Chapter 17

PREVENT BOAT THEFT—LOCK YOUR CABIN: Sign posted on an unnamed boating pier between historic district and South Harbor. Though Beauty prides itself on a low crime rate, boat theft remains a problem. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 17

“Air. I need … fresh air,” Lucky says as we exit my apartment and step onto the rickety back stairs, closing the door behind us. Moths flutter around a bulb that shines a spotlight of yellow on the steps leading down into the dark alley behind the Nook. “I mean, is it just me, or was that the most awkward, tensest movie night of your entire life?”

“I thought Parasite was amazing,” I say, feigning innocence. “Bong Joon Ho is a brilliant director and the cinematography was excellent.”

He gives me a pointed look.

Yeah, that. Not a great movie night in la Maison de Saint-Martin.

Pizza: not good.

Evie: not good.

Mom and Lucky … well, remarkably okay, actually.

But everything else was tense. Very tense. “There is a reason for Evie’s mood, and it had nothing to do with a fast-paced plot of revenge,” I tell Lucky. “I’m sorry, but there was no good point to tell you this, because Mom kept hogging the conversation, so I could never get you alone—”

“She’s warming up to my dark charms,” he says, one side of his mouth curling.

“This is serious.”

“Clearly. Got a serious vibe between you and Evie, for sure.”

“That’s because before you showed up,” I say in a low voice, just in case Mom is listening in the kitchen, “I caught Adrian Summers in Evie’s bed.”

Black lashes slowly blink at me. “Um … as in—”

“Yeah,” I say, hugging myself. “Like, half naked. And we had a short argument, during which he basically denied throwing the crowbar at the boatyard window, but in one of those wink-wink kinds of ways? And Evie was completely embarrassed. And I nearly told him that I’m the one who threw the rock at the department store window—”

“You better be joking right now,” he says, brow lowering.

“But I caught myself in time! It’s okay. I covered it up.” I think.

“Josie.”

“It’s fine.”

He swears under his breath and shakes his head. “What is she doing with drunky dipshit, anyway? Is it not enough that he nearly killed both of them in a car accident?”

“On top of everything else. What should I do? Does she need an intervention? Am I the messenger that’s got to deliver the bad news that she’s in a toxic relationship? Or is this none of my business?”