A text arrives from Bronson. He’s on his way. She tells him she’s leaving to search for Hunter and to keep an eye on Jennifer.
Throwing a windbreaker over her sweatshirt, Darcy hurries past neighbors’ houses toward the cove where Hunter said he was going. Lights flicker on inside homes. Mr. Gibbons, an overweight, balding man wearing glasses and a cardigan sweater, rakes leaves in front of his Cape Cod.
“Evening, Mr. Gibbons.”
He stretches his back and leans the rake against an elm tree.
“Evening.”
“Have you seen my son?”
“Can’t say that I have. Did you check the beach?”
“Heading there now. Thank you.”
Shadows pour across the narrow pathway at the end of the neighborhood. Trudging through the sand, Darcy folds her arms and hurries toward the cove. A slice of sunset clips the trees and colors the water bloody, the beach empty. A pile of driftwood collects on the south end of the cove where the ocean pushes over the sand. Footprints along the water lead from the cove toward the public beach, and when she examines the prints, she recognizes the Nike lettering imprinted on the sand. Hunter wears Nike sneakers. Another set of footprints follow the same path. Did Hunter meet someone on the beach?
The bushes rattle. Darcy spins back to the path. Too dark. Her eyes can’t penetrate the shadows.
“Hello. Is anybody there?”
A gust of wind whips sand into her face. She twists around and covers her eyes until the gale passes. The water is black, depthless.
The driftwood shifts and tumbles. Darcy backs away, wishing she’d armed herself before leaving.
“Who’s there? Hunter?”
Wind moans over the water, the sound of banshees.
Darkness shifts behind the pile of driftwood. Darcy turns and runs for the path, the bordering tree limbs whipping at her face and body as she veers off course. Laughter trails her. Or is it the wind?
Darcy breaks into a sprint and doesn’t slow until she reaches the neighborhood. Casting nervous glances over her shoulder, she hurries up the driveway to her home. Bronson’s truck sits at the end of the drive, blocking in the Prius.
She issues a silent prayer that Hunter is inside, but the knowing look Bronson shoots her from the kitchen tells Darcy her son hasn’t come home.
“You need to talk to him,” Bronson says. He removes a package of hamburger from the refrigerator and slaps it down on the counter.
“I already did.”
“He doesn’t listen. Darcy, I don’t want to play parent here.”
“Then don’t. You don’t know what he’s been through.”
His face twists. Just as quickly Bronson turns placid. He’s good at concealing his rage.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have suggested…” Before she knows what’s happening, Bronson pulls her into a hug and rubs the backs of her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If you want me to leave, I will.”
“No, none of us want that.”
Part of her wants to pull out of his grasp because this feels wrong, but she settles against him.
“You sure? I’m getting the cold shoulder lately from Hunter and Jennifer.”
“It’s not about you. Between the murder and Amy missing, neither kid can process what’s happening. Hell, I’m not sure I can. Deep inside, they want you around.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“Give them time.”
Bronson holds her at arm’s length.
“How much do they know about what happened to you three years ago?”
“It’s on the Internet. There wasn’t a point in hiding the truth.”
“But they understand Rivers is in jail and can’t be responsible for what’s happening in Genoa Cove.”
Except Rivers is responsible. He knows Darcy’s every move and who she brings into the house.
Darcy and Bronson grill hamburgers and eat in the kitchen. Jennifer won’t leave her room, so Darcy fixes her a small plate and sets it on the girl’s desk. When she retrieves the plate after dinner, Jennifer hasn’t touched her food.
Seven o’clock comes and goes with no sign of Hunter. Then eight. But he opens the door after nine and sets his house keys on the counter as Bronson and Darcy glare at him from the kitchen.
“I checked around, but nobody saw Amy,” Hunter says.
When he starts toward his bedroom, Darcy blocks him and sets her hands on her hips.
“It’s too dangerous to be out after sunset. You’re eighteen, but we’re amending the rules as long as you live in this house.”
“Why are you angry? I told you I was going for a walk. You didn’t have a problem with it.”
“From now on, I want you home before dark. And you better bring your phone and leave it on so I can reach you.”
“It’s almost winter. It’ll be dark by the time we get home from school.”
“Tough. Until it’s safe in Genoa Cove—”
A knock on the door brings Darcy’s head around. Red and blue lights sweep over the window.
As Darcy searches Bronson’s face for an explanation, the bedroom door opens and Jennifer inches into the hallway. This is a horror story, and Jennifer knows how it will end.
“Go back to your room,” Darcy says over her shoulder.
Ignoring her mother, Jennifer shuffles down the hallway, eyes glued to the front door.
Darcy opens the door as Detective Ames prepares to knock again. Julian stands by his side, the intensity in his eyes making Darcy flinch.
“Detective? What’s the meaning of this?”
Ames holds a folded sheet of paper with WARRANT OF ARREST written across the top in bold and black.
“Ms. Gellar, is your son here?”
“My son…Hunter?”
Hunter stumbles toward the doorway as Bronson slides behind the boy. As if to block Hunter should he try to run. Julian reaches for his handcuffs.
Her instinct to protect her son rules her actions. Darcy braces her arms against the entryway and blocks Ames’ passage.
“Please, Ms. Gellar. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
“This is insane. I’m not letting you inside my house.”
“We have a warrant,” Ames says, pointing to the paper. “I need you to stand aside.”
“Not until you tell me what this is about.”
“Ma’am, I won’t ask you again. Stand aside.”
Darcy lifts her chin, but Hunter touches her arm and slips into the doorway.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“Hunter, you can’t go with them.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Julian and Ames crowd the door while the confusion distracts Darcy. Jennifer screams behind Hunter as Julian handcuffs her brother. Ames locks eyes with the boy.
“Hunter Gellar, you are under arrest for the murder of Amy Yang.”
An icy chill lances into Darcy’s chest. She grabs the threshold to keep from falling, and Bronson moves to support her.
“Amy’s not dead! She can’t be. My son isn’t a killer.”
But he is, Darcy hears Michael Rivers whisper from the shadows. The signs were there.
“You have the right to be silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.”
“Oh, he’ll have an attorney,” Darcy says, throwing herself toward the two policemen as Bronson tugs her back. “Hunter, don’t say anything. I’m calling a lawyer. We’ll meet you at the station.”
Then she watches Ames and Julian lead Hunter to the car. A pair of officers outside a second cruiser provide backup as Julian pushes Hunter’s head down and forces him into the backseat.
“He’s not resisting,” Darcy cries. “Leave him alone!”