“I need to go.” He pulled the cloth napkin from his lap, dropped it on the table, and eyed my barely touched salad. “Feel free to stay and finish your lunch. I’ll have Patrick put it on my tab.”
My pulse skyrocketed as my window of opportunity began to close. “Vance, wait. Can we at least try?”
He ignored my question as he slid out of the booth and stood, casting his glance down on me. “It’s good Jillian kept you a secret from me.”
“She didn’t,” I said. “Where do you think I got your number?”
His smile only turned up the corners of his lips, but it made his eyes shine with mischief. “Be prepared to hear from me in about eighty days.”
I pressed out a smile to mask what I was thinking.
If I had my way, he’d be hearing from me a lot sooner than that.
FOUR
VANCE
It seemed like all of Cape Hill had turned out for Jillian’s memorial service today, and yet somehow there were even more people at the marina clubhouse for the reception this evening. It’d been three weeks since she’d gone missing, but people acted like it had been months.
Jillian would have liked the service. The speeches were touching and heartfelt. Memories were shared and tears shed. One of her cousins drew out a much-needed laugh from the mourners when she revealed seven-year-old Jillian had snuck down after bedtime to watch TV and landed on Jurassic Park. She’d had to sleep with the light on for weeks afterward.
It was loud in the clubhouse event space which sometimes served as a ballroom. If not for people’s dark clothes, you’d never have guessed they’d come from a funeral. The wealthiest families in America mingled with each other, talking and laughing and occasionally grabbing an appetizer from the silver trays that waitstaff circulated.
Cape Hill’s elite used any opportunity to climb the status ladder, strike deals, or make power moves. Even a funeral wasn’t off limits. When I was young, I thought this was the way of the world, but my eyes were open now. Jillian was gone, one of their own . . . and they didn’t care. The jovial atmosphere left an acrid taste in my mouth, and I polished off the remaining whiskey in my glass to try to wash it out.
I used my empty glass as an excuse to shuffle off from the group of people I’d been talking to, but instead of heading to the bar, I crossed the crowded room and went out the glass door that led to the back patio.
The large deck wasn’t in use because it was early May. Tables and chairs were huddled together under canvas covers, and the chilly evening wind tried to get at me, making the tail of my black tie flap in the breeze. I grabbed the lapels of my suitcoat, pulled it tighter around my frame, and strode to the balcony railing.
The sun was setting, painting the horizon in yellows and oranges.
Below was the marina and its docks stretched out in perfect rows, decorated with boats and yachts tied at nearly every slip. My father’s boat, Checkmate, was the largest sailing vessel in our family’s fleet, and it drew my gaze. The water seemed smooth as glass tonight, but I was aware how looks could be deceiving.
It was supposed to be calm the day my father had gone sailing with Sophia last year.
He should probably sell it. He hadn’t stepped foot on his boat since then.
The fact it didn’t have a captain probably contributed as well. He’d fired Lucas Ridley after the accident, which was bullshit. Lucas didn’t come from money, but his father was the headmaster of Cape Hill Prep, and we’d become friends our freshman year as members of the sailing club.
I’d gone off to college and then law school, while he’d stayed in town and worked his way up to captain of Checkmate. We didn’t see much of each other since he’d been relieved from my family’s staff, but that was to be expected. I’d heard he’d started chartering his boat for luxury trips out beyond the cape. A more elegant version of booze cruises.
I hadn’t seen him at the service or at the reception, but there were a lot of people. Surely he was inside somewhere. He’d had more patience with Jillian than I did when she’d joined the sailing club.
An odd sensation trickled down my spine.
If Lucas were here, he would have sought me out. He didn’t hold me responsible for my father firing him, and his friends at this reception would be limited. Once he’d graduated from our prestigious high school, he’d ceased to exist for a lot of our mutual friends. He was a townie, an ‘other.’
The help, Richard Shaunessy called him behind his back.
Lucas’s slip in the dock was empty.