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“I think they wish I’d come home instead, but they’ve accepted it.” The topic of this conversation had created a perfect opportunity to tell him about Jack. She was afraid “nice” Bastian would disappear, and he’d revert to the man she’d first met, but it would seem strange if she didn’t speak up now that they were discussing her family. “I don’t know if Remy’s told you, but Jack, the brother closest to me in age, has decided to come here.” She checked the time on her phone. “He actually arrives tonight.”
Bastian rocked back. “Your brother’s coming here?Tonight?For how long?”
“That’s yet to be determined. He’s going through a hard time—a divorce—so nothing’s for sure. It’s a chance to escape all the gossip, as well as his estranged wife, and spend some time meditating on what he really wants for his future.”
A contemplative expression crept over Bastian’s face. “Is he staying at the cottage?”
She was glad she could say no. But she didn’t want to tell him Jack was staying with Bo, either. He’d find it strange, which was why she hadn’t even told Remy yet. “I got him a room at Hotel Mariners,” she said and left it there. Technically, that wasn’t a lie. Shedidget Jack a room at Hotel Mariners, but she’d already given it up. Still, it would seem more natural if Bastian and Remy thought staying with Bo was something that’d cropped upafterher brother had been at the hotel for a few days.
“Interesting,” he said.
She shifted in her seat. “In what way?”
“In a lot of ways.” Finished with his third—or was it fourth—whiskey, he flagged down the waiter to get him another one.
He’d already had plenty to drink. She was afraid he wouldn’t be able to walk home, but she didn’t say anything. At least they were finally getting along. “I hope you don’t mind that’s he’s coming...”
His lips curved into a smile that showed such perfect teeth, she wondered if they were veneers. Maybe that was one way she could tell the brothers apart, she realized. Remy’s teeth were more natural in color. “Me?” he said. “No way. The more the merrier. I’m just surprised he’s not staying with us.”
“I didn’t want to take advantage of your parents’ generosity. And Remy’s looking forward to a certain kind of summer. I think it’ll be better—for everyone—if Jack stays somewhere else.”
He spun his glass around on the table. “Remy knows your brother’s coming and didn’t insist he stay at the cottage?”
She didn’t want to make her fiancé look selfish, especially to someone who already seemed to think the worst of him. So she said, “Jack insisted. He doesn’t mind.”
“That’s got to be expensive. But...okay. I can’t wait to see how he and Remy get along.”
What did Bastian mean by that? “Jack can get along with anyone.”
He chuckled softly. “I wish I could say the same for Remy.”
He’d found it. Bo studied the image that’d come up when he performed a Google search forhouse fire kills girl on Marinersand compared it to the photograph on his phone. They looked so similar it had to be the same person.
Her name was Lyssa Helberg, and she died nine years ago in June, only a year or so after her family had moved to Mariners from Boulder, Colorado. It’d been long enough that people wouldn’t still be talking about the incident, which was why he hadn’t heard anything about it.
“Thank God for Honey,” he murmured as he read the articles attached to the various headlines.
Girl, 19, Dies in House Fire
Power Outage, Candles, Booze—Recipe for Death
McMurtrys Sell Home for $2 Million Less Than True Value
No Charges Filed in McMurtry Case
Bo searched every article he could find for mentions of the Windsor boys. The girl would’ve been a couple of years younger than they were when she lost her life, but the party hadn’t been exclusive. While the articles included statements from several of the partygoers, neither Remy nor Bastian was one of them.
It was possible Remy had known her. Cared about her.
But that didn’t explain the underwear and jewelry. Nothing Bo could think of explained the underwear and jewelry, certainly not better than what seemed to be the most logical answer—that Remy, or someone, was peeping on women, assaulting women, or worse.
That was what his experience as an ex-convict suggested, and it was downright terrifying—so terrifying he couldn’t accept it. What were the chances?
Next to nil, he told himself. He wanted to keep focusing on this problem, keep searching to find the people quoted in those articles. One of them might be able to tell him if Remy or Bastian had been there that night.
But if word got back to any of the Windsors that he was digging up the past—questioning people about Remy’s and Bastian’s whereabouts that night—it might not go over well. They’d certainly wonder what he was after, and he couldn’t imagine they’d take it as a friendly gesture.
Dare he push the issue?
