“But this could have longer-lasting effects. You need to speak with John, Annie. Tell him what I think she’s done.”

“Agreed.” She stood and went over to the window. She wondered how much patience John could possibly still have.

“I don’t think Taylor killed the guy,” Kevin continued. “And I think the chance of the skull belonging to him is about one in a triple-trillion. But she and Jonas have to work this out without my being around to open my big yap and offer my opinion.”

Her brother was a good man. But if Taylor had intentionally killed one boyfriend . . . would she do it to another? Annie looked away, so Kevin wouldn’t see the fear settling in her eyes. “I’ll talk to John tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll pick up . . . Mom.” She was pretty sure that was the first time she’d used that word for Donna. It had stuck a little in her throat, but Earl would have been pleased.

Kevin got up and gave her a hug. “Thanks. You’re a pal. And by the way, the fact that I’m so busy—even though I am—isn’t why I asked you to pick her up. I just need some time to breathe before she gets here.”

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Annie knew it was her fault. If she’d never moved to the Vineyard, if she’d never rented the place from Roger Flanagan, if she’d never found herself almost homeless on the island, Kevin and Earl would never have invested all their money in a dream. Though Kevin had been a contractor in Boston, and Earl a caretaker on the island practically his entire life, neither of them knew anything about running an inn, so if it hadn’t been for her, it probably would not have been on their bucket lists. And if Annie had not allowed it in the first place, she would never have searched for shells and sea glass on the beach, never have found the bone, never have opened such a Pandora’s box and triggered so many upsetting events. Yet there she was, stuck in the middle now, because the bottom line was that it was her fault.

And now she’d have to deal with Donna. And try not to speculate as to why Kevin felt he needed time to breathe before he saw her.

Annie poked around the cottage, straightening things that did not need straightening, killing time until John would be awake after he’d worked midnight-to-eight. At five o’clock, she called him.

“I’ve been up for hours,” he said. “I slept three and a half.”

“Any special reason?”

“Yeah. My daughter.” He went on to tell Annie that Taylor had banged on his door just after noon, shaking the whole damn house and rousting him out of bed. “She found out about the video. I swear, my daughter is going to be the death of me.”