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“Is there a good police force on Mariners?”
Again, it took him a second to answer. He was obviously wondering why she’d chosen this topic of conversation. “I think they’re decent. They solved the Emily Hutchins murder, which wasn’t easy.”
“She’s the only girl who’s ever gone missing from Mariners?”
“That I know of.”
Ismay slid her hands under her pillow. If Bo knew anything about the contents behind the wall of Remy’s closet, he certainly didn’t let on.
“Ismay?”
She looked over at him.
“Are you scared of me?”
“No!” she said.
He started to get up. “Because I can go back to my own place—”
She motioned for him to lie back down. “If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have insisted you come here. Please don’t go. I feelsaferwith you here.” And she knewhewas probably safer, too, what with the state of his house.
He propped his head up on his fist as he relaxed back onto the couch. “So...why are we talking about crime?”
If she was ever going to tell him, now was the time. The words were on the tip of her tongue. But she owed Remy more faith and loyalty than to raise such a potentially compromising question, didn’t she? What if he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and she made him look guilty simply by sharing her confusion?
She couldn’t risk that. What kind of a fiancée would she be?
“I read about Emily before coming here. It was all over the news.”
“As I said, that case has been solved. And even if that weren’t true, you don’t have anything to worry about—not while I’m here.”
“Right. I believe that. So...why do you think some serial killers and rapists keep mementos of their victims?”
“The police and other authorities in the shows I’ve watched say it’s so they can relive their crimes.”
“But it also raises the risk of getting caught. I mean, someone could stumble on a cache of those things and bust a case wide open,” she said, holding her breath as she waited for his response.
“I guess it shows how twisted they are that they’d be compelled to do it even if it’s at their own peril.”
She let her breath go. He didn’t know anything about the duffel bag. That was clear. His mind had gone in a completely different direction when she’d brought it up.
“Do you think you ever really know somebody?” she asked.
“Somebody who has good reason not to be authentic?” he said. “No. Those people show you only what they want you to see.”
“You’re probably right,” she said and couldn’t help thinking how good Remy was at doing exactly that.
The wind had a bite to it. Only Mariners could feel this cold in spring, Bastian thought as he took the early morning ferry to the island—the first ferry to be able to make it over in two days. If it was sunshine he was looking for, he would’ve been better off heading to Florida. But then his parents would’ve bitched at him for spending their money on an Airbnb when they had a perfectly good vacation home at one of the most desirable places to visit in America.
This wasn’t about a vacation, anyway. He’d heard that Remy had sent his fiancée to Mariners ahead of him and Bastian wanted to meet her when his brother wasn’t around. Whoever she was, he felt sorry for her. Remy could be a real dick.
He glanced up at the sky. At least it’d stopped raining. According to the weather report, the storm had left the island saturated and windblown, with fallen limbs, debris, and swollen gutters. But the worst of it was over. He supposed he could tolerate a little discomfort to get away from the city and out from under his father’s thumb. His parents had been putting so much pressure on him lately to party less and work more...
He wondered how Mort was going to react when he reached the office and found Bastian’s note on his desk. It simply said he hadn’t been feeling his best and needed some time off, a chance to gain back his full strength. He didn’t indicate where he was going, just that he wouldn’t be coming in for a week or two. He didn’t want them to tell Remy he was visiting Windsor Cottage. His brother would find out soon enough as it was. This might be his only chance to get to know his prospective sister-in-law—and to warn her about what she was getting into. If he screwed things up for his brother at the same time, even better.
The ferry swayed as it came into contact with the dock, and he went inside to get his suitcase from the table where he’d been sitting when they left Long Island and carried it down the stairs so he could disembark. He hadn’t brought a vehicle. He never used one in New York City and his parents kept a Jeep in the garage at the cottage. He just had to take an Uber around the island. Then he’d be set up for the duration of his stay.
He hummed the song playing on his AirPods as he ordered a ride, and a car was waiting for him almost as soon as he stepped off the wharf. When she’d called last night, his mother had told him the power had gone out at Windsor Cottage, but the generator was working, so he assumed he’d be comfortable enough until the power came back on. His future sister-in-law would probably be glad to see him. It had to be scary riding out such a big storm as a stranger to the island, with its temperamental weather.
