“So,” Adrien says, “I spent some time looking up ways to get back to Sydney today, and I found a regional airport that’s just under ten hours away by car. They haven’t cancelled flights yet, and it looks like there’s one tomorrow late afternoon. I say we leave super early tomorrow morning and head there.”
Tomorrow morning. Something curdles in my gut. I need more time than that to figure out how Nick is involved in Phoebe’s death. And there’s something pulling at me here in Jagged Rock, as if the answer is right in front of me.
I consider trying to come up with a reason for us to stay longer, but I know it’s useless. No one wants to be here any longer than necessary. In their minds, we’ve already confronted Nick Gould, that was all we owed Phoebe. And any attempt to prolong our trip is only going to raise suspicion, which I can’t afford.
I need to make the most of the time I have left here in Jagged Rock to dig up whatever information I can.
“I’m actually not that hungry,” I announce, pushing away my barely touched sandwich. “I’m feeling a bit…off. I’m going to head back to the Inn.”
“Feel better,” Josh says with a smile. “We’ll see you in a bit.”
I catch Declan throw him a sharp glance before I leave.
Back outside, the air hanging heavy around me, I start walking back in the direction we came, formulating a rough plan. I’ll start by talking to the locals, asking about Nick Gould, about the night Phoebe went missing. Maybe I can find something the AFP missed. I’m so lost in my plan that I barely register the sound of an engine sputtering behind me, the crunch of tires on the pavement.
A car pulls up alongside me. A “ute,” the locals call it, basically a squashed-down version of a truck. I keep walking, looking straight ahead, avoiding awkward eye contact with the driver.
I wait for it to continue past me, but it continues to roll, matching my speed. And slowly, the passenger side window begins to roll down.
Something doesn’t feel right. Who would be stopping to talk to me all the way out here? I twist my head to take in both sides of the street. It’s completely empty. Only a few cars passed us the entire time we were walking this morning.
I look back at the café and realize how far I’ve gone in a short time. Too far for the others to hear me if I yell.
The car’s window descends slowly, until I can make out the top of the driver’s head.
Red. A color so distinct it can only belong to one person.
Nick Gould.
I start to run.
19
Claire
Now
“Claire!” Nick Gould yells through the window, his car keeping perfect pace with me as I try to flee. “I just want to talk.”
I refuse to turn. Instead, I swing my arms harder. Sweat forms at my hairline and my breath burns in my lungs.
“I didn’t kill Phoebe…or Hari. But I made mistakes. And I regret them every day.”
I don’t know if it’s the words or the grief-stricken tone, but something makes me stop.
I’m panting, one hand on my knee, the other wiping the sweat from my forehead, when I finally make eye contact with him.
“There’s no way I’m getting in that car with you,” I say.
He gives me a small sad smile, just enough for his moustache to twitch. “No need.”
***
A bell dings as we enter, Nick graciously holding the door open for me, as if that will undo what he’s done. I agreed to hear his explanation so long as we talked somewhere public. As I looked at the building he’d proposed, a flush of nostalgia washed through me.
It’s still the tallest building on the street. Situated on a corner and spanning nearly a block in width, it takes up three full stories, the second of which is bordered by a lattice-fenced terrace. But its age is evident from the exterior. Segments of the terrace have worn away over the years, leaving portions of the ledge exposed; its once bright salmon-pink paint is chipped and peeling; and a single sign—once vibrant gold but now faded into a dusty yellow—hangs over the doorway, labeling the building asThe Royal Hotel & Bar.
Despite Nick’s reassurances, the place seems empty, the front desk unattended, the shabby couch and set of armchairs that reside in the lobby sad and alone. Blood pumps in my ears, and I consider that this could be a trap, until a lighthearted voice echoes through the tiled lobby.
