The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel (19 page)

S
he did it. While Christina was asleep, she turned on the television and faced reality. The two of them were quite the celebrities. In the five minutes Evelyn allowed herself to flip through the channels, she heard Wahlman’s interview recounted several times, saw his face on four channels, and listened to two separate interviews with FBI agents. When federal investigators described her as “quiet” and “disciplined,” she just about threw up. They might as well have called her a psychopath and be done with it.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the world now knew she was traveling under the name Cricket Dickinson. Now her ID was worthless.

She turned off Clancy’s television. She refused to let this destroy her, but she knew how shattered her father must be. It had to be killing him. This whole drawn-out saga was putting him through hell. And he didn’t deserve it.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the memory from flooding her mind, but she couldn’t. Maybe the details of that summer day would never leave her, no matter how hard she tried to forget.

Richard Wahlman’s fancy lawyer had shown up at the farm before noon on a sunny July afternoon. Evelyn,
Pop-Pop, and Chrissy had just returned from a successful berry-picking adventure, and had arrived home with quarts and quarts of boysenberries, raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries. As always, the next couple days would be devoted to baking, canning, freezing, and jam making. Though everyone was choked with grief over Amanda’s death, Evelyn thought Christina needed to see that the rhythm of life would go on.

When they heard a loud and impatient banging at the front door, Evelyn knew she needed to answer it—Pop-Pop was out in the back garden picking snap peas and digging potatoes for dinner. She hurried toward the front of the house with a berry-smeared Chrissy on her heels.

The man in the suit was a stranger.

“Evelyn McGuinness?”

Her stomach fell to the ground. Had something else horrible happened? What now? “Yes.” Christina ran behind her legs.

He shoved folded-up papers into her sticky hands.

“But—”

“You are hereby subpoenaed to comply with an emergency order for determination of paternity, and you are required to make any response within ten days to this petition for custody.”

Pop-Pop came running in from the garden, horror in his eyes. It had been just over a month since State Police arrived to inform them Amanda had been killed. Evelyn saw her father’s expression and immediately knew what he was thinking, because she had asked herself the same question:
everyone was right here—who else was left to die?

Her father turned bright red when he unfolded the papers. Evelyn’s body trembled. Christina began to cry, not because she understood any of what was happening but because she was emotionally raw and the only people in the world she had left were clearly in distress.

Her father didn’t do well with any of it. It had
devastated him to learn of Amanda’s affair with the congressman. The custody ruling left him livid. And Evelyn knew that running off with Christina likely caused him to experience both those emotions all over again, and for that she was truly sorry. She hadn’t even given her dad a chance to say good-bye. And now, with the FBI surely keeping him under a microscope, she couldn’t risk sending him a message that they were all right. That was, by far, the worst part of all this.

Evelyn had no idea how long Christina would sleep in Clancy Flynn’s guest room, but eventually, she would wake up. And then what? Would Evelyn and the police chief play house, neither acknowledging that she was a wanted felon? Would she bolt before he returned home tonight? And go where?

She decided to call Hal. She sat at the dining room table, which put the guest room door directly in her line of vision. She would end this call at the first sign her niece was awake.

While the phone rang on Hal’s end, she glanced at the slew of family pictures on Clancy’s walls—this man’s normal life looked like other people’s vacation pictures. There was deep-sea fishing, beach bonfires, sailing, people tanned and fit and laughing, and an adorable photo of three kids under ten, sitting on the steps of a fabulous old mansion. She spotted Clancy right away. He was the one in the middle, the one who looked like he was up to no good. He had that same glint in his eye, even back then. She could see the man in the boy, just as she now saw the boy in the man.

“Christ, where the hell are you?” Hal said by way of greeting as soon as he picked up the call.

“Still on Bayberry Island.”

“You’re still at the
motel
?”

“We left early this morning.”

“I’ll make a quick cyber visit to the Sand Dollar and remove any record of your reservation.”

“Thanks.”

“So if you’re not there, where are you? Are you okay?”

“We’re safe for the moment.”

