by Dea Poirier
“Austin, could you call the hospital to see if there was a cell phone left in Trent’s locker?” I ask.
She nods. “I’ll call them now.”
While she does that, I ask Sergeant Pelletier about the warrant for the car and explain that we’ll need to tell the judge that we’re looking for another cell phone. If we want a warrant expanded, we need a good reason for it. Austin waves me over to her desk as I finish up with Sergeant Pelletier.
“Did you find anything out?” I ask as I approach.
“There was no phone in his locker, but the nurse did mention that they found a cell phone in their parking lot and it’s in lost and found.”
I swallow hard. That could be the phone we’re looking for. He could have dropped it when he was being arrested.
“When was the phone found?” I ask.
“Earlier today,” she says.
“We need to go take a look at that phone.”
She grabs her coat. The sun is burning low on the horizon when we step outside. The cold lashes against us as we walk across the parking lot. Austin and I climb into my car and drive back to the hospital. We’re silent the entire drive as we carve our way through Camden to the medical center. I park the car, and we cut through the parking lot toward the administrative building. A nurse sits behind a large desk just inside the doors as we enter. I explain the situation with the phone to her.
“I can grab it,” she says.
“Actually, I’d prefer if we did. It could be evidence,” I say, pulling latex gloves from my pocket.
The nurse shows us to the lost and found. I stow the phone away in an evidence bag. Though I try to turn it on inside the bag, it appears to be dead. I say a silent prayer that it’s just out of battery and not damaged.
Upon returning to the station, I pass the phone off to Kenneth. He looks it over inside the bag.
“This is an older model. I’m going to have to pick up a cable for this. I don’t have one on me,” he says as he glances at the clock on his wall. It’s nearly seven o’clock. “It’s getting pretty late, but I may be able to find one tonight.”
“So we’re looking at tomorrow, then?” I ask.
He nods. “Best-case scenario. Worst case, I can’t find a charger that fits this, and I have to order one.”
“Thanks for working on this,” I say.
“Anytime.”
I catch Sergeant Pelletier up on where we are, say good night to Austin, and walk out of the station, but I stop dead in my tracks when I find Noah leaning against my car.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, though I know the answer. But I honestly can’t think of anything else to say.
“Claire, we need to talk.”
CHAPTER 13
Noah stands against my car, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. As usual, he’s wearing a leather jacket half-open, revealing a Pixies T-shirt, and I don’t know how he’s not freezing in this weather. I bite back my frustration as Roxie’s words come to my mind. Am I really angry with him? Or am I just looking for an excuse to push him away?
“Talk? So now you want to talk?” I ask, my words sharper than I mean for them to be.
“I can explain everything,” he says hurriedly.
“Are you really going to explain everything? Or will there be more omissions? If you’re not ready for this, if you don’t want to open up, I’m not going to make you. This is your life, and if you don’t want to share that with me, it hurts, but I understand.” For a second, I stop and clench my fists. A sickness spreads in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to do this with Noah today, especially not here. “I’ve been there, and I know what it’s like to want to keep yourself hidden away from everyone else. That’s fine. If you want to do that, I won’t make you change.”
He starts to open his mouth like he’s going to interrupt me.
“I can’t do this tonight, whichever way this is going to go.” I’m bone tired, and my mind is still too much in the case for me to deal with this right now. My emotions are locked away like they need to be during an investigation. “Go back to your hotel. If you still want to talk in the morning, text me.”
“Please, can we talk this through tonight?”
I hold my palms out to him, as if I’m surrendering. At my edges, I feel the fissures there, like I might break down. Maybe I’m a coward because I don’t want to admit to him how much it hurt me that he doesn’t seem as deep into our relationship as I am. He was ready to move in, for Christ’s sake, but he’s not willing to share his past with me? How can you share a future without that?
“I can’t, Noah.” My voice cracks as I force the words out.
He takes a step forward and pulls me into his arms. Though I want to pull back, to keep the distance firmly set between us, I fold into him. I rest my head against his chest, feeling his warmth, listening to the beat of his heart. I take a deep breath, relishing the smell of him that I missed so much. Finally, I force myself to step back.
“Let’s talk tomorrow,” I say. “Please, I need a night. I think you need it too.”
He scratches the stubble that’s collected on his cheeks, his fingernails grating against it like sandpaper. Though it doesn’t look like he agrees, he nods.
“Did I completely fuck up?” he asks.
“Not completely, about sixty percent,” I say.
The corners of his mouth tug up at that, and he sweeps his long brown hair away from his eyes. “Not a passing grade, then.”
I walk around Noah and open my car door. He moves out of the way to let me pass.
“Where are you staying?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Go back to the island. I’ll see you there in the morning.” Getting up early and going to the island will keep my mind off what’s on that burner phone until Kenneth makes it into the office around ten. It’s a distraction I’ll need; otherwise the pending evidence might drive me crazy.
Though I start to turn, he stops me before I can step away, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “Good night, Claire,” he says, the warmth of his breath misting the air.
“Good night, Noah,” I say as I climb into my car.
