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Babette clearly blushes at his words or the way he says them, and October whispers to me, “The power of Parry DiNapoli.”
“You’re more powerful to me,” I murmur back, and the ice in October’s eyes instantly melts. Her overwhelmed reaction begins to flood my lungs, and the flames casting shadows and warm light against our faces suddenly appear less ominous and more romantic.
Strange how that works.
Perception.
Parry looks at October’s blushing sister. “So how well can we trust what you’ve heard?”
“Well enough,” Babette says. “It’s not like there are any better leads on the table.”
“Augustine Anders is real,” Colt emphasizes. “I knew she was real.”
“Then why is the town council acting so weird?” I wonder. “Don’t you think they’re hiding something?”
October nods in agreement.
Babette says, “Maybe it has nothing to do with Augustine Anders.”
“Maybe they already know the truth,” Parry theorizes.
“Wait a sec.” Brian raises his hands, then turns to Babette. “You said this girl has been missing from Sandusky. Home to Cedar Point, one of the most popular amusement parks in America. It’s not what I’d call a small town. So how exactly does a girl go missing without alerting cops or journalists?”
“And why was she in Mistpoint Harbor?” October questions.
Colt rests his elbows on the table, cups his hands to his mouth—barely blinking as he stares straight into Babette. Waiting for the answers.
Shit, he’s more intense than October.
Babette seems only slightly unnerved. “According to the friend of her closest friend, Augustine Anders has no family, at least none she speaks to. They’re distant and live in Texas, for the most part.”
Parry frowns. “What about her closest friend? Why didn’t she file a missing person’s report?”
“That’s where things get a little hairy,” Babette winces. “The closest friend knew Augustine had planned to sail across all the Great Lakes, and Augustine told her she’d be gone for a couple months, but obviously, it’s been longer. The further removed friend thinks something happened to her.”
Now I’m frowning. “Why does she suspect something is wrong, but the closer friend doesn’t?”
“She thinks it’s strange that Augustine hasn’t called her closest friend in over four months. Not to say where she is or how she’s doing. Instead, she’s been sending her postcards from various ports around the Great Lakes.”
Colt stares haunted at the table. “Who sends postcards anymore?”
“Exactly.” Babette laces her fingers on the table. “It’s suspicious.”
Colt almost breathes in relief. “You should be a detective.”
Babette smiles. “You think so?”
Something clicks in my brain, and I suddenly perk up. “Wait—what if someone knows what happened to Augustine and they’re sending postcards to pretend she’s still alive?”
I realize fast that they were all thinking the same thing. Okay, so I’m not special, but I contributed a shared thought.
“How can we confirm that?” Parry asks.
“Pictures,” October tells everyone. “We compare handwriting between Augustine and the postcards.”
Colt spins more towards Babette. “Can you get your friend-of-friend to send you photos of one of the postcards and something else Augustine has written?”
“Like a birthday card,” October suggests.
“I can do that. It’ll be a minute.” She slides out from her chair, phone in hand. While Babette leaves, just for the wood-burning stove, the rest of us wait for the news.
“She is real,” Colt says again, and this time, no one argues. My brother looks near-tears like he’s taking his first breath, and my heart aches for how long he’s suffered with the uncertainty of what happened.
“We’re about to find real answers, Colt,” I say, hopeful.
“The worst thing about all of this,” he tells us in a choked voice, “she could be dead, and I couldn’t help her. This whole time, we’ve been searching for a dead girl…” He stands abruptly up from the table, just to go behind the bar. Rummaging through the bottles.
Brian shakes his head, his surly expression not so sympathetic, but I’d like to think he empathizes with Colt. Surviving trauma where nothing you could do would save the other person.
I glance over at October. Her hand has gone slack in mine. She’s staring faraway at the wall. “Kenobi?” I whisper.
She wakes up, her hand tightening around mine again. “I just…I had a strange thought.”
“About what?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m probably overanalyzing everything…it’s likely I’m wrong.” She’s still tense, but another crack of lightning refocuses her energy on me. Especially as I jump.
“Fuck,” I curse, then flinch at the rattling door. It sounds like someone is trying to enter.
Parry is unblinking now. He’s white-knuckling the edge of the table. He’s scared of people, I realize what I never have before. And what they can do in the dark.
Murderous, horrific things.
“It’s just the wind,” October tells me and him.
Brian shifts his arm off Parry’s chair and onto his shoulders. And my brother begins to sing over the clanging door. “Oh the old sailor heaves his grief through the tattered sea.” He pounds his boot on the ground to the beat. “Let him go and be. Oh the old sailor heaves his grief through the tattered sea. What a sight for me. Winds are strong and the soul grows cold. Let him go and be. Oh I’d never do such a thing, my sailor means too much to me.”
