She clicked on a photo of Elizabeth rock climbing. She wore a helmet, but Joel recognized her by the long brown braid down her back.
“Okay, she posted this and wrote, ‘Last days in Big Bend’ and then hashtag ‘bigwall yolo getoutside.’ And here are the comments on her post.”
Joel leaned over her shoulder to look. People had posted emojis mostly, along with a few short responses such as “nice!” and “go girl.”
“What am I looking at?” he asked.
“Nothing yet. Hang on.” She clicked on one of the commenters. “Check out the profile picture.”
The photo showed a young woman looking over her shoulder and smiling. On her shoulder was a tattoo that looked like a sideways eight.
“Look familiar?”
“Yeah.” Joel stared at the tattoo. “Will Stovak had a tattoo like that.”
“Yep.”
Nicole flipped open another file folder—this one filled with case notes and autopsy photos. She pulled out a photograph of Will’s lifeless gray forearm on the stainless-steel table. The tattoo on his forearm was a snake in the shape of a figure eight.
“What’s it mean?”
“No idea,” she said. “I mean, in math it’s the symbol for infinity, but this design is a snake. And look.” Nicole turned to her computer again and clicked into another profile picture. “I’ve come across three other commenters with the same tattoo, a woman and two men. You think maybe they’re in some sort of club?”
“Could be.”
Joel’s phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. Miranda. He had dropped her off five hours ago and hadn’t expected to hear from her again today.
“Hey,” he said, turning away from Nicole.
“Hi. I just wanted to tell you this.” She sounded breathless. “I’m out here at the nature center with Benji. I’m walking him on the trail, and on my way in here I saw that cyclist.”
“Cyclist?”
“The guy on the bike from Monday morning.”
“The one without a helmet,” Joel said.
“Yes. And this time I recognized him. He must have had his hair up in a bun or something the other day, but today it was in a ponytail, and I recognized him right away. He works at the nature center. I spoke to him briefly when I was there Tuesday.”
Joel had thought the cyclist lead was a dead end. He spied a notepad on an empty desk and grabbed it.
“You happen to get his name on Tuesday?” Joel asked.
“No. But he has long blond hair that he wears in a ponytail. And he rides a black bike, no helmet. I was going to ask someone inside about him, but the building’s closed for the day.”
“Where’s he work exactly?”
“The reception desk. He looks about nineteen or twenty.”
Joel turned to Nicole, who was watching him and eavesdropping. “You know the name of the guy who works the front desk at the nature center?” Joel asked her.
“No idea.”
He got back on the phone. “Thanks for the tip. I can ask Tom.”
“Who’s Tom?”
“The groundskeeper over there. He’s worked there for years and knows everyone.”
“The guy with the riding mower?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well . . . I wanted you to know,” Miranda said. “Maybe he saw or heard something that could be useful.”
“I’ll follow up. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
She clicked off as Joel jotted some notes.
“How’s Miranda?”
Joel looked up and pretended not to catch the meaning in her tone.
“Fine. She just saw the cyclist from Monday when she was pulling into the nature center, said he works the desk there.”
“Could be worth an interview.”
“Yep.” He tore the paper from the notebook.
“So, what about this symbol? Don’t you think we should figure out what it is?”
“Just because one of our victims has a tattoo of it?”
Nicole pulled another photograph from the file. It was a profile shot of Elizabeth Lark’s head and shoulders, also taken at autopsy. On the ghostly pale skin just behind her left ear was a small tattoo of a snake in the shape of a figure eight.
Joel’s blood chilled. He hadn’t noticed the tattoo at autopsy.
“Not just him—her, too. That’s the point.” Nicole looked at him, clearly worried. “This symbol is everywhere. We need to figure out what it means.”
* * *
* * *
Miranda stepped through the door of the restaurant and nearly smacked into Joel.
“Whoa. Hey there,” he said.
“Hi.” She looked up at his blue eyes, startled to be face-to-face with him after thinking about him all afternoon.
“Takeout tonight?” he asked.
“What?”
“Dinner?” He nodded at the plastic bag in her hand.
“Oh. Yeah.”
A young couple walked up, and Joel touched Miranda’s elbow to steer her out of the way. The pair stepped into the restaurant, and then it was just her and Joel on the sidewalk in front of the Calypso Café.
“You mind hanging on a sec? I need to ask you something,” Joel said.
“Sure.”
“One minute.”
He stepped into the restaurant, letting out a waft of Caribbean chicken and reggae music. Through the window Miranda watched the cashier hand over a bag of food and ring him up. He still wore his work clothes, including the holster and badge, and she wondered if he was on his way home from work or headed back in.
He stepped outside, tucking his wallet into his back pocket.
“Are you eating alone tonight?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Want to come over?”
She smiled. “That’s what you needed to ask me?”
