Page 4 of Knox

“Maybe,” Maggie agreed, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “But he’s shorthanded every summer, and he could use someone who actually gives a damn about this place.” She pushed off from the windowsill. “Just think about it, okay? We need heroes from May to September. Not Boy Scouts.”

I wanted to argue, but something in her expression stopped me. “You never answered my question. Rowdy how? And don’t tell me this is about rich people being loud.”

“It’s...” She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s a lot of things. You’ll see if you stick around a while. No reason to rush off anyhow. You said you’re done with the Corps. Take a beat before you make any big decisions. The house and business will take time to pack up and sell. Until then, just be here, you know?”

I folded my arms and nodded. “Yeah, all right.”

“Speaking of seeing things for yourself, my family’s catering a party tomorrow night at one of those new money beach houses. We could use some help. It’d be just like old times. And it’d mean a lot to my folks. What do you say?”

“Maybe,” I said, and her face lit up. “For old times’ sake, but I’ve got some guys from my unit coming home on leave tomorrow. They’re driving down to see me, trying to cheer me up. I might need to stick around and play host.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage on their own for an hour or two.” She motioned to the beach beyond the windows, then headed for the door. She paused with her hand on the frame. “Sleep on it. Everyone’s missed you around here.”

I followed her onto the porch, and she turned back one more time. “Hey, Knox?”

“Yeah?”

“That news story you were watching. About the missing hikers. That’s just about wrecked Nash. First one, we figured she got lost or had an accident. Second one, felt like a horrible coincidence. Third one?”

“Suggests a pattern,” I said.

The sharp dip of her chin said she agreed. “Nash is requesting help from the state police, but between you and me, he thinks something bad is happening here. Something worse than we want to admit.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I thought about the trails I’d hiked as a kid, the maritime forests that had felt magical and safe. The idea of something predatory lurking there felt wrong, like a violation of everything this island was supposed to be.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said quietly.

Maggie nodded and jogged down the front steps, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steadily crashing waves.

I went back inside and traded the empty box I’d been staring at all morning for a trash bag and filled it with junk mail from Mom’s overflowing kitchen counter. The formerly tidy stack had become a pile since my return.

A knocked my hand against a manila folder I hadn’t noticed at the bottom of the stack, spilling documents onto the floor.

I frowned at the newspaper clippings as I crouched to gather them. Each was about the missing hikers with headlines announcing their disappearances, search efforts, and communities in shock.

Rebecca Snow. Sarah Lake. Jessica Hammond.

But it wasn’t just the clippings. Mom had printed information about each woman. Social media profiles. Hiking forum posts. Map coordinates of where they’d last been seen. She’d highlighted certain details in yellow marker, and her familiar handwriting filled the margins with questions.

Why no distress call?

How did no one see anything?

Nothing was left behind?

My mother had been searching for them.

I flipped through additional pages. Trail maps with routes marked in red. Timelines comparing the three disappearances. Notes about weather conditions, moon phases, tourist traffic patterns. A list of people she’d talked to, including rangers, local guides, and other business owners.

She’d been doing more than just looking. Was she investigating?

I returned the papers to the folder, an idea forming in my mind. This was my mother’s last mission. And based on the dates on some of these notes, she’d been working on it right up until the day of her heart attack.

I grabbed my keys and headed for my Jeep. Island Adventures was only fifteen minutes away. Maybe I’d find more of her notes and research there.

Maybe I could do this one last thing for her.

Maybe I could finish what she’d started.