“That’s okay. I just need to do something to help.”
Lucy hugged her daughter close. “You are so much like your father.”
Megan didn’t pull away from the words. Which stung. Because Lucy knew full well that right now the biggest insult anyone could give Megan was to tell her she resembled her mother.
Chapter 8
The Romeros lived in the center of the island, about a mile between the beach and the sound, in a modest development of older wood-frame homes that reminded Megan of their own Pittsburgh neighborhood. More so than the mansions that dotted the waterfront lots and which seemed to be competing against each other like actresses walking a red carpet—the stars wearing the designer gowns were less noticeable than the dress.
This morning when they’d walked the beach, Mateo had pointed out the variety of architectural influences. He’d said one of the reasons why so many people paid to have a house on Harbinger Cove was because they had less design restrictions than places like Hilton Head. “That and the fact we get so few tourists. People who want to protect their privacy appreciate that—and my uncle says they’re willing to pay extra taxes to keep the island that way.”
“We only knew about Harbinger Cove because my dad’s family has been coming here for decades,” Megan had told him. “Grandpap still complains his father missed out by not buying a lot down here back in the sixties.”
He’d paused and smiled at her, squinting as the sun hit his eyes. “So which house would you have built? Pick any one you want.”
He spread his arms wide, indicating the endless possibilities and they’d both laughed, continuing their walk and “shopping” trip. Eventually there was only one house Megan had wanted.
“That one.” She pointed to a small cottage with peaked roofs, gingerbread, and a widow’s walk. It was sea glass-green with cream-colored trim. Much smaller than the mansions on either side, it was what her mom called a “jewel box” of a house. The others were all spectacular in their own right, but this one felt like a home.
Mateo had grinned. “Good choice. That’s the Smithstone house. One of the oldest on the beach. I helped them re-do their garden last year.” He gestured to the bougainvillea draped moon gate leading to the path that protected the dunes. “It’s my favorite as well.”
Now, as her mom pulled into the gravel driveway leading to the two-story house where Mateo and his family lived, Megan smoothed her palms over her legs, trying to soothe the anxiety she felt any time she thought of Mateo… please, God, she prayed, don’t let that be his blood. Let him be okay, keep him safe and sound.
Lucy parked between a pickup truck with Romero Landscaping printed on the side and a van with a Welcome Property Management logo. They walked to the front door but didn’t make it there before it was opened and a cluster of concerned adults and children emerged.
“I’m Lucy Guardino and this is my daughter, Megan.”
“Have you heard anything?” “Is Mateo all right?” “Megan, the girl from this morning?” “Chief Hayden called, said to expect you.”
“How can we find Mateo?” Everyone else fell silent as the last was asked by a petite woman around Lucy’s age. Mateo’s mother, Megan knew instinctively. Only a mother would look so worried yet be able to push her feelings aside to do whatever it took to help. “Please. Tell me what happened to my son.”
Lucy gave them all an edited, sanitized version, not mentioning the blood at the scene, only that it appeared Mateo had been at the Flemings’ house and had vanished from there.
“What do you need from us?” his mother asked, her lip trembling. She seemed determined to help—as if she could provide the magic answer that would bring Mateo home safe and sound.
“Let’s start with Mateo’s phone,” Lucy said. “Did he have GPS tracking or a finder app?”
A man, the uncle, Jorge, Megan assumed, stepped forward. “Yes, everyone on my crew has it.”
“Okay, let’s go see where Mateo’s phone is.” Lucy and the man entered the house, leaving Megan behind on the porch, still surrounded by the rest of Mateo’s relatives. There were a few school-aged kids, his mother, and a woman who looked just like her only she was a little younger.
“I am Mateo’s aunt, Hildy, and this is his mother, Anna. Tell us,” the aunt ordered, shooing the children away as she settled Megan on a porch rocker. “What really happened? Everything. We need to know.”
The mother sat in the chair beside Megan. Megan glanced over, saw the way she was blinking fast, trying not to cry, and reached out and grasped Anna’s hand. “I’m so sorry. We’re going to find him. I know we will.”