On Shadow Beach (6 page)

Shane immediately shrugged it off, giving Devlin a small shove at the same time. He had to fight back a reckless urge to take a swing at the guy’s arrogant face, but he didn’t go off half-cocked anymore. Especially not with the chief of the police
sitting a few tables away.

Mark put up both hands. “Sorry. Look, I just want to hear your version of what happened that night. Surely you’d like to clear your name.”

“I don’t care what people say.”

“Well, I don’t think you did it,” Devlin said quickly.

Shane froze. “Is that so?”

“I have a few other suspects in mind, including one individual who was never interrogated.”

Shane couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. “Who?”

“The older sister—Lauren. Word on the street is that the two sisters were competitive. Lauren was jealous. Abby was smarter, prettier, more accomplished, and Lauren didn’t like the fact that her sister was with you that night.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Am I?” Devlin had a troublemaking gleam in his eye. “Are you sure about that? You should talk to me. Together, we might come up with the truth.”

“We’re done here.”

“For now, maybe. But I’m not going anywhere. Just think about it.”

Shane strode through the bar, acutely aware that every eye in the place was on him. So much for the past staying in the past. Despite Devlin’s claim that Lauren was his number one suspect, Shane knew he wouldn’t be far behind. There was no way Devlin was going to make a movie and not include him. He’d been named a person of interest when the murder
occurred. He’d been interrogated a dozen times. And even when the police couldn’t bring a case against him, half the town had believed him to be guilty. Some still did.

He should have known better than to come home. And he had a feeling Lauren was going to wish the very same thing.

It was almost midnight before Lauren gathered enough courage to enter the bedroom she’d shared with Abby. As she turned on the light, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

Abby’s bed was covered by a red polka-dot comforter, a half dozen throw pillows, and Loveylou, the stuffed bunny her younger sister had slept with since she was two years old. Lauren drew in a sharp breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of pain at the sight of the one-eared bunny. She immediately looked away, but everywhere her gaze fell was another memory.

Abby’s clothes were in the closet, and her shoes were tossed in a pile on the floor where she’d left them that last day. The bulletin board over Abby’s desk boasted her latest straight-A report card, the program from the prom, a photograph of the high school varsity volleyball team, of which Abby had been the star setter, and an unused ticket for a concert the weekend after Abby’s death.

Her gaze moved to a photograph on the desk. Her younger sister had been so pretty, with her
chestnut hair and big brown eyes. Abby looked like their father, while she and David took after their mother, with dark hair and blue eyes. It was funny that the family had divided along those same lines.

There wasn’t one thing of Lauren’s left in the room. Only her bed remained, stripped down to the mattress. When her mother had decided to take her and David away, she’d packed up all their belongings, but Ned had refused to let her touch Abby’s things. They’d had a vicious fight that last day, and her mother had cried all the way up the coast. Lauren hadn’t understood then or even now how her parents’ grief had turned them into bitter enemies, but that’s exactly what had happened.

When she’d decided to return home, she’d never anticipated having to confront the past so vividly, to be surrounded by the things that Abby had touched, worn, and slept on. Was it her imagination, or did Abby’s perfume still linger in the air?

She closed her eyes, but that only made the memories worse. The day that Abby died had begun so innocently, like any other Monday morning . . .

“Abby, hurry up.” Lauren grabbed her lunch off the kitchen counter and stuffed it into her backpack. School started in fifteen minutes, but as usual Abby was running late. “I’m going to leave without you,” she added. It was two miles to the high school, and Lauren doubted Abby felt like walking.

When there was no answer from her sister, Lauren stormed down the hall to their room. Abby was sitting at her desk, writing in her journal. She
jumped when she saw Lauren and quickly closed her diary, a guilty expression on her face.

“What are you doing?” Lauren asked.

“Nothing.”

Lauren hadn’t really cared what her sister was up to, but now that Abby’s cheeks were turning red, she was far more interested. “You have a secret. What is it?”

