Harborside Hatred: A Liars Island Suspense by Sarah A. Denzil

Author:Sarah A. Denzil [Denzil, Sarah A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

A Liars Island night was exactly what I’d dreamed of when I immigrated to America. String lights twinkling around bar windows, the chatter of people eating out, the distant sound of music coming from a bar, the echo of waves along the beach. After dinner, we bought ice cream cones and sat on a bench overlooking the sea. It was cold, but I still enjoyed the ice cream, and the company. A group of teenagers had started a campfire on the beach, and someone played an acoustic guitar below us.

We chatted about the publication date of Bridger’s novel, and plans for the bookshop, and then we chatted some more about books and music. He told me about his houseboat and the little barbecue on the deck. I had on my wrap, pulled tight around my shoulders, my hair mussed by the breeze coming off the sea. But I didn’t mind. I bit down the cone of my ice cream and thought to myself that this was the most relaxed I’d been for weeks.

“Some of the rich yacht owners don’t like that the houseboat’s always there. They reckon it’s an eyesore.” He shrugged. “Not that I care.”

“Dickheads,” I said. “We should drive it out somewhere. The cove maybe.”

“I’d like that.” Bridger smiled. “Come on, let me walk you home.”

“Thanks.” I got up, smoothing my skirt and brushing ice cream cone crumbs from my lap.

“I don’t like to think of you alone in the flat with this stalker around. Do you think you should install more security at the shop? A camera? Or an alarm or something?”

“I’ve been thinking about that too. I’ve always felt so safe here, but I guess that’s over now.”

Bridger rubbed my shoulder as we walked, and I tried to decide if it was nothing more than a friendly commiseration, or whether it meant more.

“I’ll help you if you want. We can do some research together.”

“Thanks.”

After the shoulder-rubbing, I felt myself clamming up, my body tensing. I started to witter on about the prettiness of the island in the dark, and the stars on a clear night. Bridger smiled and humoured me, but I got the sense that he’d lost interest. The closer we came to the shop, the more I tensed. If this was a date, we’d kiss. But I didn’t know if it was a date. I had no idea.

But then, all of those concerns left me, because as we took the next turning towards the shop, I felt like I was looking at something and it was wrong. Like if you’d lived with a painting on your wall for years and years, and then one day you walked past it and there was something else in the frame. And then I realised what it was. There was a silhouette of someone standing outside the shop. They were tall and slim, in a large, loose fitting coat. Still a decent distance away, I squinted, attempting to get a better view. I couldn’t.

“Hey,” I called, breaking into a jog.

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