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I stood and paced the length of the kitchen, rubbing the back of my neck as my heart raced. “Could she stay at the cabin?”
Henri had a small cabin at the bottom of the hill. He’d lived there before he built the house we were in now. He rented it out frequently. In fact, that was how he met Alice. She had lived in the cabin when she first moved to town.
“It’s occupied,” Remy snarled. He’d been living there for the past year, and Hazel had joined him once they were married.
Shit. I had forgotten about that.
“You have other rentals,” I said to Henri, my desperation growing.
He was a bit of a real estate investor here in town, picking up cottages and cabins and turning them into vacation rentals in the summer when the tourists descended on Maine.
“Most are full. And we need her close. She’ll need access to all the evidence we’ve compiled. It doesn’t make sense to put her in a remote cabin when the best place for her is here with you, in town, where she can get to know the locals and come to the office and access any records she might need.”
My stomach churned. No. My house was my safe space.
It hadn’t started out like that. I had actually bought the new construction farmhouse for my mom after my dad was killed.
Her grief was all-consuming. She’d been staying at Henri’s house for weeks because it was too difficult to be in the home they’d built together, where they’d raised their kids. The place they’d planned to enjoy retirement together.
At the time, I had recently returned. I was devoted, confused, and desperate to help.
Henri, Adele, and Remy had banded together and had held each other up. They’d taken care of Mom and the funeral and everything else necessary. And I sat on the sidelines.
The wayward son. The one who’d left. I was an outsider to their grief.
So I did the only thing I could do. I threw money at the problem.
This big, luxurious house had been built on a five-acre piece of land that was close to town. I thought it was perfect. A fresh start. Apple trees and a wraparound porch. The very type of house my mom had always loved. Lots of millwork, a massive kitchen, and a fieldstone fireplace.
She hated it.
She didn’t say that, of course. But she burst into tears, and not the happy kind, Adele told me later. After that, she went back to her house. She refused to get rid of my dad’s stuff. And night after night, she slept on her side of the bed like she’d wake up one morning and find him there.
And I was left with a vacant four-bedroom farmhouse. So I sold my condo in Portland and moved in. And I’d been living there for almost two years.
It was quiet and bright, and other than the lawn—which I paid my teenage neighbor to do for me—it was low-maintenance. I didn’t need the space, and most of it remained empty, but it suited me.
My guest rooms had no furniture, though that was an easy fix. What was truly filling me with dread was having to share my space and my solitude. With Parker Harding, of all people. She probably talked nonstop and watched trashy TV.
“This won’t work,” I said, unwilling to give in to the acceptance leveled at me from every direction. They’d already decided that this was my new reality.
“You’re a terrible actor,” Remy said. “But even you can pull this off. You’re a hermit, so you won’t have to worry about being seen in public more than occasionally. All you gotta do is give her a room and let her work.”
I braced my hands on the kitchen island, racking my brain for a logical argument. But how else could she investigate for several weeks without stirring up suspicion? Especially when we didn’t know who we could trust.
I looked around at my siblings. Every one of them was desperate and hopeful. I was doing this for them. So they could have answers. So that my mom could heal.
I was dead inside. No amount of justice would take away my guilt or grief. I was a lost cause. But my family? They had beautiful lives ahead of them. Henri had kids now, and Remy had just gotten married. I had to do this for them. Give them closure and healing so they could have a chance at something better than I’d ever deserve.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Chapter5
Parker
“Please explain,” I said, adjusting my AirPods as I walked briskly along the bayside trail. The sun was coming up, and the cool autumn wind made my lungs burn. It was my morning ritual. Before coffee, before emails, before the bullshit of my day. Just me and the sky and the ocean.
My body, as well as my mind, needed exercise. Usually, it was lifting weights. But on nice days I ran or walked along the ocean. Whatever felt right in the moment. And today, as I was wrapping up and feeling my morning Zen, I received a call from my neediest client.
