The House on Biscayne Bay by Chanel Cleeton

Author:Chanel Cleeton [Cleeton, Chanel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Carmen

What do you know about your sister’s marriage?”

I stare down at the floor, nausea filling me. I can’t get the image of Carolina out of my mind.

Did she suffer? Was she alone and scared? Was she waiting for me to come to her aid?

My sister is dead.

It feels like a nightmare I can’t wake from.

I wrap my arms around myself, my body shaking.

“Miss Acosta?”

The detective’s voice, more insistent now, pulls me out of my reverie, and I glance up, meeting his gaze.

“I’m sorry—what was the question?”

“What can you tell me about your sister’s marriage?”

The image of Asher carrying Carolina is burned in my mind.

“Not much. I haven’t been here very long. I was in Havana and Carolina was here.”

The detective scribbles something in his notepad, and then he pauses, his pen hovering in midair.

“Were you and your sister close?”

The truth is on my lips, the urge to confess that I’ve always wished I was closer to my sister, that despite being raised in the same household, I’ve often felt as though we are strangers, that there were things about Carolina I struggled to understand, but there’s a sharpness in the detective’s eyes that makes me nervous.

I’m a stranger here in Miami, no friends or family to speak of save for Asher. In Havana, the police could be friend or foe depending on their agenda, and my father was always careful in his dealings with them, lest he end up on the wrong side of someone who had taken a bribe or couldn’t be trusted. I can’t tell if the detective is crooked or not, but in the absence of certainty, it seems best to proceed with caution.

“She was my sister. The last family I have left. What do you think, Detective?”

“Were your sister and Mr. Wyatt close?”

“I—I don’t know.” Considering I’ve only been at Marbrisa for a couple days, pleading ignorance seems to be the best policy. I don’t want to be caught in a lie by this man. “They were married,” I offer, feeling a bit helpless, Carolina’s earlier words coming back to me. What do I know about relations between husbands and wives?

“That doesn’t mean they were happily married,” the detective counters.

“Just what are you implying? Do you think Asher killed Carolina?”

It’s the question that’s been running through my mind since I found Asher carrying her body.

“Do you think he killed your sister?”

“I—I don’t know. He told me he heard a scream and went to investigate.”

It’s certainly plausible considering the same thing happened to me, and yet, I can’t accept it as the truth, either.

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. He was carrying her when I found them.”

There was so much blood.

Do I believe Asher is capable of murder? I’d like to think he isn’t, but I don’t really know him, and I’m not sure how well Carolina did, either.

You have no idea what being married is like. Especially to a man like Asher.

My conversation with Carolina on the stairs—my last conversation with her—runs through my mind like a warning.

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