CHAPTER 14
As I push into my hotel room, the exhaustion I feel stretches all the way to my soul. The door snaps shut behind me, and I hope putting distance between him and myself will help. Seeing Noah here, after everything—it’s the last thing I expected to happen today. My body can still feel the lingering warmth of his touch. My hand twitches, as if it’ll open the door without my permission so I can cross the bay to be with him, but I clench my fist instead. I won’t go back there tonight. If we’re going to continue growing our relationship, I want to go into it with eyes open, and he needs to do the same. Because I won’t keep doing this with secrets between us.
The key I planned to give Noah seems to weigh ten pounds in my pocket. How is it that just a few weeks ago I thought we were ready for that step, and now we’re here? Tears spill down my face, growing icy on my hot cheeks. I dig my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Roxie’s number. I can’t fix my own life, so I’ll call and talk to her about hers. The distraction will do me good.
“Hey,” she says as soon as the call connects.
“How’d the interview go?” I ask.
She lets out a low laugh. “I killed it. If they don’t hire me, they aren’t in their right minds.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“How are things going there?” she asks as she chews.
I catch her up on the case, the arrest, and the burner phone, then tell her about finding Noah outside the station.
“He came back there to see you?” She sounds incredulous as a best friend should.
I shift on the bed, the springs protesting as I move. “Yeah, and my dumb ass still had the key I was going to give him in my pocket.”
“You still had it in your pocket?”
I didn’t tell her that I’ve moved it from pants pocket to pants pocket, keeping it with me no matter the outfit, si
nce I had it made. That’s not an easy task when so many pants lack pockets. Maybe it’s just become something of a comfort now, the familiar weight I expect to be there.
“Yeah, I just keep forgetting to take it out,” I lie. But I know she’ll see through it. She always does.
“So you haven’t changed your pants in like a week, then?” she challenges, calling me on my bullshit.
“I have,” I say, a bit too defensively.
“You’ve taken the key out and put it in other pants, then.” Her words aren’t quite a question. She chews in the background as she waits for me to reply.
I sigh. “You’re making it into more than it is,” I say, now tempted to rush her off the phone.
“Claire, are you sure you want things to be over with him?”
The weight of the question hangs in the air. And I swear I can feel it all around me, pressing against me. But I don’t know. Should I want it to be over? Because I know what he did was wrong. And if I let it slide, will he just do it again? After all this time of not opening up to me, is he really ready?
“Because I want you to be sure that you want it to be over, and you’re not just calling it quits because you think you should or because it’s easier to push him away.”
“I don’t know, Roxie,” I say finally.
“I’ll support whatever you want to do; you know that. But I don’t want you to regret whatever you decide.” I hear her take another bite of her food.
“I know,” I say in a voice so small it doesn’t sound like my own.
“Maybe you should at least hear him out?”
“Maybe,” I say.
Roxie and I chat for a few more minutes about where she’ll live if she gets this job. And she insists again that I apply for the other spot. I urge her off the phone to eat her dinner. I promise that I’ll think about it. But really, there are too many things on my mind to consider it right now. I have a murder to solve and a relationship rockier than the shores of Pen Bay.
CHAPTER 15
I’m awake at dawn, as if the horizon shifting from inky black to a streaked purple was enough to pull me from sleep. I try to distract myself with coffee and breakfast, but I can’t get Noah out of my head. I check my phone, and there’s a text waiting from him that was sent at two a.m.
I miss you and I’m sorry.
Though the ferry back to the island won’t start running for another couple of hours, I know that chances are there’s at least one person in Rockport with a boat who would give me a ride. I know if I don’t do this, if I don’t talk to him, I’ll regret it, and I’ll just stew back at the office until Kenneth gets in.
I wind my way through the hotel and climb into my car. The seats are so cold it bleeds into my legs and back despite my layers of clothing. I turn on the car and drive down Route 1 toward Rockport. Once I arrive at the dock, I park my car. A low fog gathers over the water, spilling onto the pebbled beach. I walk over to several men standing near a few speedboats, hoping the fog won’t be a deterrent. The water sloshes against the wood beneath me as I approach. After a few minutes of negotiation, I find someone to take me to the island for twenty bucks.
The sun burns on the horizon as I walk down the worn wood of the dock. My captain is a middle-aged man with a beard that stretches halfway down his rounded belly. He climbs into his boat, a four-seater that’s rusting at the stern, and I jump in after him. I position myself at the back, pulling my coat up around my neck.
“You ready?” he asks, glancing back at me.
I nod, and he starts up the sputtering engine. Cold wind lashes at my face as the boat picks up speed. We skip across the waves until we’re swallowed by the fog. He eases up on the engine, and finally the fog parts, and the island rises out of the bay. My stomach twists as we approach, the way it always does. This island doesn’t have good memories for me. All I can see when I look at it is the place that took my sister from me, the place that stole the lives of other innocent girls.
The boat surges toward the docks, and as he pulls in, I pass him the twenty. “Do you need me to stay to give you a ride back?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Thank you, but no. The ferry will be running when I head back.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, tucking the money into his pocket.
