it was—it’d be pretty useless on the soft sand closer to the water. The surfers were distant black dots on the horizon, sleek as seals, and the few people out walking on this blustery, cloudy day were far enough away that they didn’t bother me, and thank God no one offered to help me. I didn’t want help.
I wanted to hold on to her hand. On to her memory.
Sliding my mental hand in hers, I stumbled on despite the pain in my foot that now vibrated right up my leg. The water hit my toes first, my feet sinking into the wet as foam covered my exposed skin. With the shock of cold came reason.
“Ah, fuck!” The moon boot was wet.
Not soaked, but it would be soon if I didn’t back off.
Turned out it was harder to go backward on sand than to just turn and walk up the beach. Despite that, I had to force myself to turn my back to the smashing waves. Two surfers in the distance crested a massive wave as I finally succeeded, their wet-suited forms streaks in my peripheral vision. The warm sand felt gritty and unwelcoming on the walk back, and my leg pulsed with pain.
Cold or not, sweat slicked my sweater to my back by the time I collapsed beside my cane. I sat there for long minutes, just relearning to breathe. The ghost of my mother danced in the waves, motioning me toward her. Beside me lay the fragile ruins of the spiral shell.
A wet breath by my ear, a rough tongue licking my face.
“Rocco! Stop!” A petite brunette grabbed the ruff of the cheerful golden retriever that had licked me. “I’m so sorry! He loves people.”
I petted the excited dog’s head. I liked animals. I didn’t go around poisoning them. “No harm done. He’s a beauty.”
Her cheeks rounded, her hazel eyes warm. “Isn’t he? My best friend.”
Though Rocco pulled on the leash, ready to move on, his owner lingered. “You’re here alone?” A glance at my leg.
“Yeah, had to get away from my keepers.” I made it a joke and she laughed, her hair sparkling in the sunshine. “Is Rocco your boyfriend?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m single.”
Two minutes later, I had her number, and she was walking away with her impatient dog—and a fluttering wave over her shoulder. I might call her. She was pretty and sweet and I could do with a little sweetness.
Paige had been . . . complicated, and look how that had ended. So totally that she hadn’t even bothered to call after I wound up in the hospital. Sometimes, I wanted to ask her if I’d really been that bad. If I’d pushed her until she had no mercy for me anymore.
Today, however, I had other priorities—and a strong data signal.
I looked away from the ghost dancing in the waves.
The first thing I did was search the Companies Office Register. It confirmed that Lily Chairat was the sole director of—and shareholder in—the café.
Her home address was listed as the café, which wasn’t per regulations—but I knew a lot of company directors who “forgot” to update their details. I couldn’t blame them. A raging man had once turned up at my father’s house when I was a teenager—an unhappy ex-employee who’d decided to take his complaint right to the top.
I next went looking for signs of any possible bankruptcy proceedings against the Henare family.
Nothing. Not even any reported rumors of financial trouble.
Staring out at the beckoning waves one final time, I decided to head back. Time had passed quickly once I began my searches, and it was now 1 p.m. Just enough time for me to get a bite to eat before I made my next move. Lily usually closed around two, to reopen for three hours from six to nine for “quick bites,” and I’d noticed that she always drove somewhere after her day session.
The clouds parted to haze the world in a misty rain as I drove home.
I didn’t enter the Cul-de-Sac but waited in the tree-shadowed drive of a home set off by itself on Scenic Drive. One of the older properties in this area, it wasn’t anything as exclusive as the Cul-de-Sac. The forest had crept closer and closer to it, until the steep drive was barely navigable. From the tiny glimpse I caught of the house at the end, I noted a carpet of fallen leaves on the roof.