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She’d walked the
se paths before with her mother, but not since her teens. They were more of a maze than she remembered them, and the heat, combined with her own exhaustion and panic, made it hard to concentrate.
She tried not to think about her mother’s letter. Part suicide note, part confession, it was the rambling product of a truly addled, broken mind. The tone shifted wildly throughout. There was the matter-of-factness with which she wrote about Michael—I know it’ll hurt you darling, but I’m afraid it had to be done—the eerie biblical references woven through the text that showed how wholly deranged and psychotic Lucy had become. She’s ill, Summer thought. She needs help. But nothing could excuse or conceal the bald facts of what her mother had done, and what she intended to do.
I have to find her. I have to.
If she sees the police, she’ll panic.
Summer was close to the ocean now, could hear the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the cliffs. A crunch beneath her feet made her stop. She stooped down and picked up an empty plastic water bottle. It was Nantucket Springs, the brand her mother bought.
“Mom!” she shouted into the wind.
Nothing.
“Mom, it’s me, Summer. Can you hear me?”
But her words were swallowed, not by the wind or the tide, but by another noise.
A noise coming from above.
Lucy Meyer looked up.
Helicopter. That’s all I need.
It was probably just the coast guard on a routine flight. Then again, Summer would have read her letter by now. She couldn’t take any chances.
Alexia was still unconscious. Pulling her hands behind her back and locking the cuffs into place, Lucy dragged her back under the brow of the cliff. She was so frail and malnourished it was like pulling a rag doll. No chopper would see them here. But they couldn’t hide out forever. Already the tides were rising. Within an hour, the cove would be completely submerged.
“Wake up, damn you.” Lucy shook Alexia by the shoulders. A faint movement of the lips, little more than a flutter, but it was enough. Lucy felt relief flood through her.
She’s coming back.
Arnie Meyer spoke into his mouthpiece.
“See anything?”
The police reconnaissance officer shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Can you ask the pilot to go lower?”
“Not really. We have to be careful. Winds can be very changeable out here and these cliffs are no joke.”
“Yes, but my daughter . . .”
The policeman reached across and put a hand on Arnie’s shoulder. “If she’s out here, sir, we’ll find her. Doug, take her down a little, would you?”
They swooped lower over the waves.
Chapter Forty-one
Alexia woke up to find her legs submerged in water. She felt a moment’s blind panic—where am I? Then the pain in her ankle reasserted itself, shooting through her like a lightning bolt, and it all came back.
Lucy.
The cove.
The gun.