I walk down the dock toward Main Street, past the police station I worked at last year. Noah’s hotel is across the street from the station, which led to him getting in my way quite a bit last year during the early parts of my investigation. I stare at the Tidewater Motel, where Noah’s been staying for the past couple of months. The building is long. On one end it’s one story, and on the other end it rises up to two. Wood shingles line the sides, the brown making the white trim pop. When Noah first started staying here, I wondered how he could afford it, but from the googling I did on his family, it seems they could probably buy the whole hotel if they wanted. Maybe this whole goddamn island.
My mind is scattered, fragmented, as I approach. Though I want to harden my heart, to shut him out, my rage has simmered. And as much as I want to move on, I also want to know why he lied to me. I can’t walk away from this without understanding why, and as upset as I am about him keeping his past from me, maybe I got too far ahead of myself.
For a long time, I stare up at the stairs that run along the outside of the motel toward his room, debating whether or not I really want to do this. Finally I test putting one foot on a stair, then another, and another, until I’m looking right at the number on the front of the door. I take a deep breath and knock.
It takes Noah a minute to answer. His hair is disheveled, as if I got him out of bed. It hangs below his earlobes now. Thick stubble clings to his jaw, darkening his face. But I like the way it looks on him. His eyes brighten slightly when he sees me.
“Claire?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s afraid I might be a dream.
“Can I come in?” I ask finally. He hasn’t moved.
“Of course,” he says, stepping aside to let me through.
The inside of the hotel room looks lived in, really lived in. Two pizza boxes are stacked on the counter in the small kitchen. Spiral notebooks and paperwork are scattered on nearly every surface, like Noah has his own situation room. I’d also say he hasn’t let a housekeeper in here for a while. I look from the small table to the bed, unsure where I want to sit. Finally, I decide the table is likely the better place to have a conversation. I try not to glance at the papers and folders there, but I can’t help it. They’re clearly for a case, the victims from Tennessee, I’d guess. With this mess, it’s hard to believe he’s only been back here for twenty-four hours or so.
“Thirsty?” he asks as he moves toward the small fridge.
“No,” I say. I could use a drink, but I’m not thirsty. I expect to feel something, but a numbness has settled over me. “Please, sit,” I say when he lingers in the small kitchen in the back of the suite. I’d swear that he’s scared of me. What happened to the Noah who stood by my car last night? That’s the Noah I expected to find. Not this beaten-down version before me.
He sits across from me, setting two bottles of water on the table.
“I want you to explain,” I say in a voice so calm I surprise myself.
“Explain?” he asks as he cracks his bottle of water open.
“I want you to explain why you’re incapable of talking about your past. I know that Tina and Josh are difficult for you to talk about, but what about the other parts of your family and Emma?”
“Oh,” he says. It’s clear I’ve caught him off guard. He must have thought I came here to make certain I wanted nothing else to do with him. He swallows so hard I can see his Adam’s apple bob from across the table.
“When I was a kid, I hated my family. I had a tough time. I didn’t fit in with them. And nothing I did made the situation any better. I met Josh in elementary school. Much to my mother’s disappointment, we became friends.”
“Her disappointment?” I ask. Though I know the basics of
Tina and Josh’s story, he’s never gone into detail about their shared history.
“Josh didn’t come from a good family. They were on the poorer side. They lived in a small house they rented on the wrong side of town. My mom tried to keep us from seeing one another. She just wanted me to have friends that traveled in the same circles as us. But I didn’t want that. I loved Josh and his mom, Tina. They made me feel like family. They accepted me. They loved me for who I was,” he explains. He eyes the table as he speaks, then finally looks back to me.
“In 2000, Tina was killed. Her body dumped near a spot known for sex workers. Six other women were dumped there, the ones I’m looking into. But the police were never able to find out who did it, as you know. Josh and I both spiraled after Tina died. He went to live with his grandma. When I visited, we got shit faced together. It was too painful to be around him without drinking. Four years later, Josh tried to kill himself. I walked in and found him in his room; he’d taken a full bottle of sleeping pills.” Emotion swims in his eyes, and he swallows hard, as if trying to push the memories back down.
I reach across the table and grab his hand. The pain etched on his face and in his words cracks my resolve. I know that pain. I’ve carried it with me for years. Shutting him out when he’s struggling like this—I just can’t do it. He offers me a sad smile before continuing.
“I thought that after they saved Josh, he might get better. That he’d realize his mistake, that he was meant to live. But six months later, I walked to our favorite bridge and caught him there. I called his name, and he looked at me. He knew I was there. But he jumped off anyway. I watched him die. Then a few weeks later, I tried to do the same. First, I tried sleeping pills like he had, but my brother Cameron found me. Then I went to the bridge. I thought about jumping off. But I couldn’t do it.” He hangs his head, and I squeeze his hand again. The sadness on his face makes my own heart ache. The thought that Noah was in such a dark place tightens my chest. I don’t want him ever to be in that mental place again.
