I head up to my room instead. As I start up the stairs, I realize how quiet it is. I’ve never experienced the Inn like this during working hours. The last time we were here, someone was always around,slamming doors or running up or down the stairs, talking excitedly about something or other. Our group, though small, filled almost all the rooms. But now it’s desolate, quiet enough that I can hear the dull thrum of flies and conversation outside.
Once back in my room, I lie down, the prongs of the mattress sticking into my back. I take a deep breath and think, replaying everything I’ve learned the last few days. As I try to work through it all, I let my eyes roam the room before they land on that painting of the raven. Again, something about it just seems off.
I stand up and walk towards it, until it’s only inches from my eyes. I raise my hand, my fingertips tracing the canvas, the thick black paint on the bird’s wings. It’s not a print, like I expected, but an original.
A sudden thud from the door startles me, jarring my arm and knocking the painting from the wall, sending it spiraling to the floor with a loud crash. The noise comes again, breaking through the pounding blood in my ears.
“Claire?” The familiar voice filters through the wall. “You back?”
Shakily, I open the door, finding Josh once again standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a small smile, and despite everything, I can’t ignore how handsome he looks. He hasn’t bothered shaving since he arrived and the scruff on his chin lends his boyish face a more manly quality.
“Hey,” he says. “I tried you when we got back, but you weren’t here. I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
I think of his lie this morning and consider whether I should avoid being alone with him. But then I look at his sheepish grin andremember all the times he’s been in my bed back home. I open the door wider, beckoning him in, and we both take a seat on the bed.
“Have a bit of an accident?” Josh asks, nodding towards the fallen painting.
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug, leaving it at that.
“Listen, I have something to tell you. It’s been eating me up since our conversation this morning.”
I don’t respond, leaving him to fill in the silence.
“I lied to you about going to the AFP office when I first got into Sydney the other day. I should have just told you the truth.”
“Which is?” I prompt.
Josh sighs. “I’ve never been a huge fan of the cops. You remember that friend I told you about, a while back? The one who was like a brother to me?”
I think of that emotional story he’d shared when he’d come over to my place, drunk. About the friend who’d died in a car accident. I nod.
“Well, I always suspected there was something off about his accident. Things just didn’t add up to me. I told the police my suspicions, how I thought there’d been some foul play or something like that. They just shrugged me off, acted like I was a stupid kid. Never even bothered to investigate. And then, the cops here were completely useless after Phoebe went missing…” Josh trails off. “I don’t trust them, the police. I know that may be unfair, but I didn’t want to spend what little time I had back here talking to the AFP, just for them to get it wrong like they always do.”
I think about this for a second. “So why did you come back at all?”
“I missed this.” He gestures around.
“Jagged Rock?”
He laughs. “No, definitely not. I mean having this close group of friends. It’s pretty much the closest I’ve had to a real family. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to come back and experience that again, even despite the horrible circumstances. So I cancelled that work conference I had at the last minute and flew over. I didn’t really want to get into all the reasons why I wasn’t planning on talking to the police or listen to why I should—you know how Ellery can get—so I just lied when Adrien asked if I’d already talked to them. Truth was, I got into the airport around three in the afternoon and went straight to Kyan’s.”
I nod, thinking it through. It makes sense and somehow I feel even guiltier, something I didn’t think was possible. This was Josh after all. Did I really think he was capable of killing Phoebe?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Why are you apologizing?” He laughs. “I’m the one who lied. Listen, we’re all outside, reliving some of our wilder times from back then. Why don’t you come down and grab a beer?”
“Maybe. I’m a little tired. I might take a nap. After I hang this up, of course.” I gesture to the painting sprawled on the floor.
Josh offers to help, but I shrug it off. And then I’m alone.
God, I really am losing it. All this suspicion is really screwing with my head.
I stoop to pick up the painting. As I do, I notice a wire sticking out from the frame. From the bed, I assumed it was something to help affix it to the wall, but upon looking closer, it appears to pokethrough the canvas. I flip the painting over until I’m staring directly into the raven’s dark eye. And that’s when I see it. A small, spherical, almost imperceptible object. I trace my fingers over it. It’s cold to the touch, like a marble.
I suck in a deep breath, understanding washing over me as I recognize it for what it is.
A small camera. Someone has been filming me.
