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Jayla nods. That satisfies her concern that Sadie is behind this. Personally, I don’t think we’re going to find Sadie. I’m not saying that Idefinitely saw her in the water, but I think it’s very possible she was in that boat. But no one wants to hear that, and unless we’re sure, we need to look, in case Garrett is right. We can’t focus on escaping the island until we’re sure Sadie isn’t out there, in need of rescue.
“Garrett?” Jayla says. “Are you okay searching on your own?”
“’Course,” he says gruffly.
“Then I’ll take Mads. Laney and Kit can search the boathouse. They know all the nooks and crannies.”
I can ask Kit about his fight with Sadie. That’s what Jayla means, and I agree. This is a piece of the puzzle we need.
SIXTEEN
Kit and I head to the main boathouse.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Is anything numb?”
“No numbness. No dead spots. No dizziness. No disorientation.” I smile over at him. “I know the hypothermia and frostbite symptom list, and I’m fine. I suspect I’ll have a few drowning nightmares in my future, but physically I’m okay. You?”
“Definitely nightmares in my future. Like those ones where you’re trying to punch in a phone number and can’t get it right? Except it’ll be standing on the shore watching you drown while I wave my arms and shout, like that’ll help.” He makes a face. “And that isnotthe lighthearted answer I meant to give.”
I reach to squeeze his arm. “You didn’t just stand on the shore. You came in after me and nearly died of hypothermia yourself. That is so much worse.”
He chokes on a sudden laugh.
“But you also saved my life,” I say. “I don’t think I was going to make it to shore.”
“You would have.”
“And this is definitely not the lighthearted conversation either of us needs.” I swing open the boathouse door, and we step into thegloom within. “Or maybe ‘lighthearted’ isn’t the word we’re looking for, considering why we’re out here. Let’s just avoid topics that will make us feel even worse.”
“Works for me. No discussing the stock market.”
Now I’m sputtering a laugh. “Exactly.”
I flip on the light before we let the door close. Then I lock it. “Hear that?” I call out. “It was the door locking, Sadie. If you’re in here, you’re not sneaking off.”
“You really think she’s in here?”
My expression answers for me, and Kit nods as we start our search. We stick together, as if by silent agreement that—however much Garrett seems to think there’s no threat on the island—we disagree enough that we won’t even split up to search a four-hundred-square-foot boathouse.
Without the boat in here, there are only a few obvious places to check. First, we open the storage locker, where all the life vests and paddles are kept. Inside are… life vests and paddles.
Next we shine a flashlight into the gap under the floor, where the water laps against the wood. Without the boat in place, the water level is lower, but having both experienced how cold that water is today, we don’t spend long checking to see whether Sadie has ducked under, submerged to her neck. A quick sweep before we proceed to the most likely hiding spot: the rafters.
When Kit and I designed the boathouse, there was plenty of room in the rafters. After all, we expected this to be our summer home. When school ended, we’d retreat here, and I’d write and Kit would practice his music, having convinced himself he could just pop back to shore every few days for a meeting. Yes, that was ridiculously naive for both of us, but it was the dream. As such, we’d want to host friends and family, and we’d need a place to store extra kayaks, paddleboards, and deck chairs. Kit was a corporate CEO—providing high-end kayaks and luxury lounge chairs to our guests would be like normal people providing extra towels and new toothbrushes.
Hemlock House was finished late in the summer of 2019. We had a month here, and we were far too greedy to invite others up. That would come next year… and then the pandemic scuttled plans for guests and those extra “amenities.”
When I took over the island post-split, the boathouse had a beautiful loft area, completely empty. No problem, right? That’s where I’d “hide” my watercraft from renters. Yeah, that didn’t last long. When I realized they’d been using my kayak and paddleboard, I moved them to the private shed only to discover that the now-empty loft proved too great a temptation, and not just for children.
After cleaning up far too many condoms, I decided the loft needed major changes… and not only because the evidence of carousing couples reminded me of how Kit and I used that empty loft space.
“Where are the floorboards?” he says when we climb up.
“I had to remove them. Safety hazard.”
“Hiding the ladder wasn’t enough?”
“Nope, that only made it a bigger hazard. I got a middle-of-the-night call from a renter threatening to sue after their son fell. He’d shimmied up, got a splinter, fell into the water, and hit his head.”
