“I know you watchUnder the Surfaceon streaming.”
“Oh, I do. I love that show,” Kenzi says.
“At the end, when the credits roll, there’s the name Jill Thorne.”
“I think she works on more than justUnder the Surface.”
Ali replies, “What’s interesting is that she is the sister of one of the girls who went missing.”
“The one in the hospital?”
“I hope so.”
“What happened to the other girl?”
“They haven’t released the names yet,” Ali says. “One girl is dead.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Do the people of the fish town think these were also accidents?”
“Nope. Small Blue Gil has a murder mystery on its hands.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
As the back stoop illuminates, I let out my breath and unlock the door. “Becky, come in.”
With her arms crossed over her chest, Becky enters the cottage with a shiver. “Damn, it cooled off fast.” She rubs her hands over her upper arms. “I was about to pull out a key.”
I look down at the corkscrew, lifting it for her to see, and grin. “I’m glad you didn’t. I might have poked your eye out.”
“Eww.” Her nose scrunches. “Don’t say that.”
I close and lock the door behind her. After a peek out the window, I choose to leave the porch light on.
As I turn, Becky pulls me into a hug. “Jillian, I’m so sorry about Julie.”
Taking a step back, I look at my good friend, wondering what exactly she knows. “Thanks, Beck. She’s alive. I guess we need to count our blessings.”
Turning her head, Becky eyes my glass of wine near my computer.
“Would you like a glass?” I offer.
“After the last few days—weeks—how about the whole bottle?” She walks closer to the breakfast bar, inspecting my notebook and computer. “What are you doing?”
“Some research.” Putting down the corkscrew, I open a cupboard and retrieve another wine glass.
She’s looking at my computer screen, undoubtedly seeing the multiple open tabs. “You’re not still digging around about Coach Gilbert, are you?”
“What?” I hand her the glass with red wine. “No, not really. I still have questions about that. Now my attention is on Julie and Marty.”
Becky lets out a long breath as she climbs onto the other barstool at the breakfast bar peering down at my notes before lifting the picture I borrowed from Julie’s bedroom. “Look at them, all sweet and innocent.”
“About as innocent as we were at their age, I suspect.”
