“The kayak accident. I’ve just googled the date and ‘Rilston Bay’ and I got a series of news reports.” He looks up, meeting my gaze. “It’s the accident. It happened on August eighteenth.”
I feel a tingle down my spine. This is all getting a bit weird.
“Is it a shrine?” I peer again at the message. “A memorial? But no one died. No one was even hurt, were they?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“I mean, the boy who came off the kayak, he was OK, wasn’t he?”
“I thought so. I mean, I guess he was a bit freaked out and chilled after being in the water, but …” Finn shrugs, looking baffled.
We both survey the message again. I’ve never been more mystified by anything in my life.
“Who saved him?” I ask in sudden inspiration. “Is that what this is? Was it a couple on the beach?”
“It was a dad, wasn’t it?” Finn scrolls down his phone. “Yes. ‘Quick-thinking father-of-three Andrew Ilston pulled James Reynolds to safety.’ ”
“James Reynolds.” I nod. “That’s right. I’d forgotten what he was called. Did you know him? Was he a pupil of Terry’s?”
Finn shakes his head. “I think he was only there for the day. There was a stack of day-trippers and they all wanted to go on the water. That’s why they ran out of kayaks and James Reynolds ended up with a damaged one which should never have been hired out.”
“Right.” I digest this. “I don’t think I ever knew the details.”
“Well.” Finn shrugs again. “Long time ago.”
On impulse, I jump down off the rock to examine the message more closely, and Finn follows me.
“ ‘To the couple on the beach,’ ” I read again. “What couple on the beach?”
I swivel round as though some random couple will come walking up and say, Ah, this must be directed at us. But the beach is as windswept and desolate as ever. There isn’t anyone in sight, let alone a likely couple.
“I think this is somehow for you.” I pivot back to face Finn. “You said you were out on another kayak. You said you swam over to help. It can’t be coincidence. Maybe James Reynolds thinks you saved his life.”
“But I didn’t save him!” retorts Finn. “I didn’t get anywhere near. And I’m not a couple. Maybe the date is just a coincidence.”
“It can’t be. Come on, look at the facts.” I tick off on my fingers. “You were on the beach that day and you tried to save him and now there are flowers on the beach saying thank you. They have to be for you.”
“As I said, I’m not a couple,” repeats Finn, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, if he was going to thank anyone, he would thank Andrew Ilston. I don’t think the jigsaw fits together. Give it up.” He bends down, picks up one of the pebbles, examines it, then replaces it. “If it’s anything, it’s art. It’s probably worth five million pounds.”
“Art.” I roll my eyes disparagingly. “That is not art!”
“Well, shall we agree we’ll never know?” suggests Finn.
“No,” I reply stubbornly. “I’m convinced this is to do with the accident. Maybe James Reynolds knows you’re staying here. He knows you tried to save him, and … Yes! He thinks you made the attempt with someone else.”
“Who?” demands Finn at once.
“Unspecified. But he thinks the two of you tried to save him.” I point at the message. “Hence ‘the couple on the beach.’ ”
I knew I would come up with a theory if I thought about it hard enough.
“That’s bollocks,” says Finn forthrightly. “How would he even know I was here?”
“Because … he saw you.” I whip round, scrutinizing the surrounding area. “He recognized you. Maybe he’s here!”
“You think he’s hiding behind the lodges?”
“Maybe!” I peer at the derelict lodges for a moment, then get out my phone. “I’m going to track him down and ask him. He’ll be on Facebook.”
Finn stares at me. “What, you’re just going to contact him, out of the blue?”
“Why not?” I say, summoning up Facebook. “That’s what social media is for. Cracking mysteries.”
“Didn’t know you were such a detective,” says Finn, sounding amused. “Is this your hobby?”
“It’s my last case,” I say, typing busily. “I was looking forward to a nice easy retirement, but now this comes along, so …”
“Got it.” Finn nods. “Drawn back in.”
“Exactly.”
“And I’m, what, your sidekick?”
“Not sure,” I say absently, scrolling through profiles of people called James Reynolds. “Maybe you’re the cop at the precinct saying, ‘Why are we opening this cold case? Don’t we have more important things to do?’ ” I look up, my eyes narrowed, and jab a finger at Finn. “Which probably means you wrote the message yourself and there’s a body underneath it.”
“Excellent!” says Finn appreciatively. “Good to know I’m the killer. Although I’m just wondering, who did I murder? Also, why did I draw attention to it?” He gestures at the message. “Seems a strange move. I probably could have got away with, you know, burying the body and not writing a message on the beach.”
“Fair point,” I agree. “Luckily, I don’t need to know how it all works out. You’ll tell me yourself in a big monologue at the denouement.” I flash him a smile. “Can’t wait. It’d better be exciting. And make sure you wrap up all the loose ends.”
“Of course.” He nods, deadpan. “Although, surely leave one for the internet to keep guessing at?”
I can’t help laughing. “You’re good.”
Finn shrugs. “I watch TV too.”
I wait for him to tell me which box set he’s watching and how I must watch it and how he predicted three of the twists, which he will now explain to me in great detail then add, That’s not a spoiler, when it totally is. But he’s silent, which is a relief. Finn really is much less annoying than a lot of men, I find myself thinking. Which I appreciate doesn’t sound like much of a compliment—but it is.
I scroll down a bit more, but Facebook is buffering and I click my tongue in frustration.
“Found James Reynolds?” Finn asks, and I shake my head.
“Signal’s gone. I’ll find him later. Oh, look.” I point at a big white ship that has appeared some way out to sea, and instinctively we both move forward over the sand to have a look.
“Obviously I’m the killer,” adds Finn as we walk along, naturally matching each other’s stride. “So I would say this, to throw you off the scent. But I do have another theory.”
“Oh yes?” I look up with interest.
“Your mum’s behind all of this.” He gestures back at the message. “She’s created it to keep your mind distracted.”
“Oh my God.” I burst into laughter. “Have you met my mum? That is exactly what she would do.”
“If she can ring up the hotel with orders for kale smoothies at seven A.M., I’m thinking a couple of messages on the beach wouldn’t be beyond her.”
“I’m fairly sure she’s at a conference in Leicester,” I say regretfully, “otherwise I would a hundred percent say you’re right.”
Just for a moment, I think, Is it Mum? But mystery messages aren’t Mum’s style, nor are presents on the beach where anyone could come across them. She’s not really whimsical, Mum—she’s all about being practical.
We reach the water’s edge and stand there for a while, watching the ship move almost imperceptibly across the bay. I feel a bit like that ship myself, I realize. Moving slowly in the right direction. I’m in a better place today than I was yesterday. Yesterday, I was in a better place than when I ran down the street from Joanne. I just have to keep going.
Wondering if Finn feels the same, I shoot a sidelong glance at him. His dark hair is being blown about by the wind; his gaze is fixed intently on the horizon; his expression is unreadable. I notice small creases at his eyes that look like smile lines. He looks like he has a face that’s meant to smile. Although maybe he hasn’t had many reasons to lately.
Sensing my gaze on him, Finn turns—and I quickly clear my throat.
“I was just thinking how each day I feel better. How about you?”