“Want to tell me how that is possible? Because I was just watching
Headline News
, and the FBI is spreading out on Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, and Bayberry, searching for a tallish, athletic woman who looks a lot like Brigitte Nielsen. And Wahlman, that scum, is whoring himself out to any media outlet that will take him. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him make a guest appearance on
Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo
.”

“Please, Hal. Stop. I really don’t feel like—”

“I just wanted to hear you laugh. You must be worn to a frazzle.”

“I . . . I’m okay. At least right now.”

Hal remained quiet for a moment. “Something’s different with you. What’s going on? You sound sort of—I don’t know—calm, I guess, which is the last thing I expected. Where exactly are you on Bayberry? Where’s Chrissy?”

Evelyn sighed and propped her forehead in her hand. “I don’t really know what’s going on, but Chris is napping. We’re at Clancy Flynn’s place while he’s at work.”

Hal gasped. “What? Did you break in or something? What the hell?”

Now that made her laugh, and Hal had been right—it felt good. “We were invited.”

“All-right-tee then.”

“We left the motel early and ran through a rainstorm, making the ferry by the skin of our teeth. But the boat didn’t push off on time, and then Clancy calmly walks on board, grabs our stuff, and escorts us off. I thought for sure we were being taken into custody, but he took us home with him and made us pancakes.”

“He arrested you and then made you breakfast?”

“No. It wasn’t an arrest. His uniform was covered in rain gear and he didn’t flash his badge or anything when he got us off the ferry. He just took us to his Jeep.”

“And he knows who you are?”

“We haven’t exactly had time for a heart-to-heart about it, but I know he does. I can see it in his eyes, like he’s worried about me. He told me he wanted us to stay. He told me to trust him.”

Hal groaned. “Hold up. I don’t get it, Evie. What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not completely sure.”

“Uh, yeah. So what is your immediate plan—to stay there until the FBI has come and gone?”

“I don’t have a plan.”

“Sweetie, I’m not sure this is such a great idea. Are you putting your fate in this cop’s hands? Do you really trust this dude?”

Evie had no idea how to answer that question. There was no logical reason why she should, and yet . . . “I don’t know if I trust him, Hal. But it’s the best offer I’ve had today. Do you have a better idea?”

No comment.

Once she promised Hal that she would check in with him that night, Evelyn went back out on the deck, and continued to stare across the sea.

*   *   *

Clancy opened the front door and encountered silence. No little girl running barefoot down the hall. No Evie.

She was gone.

He tossed the costume bags on a chair and simply stood there. He let the emotions slam into him like a rough shore break, hitting his chest so hard that it knocked the air out of him. Up until right that moment, Clancy hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted her to be here.

And now what? He was afraid for Evie and intensely sad for Christina. Why did she run? Why didn’t she even give him a chance to help her? Immediately, Clancy began playing it out in his head—maybe he could still find her before the FBI did, and at the very least be a friendly face and a shoulder to cry on when the feds took her into custody.

Enough.

Evie left because she didn’t want his help. She never wrote to him all those years ago because she didn’t feel the way he did. It was all pretty simple. But dammit, it hurt like hell. It felt like torture to see her after all this time, only to watch her disappear again.

Yeah, his thoughts wandered to
her
, the stone-faced harpy, and he had to laugh at himself. So it had come to this—eighteen years on, Police Chief Clancy Flynn now stood in his own living room, revving up to give the mermaid the beat-down she deserved.

“Still having fun with me, huh? Never found anyone as satisfying to screw with? Is that it?” He didn’t know where to look because, well, the fountain was a mile away. So he just spun around and looked everywhere. “Don’t you think I’m all paid up now—principal, penalties,
and
interest? Give me a fuckin’ break!”

He shoved his ball cap in place and turned to go, catching a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Off to the left, on the deck beyond the dining room double doors, he saw a ripple of a blue-and-white-striped shirt.

She was here.

At that instant, Evie moved into the frame of the doorway, looking out to the ocean. Clancy’s heart jumped to see the shock of white blond hair, the long neck, and those legs. God, it was so wrong to be looking at her legs at a time like this! But he was only a man, and for eighteen years now he’d been walking the earth with the image of Evie’s legs permanently burned into his brain, the standard bearer for every woman he would encounter. No one ever came close.

