Page 91 of The Summer that Changed Everything
She checked her watch and stood. “Great. Thanks. I’d better run, or I’ll be late for work.”
When they woke up the following morning, Ford had several issues he had to take care of for Wagner Business Solutions, so after making breakfast—spinach omelets and coffee—Lucy decided to spend her time trying to figure out where Stephanie Beaumont lived.
She assumed it would be difficult and that she’d have to ask Dahlia, who might be reluctant to tell her, or go through numerous posts by the various people connected to Stephanie on social media, which might not reveal anything definitive. But that wasn’t the case. All she had to do was Google Stephanie’s name along with “North Hampton Beach, VA” and an address popped up.
Lucy knew the general area. It was an older neighborhood of small homes built in the fifties and sixties. She asked Ford to text Chet to see if he knew where Stephanie worked—she would’ve preferred to “bump” into her if it was someplace like a restaurant, where such an encounter would seem natural. But Chet didn’t respond, so Lucy decided to drive to Stephanie’s house.
Even though Ford told her she could use the Land Rover,she walked to the Smoot cottage to get her own vehicle, and once she got there, she paused for several seconds to admire the carefully manicured yard. That Ford had gone to so much effort to make it beautifulfor herseemed significant, meaningful, and yet she knew they were building only memories this summer—memories that would be bittersweet in the years to come.
She’d gotten herself into a no-win situation.
With a sigh, she got behind the wheel and drove to the address she’d found online. There was always a chance Google had gotten it wrong. Perhaps it was an old address. She’d thought that might be the case when she didn’t see Stephanie’s orange truck in the drive.
After turning off her engine, she got out and went to the door. If she wanted answers, she had to be bold. Someone who had a wind chime and a hummingbird feeder in the front yard, along with rows and rows of flowers and several ceramic gnomes, didn’t come across as a hate-filled, dangerous person.
But no one answered the door. Lucy was walking back to her rental car when the orange truck she’d seen at the cottage, and again in town, pulled into the drive.
Lucy turned as Stephanie got out. Since the other woman was sweaty and wearing workout clothes, it was easy to tell she’d been at the gym. “Hey, sorry to just... show up out of nowhere,” she said, “but I was hoping to speak to you.”
Stephanie reached into the truck and pulled out a duffel bag she slung over her shoulder. When she looked up again, she said, “I don’t think so. Not today. I don’t have time.”
“Then can I get your number so we can arrange something for later?”
“I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
Lucy followed her to the door. “If you don’t want to talk to me, why’d you show up at the Smoot Cottage? Are you the one who broke in and messed up my things?”
She whipped around. “No! Of course not. I would never dothat. I—I was thinking about having a conversation with you but decided not to. I don’t want to cause trouble, don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“Neither do I,” Lucy said. “I’ve never been out to hurt anyone, including Aurora. I hope you know that.”
She grudgingly acknowledged as much with a nod.
“Youdoknow that?” Lucy clarified.
“I was one of Aurora’s best friends. She would’ve told me if you’d ever done anything wrong, would’ve used that to... to make sure you paid for it. She hated you, considered you a rival and said terrible things about you all the time, so she wouldn’t have held that back.”
It would’ve been nice if Stephanie had spoken up for her fifteen years ago. But she was one of the last people to see Aurora. And, like so many others, she’d been young at the time and was probably too freaked out to do anything more than watch what occurred in horror.
“My father didn’t kill Aurora, Stephanie.”
“How do you know?” she challenged.
“Because Aurora’s own brother saw him across town at the time Aurora was being murdered. It’s hard to be in two places at once, even if you’re a psychopath.”
“Some people would say it doesn’t matter,” she said. “If your father killed the Matteos, he’s where he should be.”
She didn’t dare reveal that she was beginning to doubt that, too. “The Matteos are a separate case. Don’t you care to find out for sure if he’s the one who killed your best friend?”
She looked confused. “I thought that was established.”
“There was no hard evidence.”
Obviously torn, Stephanie hesitated before unlocking her front door and pushing it wide. “Reggie comes down this street a lot,” she said. “He’s seeing a woman on Brentwood who refuses to believe she’ll regret getting involved with him.”
“You must know that woman,” Lucy said.
“She teaches at the same school I do. She’s the one who told me you were back and how angry Reggie is about what you’re saying and doing. I’d rather neither one of them saw us talking.” She went inside, then gestured for Lucy to follow. “Come in. Like me, she’s off for the summer while school’s out, so she might be home today, too.”