“One of the things.”
She stalled for time as she debated what to do. “Where do you live?”
“Just over there.” He nodded at the neighborhood behind the shopping center. “Three-minute drive.”
He seemed perfectly at ease as he waited for her answer. She was tempted to say yes, and he seemed to know it. Nerves fluttered inside her as she considered the pros and cons.
Pro, dinner with Joel. At his house, too, which meant she’d get to see where he lived, and she was definitely curious. Con, seeing where he lived was personal, and she’d intended to put things back on a professional level.
If they went to his house, they could end up in bed. But she had the willpower to resist that. Or at least, she thought she did.
He watched her, smiling slightly, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I’ll follow you,” she told him.
“Sounds good.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
As she tailed his pickup truck, Miranda realized she looked like crap. Cutoff shorts, faded T-shirt, hair twisted into a bun. She’d meant to shower after her walk with Benji, but hunger had won out and now here she was, having dinner with Joel for the second time in three days. It wasn’t a date, because it had just sort of happened, same as last time. But she would have liked to have showered at least.
He turned onto a street lined with houses on stilts, probably two- and three-bedroom bungalows from the looks of them. Some of the homes had cars in front. The ones with empty driveways and storm shutters down looked like weekend places. It was clearly an older neighborhood, but the houses were painted cheerful colors and looked well kept.
Joel turned onto a street facing a canal and pulled into the driveway of a plain white house flanked by palm trees.
Miranda parked behind him and got out.
“Nice,” she said.
He took her bag of food. “Thanks.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost a year.”
They walked under the house to a wooden staircase. Out of habit, she kicked off her shoes at the base of the steps.
“Watch for splinters,” he said.
A motion-sensitive light came on as she followed him upstairs. At the top he shifted the bags into one hand and slid a key into the lock. His door was wood, not glass like hers, which was better for security.
He flipped on a light as he ushered her inside, and she immediately noticed the quiet. She was used to being accosted by a frenzied dog the instant she set foot through the door.
“It’s kind of a mess,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
She followed him to the kitchen, checking out the living room as she went. Bleached oak floors. No rugs. Not much in the way of furniture, either—only a brown leather sofa, an armchair, and a simple glass coffee table arranged in front of a wall-mounted TV. No framed photos, or color-coordinated throw pillows, or any other sign of a woman’s touch. If he’d lived with anyone, it didn’t appear recent.
Her gaze went back to the coffee table, where she spied a file folder with a series of photographs fanned out beside it. Next to the table was a pair of worn-looking running shoes.
“This isn’t a mess,” she said as he deposited the bags on the breakfast table. Then he dropped his keys and phone on the bar.
“Mind if I change?” he asked.
“No.”
“Help yourself to a drink. I’ve got some stuff in the fridge.”
He disappeared down a hall, leaving her alone in his kitchen.
Joel’s kitchen. Nerves flitted in her stomach as she looked around.
The kitchen was even more spartan than the living room. No clutter on the countertops—not even a coffeepot, which was unfathomable to her. Several photos were taped to the fridge, and she walked over for a closer look. One showed Joel and four other men, all in firefighter gear, standing in front of the lighthouse. Another picture showed the causeway with a trio of hot-air balloons in the distance. Studying the angle of the light, Miranda could tell the hot-air-balloon shot was taken in the early morning.
She heard water running on the other side of the house and hoped he wasn’t taking a shower. Then she’d feel even grungier.
She opened several cabinets and found an extensive collection of barware before discovering the dishes. She took down two plates.
Joel returned to the kitchen, and he’d most definitely changed. He wore faded jeans and a gray T-shirt that stretched taut over his pecs. His feet were bare. He stepped closer, and she felt a warm pull in the pit of her stomach.
“So, are you moonlighting for the fire department?” she asked, nodding at the fridge.
“That was Fourth of July. I’m on the crew that puts on the fireworks display. We go all out.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Guess this will be your first Fourth on the island, huh?”
“Yep.” She nodded at the photos again. “The hot-air-balloon picture is a beautiful shot.”
“Can’t take credit. My sister, Leyla, took it from the top of the lighthouse. You ever been up there?”
“It’s been under renovation since I got here.”
He opened the fridge, and she admired his back as he leaned down to peer inside. “How about a drink? I’ve got beer, water.” He moved some stuff around. “Hard lemonade.”
She smiled. “You drink hard lemonade?”
He shot her a look. “They’re Leyla’s.”
“I’ll have one.”
He took out a beer and a lemonade and twisted the tops off.
“Thanks,” she said as he passed her the drink.
He clinked his bottle with hers and leaned against the counter. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
Together they unpacked the bags, and he opened the boxes. “I can’t believe you went all the way to Calypso’s and only got salad.”
