heart. Once again, Emmy had come through in spectacular style. An elevator shaft? That was something special, an end the Bad Samaritan would have taken pride in. Could she have been involved? Nico knew better than to ask.
But the woman’s identity still bothered him. She clearly knew a lot about the residents of Baldwin’s Shore, too much for comfort, and yet she never showed her face. Nico had taken to studying every female resident, careful not to stare too long or too hard, but he hadn’t picked up troublesome vibes from anyone.
She was a ghost. A wraith. She’d appeared in the forest out of nowhere, and Nico had no idea how. He’d left his broken phone in the car, so she hadn’t tracked him that way, and Emmy had mentioned that they didn’t have the number for Cesare’s burner. When Nico returned home, he’d checked his clothes for a tracking device. There was nothing. Which left satellites. Was that even possible? The tree cover would have made following by eye a futile endeavour, so maybe some type of thermal imaging? If anyone had access to that kind of technology, it would be Emerson Black.
Cesare, on the other hand, had used the KISS approach—Keep It Simple, Stupid. Blackwood’s cutting-edge technology had nearly been defeated by an AirTag. Nico would have laughed if it hadn’t been so horrific.
Matty toddled into the room with Not-Shelley in his arms. Thank goodness he’d taken to the new toy—Shelley 1.0 was in an evidence locker somewhere, and Kaylin said if she ever set eyes on that snail again, she’d toss it off a cliff. Not-Shelley, on the other hand, was Matty’s lucky charm. He carried her everywhere.
Even through the forest.
The forest…
Fuck.
The pieces clicked together in Nico’s head. Where had Not-Shelley come from? She’d been handmade by a woman in Baldwin’s Shore. A woman… Darla wasn’t an Oregon native. She’d moved here not long before he did.
“Here’s your toast, Matty. Do you want juice?”
“Yes, juice.”
Nico traded the plate for the snail. Good thing the boy liked breakfast. He’d eat at least half a slice of toast and jelly before he lost interest, and that allowed Nico time to give Not-Shelley a once-over, checking for any sneaky little additions that shouldn’t be there. But he came up blank. No lumps, no bumps, no hidden tracker.
Maybe he’d been wrong?
He filled Matty’s sippy cup and focused on the toy again.
“Do you have a secret?” he asked it. “Or am I going mad?”
Unsurprisingly, there was no answer, and perhaps he was losing his mind? A shiny blue eye stared back at him, unblinking. The eye… He flipped the toy over and checked the other side. The eyes looked similar, but one was a shade darker. He probed the snail’s face gently with his finger, and on the inside, the left eye was noticeably larger.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Darla?
Holy fuck, she was hiding in plain sight. Kind of. She kept herself well-covered. He’d never actually seen her ass, thanks to the ridiculous clothes she wore, but on the surface, she was the perfect American. Never put a foot wrong. But would he really expect anything else from the Bad Samaritan? Nico closed his eyes, picturing her face. She could be Viktoria. Darla was pretty, even though she made an effort not to be. Memorable, but for her outfits rather than her features.
The whole Bad Samaritan thing had started with Brooke, and she was as close to Darla as anyone got. Brie’s rescue had come next, and Brie was tight with the same group. Then there was the vendetta against the Baldwins…
It fit.
The pieces fit.
Nico picked up the phone and dialled the Craft Cabin. Paulo answered, as exuberant as ever.
“This is the Craft Cabin. How can I help you on this lovely day?”
“It’s Nico from the Peninsula. Is Darla there? I know she’s been speaking with Kaylin about cross-stitch, and I was hoping to buy more kits as a surprise.”
“Darla’s working at the new store in Virginia this week, but I can help. We have some fabulous new kits in. Does Kaylin like flowers?”
Darla was working at a new store in Virginia? No, she fucking wasn’t. She was busy drop-kicking Fausto Cavallaro down an elevator shaft in New York; Nico would bet every cent he had on that. But nice cover story.
“Just send one of everything over.”
“All of them?”
