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Satisfied with my handiwork, I close the passenger door. Jogging around the truck, I scan my surroundings. The curving road cuts through the green hills. No one’s passed us. No one is coming.
I hop in the driver’s side and bring the engine to life, pulling onto the paved road. She rides beside me wearing the cuffs I’ve placed around her wrists. Didn’t need the gag.
She’s finally quiet.
For once.
Her friends watched, wide-eyed, standing outside the old Chronicle building while she climbed willingly into my truck after Detective Collins left.
All I had to do was ask her if she’d rather talk in private or right there in the middle of the office, all her friends watching on.
The girls could have prevented this. They knew what would happen. Why didn’t they warn their American friend not to snitch? They know what happens to people who don’t mind their own business on the island.
“Didn’t your new friends tell you not to get involved? Carol Ann and Fiona should know better,” I say. Her lips purse together, determined to ignore me. “I don’t think you’re in a good place to choose to disrespect me.”
She breaks easily, just as she did in the office when I told her to come with me. “They did warn me. And I didn’t tell him anything. So I don’t know why I’m in your truck right now, anyway. I thought we had an agreement.”
“So did I. One you broke the very next day.”
“I told you.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
“You shouldn’t have called him the first night. And you should have sent him away this morning. Not invited him in for a cozy cuppa tea.” I grip the wheel. “I really can’t trust you.”
She’s quiet, fingers twining together, then untwining, the cuffs quietly clanking. Finally, she speaks. “Where are you taking me?”
“I’d like a quiet ride.”
“I know you killed your girlfriend.”
Her words stun me, her accusation hanging in the air between us. Familiar anger, hot like lava from an erupting volcano, rushes up. It’s always been there since that day, the day I was accused of murder, but I can typically keep it at bay.
I find it harder to keep the eruption at bay with her. “Keep your mouth closed or you’re going to be wearing a ball gag to go with those cuffs.”
Why waste my breath arguing when half the island believes the same thing? Let her think it. Maybe it will keep her docile.
I glance over at her. She’s timid enough. For now.
From what I’ve experienced with her, that won’t last for long, so I’ll enjoy the quiet for now. Her fear will eventually wear thin, and she’ll be prodding me with questions again. I guess I’ll need to keep her in a perpetual state of fear if I’m to get any peace. Let her think I killed the woman I loved in cold blood.
We’re headed to my house, the place I’ll be keeping her for the foreseeable future. I’d prefer to take her to the more isolated cottage, the one where I punished her. It’s further from town, no other living things around other than a few bleating sheep.
But the boys would get suspicious if I wasn’t staying at my house. And there’s no way I’d leave her out there all alone. I’m not planning on letting her out of my sight.
I’ve told Eamon he’ll need to stay at the Castle for a while. He’s there most every night till late anyway, hanging out with the younger brothers, so he may as well pass out in one of the sprawling bedrooms.
My brother’s still the only one I’ve trusted with my secret. Word will get out eventually that Kitt was speaking to Collins, or at least trying to. By then, I’ll have Fiona start a rumor that she went back to the States, and she’ll soon be forgotten.
When our name is cleared and this all blows over, I’ll have to figure out if I can trust her enough to keep her mouth shut, then truly let her go home.
Or if I have to make a Plan B. I force myself to look away from her. I’m not sure I want it to come down to that.
The familiar two-story gray stone cottage with the red door appears on the left. My parents’ house, the place I grew up in, then inherited. I glance over at the home, my stomach tying in heavy knots. I couldn’t live there after what happened. The memories are too horrific.
I look away, eyes back on the road.
Eamon wasn’t there that terrible night. I keep the property in good repair, waiting for him when he eventually takes a wife. The girls in town love him; he’ll have his pick of good women for a bride.
The homes grow farther apart as we leave town behind. My place is secluded enough. We round the bend. My white Scandinavian-style home is tucked between green rolling hills that dive into the sea, wide windows set in deep sills of lightly-stained beechwood that showcase the colors of the sea as well as the hills beyond, like picture frames.
