The Last to Vanish(45)

His dish ricocheted to the floor, napkin and an empty butter packet scattering with the pieces of porcelain. “I’m so sorry,” I said, just as he spoke, “I didn’t see—”

I looked up first—Trey West, in need of a shave, in need of sleep.

“Hi,” I said. He paused, looking up. Eyes skimming the long hair, the casual clothes. “Abby,” he said slowly. “Hi, sorry. I didn’t notice it was you.” And then, with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re kind of a chameleon, you know.”

I stood, unnerved by seeing Trey here, in this hallway. The same place I’d first seen his brother.

Georgia rounded the corner then, drawn by the noise. She stood at the end of the hall, stopping abruptly. “I’ve got it,” I said as Trey looked her way.

She brushed her hair off her forehead, smiled tightly. “Thanks,” she said.

“Who’s that?” Trey asked, eyes still taking her in. It was hard not to; she was twenty-four, stunning, one stretch of long legs to a long, exposed neck.

“Georgia,” I said. Hoping the sheriff hadn’t told him every detail—about who had found his brother’s empty room. Hoping he didn’t approach her with the same intensity he’d approached everything else.

“She looks familiar,” he said, still looking at the empty place she’d once stood.

“She works mornings. I’m sure you’ve seen her around here.” I made sure I’d picked up the last of the broken pieces of the dish before standing.

Trey stood just as I did, but now he was frowning at the faint tremor in my hands.

“I shook you up,” he said. I started to protest, but he continued. “Not just now. I mean, yesterday. I’m sorry I didn’t come by after my meeting with the sheriff. It was a lot to process.”

I waved him off. “No, it’s okay. It’s your family, you’re entitled to some privacy. It went okay, though?”

His eyes drifted to the side. “Yeah,” he began slowly. “Everyone’s so friendly. Actually between him and Rochelle, I worried they were going to talk me to death.”

I smiled. “Well, they’re the two people who would know the most in a place like this.”

“So I gathered. Hey”—he lowered his voice suddenly—“can I ask you a couple questions later? When you’re not clearly in a rush?” A small smile.

I nodded, tucked my wet hair behind my ear. “I’ve got some errands to run this morning, but I’ll be working this afternoon. You know where to find me.”

Georgia’s call was worrying me—the binder should’ve been right there. A lost key yesterday, and now a lost binder—too many reminders that things had a way of disappearing here.

Trey backed away, down the hall, out to the back porch he’d just entered from. And I was struck again by the similarities between him and his brother: their builds, their mannerisms. I understood suddenly why I’d felt a pull to him, from the start. Like I could stop him this time, before he slipped away. Alter a conversation, change an interaction, extend an invitation. As if it were possible to pull him back—pull them all back.



* * *



I’D FOUND LANDON WEST out in this hall, in a moment eerily similar to the one that had just happened, just outside the employee door. But the lobby of the inn had been mostly deserted then. I’d done a double take when I exited from the stairwell, seeing a man lingering so close, so quietly, to the employee quarters. Something made me pause, pulling the door shut behind me, waiting to feel the security of the latch.

Good morning, I’d said, and he’d looked at the polo I wore, the label on the upper corner, before pointing at the images on the wall. Is it true, that the owners built this place all on their own?

I smiled. Designed and planned from the ground up. Blood and sweat and a little luck. The same thing Celeste had once said to me. But then I looked over my shoulder, leaned closer, in mock conspiracy. I assure you there were more hands involved than just theirs. After all, I painted this hallway myself last year.

He stepped back as if to appraise my work. Very professional. You hung these, too?

I did.

I watched as his eyes shifted from frame to frame. It’s like seeing two versions of the same thing. The image of the structure, framed in wood. The blueprints hanging in the last photo. He pointed to the door I’d just come from. Do you give tours down there?

My smile faltered. No, it’s private residences.

Just like the carriage house out there?

I didn’t know why he was asking about Celeste’s home. Or mine. But it put me on alert. Made me remember where we were, made me think of Farrah, and the people who had come looking for her, asking in their roundabout ways.

Are you a guest here, sir?

Landon West, he said, hand extended, wide smile with a dimple. I’m staying in Cabin Four.

Oh, I haven’t seen you around. Though I recognized his name from the log. Figured he’d been using the cabin as a base for hiking. He hadn’t been in for happy hour, that I knew of.

I’m working on a book, he’d said, eyes drifting back to the framed series. What’s your name again?

I hadn’t yet told him. Abby.

Abby, he repeated. You’ve worked here awhile?

Ten years, I said.