Spells for Forgetting(43)

As soon as I heard the footsteps, I pulled the drawer of my desk open, dropping the bottle of whiskey inside. I wasn’t supposed to drink on the job, but “on the job” in Saoirse was the equivalent of being a babysitter. Usually.

I stood, tossing the report on top of the others I had sitting in the wire basket behind the desk as Emery came through the door.

“Em,” I said, smiling.

I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice. It had been a long time since the days she used to show up unannounced at my office with a sandwich from the pub or a pie from Nixie’s.

But she didn’t smile back. “You all right?”

Most of her hair was wild and waving where it stuck out from the knit hat she was wearing, her big blue eyes roaming the room. She used to look tiny in this office.

She pulled her hands into the sleeves of a thick green sweater I recognized. In fact, I was pretty sure it had been Hannah’s at some point. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Haven’t seen you at the pub the last couple of days.”

She shrugged, picking up the paperweight on the desk and turning it over in her palm. It was a flat, round stone from the beach covered in faded blue paint with a tree on it. She’d made it for me in kindergarten.

“I’ve just been busy with end-of-season stuff. You know how this time of year is.”

“Yeah, I know.” I leaned back in the chair, watching her. Something was off. “What’s going on?”

“Thought I’d come see how you were doing”—she paused—“you know, with everything about Eloise.”

I felt the frown pull on one side of my mouth. The whole town knew how I felt about Eloise Salt, even long before she married Calvin. And maybe Emery was the only person on this island who would understand that even if it had been a long time, it had still cut deep when August pulled that urn out of his pack.

“I’m okay.”

Emery turned the stone in her palm once more before she placed it back down. She stared at it.

“You sure that’s the only reason you came by?”

She pulled the beanie from her head and ran one hand through her hair. “I wanted to talk to you.” Her eyes shifted over the room, not landing on me. “Confidentially, I mean.”

“All right.”

“It’s a question, actually.”

“Well, lay it on me.” I waited.

Her lips pressed together, making her look like the little girl who used to stow away in the back of my truck. “Back then…after Lily”—she hesitated—“you were so sure that August killed her. I want to know why.”

That was the last thing I’d guess she’d want to talk about. I set both elbows on the desk. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I’ve just been thinking about how we never really talked about it. Not really. My parents, you, Nixie…”

“Well, you were just a kid.”

“But I’m not anymore. And I want to know.”

“This about him being back?” I didn’t like saying his name. Not unless I had to.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

I drew in a long breath, thinking. It wasn’t exactly policy to share details about an investigation, but it wouldn’t be the first time I hadn’t followed protocol. Especially when it came to Emery.

“You sure?” I asked.

She really thought about it, searching my face before she nodded.

“Well, I’ll start with the facts, I guess.” I knew the details backward and forward. I’d been through them a thousand times. “August was the only one unaccounted for that night when the fire broke out. No one knew where he was,” I began. “Eloise was frantic, thinking maybe he’d been lost to the blaze, and several people remember her looking for him and saying she hadn’t seen him before the party. He was supposed to be there early to help her get things situated, I guess, but he never showed.”

“But he was at the lighthouse. With Dutch.”

“He was,” I admitted. “He was there sometime before the party. They claimed they were smoking joints up in the lighthouse and we did find evidence of that. But the timing wasn’t ironclad. Dutch made it to the orchard just before the fire. Where was August?”

Emery had no answer for that.

“So, there was the matter of August’s whereabouts, and that was strange. There weren’t any clues at the crime scene. All Lily had on her was a small book of matches, but when we got the autopsy report, that’s when things really didn’t add up.” I tipped my head to one side, trying to read her. “You sure you want to hear about all this?”

“I’m sure,” she said again, resolved.

I sighed. “Well, none of it made any sense. Lily had drowned. Her lungs were filled with water from the Sound, but none of it was on her hair or her skin. When Nixie discovered her in the middle of the woods, she was bone dry, even her hair, makeup still on her face. And when the dress she was wearing was analyzed, they didn’t find any seawater on it except for a bit down the front. Other than that, there were just a few drips of wax and some dirt. No footprints anywhere near the body but hers. The other odd bit was that there was seaweed in her stomach.”