Chapter 3 - The BoatMegan killed the headlights.
A black sedan rolled past the gas station.
Then it disappeared behind the building.
We waited.
No one spoke.
Finally Megan restarted the engine.
“There’s somewhere we need to go.”
“Where?”
“Lake Erie.”
I stared at her.
“We're in Florida.”
“I know.”
“Why are we going back to Ohio?”
“Because the boat is the beginning.”
We flew home the next morning.
By sunset, we were standing outside the marina where Evan's rented boat had been recovered.
The place looked smaller than I remembered.
Too ordinary.
Too peaceful.
Six weeks ago, this had been the center of my nightmare.
Police lights.
Rain.
Reporters.
People whispering.
Now there was only wind and the smell of gasoline.
Megan had found someone waiting for us.
An older man in a red jacket.
“Tom Becker,” Megan introduced him.
He had been a marina mechanic for thirty years.
He looked at me sadly.
“I’m sorry for what happened.”
“What really happened?”
He glanced around.
“Your husband rented the boat under a false name.”
I stared.
“Evan rented it?”
“Yes.”
“He used his driver's license.”
Tom shook his head.
“No.”
He opened a drawer in the marina office.
Inside was a photocopy.
The photograph was Evan.
But the name was different.
Michael Reed.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he do?”
Tom hesitated.
“He asked me whether the storm would be bad enough to make a boat disappear.”
My heart dropped.
“He planned it.”
Tom nodded.
“But that's not the strange part.”
“What is?”
He showed me security footage.
A timestamp.
11:42 p.m.
A man in a dark jacket carrying two bags walked onto the dock.
Evan.
At least it looked like him.
Then another man appeared.
Smaller.
He was wearing a hood.
“What happened?”
“They boarded the boat together.”
I watched.
My mouth went dry.
“Two people.”
“Yes.”
“Who was the second man?”
Tom shook his head.
“We never identified him.”
Megan leaned closer.
“Do you still have the original footage?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Tom looked frightened.
“Someone took it.”
“Who?”
“Your husband.”
I stared at the screen.
“He came here after the police?”
“No.”
Tom lowered his voice.
“He came here two days before the accident.”
My skin prickled.
Two days before Evan died.
He had been planning everything.
The boat.
The identity.
The body.
The money.
My entire life.
Tom opened another folder.
“There is one more thing.”
He handed me a receipt.
Fuel.
Two large cans.
Paid in cash.
The purchase was made six hours before the accident.
I looked at the date.
Then the receipt location.
A marina twenty miles away.
“Why would he buy fuel there?”
Tom shrugged.
“That's not all.”
He pointed to a second receipt.
Plastic storage containers.
Duct tape.
Heavy rope.
I couldn't breathe.
“What was he planning to transport?”
Tom looked directly at me.
“He wasn't planning to transport anything.”
He paused.
“He was planning to sink something.”
The office door suddenly slammed open.
Megan spun around.
A man in a black coat stood there.
He smiled.
“Caroline.”
I recognized him.
Daniel Price.
He raised a gun.
“You were supposed to stay in Florida.”
Megan shoved me aside.
The gun fired.
The window shattered.
We ran.
I heard another shot behind us.
We sprinted toward the docks.
I looked back once.
Daniel was not chasing us.
He was walking calmly toward the marina office.
Toward the evidence.
Toward the file.
Toward the truth.
And then I realized why.
He wasn't trying to kill us.
May you like
He was trying to destroy the last thing that could prove Evan had planned his own death.
The boat.
