“Please come in. We’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”
4
Inside, the house seemed bigger than it had from outside and, if possible, more impressive. A wide central hallway led in a straight line from the front door to the back. Harper could see the angry gray ocean through the window at the end. The air was cool and dry, and carried the scent of some exotic incense with a faint and not unpleasant hint of cigarette smoke.
As she followed Cara and Hunter, she caught glimpses of rooms, each a blur of bohemian elegance: a large kitchen with towering white cabinets and a wide-board floor, a dining room with silk wallpaper in delft blue, a long oak table bearing candelabra dripping wax. A curved, stately staircase with a heavy oak bannister that drew her eyes upward to a light-filled corridor above.
Gradually, she became aware of music. Somewhere in the house, a woman was singing mournfully. The ghostly sound made the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.
The living room was at the back of the house. When they entered, all the curtains were closed, shrouding it in gloom. Cara hurried to open them—ripping the fabric aside with quick, impatient movements, revealing a room as perfectly disheveled as a spread from a design magazine.
Beneath soaring ceilings, sofas and deep armchairs covered in white linen faced each other across a glass-topped coffee table littered with cigarette packs, melted candles, and empty glasses.
“Hunter”—Cara turned to where he had stopped in the doorway, his hands hanging limp at his sides—“could you get some coffee? I’m so tired I think I might pass out.”
He pivoted instantly, as if relieved to have an excuse to leave the room.
Harper and Miles perched stiffly on a sofa. Cara placed herself across from them. Her skirts billowed as she sat, a cloud of gauzy fabric.
It was hard not to stare at her. She was as delicate as a fawn. Her long slim wrists looked breakable. She was too thin to be healthy—every bone seemed to stand out in relief beneath skin tanned pale gold. But the overall effect was striking.
“I’m sorry about that,” she apologized disarmingly. “None of us slept much. It’s been chaos since we noticed Zay … since Xavier was gone.”
She stumbled over what Harper presumed was his nickname.
“I guess I should start with the obvious question.” She kept her tone gentle, unthreatening. “Do you have any idea where Xavier might have gone?”
Cara shook her head. “We only know a few people on the island. Most of his friends are in Savannah or Atlanta. We’ve called his agent, his manager, his mom … no one has seen him.”
She had a pleasant voice—soft, with a curiously flat accent that seemed to come from nowhere in particular.
Before Harper could ask another question, Miles noticed an acoustic guitar leaning near a spindly music stand.
“Is that Xavier’s guitar?” he asked. “The one he left on the beach?”
Cara turned to look at it, her chin trembling. Her reply was a whisper. “Yes.”
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
When she didn’t object, he walked over, picking it up to examine it. “This is a limited-edition Gibson.” His voice held something like wonder. “It’s a beautiful instrument. It’s hard to believe he’d leave it behind voluntarily.”
Cara tried to speak but no words emerged. She brushed a tear from her cheek with a quick, unconscious gesture. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I keep doing this. I just want him to come back.”
Setting the guitar down as carefully as if it were made of glass, Miles returned to the couch. “Is there anything you can think of that might have caused him to run away?” he asked.
She shook her head. “None of this makes any sense.”
The singing had stopped at some point. In the quiet, Harper could hear the clatter of cups from the kitchen, water running. The house was big, but sound carried through it. If something had happened to Xavier in this house, they would all have been able to hear it.
She decided to wait to ask more questions until Hunter was back in the room. There was an angry edge to him—she had a feeling he’d reveal more than Cara, who was giving them nothing but tragic fragility.
“This is a beautiful house,” she said, stalling. “How long have you lived here?”
Cara looked around as if she’d never thought about it. “It’s really Zay’s place. He rents it.”