Troy stopped me before I stormed out and told me to take a deep breath, but he had something else to say to me as well. He said it in a low voice that was unsettling. “We can postpone the wedding if you want?”
I was a little stumped…and I got this bad feeling in my stomach. “Why?” I asked him. “Is that what you want?”
“No, not at all,” he said, putting my mind at ease with the way he laughed and reached out to hold my hand. “But if you need extra time for you and Claire to put things right, then there is no rush. Things have been paid for, but it’s not like I can’t afford to take the hit. I just don’t want to see you stressed like this.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t want to delay anything. “We will sort it out. And even if we don’t, this wedding is going ahead in three days’ time. Got it?” I grinned at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek before I sped out of the function room, taking the staff elevator down to the ground level and then out into the street, actually gasping when the hot air hit my face.
Wow. I had to double over for a second and compose myself. I braced myself for the walk to the beach that would only take five minutes but would feel like five hours in that oppressive heat.
I actually felt like I was inside an oven. By the time I got the ship, I was actual so hot that I could no longer ‘feel’ the heat. Uh oh. I was pretty sure that was how heatstroke got you.
But even if I had to hold the entire ship back singlehandedly, I would do it. Even if I suffered heatstroke doing so, I would do it.
Carl was smoking a cigar, an actual cigar, when I met him at the pier.
I was out of breath. “When do you sail?” I asked, skipping all formalities.
“It will take a few days for everything to get re-instated back on the ship. Most people took all their bags and belongings. Takes a while to get everything and everyone back on board,” he said, winking at me. An actual wink. “But then we’ll be far away from this place.”
“I thought you liked Eden Bay,” I said. Either he had been lying to me before or he was lying to me now.
He put the cigar out on the ground. Ew. Gross. “That was before.” What did he mean by that? “Anyway, none of my passengers are guilty,” he said with a shrug. “And so, I’d rather take them all away from the suspicious eyes around here. They all paid good money to be on this ship. And they are going to get their money’s worth.”
I gulped when I thought about the implications. This would also mean that Matt would be leaving town in three days. It was too soon. It was the day of my wedding! Even if he was there for the ceremony, he would have to skip the reception.
“You can’t leave,” I said, sounding like I was pleading. “Not until we know who really killed Dan Millen. For certain.”
“Who are you to tell me where I can and can’t take my own ship?” he asked, glowering at me as he pulled out his cigar box and started to light another one.
I was everyone, that was who I was, and I was NOT going to let him leave town. But he was right about one thing: on my own, I was too weak. There was strength in numbers. Even two.
I sent a prayer out into the universe before I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Just pick up this time. Please.
“I need your help.”
And we were reunited.
Part III
Alyson & Claire
17
Claire
Purple was definitely not my color. It was sort of a nightmare color. Heavy and oppressive. And the plum color did NOT go with my pale blonde hair. And there was no way I was dyeing it a darker shade just for the wedding.
Maybe I could convince her to go back to blue. I took another spin in front of the changing room mirror and rolled my eyes.
Alyson was on the other side of the door. We didn’t have much time to get the dress fitted and any alterations made. In fact, we had no time.
“Hey, Princess,” she called out. “Give me a look at this thing!”
I stepped out and made a face. “I look like I am wearing a bruise.”
“Well, J chose the color scheme. And she thinks that it’s pretty.”
I gritted my teeth at that. I know it sounds strange—maybe even very petty—to be in a fight with a nine-year-old, but J was a bit of a sore subject right then. The only reason I was even speaking to Alyson again was because she had explained that the reason she’d told the newspaper I was a killer—thanks very much, by the way—was because she was worried she could lose custody of J if her own name was dragged through the mud.
“It was a choice between keeping my family and, well, selling you out.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t get why she did it. Unfortunately, I did get it. But it was still a crummy thing to have done. I’d reminded her of the time we were 14 and skipped the swimming carnival and she’d done the same thing. She’d just thrown her head back and laughed. “Oh my gosh, I’d forgotten all about the time we skipped the carnival.”
Unfortunately, I hadn’t. I held a grudge—and had a longer memory—than my wild and dirty best friend.
If she was going to make me wear purple, then I was going to keep that on my list of grudges as well.
“Hey, it’s not like anyone that matters will see you in that thing,” Alyson said with a shrug as a way to placate me.
“Well, I, uh, actually have a date for your wedding,” I muttered, struggling to get the zip down.
Alyson’s mouth dropped open. See, this was exactly what I had been afraid of—her reaction.
“A date? You do realize that this is my wedding and my BROTHER is going to be there? The brother that you broke off your engagement to?”
“I know.” Maybe it was a little tacky to invite Michael…but things were moving fast, and I wanted him to be there.
Alyson had her face all scrunched up like an angry beaver. She was about ready to explode at this news. “This is my wedding,” she said. “And I don’t really want this Michael guy anywhere near it.”
Fair enough.
But Alyson had gone to the papers and accused me of murder, so I didn’t think she should be getting on her moral high horse about anything nor making demands of me.
