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“Oh, I’ll get him. So help me, God, it’s a deal.” She nods with relief. “Do you remember how that stain got on your yellow dress?”
Yellow?
My friend, Pamela Ryan, it hits me.
She wore a yellow dress when she disappeared. I had borrowed that same dress from her and wore it that night—ten years ago. I didn’t want to return it, but she asked for it. It was her favorite.
And now it’s my curse.
“We were in a group,” Kayla answers. “We were dancing. Guys were around us.” Kayla closes her eyes. “Someone knocked my arm. I remember because the drink was sticky down my chest.”
“Do you remember who bumped you?”
“No.” Kayla pauses. “Stripes. Navy and white stripes. I remember a guy’s sleeves. They were long, and I thought it was weird because it’s like Memorial Day and so hot.”
When Kayla’s friends arrive, they confirm the same. “Do you remember anyone in a parrot T-shirt?”
The women exchange glances, shaking their heads no.
I ask Amber, Kayla’s friend, who she rented their condo from.
“Sunset Rentals,” she says, making my empty stomach twist.
That’s five from that rental company—the one owned by Gentry Evans.
Out by the nurse’s desk in the Emergency Room, I comb back through my notes.
Sunset Rentals.
Why target renters the day before they leave? One—they’re relaxed, in trusting-vacation mode.
And two—I seethe—police procedure.
If you target someone before they have to check out, it makes it hard for us to interview the victim, to collect all the evidence.
Sure, the victim can stay longer, but by then, they want to escape from here.
Smart tactic.
Dumb assumption because I’m ready. I sleep with my radio.
“We found a lighter at the scene.” Jameson startles me. I didn’t see him come in. “We’ll run the prints on it but can’t be sure it’s relevant.”
“It’s a lead, right?” He’s not smiling back at me. “What did the cameras show?”
That park is under surveillance; any dumbass would know it.
“Nothing,” Jameson replies. “We got her walking up from the dark beach and stumbling before she collapses by the bench.”
“Shit.”
He’s not stupid enough to get caught on camera. It’s like he knows where all the cameras are—more importantly—where they aren’t on this island.
I check my phone. “It’s almost eleven. I’m going to The Pelican. That’s the third victim from there.”
“You want backup, or am I kicked out of this too?”
“I’ll take the backup.” I ignore his jab. “You drive while I dig online.”
