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“No. I saw him talking to someone from the festival committee, then he went behind the bandstand.”

“Did you see anyone follow him?”

I thought back over the scene, trying to separate what I’d actually seen from what I’d assumed. “Not that I noticed.”

“Did anything about him seem unusual?”

The answer was yes, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to turn a vague impression into something that sounded more definite than it was.

“He seemed distracted. I saw him checking his watch, and he looked like he was waiting for someone. I can’t say for sure.”

Josiah nodded, taking in my words without showing whether they meant anything to him.

“Thank you. I’ll want to speak to you properly once we’ve got the scene under control. For now, stay with Tammy and Ricky, and don’t discuss what you saw with anyone else.”

“I understand.”

He started to turn away, then paused. “Max?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry this happened tonight.”

The words were simple, but the look in his eyes made them feel heavier. He wasn’t only speaking as the sheriff. He was speaking to someone he’d once loved, someone he’d left behind without giving him the courtesy of an explanation.

I wanted to ask him whether he was all right, whether he’d had any idea this might happen, whether there was anything he wasn’t telling me. Instead, I nodded and let him return to his work.

Ricky and Tammy stayed close as the remaining festivalgoers were directed into groups to give their statements. The committee had begun switching off the decorative lights along the path, and the stalls were closing early. A few people lingered, unwilling to leave without knowing more, but the deputies were firm, and the crowd slowly dispersed once their details had been taken.

The festival had been a celebration only minutes earlier. Now the harbor seemed stripped of its warmth, the music silenced, the food stalls abandoned, and the bright strings of lights casting long, cold shadows across the empty dance area.

I looked back toward the bandstand one last time.

Harvey Sinclair had been found dead at a community festival, behind a stage where people had gathered to enjoy an ordinary Sunday evening. Josiah hadn’t told us what he believed had happened, and I knew better than to assume that the questions he’d asked meant he’d already decided it was murder. Still, he’d wanted to know whether anyone had seen Harvey go behind the bandstand with someone else, and he’d been careful to keep the area clear. Whatever had happened, the sheriff wasn’t treating it as a straightforward medical emergency.

I had seen Harvey on Friday, heard him argue with Owen Price, and watched him react to a message that had clearly unsettled him. Now he was dead, and the words on that screen were all I could think about.

You should have left it buried twenty years ago.

I didn’t know what Harvey had buried, who wanted it to stay hidden, or whether the secret had anything to do with what had happened behind the bandstand. But I had the uneasy feeling that the answer was waiting somewhere in Hartwell Cove, and that once Josiah began asking questions, the past wasn’t going to stay buried much longer.

This year’s festival was going to be legendary for all the wrong reasons, that was for certain.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE SHERIFF’S SIDE OF THE STORY

Josiah

The first cry for help barely registered over the music and conversation, but the second cut through the noise sharply enough to make me turn toward the bandstand.

“Somebody call the sheriff! Please! We need the sheriff!”

Deputy Peters was beside me, and we moved toward the frightened volunteer hurrying away from the backstage area. Her face had gone white, and she was shaking badly enough that she could barely point toward the temporary structure behind the bandstand.

“What happened?” I asked.

“There’s a man back there. I think he’s dead.” She whispered the last word.