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I let out a breath of shock. “Colt.”
His bloodshot eyes flit to me. “I had to do something, Zo. You didn’t hear that girl.” He points towards the door with the cigarette pinched between fingers. “I did. And she was dying.”
“Okay,” I say into a nod. “You’re right. You had to do something. So what did Sheriff Carmichael say?”
Colt sobers. “He laughed in my face.”
I’m not surprised. The sheriff hates us. Mostly Brian. But I suppose we’re extensions of our brother.
“That’s bullshit. He has to take you seriously,” I refute. “You’re the lighthouse keeper.”
Colt takes a breath. “I don’t have any evidence, Zo. No one saw a boat leave the harbor that night. And I can’t find any proof that an Augustine Anders exists. She’s a ghost.”
“What about the distress call? Is there a recording?”
“That’s the weird part. The system is set to auto-record, but…it didn’t that night.”
I frown. “Colt. Have you ever thought that maybe this is some elaborate hoax?”
He shakes his head over and over. “No. No. No. You didn’t hear her, Zoey. There was water and wind. Fuck, the wind!” He shoots up to his feet and paces. “She was on the water. I know what it sounds like.”
“Okay, Colt.” I rise slowly. Carefully. “I believe you.”
He’s already storming over to his wall of maps. “I just need to find some evidence. Something that’ll get that fucker off his chair and out there looking for her.”
Another chill creeps down my back. “It’s been over three months. Even if you did find evidence that she exists, she’s probably…” The word lodges in the back of my throat.
Colt has turned to look at me, his eyes still bloodshot. “Say it.”
I can’t.
In my silence, he says, “I know she’s probably dead. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?”
“They’re letting their hatred of our family turn their back on a girl. On a human life. They need to see what they did to her.” His face breaks. “And they think I’m crazy, Zoey.” He chokes on the words and motions angrily towards the door. “The whole fucking town. I’m okay with being the son of a murderer, but I am not crazy.”
“I know, Colt.” I take a breath. “So let’s do this. Let’s find some evidence that Augustine Anders exists.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have any leads, Zoey.”
“No one in this town will talk to you, right?” I ask.
He nods.
“So maybe they’ll talk to me,” I tell him. “I’m a Durand, but I’ve been gone awhile. The gossipmongers are going to want all the dirt on me. I have leverage.”
Pain lances his face. “I can’t ask you to do this for me. You need to leave.”
“I’m not leaving.” I exhale roughly. “Jesus Christ, how many times do I have to say it?”
He touches his chest like he’s hurting all over. “I don’t want you cursed like me.”
Cursed.
This is his curse.
I go cold. “Did…did the Roberts…”
He nods.
He’s in the history museum.
“Already?” I breathe out.
He rubs at his swollen eyes. “Colt Durand, cursed at twenty-nine. Believes he saw a girl drown in the lake, and he let the madness consume him.”
Anger ruptures through my chest. “Fuck them. They were just waiting with bated breath to put you in that fucked-up museum.”
He snuffs his cigarette out in an ashtray. “Probably.” He looks to me. “But that’s why I don’t want to encourage you to stay, Zoey. You know they’ll find a way to write you in. You’re the last Durand not in those books.”
I’ll be okay, I want to say.
I’m not the same girl who left, sits on the tip of my tongue too.
I’m stronger, I truly believe.
But all those truths are lost to what he said. The legend. The curse. The longer I stay in town, the more I’ll play with my own fate. I’m willing to take the risk—even if I’m going up against Mistpoint Harbor itself.
CHAPTER 12
Zoey Durand
Colt won’t let me stay with him. No surprise there since he basically told October giving me room and board was signing my death warrant. He doesn’t want that on his hands either.
When I leave the lighthouse, I find my suitcase outside the door. Propped up next to a broken bench. Thank you, October.
I’m surprised she didn’t include a bus ticket as a parting gift. No cookies accompany my luggage, but before I grab the handle, I see something wrapped in pretty pink tissue paper.
I unfurl the tissue to find a gooey cinnamon roll.
Still warm.
My heart elevates.
I try to find a note. Like the ones she’d put in my locker with pastries. But she didn’t leave one this time.
My heart sinks.
She left me food. That has to mean something. Or maybe she just didn’t want me to go hungry. I bite into the most perfect cinnamon roll just as my phone pings. October.
