Page 43 of Is Anyone Listening?
"Sort of. Not exactly." She gave a helpless shrug. "We've known each other since we were babies. We dated in high school, hooked up a few times in the last couple of years, but it's mostly because we're both bored. And we've each had a lot of family shit to deal with. My dad had a stroke two years ago, but he's finally better, and I want to go before something else happens to make me stay."
"I'm sorry about your dad. I'm glad he's doing better now." I paused. "What kind of family shit has Cole had to deal with?"
"His parents separated two years ago. His mom took off, leaving him with his dad, and Sheriff Holloway is not an easy man to deal with even on a good day. He hasn't had many good days since his wife decided she didn't want to be married anymore. I can't say I blame her. The sheriff is a hard person to live with."
"Why didn't Cole leave with his mother?"
"She didn't give him the option to go with her; she just left, and he's pretty bitter about that. He really needs a break. His dad rides him so hard. And he wants him to go into law enforcement, follow in his footsteps, like he did for his dad. There's always been a Sheriff Holloway in Stonecross for like the last hundred years, and he wants the next one to be Cole."
"And Cole isn't interested?"
"God, no. He hates rules, and he doesn't want to be anything like his father. Sometimes, I think he gets into trouble just to make his dad see he is never going to be sheriff material."
I could relate to Cole since my father had always wanted me to go into finance, and my decision not to had widened the gap between us.
"Anyway, Cole has decided he's never going to be able to change his father's mind, so he's going to leave. And it will be easier for both of us to go to New York together."
"That's probably true."
"I should get back to work before Ellen makes good on her never-ending promise to fire me if I don't shape up," she said dryly. "Then it won't be my decision to stay or go."
"Before you leave," I said quickly. "What do you know about Ray?"
"What do I know?" she echoed. "Uh, he's our handyman and also provides bell service and sometimes drives people into town. He does whatever Ellen wants."
"Has he worked here a long time?"
"A couple of years. He used to be at the Boatworks, but he had some trouble and went to jail for a while."
"That didn't bother Ellen when he came asking for a job?"
"I think she's known him a long time. I guess she trusts he's changed his ways. I've never had any problems with him. Why are you asking about him? Do you think he had something to do with the missing women?"
"Just wondered what his story was."
"I don't know much about him. Someone else in town probably knows more. I'll see you later."
As Sophie left, I got a text from Tyler.
Heard about Tessa. Is she all right? Can we meet?
I typed back: She's going to be okay, but recovery will be long. I can meet you now. Where are you?
The property I'm looking at developing. Half a mile north of the inn on Coastal Road. I'll send you the address.
A moment later, the address came through. I plugged it into my maps app. It was a ten-minute walk, maybe fifteen. I gave his text a thumbs-up, grabbed my bag and headed out the door.
I didn’t see Ellen or Ray on my way out of the inn, which was a bit of relief since I didn't feel like talking to either one of them at the moment. The day was cloudy and cold, with wind coming off the ocean and the promise of rain by midnight.
Despite the blustery weather, it felt good to walk along the coastal road, with the wild and restless ocean on my left, the thick, towering trees on my right. A half mile beyond the inn, I saw a few smaller houses on large lots, and the last one matched the address that Tyler had given me. A gray sedan was parked in the overgrown driveway. I walked up to the front door and knocked.
Tyler opened it immediately, as if he'd been watching for me. He wore dark jeans and a gray sweater, his thick, wavy brown hair windblown. "Come in."
The house was dusty and filled with old furniture covered in sheets. But there was a sleeping bag on the couch, a laptop computer on the coffee table, and blueprints spread across the dining room table. I moved over to check out the building plans. "Are you actually creating plans for this house?" I asked in surprise. "I thought that was just a cover story."
"Since I'm here, I might as well work on the plans as well as the search for Jessica." He moved to stand beside me, pointing at one of the drawings. "If I were to buy this place, I'd leave some of the original structure, but I'd expand the floor plan and build a second story with ocean views."
His drawings were beautiful—detailed and thoughtful, showing a real understanding of how to honor old architecture while making it livable. "You're good at this."