Evie turned, peered through the glass, and caught him staring. Her face remained blank, just a hint of sadness in her expression, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze.

He went to her.

“Chris is napping.”

“Good.”

“Have you seen the news?” Evie wouldn’t make eye
contact with him, her voice sounding as blank as her face appeared.

“Look at me, Evie.”

“Don’t ask me to do that.”

“Please.” Clancy placed his hand on her shoulder, then let his fingers trail down her left arm. “You need to tell me everything. It doesn’t matter what this looks like on the news or what anyone else is saying. I want to hear it directly from you—what’s real, what’s politics, what’s complete bullshit. Just tell me what is going on and we’ll go from there. Whatever I can do, I’ll do it.”

“Chris won’t be asleep for much longer.”

“All the more reason to not waste any more time.” Clancy eased her around so that she faced him. So much pain in those pale green eyes, so much fear etched in her beautiful face. It was obvious how alone she felt, and it wasn’t right. The girl he once loved so deeply shouldn’t feel that way.

“First, I need to ask you to do something for me. It’s important.”

“If I can, I will,” Clancy said.

“I need you to somehow get a message to my father, telling him we’re okay. But it’s not safe to call or e-mail or even write. I think the FBI is—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Her eyes widened. “You will?”

Clancy put his fingertip under her chin and forced her to look up at him. “I can safely get a message to your family that you and Chris are all right. It will just take a little ingenuity.”

Evelyn grabbed Clancy’s forearm for support, as if she felt light-headed. “You’ll do that for me? It’s only my dad. I know he’s going crazy right now, not knowing what’s happened to—”

“I didn’t know your mom passed away.” Clancy couldn’t begin to imagine the weight of the grief she carried. Both her sister and her mother were gone, and he hadn’t been there to help her through any of it.

Again . . . her choice. So why was it still so hard for him to remember that? Why did he have to keep reminding himself that Evie chose not to write to him, not to have him in her life?

She nodded. “The summer after you and I . . . she had cancer. It was very quick. Dad, Chris, and I are what’s left of the family.”

“I wish I would have known, Evie. I’m so sorry. About your sister, too.”

She didn’t say anything, just dropped her eyes to her feet.

“Evie, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Her head snapped up. “I . . .” Tears began to well in her eyes. She tried to stay in control but her chin trembled. Ah, shit. It was obvious she needed to be kissed more than she needed to be interrogated.

He put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her tight to him, lowering his mouth to hers without delay. Damn, she was delicious. She was Evie, silky, sweet Evie from so long ago. Clancy slid his arms around her body and lifted her off the deck, still kissing, still holding, still doing whatever it took to get her to come out of hiding. He waited. . . . Evie didn’t shove him away or take her lips from his. In fact, Clancy felt her clutch on to him for dear life, her hands gripping his back, her muscular legs flying up to grip him around his waist—which wasn’t recommended for a utility belt outfitted with a loaded Glock, handcuffs, Mag flashlight, mace, and a Taser, among other things.

“Evie. I gotta put you down. Hold on just a second.”

She wouldn’t let go. Her lips moved on his and she tightened her thighs. Ah, God it felt so damn good, but it was crazy unsafe. “Evie?” She only grabbed him tighter.

Clancy managed to pull her off, and guided her to the top of the deck railing, where he plopped her down.

“Give me a second. My gun is loaded.”

Evie looked down the front of his body and smiled. “It sure is.”

They both laughed as he unhooked his utility belt and laid it across one of the deck chairs. He returned to Evie, and when he got close enough she opened her legs and pulled him in to stand between her thighs. Just like so long ago.

“Keep kissing me. Please.”

Clancy brushed the side of her cheek. It was almost too wonderful to believe. She was right here with him, after so much time. Evie gazed into his eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t even look like the same woman. Her face had opened in softness, her eyes were so wide and vulnerable that she looked fourteen again.