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I playfully slap his arm and laugh. “Shut up.” I clamp down on my lips for a beat before adding, “And yes, you are.”
We finish the last of our closing duties in relative silence, then say goodbye to Maxine as we exit through the back door. Oliver wanders toward his gray Camry as I head toward Ruby, my red SUV.
“Probably be at the house around six,” he says as he opens his car door.
“Six o’clock,” I repeat the time and nod. “Later.”
Oliver cranks his car to life and drives out of the lot before I buckle my seat belt. Before driving off, I scroll through my playlists and choose one for the drive home.
As music floats through the speakers, I get this strange prickle on the back of my neck. A shiver rolls up my spine, the hairs on my arms standing straight up. I peer up and scan the lot, but see no one.
Weird.
I shake off my paranoia, chastise my intuition for being off, smash the door lock button, buckle my seatbelt, and put the car in gear.
As I drive through town, the edgy awareness stirs back to life. An uneasy feeling churns beneath my breastbone. Demands I listen and give it attention. But as I peek left and right, inspect every person on the sidewalk, everything looks… normal.
Shaking my head, I scold my erroneous thoughts and push down harder on the accelerator. I crank the music and let the blaring chords and vibrating beats drown out my thoughts.
Everything is fine. Your intuition is obviously on the fritz.
THREE
BEN
Railroad lights flash up ahead,the loudding, ding, dingrings around us as the gate arms lower. Aaron slows to a stop and throws the truck in park as the train whistle echoes through the air. Car after car passes on the track as we sit and wait.
“Been to Stone Bay before?” Aaron asks me as he points out the window.
On either side of the road, large gray and white granite blocks frame a wooden sign that reads, “Welcome to Stone Bay, Washington. Established 1908.” A smaller sign near the base states, “Founding Families: Barron, Langston, Emerson, West, Graves, Fox, Imala.”
Warm air spills from the vents near the floorboard as I stare at the sign, momentarily confused. How odd and pretentious it is to list the founding families on the welcome sign. As if they want everyone who crosses the town border to be aware. As if every person who sets foot in Stone Bay needs to extend some special courtesy to these specific people.
I’d completely understand the founding family names in a guide to the town’s history. Showcasing how the families came together and built the town, I easily picture it in a museum. Small placards on town benches and playgrounds, signs in or on historical buildings or specific landmarks—those make perfect sense.
But on the town sign? Seems a bit ostentatious.
“First time,” I say, tipping my head left then right, cracking my neck. “Just needed to get out of town and this job came at the perfect time.”
He hums, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Carolyn?”
I wince at the sound of her name. “Yeah.”
“Sorry, man.” He shifts his gaze to my profile, my eyes still on the town sign. “You ever need to get shit off your chest, I’m here.”
“Appreciate it,” I say with a nod. Wanting a change of subject, I ask, “What about you? Been to Stone Bay?”
He reaches for his water, uncaps it, and guzzles half the bottle. “Few years back. Woman I was seeing begged me to bring her to the town’s Independence Day Festival.” Laughter fills the truck cab as he sets his water bottle back in the holder. “Had no clue what I was getting myself into. Thought it’d be hot dogs, burgers, and fireworks.” He shakes his head. “Sure, they had those things. But there were also fancy pastries and hand pies, grilled shrimp and lobster, cheese plates with fruit and olives, and more.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’d never seen so many dressy people for an outdoor holiday.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Maybe the entire town has overinflated egos.Wonderful.
I look in the side mirror and see part of our crew in the box truck behind us. Luke tousles Dylan’s hair and she backhands him in the chest. Business as usual. Behind the box truck is a pickup matching ours,Creekside Constructionhand-painted in green on the driver and passenger doors, our boss behind the wheel.
Several train cars later, the lights stop flashing, the incessant chirp dies, and the gate arms lift. Aaron puts the truck in gear and presses the accelerator, driving us into Stone Bay.
A train station sits off to the left when we cross the tracks. Skyscraper-tall evergreens line the right side of the road and then the left after the train station. Our tires eat up a couple miles before the trees start to thin and glimpses of Stone Bay come into view. My brows lift as my eyes take in the sheer opulence of each building.
From what I gathered before leaving for this job, Stone Bay is roughly the same size as Smoky Creek. Small. Less than five thousand people in both towns. Both towns named after nearby bodies of water.