“As if I’d tell you.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to read about it in your diary.”

Abby hastily put her journal into her backpack. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You like someone,” Lauren teased.

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Who is it? Tell me.”

Abby shrugged, an odd look in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t—I can’t have him.”

“Why not? Does he have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Lauren. You wanted to go, so let’s go.” Abby breezed past her, knocking her in the shoulder with her bag.

“Ow,” Lauren said, rubbing her arm. “You did that on purpose. You are such a pain in the ass. I should make you walk.”

“But you won’t, because you love me,” Abby tossed out with a knowing smile.

“Not that much,” she returned.

The next morning, Abby was dead.

Lauren’s eyes flew open, her breathing labored.
The last thing she’d said to her sister was that she didn’t love her that much. Had Abby known she was just joking? God, she hoped so.

Her gaze traveled back to the desk. She knew the journal wasn’t there, because they’d all looked for it after Abby’s death, hoping they might learn some secret that might have gotten Abby killed. But Abby’s bag had gone missing and had never been located.

What had Abby meant—a boy she couldn’t have? The obvious answer had been Shane. That’s certainly where everyone had jumped when Lauren had repeated the conversation. The fact that Shane had been seen giving Abby a ride to the high school that night had only reinforced that theory.

Had there been something going on between Shane and Abby? He’d denied it and she’d wanted to believe him, but he’d lied to her that day. He’d told her he was going out on a fishing charter with his father that night, but he’d been in town, with Abby, and he’d never explained why. It hurt to think that Abby and Shane might have betrayed her, and she’d never been able to put the thought away.

But two teenagers cheating was one thing; murder was another.

“Oh, Abby,” she said out loud. “I wish we could rewind the clock and replay that conversation, so you could tell me what you were up to that day.”

A chill seemed to blow through the room. Although the windows were closed the curtains shimmered
with some phantom breeze, and Lauren had the strangest sensation that she wasn’t alone. “Abby?” she whispered.

“What are you still doing up?”

She started, whirling around.

Her father stood in the doorway wearing his pajamas and slippers. “It’s late, Abigail. You should be asleep. We leave at four. The fish won’t wait.”

His words shocked Lauren back to the present.

“I don’t think we’re going fishing tomorrow, Dad,” she said slowly, not sure how to talk to him. Was it better to confront him or to go along?

“Of course we are. It’s your birthday. We always go fishing on your birthday.”

“How old am I going to be?”

“Thirteen. You’re a teenager now.” His smile turned sad. “You won’t be my baby girl for very long. The boys will be knocking on the door soon, but tomorrow will be just for us. Don’t tell your mother or Lauren, but I stopped by Martha’s and picked up those blueberry muffins you like so much. We’ll have them for breakfast. It will be one of our little secrets.”

There was something about the way he said the word
secrets
that bothered Lauren even more than the rest of the disjointed conversation. “What are some of our other secrets, Dad?”

He frowned, his gaze narrowing on her face. Uncertainty passed through his eyes. “Lauren?”

He was back to the present.

“Yes, it’s me, Dad,” she said gently.

“Well, of course it’s you. I suppose you think I should have gotten rid of Abby’s things by now.”

“Doesn’t it make it harder for you to see the room like this?”

“I feel closer to Abby in here. I talk to her, and I think she can hear me.” He walked across the room and picked up one of several fishing trophies displayed on the dresser. “Abby was only eleven when she won this. She was a natural-born fisherman.” He scratched his chin. “Not like you—you hated the waiting. I never could understand how I got a daughter who didn’t like the ocean.”

“I liked the ocean in the daytime, and for short periods. I just liked other things more—but you didn’t really care about those other things.”

“Your mom always knew what you liked,” he said, as if that excused him from the responsibility.

She took a deep breath, feeling as if she were about to step off a cliff. She’d never discussed anything personal with her father. “I wanted you to know, too.”

“I knew. Your mother would tell me.” He set down the trophy. “I’m going to bed.”

