This isn’t a nightmare.
This is real.
Death has come to Tigertail Beach again.
“I—” My voice falters, then steadies by force. “I’ll call the police.”
I turn and run, the world narrowing to the singular need to act, to do something. I barely register the stairs as I take them two at a time, grabbing my phone from the nightstand before rushing back down, already dialing.
By the time I reach the yard again, the line connects.
“There’s been a murder at Tigertail Beach Estates,” I say, the words spilling out before anything else.
The next minutes blur together, my voice distant to my own ears as I answer questions I don’t have answers to. A man is down. A gunshot wound. No, I didn’t see it happen. Yes, we just found him like this.
Behind me, Bennett has pulled Chrissy away from the body, holding her as she shakes, her sobs breaking through the morning air in uneven bursts. He murmurs something to her, steady, grounding, the same way he always does when everything else is falling apart.
I want to go to him.
I want to collapse into that steadiness.
But I stay where I am, the phone still pressed to my ear, the scene in front of me refusing to let go.
Sirens cut through the distance, growing louder, sharper, until the first patrol car swings into the driveway, followed quickly by another, then another. The ambulance isn’t far behind.
I hang up just as the chaos begins.
Officers move quickly, efficiently, their voices low and controlled as they assess the scene. One kneels beside Phillip’s body, checking for something we all already know isn’t there.
“He’s dead,” I hear one of them say.
The confirmation lands heavily, final in a way that makes everything else shift.
Chrissy must hear it too, because her sobs deepen, her body folding in on itself as Bennett holds her tighter. An officer steps closer, speaking gently, asking questions she can’t seem to answer.
They’ll take her in.
They always do.
Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, her face pale beneath the streaks of blood. She looks younger than I’ve ever seen her, stripped of whatever composure she usually carries, reduced to something raw and shaken.
Innocent.
Unless—the thought surfaces before I can stop it—officers will probably assume she’scausedthis horror show.
I push it down just as quickly.
Because right now, all I know is this.
Phillip is dead.
And whatever was building beneath the surface of this neighborhood has finally broken through.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“So you’re telling me you didn’t hear a gunshot?”
The officer stands on our front porch, his posture relaxed in a way that feels practiced rather than natural, his eyes sharp despite the casual tilt of his head. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my skin tighten, as if he’s already decided I’m worth watching.
