Camilla was dying. That’s why Jasper brought Abella to the island, and why Camilla insisted everyone else come, too. She might have hoped for reconciliation, but based on what I knew about Camilla’s grandchildren, it was more likely she knew the most she could hope for was that they pretend. It explained why Miles and Jade were present even though he and Bebe were splitting up. They’d all come together, because Camilla asked them to.
Bebe didn’t want to upset her grandmother. Or was it that she didn’t want Camilla angry? Bebe and Flynn didn’t spend time with Camilla in the city like Jasper did, but Bebe wished she had come to the island earlier, and was adamant that we suppress her affair. Flynn visited Camilla when he first got to Tern, too. Now that she was dying, it seemed to me they were both trying awfully hard to stay on their nana’s good side.
“Jasper’s gone, Bebe,” Miles said evenly. “It’s all going to come out eventually. It always does.”
As I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, I hoped to God he was right.
SEVENTEEN
Gone. That word means something different to me than to most. That’s partly because of my job. Homicide victims are gone forever. I’ll never know them, and I can’t change that; all I can do is try to keep the same thing from happening to someone else. Death is fast and finite. A hawk plucks a pigeon from the sky in a flurry of feathers. One goes while the other stays behind, wearing a shit-eating grin.
There’s more to it, though, because I was gone, too. As far as my family, the media, even the police were concerned, I was as gone as gone can be. The only difference between me and other victims is that I came back.
It was clear Miles believed Jasper was dead, and his case against Ned was strong. The stories I’d been told by Abella and Miles about the previous day, from Flynn’s temper to the tryst in the shed, lined up.
That only generated more doubt. Ned and Bebe’s secret had the capacity to tear apart an already unstable family. It was the kind of thing a person might go to great lengths to bury. So who wielded the shovel? It wouldn’t go well for Ned if Flynn found out about the affair; one conversation with Jasper’s brother was all I needed to see that. But what about Bebe? She had just as much reason to panic, and plenty of excuses for why Jasper was gone. This woman who cheated with her brother’s partner while he worked nearby might be capable of anything.
I wasn’t ready to give up on Flynn either. According to Abella, he routinely abused Jasper. If he was angry about Jasper’s comparably successful efforts to save the family business, or even something as trivial as Jasper’s happy relationship, Flynn might snap. He was quick to pin Jasper’s disappearance on Abella. If he’d done the deed, framing her for murder would serve him well.
It was after four by the time Miles and Bebe left the library and I was finally able to gather my thoughts and check my phone. I’d started hoping McIntyre’s messages contained a bombshell revelation about Ned Yeboah, the ambitious bisexual New York YouTuber who needed Bebe so urgently he threw her over a sawhorse in a freezing-cold shed. To my surprise it was Carson’s name, not Maureen McIntyre’s, I saw on the screen.
There were times, especially lately, when Carson made me feel like a child under a parent’s watchful gaze. He’d say it was for my own good—and maybe it was—but it concerned me that he was reaching out in the middle of a case. He’d made his position clear. What good would it do to keep reminding me I might lose my shit? Couldn’t he at least give me a chance to prove him wrong?
Cut him some slack, Shay. Whenever Carson’s micromanaging annoyed me, I reminded myself what he’d done. Carson saved me. In a way, I owed him my life. Quelling my frustration, I scrolled through his messages.
Been thinking about Tim, his first text read. You’re right about the wedding. We shouldn’t invite him.
It’s a bad idea, Carson went on. It’s tradition for friends of the groom to drudge up old stories. Roast them or whatever.
We have history. Tim would love to embarrass me.
There’s some jealousy there.
He’s that type.
That’s where Carson ended it. I puzzled over the texts. Why the sudden change of heart? I couldn’t imagine Tim telling embarrassing stories about Carson. As far as I knew, Carson and Tim hadn’t hung out in years. Get up in front of a hundred people to roast a guy Tim hadn’t been close with for decades? No way.
I didn’t expect Carson to answer when I texted my reply. It was ages since his last message came through. OK then he’s off the list, I wrote, even though he’d never been on it. I didn’t have it in me to solve this mystery, too. Today of all days, I needed my mind in the game.
When I hit the send button, his response was instantaneous.
Good, Carson wrote. Watch out for him. He might try to turn you against me.
I’d been prepared to end the conversation, but that stopped me short.
What? Why the hell would he do that? I was more proficient with the tiny keyboard than Carson, and the dead time between my text and his response was agony. Finally, his reply appeared.
Jealousy, like I said. It was always him who got punished for the shit we pulled as kids. And look at us now.
Meaning you’re rich and important and he’s a lowly cop? I thought. What I wrote was, Tim doesn’t care about that. As I typed, it struck me I wasn’t sure whether Tim’s lack of wealth bothered him. It didn’t look like Tim was blowing his paycheck on designer clothes and fancy cars, but he was visibly impressed by the Sinclairs and their estate. He knew a lot about how families like this one spent their fortunes. Maybe it did grate on him that Carson made it big in the city while he never got out of A-Bay.
I get that he’s your colleague and you want this to work, Carson wrote back, but he’s not a good person. I’m sorry, I’ll explain when you get home, but please believe me. It’s the truth.
Not a good person? Ten hours ago Carson was Timmy’s biggest fan, petitioning for his inclusion in the most meaningful day of our lives. I’d only known Tim a few months, but Carson’s left-field claim didn’t mesh with what I’d seen firsthand. Or maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. Hearing Carson, my fiancé, talk about him that way turned my stomach. I did want our partnership to work. Was it possible I’d been misreading Tim all this time?
Just be careful, Carson wrote, for the second time that day. Promise me. You might feel like you’re in control out on that island, but remember what you’ve been through.
“Typically,” Carson had said thirteen months ago on the day we met, “adult victims of this kind of trauma experience one of two reactions. An emotional response—shock, disassociation, hopelessness—often tops the list, but there may also be social repercussions. Despite having been isolated from society during their confinement, victims often withdraw from others after they’re freed, even their closest family and friends. You may experience intense feelings of loneliness, even when you’re not alone. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s textbook for this kind of psychological condition. You’re going to feel lost. Abandoned. Adrift.”