“I love their salad. The mango lime dressing is my favorite.”
He shook his head as they loaded their plates. “Next time try the jerk chicken. It’s legendary.”
“Noted.”
“Want to eat outside? There’s probably enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes away.”
“Sounds good.” And it had the added advantage of being away from the bedroom.
She followed him onto the spacious deck that extended above the boathouse. He had a glass table and four chairs. As she sat down, he took a lighter from his pocket and lit a citronella candle in the center of the table.
“So,” she said as he scooted his chair in. “You have a wedding to go to?”
He froze.
“I saw the tuxedo bag inside.”
“Oh.” He took a sip of beer. “That’s from last weekend. I was a groomsman.”
“Was it a family wedding or . . . ?” She trailed off, noticing the tension in his shoulders.
“My best friend. And my ex.”
Her mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
He shrugged.
“That sucks.”
“Not really.” He dug into his food, and that probably should have been her cue to shut up, but she was too curious.
“Was it, like, a long-ago breakup or—”
“It’s been . . . a little over a year.”
So, not long before he moved in here. Interesting.
“And you dated her for how long?”
“About three years.”
“Wow.”
Miranda thought about how she’d feel if her best friend, Jamie, married Ryan, the only boyfriend Miranda had been serious about since college. It would never happen. Jamie was too loyal. Miranda couldn’t imagine it, and she sure as hell couldn’t imagine going to their wedding.
Joel sipped his beer and put it down. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just very . . . mature about it.”
“Mature?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled and shook his head.
“What? That’s a compliment. If it were me, I’d probably want to claw their eyes out. Especially hers.”
He laughed. “Why hers?”
“Because. If someone’s your best friend, then your exes are off-limits to each other.”
“Yeah, well. They didn’t exactly ask my permission.”
“Did you have to give a toast at this thing?”
“No.” He sighed, and some of the amusement faded from his expression. “His brother did it. He was the best man.”
“Sorry.” Miranda opened the plastic container of dressing and drizzled it over her salad. “It’s totally none of my business, but . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
She forked up a bite. He was watching her now with a look she couldn’t read.
“What?” she asked around a mouthful of salad.
He shook his head.
They got quiet then, and she wondered what he was thinking. Probably that she was nosey.
She looked out at the canal, which was wide enough for two boats to pass with plenty of room. The decks along the opposite side were empty, but a few houses over, a man stood on the dock with a fishing pole.
“So, how’s the case going?” she asked, hoping for a neutral topic.
He took another bite of chicken—which she had to admit smelled amazing.
“Slow,” he said.
“That must be frustrating.”
“Very. But at least we got the autopsy report back.”
“Already?”
“It’s just the preliminary. There wasn’t anything in there we didn’t already know.”
“What about the tox reports?”
“Those will be a while longer.”
She
watched him. The candle cast a warm glow over their table, and she felt herself relaxing with him. He took a sip of beer, and she noticed his long fingers around the bottle.
“I saw the pictures in your living room,” she said.
He smiled and set the beer down. “You really don’t miss much, do you?”
“Sorry. Force of habit.” Miranda had lost the ability to step into a room and not notice every detail. “I could take a look if you want.”
“At the autopsy pics?”
She shrugged. “I might spot something useful.”
“Hey, have at it. I’ll take any help we can get, at this point. You really don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“The first few days are critical, and we’re running behind.”
“I know.”
For a while they ate quietly, enjoying the breeze and the food. The man down the canal got a bite on his line. The fish got away, and he rebaited his hook and recast.
It still seemed weird to Miranda that she was living on an island, where people boated and fished and went for walks on the beach every morning, like they were on vacation. Maybe it didn’t feel like vacation if you lived here permanently, but for her the novelty still hadn’t worn off. She suspected working with the police department might be a reality check. Nothing like being called out of bed late at night to take the sparkle off a vacation. She didn’t know if she was ready for it, but she’d committed to them for the summer, and she had no intention of flaking out. She’d abandoned a lot of things about her former life, but not her work ethic.
Miranda looked at Joel, and he was watching her again. The candle flickered, shifting the shadows on his face. He had strong features, and again she felt that warm pull of attraction. By the way he looked at her, she could tell he felt it, too.
Maybe she’d made a mistake coming here. She probably should have come up with some excuse. But he had a way of talking to her, of looking at her, that melted her resolve.
She thought of that moment earlier today when they’d been standing by the water and he’d brushed the hair from her face. That one small touch had set off a firestorm inside her. How did he do that?
How was it possible she’d known him less than a week and already he’d turned her world upside down? It wasn’t just that he’d offered her a job and persuaded her to take it. He seemed to be offering something else, too, and she felt tempted. He’d never overtly said it, but he showed it in those long looks and brief touches, and that soul-searing kiss that had seemed to go on forever.
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