rented out right now?” Bonnie asked, bending over to pick up a pale clamshell.
“Must be.” Even as she said it, though, Harper hoped she was wrong. Ever since Myra had reminded her she’d have to move out soon, she’d let herself dream that she could go back to East Jones Street.
She knew it was a fantasy. The place had to be rented out. The comfort she’d taken from the walk faded, replaced by a churning anxiety that made her regret that last cup of coffee.
The two of them were largely alone on the vast expanse of windswept beach. The gloomy day hadn’t enticed many people out. The only other person she could see was a man on a wooden footbridge over the dunes. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t place it. He was tall, his spine as straight and true as a gun barrel. He had short, graying hair.
She squinted at him, trying to make out his features. It bugged her that she couldn’t remember how she knew him. She’d seen him before …
Her breath caught in her throat.
Forgetting about Bonnie, she began to run toward him.
“Harper, what the hell?” Bonnie shouted, but she didn’t look back.
For a brief moment—fleeting but real—the man caught her eye, and then he turned and walked away, his long stride carrying him quickly across the bridge.
Harper tried to speed up, but her feet sank into the soft sand. It was like running in a dream. “Wait!” she called, but the man kept moving.
Behind her, she could hear Bonnie’s labored breathing and occasional curses as she struggled to follow her. The sand grew deeper as they neared the dunes. With every step they sank to the ankle. By the time Harper reached the footbridge she was sweating and breathless.
The man was nowhere to be seen. On the other side, a row of grand houses with tall corner columns and wide, wraparound balconies stood imperiously. It was Admiral’s Row.
They must have walked right by it earlier but she hadn’t looked up.
A sandy footpath angled past the tall hedges. It was empty as far as Harper could see.
“Harper, what is going on?” Bonnie had reached the steps, red-faced and panting.
“It’s nothing. I saw someone I have to talk to.” Harper was already in motion, hurrying down the ramp on the other side. “I have to find him. Stay here.”
The path from the beach to Admiral’s Row sloped gently upward. At first it was packed sand, but as it neared the street, it was roughly paved. She passed the curved gate into number 6 without slowing.
Her lungs were burning. Her hair clung to the sweat on her cheeks as she followed the narrow sidewalk between the houses until she emerged into the lane.
There, she stopped so abruptly Bonnie nearly ran into her.
More TV vans had parked at the grassy edge of the short lane. Several had their engines running. One satellite dish was raised, and Harper saw an unfamiliar reporter talking to the camera, holding a microphone to his mouth as he gestured at the white house behind him. Other reporters were standing in a cluster between the vans, talking and looking at their phones.
There was no sign at all of the gray-haired man.
“Who are we looking for?” Bonnie asked, breathlessly.
Harper gave the gathered faces one last, searching look and gave up, turning to her.
“It was him,” she said. “The man who called me.”
Bonnie’s eyebrows drew together. “Which man?”
“The man.” Harper’s voice sharpened with frustration. “The one who told me about Martin Dowell.”
Bonnie looked baffled. “How do you even know what he looks like? You’ve only talked on the phone.”
She’d never told Bonnie about that moment outside her apartment last year. She’d never told anyone except Luke.
“I saw him once,” she said. “Just for a second. Standing outside my place on Jones Street the day he called me.”
Bonnie stared. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I was never certain it was really him. But I just saw the same man again and it can’t be a coincidence. He’s looking for me.” Again she scoured the lane for any sign of him. “He was standing on the footbridge, watching us walk down the beach. We have to find him.”
“Okay.…” Bonnie still didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she was going with it. “What does he look like?”
“He’s tall, over six feet. Maybe fifty-five years old. Gray hair. He was wearing a leather jacket.” Harper gestured at her shoulders. “He had a mustache…” Her voice faded as she