Silent Harbour

Chapter 14: Westwood Checks In

By the time I hang up the phone, Tommy has already left.

My gaze drifts to the window, where the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor. A lingering sense of confusion tugs at the corners of my mind. I replay the encounter with Tommy in my mind, dissecting his words for any clues to his sudden standoffishness. We'd parted on amicable terms last we spoke, or so I'd thought. Had he decided that their temporary truce was void now that they had returned to Silent Harbour? Or had the years allowed former resentments to fester and re-emerge? And why had Tommy been so reluctant to acknowledge his past relationship with Erin?

Shaking away those thoughts for the time being, I retrieve my laptop from my bedroom and settle at the kitchen table. My mind drifts to Detective Westwood's call. I was caught off guard by how forthright she came across. She's usually hard to read, but I still couldn't tell if she was grateful or resented me for getting involved with the investigation. I turn to my computer screen and pull up Maps in my search history, scribbling the directions to Arthur's Cedar Creek cottage on a post-it, folding it, and placing it inside my handbag. I video chat with my parents over lunch and give them an update on the status of the house. They've adopted a new rescue puppy from the local shelter, and named her Zoe. She's a cute little thing–sandy golden fur with floppy ears and big brown eyes, bursting with energy. We talk about the weather, my work, the news, and their new neighbours, and, by the time we end the call, my spirits are back up.

I spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening getting my marking done for school. My tenth graders turned in their To Kill a Mockingbird essays Thursday and I still hadn't gotten around to grading them. I've never enjoyed this part of teaching–having to assign a numerical value to someone's writing–to their thoughts and expressions, at times, deeply personal. I try to stick to the rubric I've been given by the head of the English Department, Mrs. Cuthbert. Even as I lose myself in the essays, the unanswered questions swirl around in my head, refusing to be ignored. I can't shake the feeling that there's something important I've been missing all along that could change everything—something monumental to unravel the perplexity of Peter's death. With a sigh, I set the last essay aside and lean back in my chair, rubbing the fatigue from my eyes.

**********

Before I know it, the sun's set, and I'm scrambling to gather my keys before heading off to meet with the detective. I've made this drive so many times that I could do it blindfolded. Really, it's a bit disconcerting how often I've frequented the diner in the next town over as of late, when the Harbourfront Steak & Grill sits only a stone's throw away from the house.

As expected, the diner doesn't seem to be packed with too many patrons at this time of night–the fewer prying eyes and ears, the better. I take a seat in one of the more secluded corners of the establishment, and train my eyes on the door in anticipation of Detective Westwood's arrival.

I'm not sure how many minutes have passed by when a waitress breaks me out of my stupor.

"Good evening, ma'am. Welcome to The Corner Cup, my name is Evelynn and I'll be your server. Have you had the chance to look through our menu? I'd be happy to put in an order for you." Based on her appearance, Evelynn can't be more than 17 years old.

"At this point, I probably have this thing memorized," I joke. "I'm actually waiting on someone to come join me, so I'll hold off on ordering any food until they arrive. I could do with some jasmine tea if you have it?"

"We sure do. I'll bring it over as soon as it's ready," she replies before making her way behind the counter.

The chime of the bell hanging above the front entrance door draws my focus away from her. On instinct, I sit up straight, expecting it to be Westwood, but it turns out to be a family of four bustling through the door, their presence filling the dinner with a burst of energy. I watch in amusement as the children dart around the foyer, their laughter echoing off the walls. Their parents follow close behind with, herding them towards the booth with weary but affectionate smiles.