“And your thesis?” he asked.
I let out a dry laugh. “Complete fail.”
“Claire, you can’t be serious.” His tone was more shock than scolding.
“I’m serious. I barely touch it anymore,” I said too casually, even though I knew it should be freaking me out because my drive to complete it was vanishing.
He went quiet for a beat. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
I traced the seam of my blanket with my finger. “A lot of things don’t feel like me lately.”
He asked about Maple Valley, about the people, about the Thornes. I told him pieces. The safe pieces. Then somehow the conversation drifted where it always did.
Sophie.
I told him about going to the bar to meet Nico and the note under my windshield that said her death had been avenged. Silence hummed through the line.
“You think Nico sent it?” he finally asked.
I hesitated. “My gut says yes.”
“That’s… intense,” he muttered. “I mean, what does avenged even mean?”
“I wish I knew,” I exhaled.
I didn’t tell him about the investigation closing in on Marcel or the details Becket knew. Those details weren’t mine to share.
Jamie sighed softly. “I’d just love to know what really happened.”
“Me too.”
He was quiet again before speaking. “You’re not thinking of going back to this Nico guy, are you?”
I didn’t answer fast enough.
“Claire,” he said sharply. “He sounds dangerous.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “I just… I feel like if I don’t keep pushing, people will forget.”
Especially after Sophie’s mom was murdered. The weight of that settled between us.
“It’s sad,” Jamie said quietly. “Like the world just moves on.”
I swallowed hard. “I was thinking about doing something for her,” I said. “Like a memorial. Something that lasts.”
“A scholarship maybe?” he suggested.
I laughed softly. “With what money?”
He chuckled. “Fair.”
We spoke a little longer about his summer in France and the people he met there. It felt strange how normal the conversation was compared to the chaos swirling inside me. I remembered Mom mentioning that he’d always had a crush on me. Mom usually had good intuition, so I didn’t tell him about Asher because if his feelings for me were more than friendship, I didn’t want to hurt him. When we hung up, the silence in my cabin felt heavier. My eyes drifted toward the window. I should let this go. I knew that but instead, I found myself getting to my feet and walking toward my dresser. I was pulling clothes and getting dressed before I had time to overthink. I slipped on a pair of faded jeans and a white tank top since it was humid outside. I brushed out my hair and slathered on lip gloss. I was playing with fire, but this felt like my last chance. If the police were closing in on Marcel, they were also closing in on Nico, and that meant I would never get answers. Maybe Nico was feeling desperate now. He must have known the police were on to him. I had that now-or-never feeling when I grabbed my purse and keys and walked to my car. Asher was busy with his family. He told me that he and his brothers were working things out with their dad, and I was happy for him. Pierre Thorne seemed like a good man, and no one was perfect. But I needed this moment for me. I got into the car and drove away. I had to force myself not to speed because I was that anxious to get to Nico. I kept telling myself that he may be a criminal, but he didn’t seem psychotic. He seemed more like life had dealt him a bad hand and he made choices he had to live with. I could just picture my mom chiding me about always seeing the good in people, especially when that person was a crime boss. I pulled into the parking lot, taking in the neon light sign. I took a deep breath. This was it. If Nico didn’t talk to me, I’d have to accept that I reached a dead end.
The snooker bar looked the same as last time with dimmed lights and low music. Men were leaning over pool tables. The bartender recognized me immediately.
“Nico isn’t taking guests,” he said flatly.
“I’m not here to bother anyone,” I lied.