Page 67 of In the Dead of Night

EPILOGUE

The curtains billowed and snapped at the balcony, ushering in the scent of the sea and a warm kiss of California sunshine. Outside, gulls cartwheeled and swooped, their cries carrying like the sound of children’s laughter. Beyond, the Pacific Ocean churned blue and green, capped with white in a kaleidoscope of color so lovely it took Sara’s breath away.

Three weeks had passed since that terrible day on the cliffs. Brett Stocker had died at the scene from a bullet wound. The following day, his father, Blaine, had been arrested in connection with the film Sara had found. He admitted to murdering four young women twenty-five years ago and capturing their deaths on film. He also confessed to the murders of Nicholas Tyson and Alexandra and Richard Douglas, who’d been working on a tell-all book.

Sara was still recovering from the bullet wound that had grazed her left bicep. Eight stitches and she’d been released from the hospital the next day. That same morning, she’d contacted the Cape Darkwood Press and spent an afternoon with a young reporter hungry to make his mark in the world of journalism. The next day a front-page article shocked the community with a truth no one could ever have imagined, exonerating her father and the reputations of Nicholas Tyson and Alexandra Douglas.

Much to Sara’s surprise, the young journalist had also interviewed the caretaker, and discovered Skeeter had been the one to write the warnings on her car. Not to frighten her, of course, but to warn her of the dangers. Unable to speak and frightened of the police, it was the only way he could think of to try to keep her safe. The unsettling nature of the messages was due only to his near illiteracy.

Sara had also learned what happened the day someone pushed her off the cliff. Skeeter had seen Brett Stocker snooping around the mansion. Skeeter tried to warn Sara by leaving the message on her car. He’d expected her to flee, but she’d surprised him by giving chase. Frightened, Skeeter had run toward his cottage down the beach. The caretaker later told the police that Brett Stocker had been the one to push her from the cliff.

And then there was Nick.

Just thinking of him made Sara’s breath hitch. He hadn’t left her side the entire time she’d been in the hospital. It had been there, in the chaos of the emergency room that he’d proposed. And it was there that Sara had accepted.

Stepping back from the mirror, she frowned. “It’s too tight,” she said.

“It’s perfect.” Sonia smoothed the waterfall of ivory satin with her palm and stepped back to admire the dress.

“The veil is crooked.”

“The veil is exactly right.”

“What about the bouquet?”

“Stop being so persnickety. I’ve got it right here.”

“It’s my wedding day. I’ve got a right to be persnickety.”

Laughing, Sonia handed her sister the bouquet of salmon-colored roses. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Taking the flowers, Sara grinned. “I’m terrified.”

Sonia stopped fussing with the flowers and looked at her younger sister. “Terrified of what, honey?”

“Everything. Nothing.” Realizing she wasn’t making any sense whatsoever, Sara choked out a laugh. “I want to get this right.”

“You got the most important thing right.” Sonia squeezed her shoulder. “I talked to him this morning, sis. He’s so in love with you he couldn’t take his eyes off the staircase where you’ll be making your appearance.”

The thought of Nick waiting for her downstairs calmed her frazzled nerves. “I’m crazy about him.”

Stepping back, Sonia eyed the dress her younger sister wore and smiled. “You’re beautiful. Mom would have loved it that you’re wearing her dress.”

“It feels right.”

They were standing in the same room they had shared as sisters. Sara in her wedding gown, Sonia in her matron-of-honor gown. With the sun shining through the balcony doors and the ocean breeze filling the room with the scent of the sea, Sara thought it couldn’t be any more perfect.

“I think Mom and Dad would have liked the wedding taking place here at the house,” she said.

Sonia’s eyes went misty. “Good memories to replace the bad.”

“I wish they could be here.”

Smiling, Sonia hugged her sister. “They are, honey.”

A quiet tap on the door spun both women around. Before Sonia could answer, the door opened. Tension crept up the back of Sara’s neck when Laurel Tyson appeared. She wore a soft-blue dress with matching shoes. Her tastefully coifed silver hair was piled on top of her head. She looked elegant and regal, but her eyes were melancholy.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.