Miss Florence came into the dressing room and tried to tell me how beautiful I looked in the dress and how much it suited me. Yeah right. But I kept checking my watch. Maybe purple was not my color—okay, DEFINITELY wasn’t my color—but maybe I was just going to have to compromise and get used to it, because I needed to get out of that dress shop.
I still had my ideas about what had really gone down on that boat the night of Dan’s death.
Alyson was preoccupied with stopping the boat from leaving, but I didn’t think the killer was from that boat. I was still convinced he was from Eden Bay. Or, at least, Eden Bay via a prison in Sydney.
“Are you really leaving now? Right after we’ve only just reunited?”
I stepped out of the dress and it fell to the ground. The shopkeeper frowned at me and scurried to pick it up and dust it off. I really didn’t think it mattered it if got any dust on it—the thing was that ugly that any addition could only improve the state of it, surely.
“It’s important.” I shot Alyson a look and then whispered to her carefully so that Miss Florence couldn’t hear. “It’s about the case.”
“Then I am coming with you. We work together now, right?”
18
Alyson
I could feel all eyes on us as we took off down the footpath. Nothing had gotten any better. Maria being in jail gave the papers the perfect angle and the perfect ending to the “Claire and Alyson got it wrong all along” narrative.
And because we both had a personal connection to Maria, it really did seem like we had been covering for her all along. At least to outside sources. The two of us knew the truth, though.
“Do you think this is why they did it?” I asked Claire.
“Why who did what?”
It was slightly cooler that day. Still eighty-
seven degrees, but bearable.
“Why they arrested Maria,” I said, struggling to keep up with Claire’s brisk pace. She had a real bee in her bonnet about this whole funeral parlor angle, of which I knew very little. She’d filled me in on the basics. I was completely shocked to find out that Mr. Carbonetti had actually been out of prison at the time that Dan Millen was killed. But that was the problem—it was almost too shocking. I couldn’t believe that the original Surfboard Killer was the SAME Surfboard Killer we were dealing with now.
“Still not following,” Claire said, even though she was the one ahead.
I skipped to keep up. “Maybe they arrested Maria because it makes a good story for the paper. Rachael will be loving this,” I said as we passed a store that had the cover of that day’s paper out the front. “CONSPIRACY.” The cover had just that as a headline with my face and Claire’s underneath the black headline.
“It’s not like Rachael has any actual power with the police force…” Claire said. She started out the sentence sounding firm and confident in her conviction, but by the end of it, I could see that she was doubting herself. I knew why too. Rachael wasn’t against taking bribes, and we already knew from the past that she could be easily swayed into ditching her journalist integrity when there was an angle she wanted to run. Maybe she had something over the cops.
“Maybe they are in on it together.”
“Shoot.” Claire came to a complete stop. “What if that is what’s happened?” Then she started walking even faster. “We have to find the real killer. You and I were right the first time,” she said, and I could see how important it was now for her to prove that she was right.
I gulped as I followed her. I could see the funeral home in the distance up a short hill, the Eden Bay golf course behind it. I still wasn’t convinced that Mr. Carbonetti had gotten away from his handler, made a dash across town, and killed Dan Millen all in the space of a half an hour, but at that point, it was the best chance we had of catching the real killer and of clearing our own good names as well.
“Okay.” Claire took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
But I had something to say to Claire before we entered the funeral parlor.
“Claire. When this is all over…” I had to stop and take a deep breath before I continued. I didn’t know how she was going to react, but this was something I needed to say. And I had to be firm. She’d probably disagree with me—she always did—but I had been thinking about this for a while now and had made my mind up.
“Yeah?” She was just staring at me, waiting for me to continue.
“I am out. We need to go back to just being Claire and Alyson. Not Claire and Alyson, the surfboard detectives. No more mystery solving. No more murders.”
She was strangely, eerily quiet, and at first, I thought she was going to argue with me. But then I saw this look overcome her face, from right at the top and then working its way down. It started in her forehead as it dropped a little bit, and then it spread to her eyes, where there was this sort of knowingness there. Then finally, her lips curled in a smile that started small and then grew larger.
Finally, what I saw in her face was relief. “You’re right,” she said, and I had to laugh at that.
“What did you just say?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes a little. “Might be the first and last time I say that, but you ARE right, Alyson. It’s been one heck of a ride, but I think after this, we need to step back. It’s been rough. We’ve had victories but we’ve also taken a lot of hits. And we’ve got to live our lives.”
I nodded. “But we can’t go out like this,” I said, nodding towards the funeral house. “Not with people thinking we got the wrong guy. Or girl. Whatever. You know what I mean. If this is our last hurrah, then it really has to be that—a hurrah.”
Claire nodded. “A redemption. You’re right.”
She pushed open the doors and walked in, confident with where she was going because she had been there before. Strangely enough, I never had.
“Eww, what is that smell?” I asked as we stepped through the doors.
It was sickly sweet but also a little rotten. Kinda like decaying fruit, maybe. Eww.
