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CHAPTER 21
Zoey Durand
This fake book isn’t going to write itself. That’s the mantra I’ve repeated to myself every single day since October told me about the book event.
And every single day—I have written approximately zero words.
Mantra sucks. Into the toilet it goes!
I’m not kicking myself too hard, since I did get shit done. Just not book shit. Instead, I spent the past week hunting down Augustine Anders. And isn’t that why I’m here in the first place? I need to solve this mystery, not write a fake book that will never be published.
I searched phonebooks from nearby cities and scoured social media for any Augustine Anders. For as unique as her name is, the search results came up empty. I even tried variations of the name Augustine Anderson, August Anders, Augustine Landers. So far there’s nothing. Yesterday, I begged the ferry attendant to give me ferry records, but she said they couldn’t release them. I was pushy enough that she threatened to call Sheriff Carmichael.
Once October stepped in, the college-aged ferry attendant stumbled over her words—and not just because October is supremely hot. (Although, I wouldn’t have blamed her.) She recognized October—knew of her family—and she mumbled, “I, uh, I can’t…”
“Why not?” October questioned. “You won’t get in any trouble. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I think I will…uh, you should go. Right now.” She checked over her shoulder. Like someone was spying on us.
October pressed on, but the ferry attendant literally ran. She left her post, and October, with her eagle-eyes and single-minded mission was two-seconds from chasing this girl down—but I grabbed her wrist.
“Let her go. She’s scared.”
She made a peeved face. “We were practically poking her with a feather. We were soft.”
“What do you want to do? Tie her up to a chair? Shine a flashlight in her eyes?”
“That’s not a terrible idea.” She was still searching for the ferry attendant!
“Okay, we’re leaving.” I adore October and her wolfish instincts, but I’d rather use them against the town council, not some college-aged girl who’s just doing her job.
I realize I’m a shit buddy-cop or buddy-villain (I’m questioning what side of the law we’re truly on)—but if Sheriff Carmichael showed up, the chances of only me being thrown in jail were high.
“Strange,” October said to me on our way back to the Jeep.
“You think the ferry attendant is hiding something?”
“I think someone is telling her to be quiet. It’s likely the town knows I’m helping you with your book.” So people aren’t opening up to October like we’d planned.
We weren’t exactly discreet at the Lock Ceremony, but I can’t wish for a redo. I love that October held my hand in front of the town. I love that they realize she’s on my side and not theirs.
I waited at the Jeep for October to fish out her keys. “Why would the town council warn or threaten the ferry attendant? Why would they think we’d go here if we were just inquiring about the history of Mistpoint?”
Our questions circled around the same theory. The town council is tricking Colt into believing this mystery girl actually exists. Anna Roberts told October to “drop it” and we’re clearly not following demands.
So they’re one step ahead of us and trying to hide their evil deed.
But we still have no concrete evidence. And in one week, I have zero new leads. Zero new words in the fake book. All dead ends.
Night has fallen. Clouds and fog shroud the stars, and I hoped to see a twinkling sky and constellations while I’m home. But the dark weather has been diabolical, basically warning me to get the hell out, Zoey.
If anything wards me away, it won’t be a raincloud. That’s for fucking sure. “Is it even customary to have a book event for a book that isn’t finished yet?” I wonder as October drives me to the center of town tonight.
The event is in approximately thirty minutes. My palms are sweating, and I’ve had anxiety-inducing flashbacks to all my failed public speaking moments in high school. Even though my people-person skills have vastly improved since I was a teenager. And since I graduated college, I’ve actually been in the business of being personable. Enthusiastic. Flexible. Adaptable.
I might lack tact, but people sometimes find honesty refreshing. Though, in this situation, I can’t be honest.
I need to be a giant liar.
“She’s trying to catch you in a lie,” October reminds me. “Are you…?” Her eyes flit to me, then the road. “Are you sweating?”
“Maybe just a little bit,” I mumble under my breath, then waft the plaid blue blazer away from my perspiring, nervous body. I borrowed October’s cute business attire that includes a matching plaid skirt. It reminds me of the movie Clueless.
I did not pack to impress her aunt, but I’ve seen October rock this outfit like she’s fit to rule the world. If I can just channel a fraction of that, I’ll be fine.
