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34
THE NEXT DAY THEY CATCH AN AFTERNOON FERRY AT POINTJudith, across the state line in Rhode Island, for the fifty-five-minute journey to Block Island, with their car onboard below. Though the boat is crowded with weekenders, the two of them manage to find a quiet spot on the top deck, away from the fray. As soon as they settle at the end of a bench, Tom wraps his arm around her, and Emma relaxes into his shoulder.
“Wow, this feels good,” he says, as swooping, squawking seagulls escort them out of the harbor. “I’m so glad you were game to come.”
The morning had been especially hectic for both of them. Tom had left early for the office to connect with his team again, and after securing approval from the police, he sent most of his staff home before lunch, while Emma had crammed as much work in as possible. It wasn’t an ideal day for her to take off early, but Eric agreed to handle two scheduled client phone calls that afternoon. She’d texted Addison,saying she and Tom had decided to head to Tom’s weekend house and she wouldn’t be able to have coffee with her after all—something she hadn’t wanted to do anyway—and she’d also sent a message to Kyle, letting him know that she’d be on Block Island with limited cell service. If he had any news to share about the paintings, she didn’t want him wondering why she wasn’t picking up. He’d responded with a thumbs-up.
At a couple of points, Emma had been tempted to check in with Brittany, in an effort to unravel why she’d left so abruptly, but decided that it was best for Tom to handle the situation in his own way when he came up for air.
What Tomhadmade the time to do was contact his attorney, Hollis Langley, about Emma’s connection to the notes. She and Langley, a woman of about fifty with stunning, prematurely white hair, had met midmorning and then left for a scheduled appointment at the police headquarters. In a small interview room, Emma turned over the two unsigned notes to Hartwick and another detective and described the first, as well as how she’d found each of them. There’d never been a moment, she told them truthfully, when she’d thought they had any connection to Taylor Hunt. After Hartwick asked a few follow-up questions, he thanked her politely for her help and dismissed the two women.
“Okay, that’s weird,” Hollis said as they headed across the parking lot afterward.
“You mean the fact that neither detective seemed at all interested in what I was saying? What do you think it means?”
“Best guess?” the lawyer said. “They’ve got some other line of inquiry they like a whole lot better.”
Thank god, Emma thought. Hopefully they were closing in on Taylor’s killer and had lost interest in the young woman’s obsession with Tom.
Now on the ferry, with a light breeze lifting her hair, Emma promises herself she’ll do her best to chill out this weekend, banish her nonstop thoughts about these open investigations, and get fully back in sync with Tom.
“You feel like a hot coffee, sweetheart?” Tom asks, tearing her away from her thoughts. “The air’s a little brisker than I’d thought.”
“Yes, actually, I’d love that.”
“Okay, be back in a bit,” he says, zipping his cardigan. His cheeks have turned a little ruddy from the wind. “I’m also going to check in with Pierce,” he says, referring to the man who looks after the property.
Though there are a few nice restaurants in New Shoreham, the tiny town not far from Tom’s cottage, he had told her he’d rather hole up at home, keeping the world at bay for a couple of days, and cooking for themselves. They’ve brought some food in a cooler, and Pierce has stocked the kitchen with other fresh food and supplies. As Tom weaves his way to the concession stand, Emma trails him with her eyes. A day ago she’d been sure that things were over between them, that her only viable option was to walk away from him, and their life together, and the seemingly boundless happiness of the past two years. But it’s worked itself out after all, and she feels yet another swell of gratitude.
A gigantic cumulus cloud suddenly muscles across the sky, blocking the sun, and at the same moment the wind picks up, whipping Emma’s hair across as her face. She digsan elastic from the pocket of her jacket and ties her hair back into a low ponytail.
As she glances up, she spots Tom across the deck, coffeeless and talking on the phone—to Pierce, she assumes, but his expression is stricken. Clearly, they’re not just discussing a zucchini shortage at the farmers market.
She’s about to jump up when her own phone rings, and she spots Eric’s name on the screen. They hadn’t planned to do a catchup until six.
“Hi, everything okay?” she says in lieu of hello.
“I was just calling to see ifyou’reokay,” he says.
She looks back at Tom, who’s still on the phone, his free hand flipped over in dismay.
“What do you mean, Eric?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heardwhat?”
“Just got an alert on my phone that the police made an arrest in Taylor Hunt’s murder. You’re not going to believe who it is.”
“Tell me.”
“Justine Carr.”
Emma shakes her head in disbelief. The revelation seems too improbable to be true.
This explains the look on Tom’s face, though. He’s off the phone and striding toward her now, clearly very upset.
“Thanks for letting me know, Eric. Let’s still plan on talking at six, okay?”