Claire looked a little green around the gills as well, but she told me I’d get used to it. I wasn’t sure I believed her. She didn’t even look like she believed herself.
There was a frowning man behind the counter as we walked in.
“This guy already hates me,” Claire grumbled as she nodded towards him. She told me his name was Glenn and that he considered her to be very rude and demanding. Oh well, those two things were true enough.
“Maybe Glenn is just a perceptive guy.”
“Ha-ha.”
Well, I hadn’t actually been joking, but at least she didn’t take offense.
“He doesn’t seem happy to see me.”
“Hmm, why don’t you let me take a shot at it then?” I asked.
Maybe it was just because it was our last hurrah, but Claire actually nodded and agreed to let me take the lead.
I took a deep breath—a bad move with that smell lingering in the air—and walked over to the counter.
He was already rolling his eyes before I even got five feet from the desk. “Still sniffing around in here?” he asked and returned to his books.
“I’d rather not be to be honest,” I said, coughing a little.
He looked up at me sharply and I thought he was going to take offense, but instead he apologized. “You do get used to it after a while.”
“Must be tough working here,” I said, and I meant it. “Seeing all this death, dealing with all this grief.”
He looked at me strangely for a moment. “I suppose you must know the same thing.”
That really hit me. I nodded and actually, weirdly, felt some tears prickling at the backs of my eyes. Because I was thinking about J, and about Troy, and about how I wanted to protect them from all this. “I am just trying to set things right,” I said quietly. Claire couldn’t even hear our conversation. We were talking too quietly, and she was too far away, leaving me to do my own thing for once.
Glenn looked uncomfortable and shuffled a few things around.
“Please, is there something you know that you are not telling us?” I asked him.
He stared up at me blankly. “It wasn’t Nello Carbonetti in here that day of his mother’s funeral.”
Oh my gosh. “But how do you know that?”
He looked a little guilty. “I saw the person who was pretending to be him. His hat slipped off at one stage and it was young man, far younger than Nello Carbonetti.”
I wasn’t really following.
“Sorry, can you back up a bit?” I asked. Claire had vaguely mentioned something to me about a ‘disguise,’ but I’d thought this was just wishful thinking on her part. You know, that someone had pretended to be Mr. Carbonetti for the funeral, while he was out killing random surfers. But even I—with my wild imagination—knew that didn’t make much sense.
Glenn was looking mighty guilty. “You can’t tell anyone this,” he said, whispering so low that even I could barely hear him, let alone Claire. “I was offered money not to say anything.”
“By whom?”
“By the guard who was here that day. But the money came directly from Nello. It wasn’t him here that day. It was a ringer.”
Whoa. “Why?” I asked. Claire glanced over when she heard our voices rise.
“He knew it would look bad if he wasn’t here for his mother’s funeral, but he was too scared to come back to Eden Bay, so he paid someone to impersonate him. He never left the jail all day.”
“So who was it?” I asked
Glenn shrugged. “No one important. Just another random prisoner that Nello is buddies with, doing him a favor.”
I almost couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, I knew how corrupt our prison system could be.
“Thanks, Glenn. I hope you have a pleasant day, I really do,” I said, and p
romised not to tell anyone about the bribe he had taken.
Outside in the fresh air, Claire was shocked at the information I had gotten.
“It wasn’t even him…” At first, she thought this was good news. As though Mr. Carbonetti not being at the funeral meant he really did have the opportunity to kill Dan Millen. Like it removed his alibi. It took her a few moments to grasp it fully.
“But he was safely behind bars,” Claire said with a sigh.
I was a little deflated as well. I couldn’t figure out whether this was good or bad news for us. Probably more bad than good. It would have been so nice and neat if we’d had the right guy all along and could prove it because he’d killed again.
“Maybe Maria did do it,” Claire said sadly as we started to wander slowly away from the funeral house. “I mean, she does have a bit of a track record…”
But that sort of talk was only annoying me. I knew what Claire was getting at and it was ridiculous. “All she did was take home a couple of books from your shop. That doesn’t make someone a killer.”
“She STOLE the books,” Claire said, pouting a little. “And that does make her a criminal.”
Maybe. We walked quietly for a while and as we did, the temperature dropped dramatically. The cool change was finally setting in. Great. Just in time for my wedding. I just hoped that it wouldn’t rain. “I just can’t believe that the killer could be someone we know. Someone we are so close to,” I said.
Speaking of, there was a familiar face up ahead. We both spotted Byron at the same time at the end of the block. And she was looking very spritely and healthy, at least from a distance.
We watched as Byron lifted her head up to the sky and tilted her head back a little, seemingly appreciating the cool breeze blowing through town. It looked like her hip surgery had gone well and she was all recovered. She looked like a young woman.
Claire wanted to run into a shop for a diet soda, and it wasn’t until we were back outside again that Byron was right in front of us on the sidewalk. “Oh, hello ladies,” she said, beaming at us but looking a little pained, which I was surprised by.
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