“Dad—in all these years, did you ever find Abby’s diary?”

“No. It must have been in her book bag that night.”

She nodded as he left the room. That’s what they’d always thought. Her sister’s secrets had gone with her to the grave.

Lauren couldn’t see how the movie producer was going to be able to come up with the name of Abby’s killer. There weren’t any clues; there never had been. If Mark Devlin was going to name a villain, he would have to make one up.

Lauren woke up Saturday morning with a pain in her back and a cramp in her leg. She stretched with a groan, feeling bruised and battered. She doubted the old sofa bed had even been opened in the last decade. But she’d been unable to imagine sleeping in her old bedroom, now a shrine to her sister.

Getting to her feet, she stumbled to the bathroom. The mirror over the sink was not kind. Her dark brown hair was tangled and wild, and there were shadows under her eyes. She smoothed her hair and splashed some cold water on her face. Coffee first, then a shower. She grabbed a sweatshirt out of her suitcase and threw it over her pink camisole and purple pajama bottoms.

She’d make some eggs—maybe French toast with powdered sugar and bacon. It had been years since she’d had bacon,
but being home reminded her of the sandwiches her mother used to make, crispy bacon on toast with lots of butter. It was a wonder
none of them had had a heart attack.

As she looked at her father’s empty shelves, her excitement faded. The only coffee was instant and probably a few years old, which surprised her. Her father had always loved his coffee in the morning. It was one thing they had in common.

She closed the cupboard, suddenly aware of the quiet house. It was nine fifteen; her father should have been up by now. He’d been a fisherman since he could walk, and he’d always talked about the wonder of being on the ocean in the stunning stillness of dawn. She’d never been a big fan of daybreak, but she was a big fan of breakfast. Maybe she’d wake him and they’d go get some pancakes.

But her father wasn’t in his room, or anywhere in the house. He was gone again, and she had no idea where. As she considered her options, the doorbell rang. A moment of pure vanity made her hesitate. She looked like hell, and she really hoped it wasn’t Shane. She needed her armor on when she talked to him again—or at least some lipstick.

She returned to the living room, glanced through the peephole, and was surprised to see a familiar and attractive blonde on the porch. For the first time since she’d arrived, she was truly happy to see someone. She threw open the door with a smile. “Charlotte Adams. I can’t believe it’s you.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened in amazement. “Lauren? When did you get back?”

“Yesterday.” Charlotte had been her very first best friend. They’d met in kindergarten. Terrified
of the big school, they’d held hands at recess and hadn’t let go of each other for a long time, not until high school when boys and other problems had gotten in the way. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Charlotte’s golden blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin was clear and beautiful, her light blue eyes framed by ridiculously long dark lashes, and she looked fit in her running shoes, black leggings, and T-shirt.

“That is definitely not true. I never thought you’d come back, Lauren.”

“I had to. My dad is ill.”

“I know.” Charlotte gave her a compassionate smile. “You look like you had a rough night.”

“I had a battle with the pull-out couch. So what are you doing here?”

“I’m dropping off a casserole and some cookies for your father.” Charlotte held up the box in her hands. “Courtesy of my mother.”

“That’s very thoughtful. Can you come in for a minute, or do you have to work? I hear you’ve been busy bringing new lives into the world as an ob/gyn.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “I guess the Angel’s Bay network transmits all the way to San Francisco.”

“My mother still keeps in touch with a few people.” Lauren led the way into the kitchen. She put the casserole dish in the fridge and the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table. “These look delicious.”

Charlotte grinned as she pulled out a chair and
sat down. “Nowhere near as good as yours, I’m sure. Are you still baking?”

“Not much. Too busy working. I’m a corporate event planner.”

“Really? I remember when your mother gave you that miniature oven for Christmas. You made me play restaurant for hours on end,” she added with a laugh. “I always thought you’d end up in a bakery somewhere.”

“Do you still run?” Lauren asked, eager to change the subject.