Gabriel’s grimace speaks volumes. “I’m not the best person to ask, given I’m not this town’s favorite son. Poor and brown, quite the combination. Mysteriously pulled over at regular intervals. So if you ask me? Steer clear of the sheriff. The whole department, really. They’re washed-up jocks and playground bullies, given a badge and stuck in a town where not much happens…or at least hadn’t happened for fifty years.”

Sheriff Morrow’s threat echoes. I need to be careful.

“Even Deputy Shields?” I ask. She has a riled-up-kitten energy. Hard to picture her as a backwoods cowboy cop. “I saw you two earlier all friendly,” I rib him just a bit, and Gabriel’s cheeks go adorably bright red.

“She’s a family friend. And, yeah, one of the better ones. My mom uses her as a source sometimes. Shit. I didn’t tell you that.”

“A family friend who likes a glow-up and doesn’t much care for age-of-consent laws?” I waggle my eyebrows comically.

“Gross.”

“Oh, I agree. Just because she’s a woman, doesn’t make it cool. In hindsight, I probably should have rescued you….”

“I would have liked that. You, swooping in to save me.”

I perform an exaggerated, chivalrous bow, and Gabriel pretends to swoon. I dive to catch him, and we end up chest to chest. And then we both go still.

“So these secret passageways?” I squeak.

“Follow me.”

We pass through Victorian sea-shanty land once more, though only briefly. Gabriel taps his employee badge to a key reader next to a heavy wood door. Inside, an industrial hallway Ts out into a long stretch that I realize perfectly aligns with the large ballroom directly across from the stairs—the vendor hall.

“Was this always here?”

“No, they retrofitted it in the nineties. They host a bunch of self-help and multilevel marketing conferences throughout the year. And WestonCon, of course.”

I wonder if that’s where Maura got her Live, Laugh, Love mug from. It doesn’t seem very her. Maybe Suzanne picked it up.

I take a step toward the double doors, behind which the hustle-bustle of the vendor hall is audible. “Shall we go in?”

“Right. Yes.” Gabriel beeps his key card at the lock, and we quietly slip inside. Not that our manner of entry matters—the din of noise covers the click of the door behind us. We emerge between two booths, one selling tasteful watercolor paintings of Seaview landmarks immortalized by Maura’s books, the other stuffed floor to ceiling with T-shirts, hoodies, hats, dresses, and even body pillows adorned with anime-style renderings of her characters. There’s a blonde in a flowy dress and wet hair, who must be Cassidy. A shiver runs down my spine.

“So what now?” Gabriel breathes into my ear.