“So,” she said after a beat. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. A little peckish?”

“Shay.”

“What? It’s been a while since lunch.” McIntyre went silent, and eventually I sighed. The truth was, I didn’t feel great. There was still no infallible evidence of a murder on the island to validate my gut instinct. Every time I thought I had the case figured out, something happened to make me question my lead. I was sinking deeper and deeper into the family’s dark and convoluted lives, and I was running out of air.

How would I have handled this situation a year ago, before Bram and Carson and everything that came with them? I was definitely more suspicious now. Less self-assured. When I pressed him on it, Carson said Bram would make me stronger in the long run, both as a person and a cop, but he made sure to add that I wasn’t there yet. I couldn’t even use Tim as a barometer to measure how well I was doing my job, not now that Carson had me doubting him. I hated that Carson didn’t trust Tim, but I couldn’t ignore his warning. There was a reason why my fiancé said what he did.

I used to be a good judge of character. Separating the heroes from the villains was my specialty. It was all so simple back then—get the bad guys, avenge the good. As I listened to McIntyre try to convince me I could count on Tim’s help all over again, I thought about how Tim had behaved since arriving on Tern Island. Despite evidence to the contrary, he refused to believe Jasper was dead. I’d relayed every bit of what I’d gleaned from our witnesses. Tim ignored it and stuck to his sunshine-and-rainbows theory that all was well.

Tim knew the islands, and he knew the Sinclairs. At least, he knew of them. He seemed relaxed around the family. Like his guard was down. I thought it was an act, his way of getting on their good side, but what if there was more to it? Was it possible he’d met the Sinclairs before? Could it be Tim was concealing something? A relationship of some kind with our witnesses?

I trusted that Tim was a competent investigator, but nothing about his behavior today buoyed my confidence about his ability to help solve this unusual case. He’d tried to incriminate Abella with a ridiculous theory about the blood in the bed. He’d allowed Jade to wander off on her own in the middle of our investigation. When Abella came to me asking to talk, at the exact moment I needed her to break, Tim sent her packing.

Like everyone else in the house, Tim wanted to convince me his account of the situation was the gospel truth. Now, when I pictured him, all I saw were the smiles he’d traded with the Sinclairs and their guests over lunch. How quick he’d been to let me take the reins, and satisfied he was to fade into the background. His confidence on the water and on these islands. The muscles that strained against his clothes.