“Why did you?” Owen never had figured that out. The guy had four kids. He didn’t need another one. Especially one like Owen.
Iffy grades, fighting, mouthing off, driving fast, the incident with Emerson wasn’t the only time he’d done something like that, it was merely the only time he’d been caught—with Owen it was always something. Certainly he’d been better once he lived with the Carstairs family, but he’d spent the majority of his early childhood on the edge and sometimes he behaved badly not because he wanted to but because he didn’t know any other way.
“You and Becca were friends,” Carstairs said.
“We were,” Owen agreed. Losing Becca’s friendship had hurt as much as turning his back on her love.
“She was an odd kid. You were her only friend. It didn’t occur to me that you’d fall in love. You’d been pals for as long as I could remember.”
For as long as Owen could remember too.
He couldn’t recall where he and his mom had lived before coming to Three Harbors, or why they’d come, or how they’d somehow gotten a house. He did remember being outside, alone in the yard, digging in the dirt with a stick—his favorite toy—and he’d heard someone talking in the woods. He’d followed the sound and discovered a little red-haired girl. She’d been having a one-sided conversation with a squirrel, a chipmunk, and a rabbit. There’d been a bird perched atop her head. But that wasn’t the strangest thing. The strangest thing was how the creatures seemed to be listening.
She was special and magical. A bit fey. And from the instant she’d turned and seen him there, then smiled and held out her hand, she had been his.
It had never entered Owen’s head that they would become more than pals. Then one day he’d looked at her; she’d looked at him, and together they’d laughed. It had all seemed so simple.
Until it wasn’t.
Her dad hadn’t been blind, slow, or stupid. He’d seen the glances, the lingering touches. He’d taken Owen aside and said, “No.” Only that one word, but Owen had known what he meant. And he’d tried. He really, really had.
“I’m leaving,” Owen repeated.
“You sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I saw you walk, Owen, and I’m sorry to say this, but you suck at it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Truth hurts.”
So did Owen’s leg, but he forced himself not to rub it, and though he really needed to sit, he didn’t.
“What did Becca have to say about that?” Carstairs waved a hand in the general direction of Owen’s knees.
“Not much.”
“Doesn’t sound like her.” Becca’s dad frowned. “She didn’t mention it at breakfast either, and you’d think she would.”
“You’d think.”
Carstairs remained silent. Owen knew what the man was doing. Waiting for the silence to become so loud Owen was compelled to fill it—a technique perfected by parents and interrogators everywhere. Despite his recognizing what Carstairs was up to, Owen still caved.
“She doesn’t know.”
“She isn’t blind or stupid.”
“No.” Owen took a breath. “I didn’t walk when she was watching.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“Wasn’t easy.” And he wasn’t going to be able to continue managing it if he stuck around much longer.
“Why?”
Owen shrugged. Seemed fairly obvious to him. He hadn’t wanted pity, especially hers.
“If you can’t go back to the Marines what will you do?”
“Well, I’m not going to hook up with Becca and let her be my sugar mama.” Even if she’d let him.
“I don’t remember you having a mouth like that back in the day.”
“I did.” Which had been half of his problem. The chip on Owen’s shoulder had smoothed over a bit with Becca’s friendship, attention, and love, but it had always been there, and when people poked at it, he poked back.
“I can send the boys over to fix up your mom’s place. You hire a Realtor; give him my name. I’ll take care of whatever needs to be taken care of. You don’t have to hang around.”
Owen was getting the bum’s rush, and he wasn’t even a bum any more.
“Until this mess with the serial-killer-in-training is solved, I think I do have to hang around town.”
“They don’t believe you did it, do they?”
“Not that I know of.” Didn’t mean they didn’t.
“Then you’re free to go.”
As Carstairs wasn’t the police chief, Owen decided not to take his word for it. Besides, he didn’t think he’d be able to just leave without knowing what that mess had been doing in his house, not to mention making sure every trace of it was gone. He didn’t trust anyone but himself for that job.
Reggie started up from sleep with a woof, then stared toward the front door, head tilted. Owen went to the window.
“What’s wrong?” Carstairs asked.
“He heard something.”
“I don’t hear—” Carstairs began, then stopped as the telltale wail approached. They both stepped outside as the Three Harbors Police cruiser shot past the Stone Lake cottages.