8- Stranger in the fog
CLAIRE
A week. It had been a week since I found the boy’s body smashed against the rocks, and still I felt like the town hadn’t let me rest.
Or maybe it wasn’t the town—it was the people.
Their stares were sharper now. The kind of looks that didn’t break even when you caught them. At the inn, at the docks, basically everywhere.
They didn’t stop what they were doing, didn’t whisper loud enough for me to catch words—but the air shifted when I walked by.
I knew what they thought. I could see it in their eyes. They weren’t asking themselves how the boy had died anymore—they were asking themselves how I fit into it.
It pissed me off, more than I wanted to admit. Their suspicion and their half-hidden smirks. Like my presence was more offensive to them than the fact one of their own kids had been left broken at the foot of the cliffs.
It reminded me too much of L.A.
When Daniel had been making deals behind my back, cutting corners and lying through his teeth. I hadn’t known, not at first, but the brass didn’t care. When his house of cards collapsed, it collapsed on me too.
The accusations stuck to my name faster than the truth ever did. Rumors spread like wildfire, the kind you couldn’t stamp out even when you had proof.
I was guilty by proximity. Guilty by silence. Guilty for being the one who hadn’t stopped him.
The memory burned in my chest even now. That feeling of being blamed for something you couldn’t control. That’s what I saw in these people’s eyes.
A convenient scapegoat.
Someone to carry the rot so they didn’t have to look too closely at themselves.
Now, walking these damp streets with whispers rising and falling around me, I adjusted my coat and quickened my pace, but the feeling didn’t fade.
The shadow was still behind me.
I’d noticed it the moment I stepped out of the inn. A figure lingering just far enough to pretend otherwise. When I turned corners, it turned too.
When I stopped, it slowed. Always there, always close enough to remind me I was being watched, never close enough to force a confrontation.
Enough.
I ducked right, into the first doorway I saw, not even checking the sign above it. The bell overhead jingled and I glanced quickly over my shoulder through the fogged glass.
The shadow outside stopped. It seemed confused. Paused in the street like it had lost the thread. Good.
I turned back just in time to nearly slip on the wood floor. My legs went out from under me, and my stomach dropped—until strong arms caught me.
“Careful there,” a voice said. It was smooth, with a trace of dry amusement
I blinked, startled, then realized I was staring up into the face of a man not much older than me. Late twenties, maybe thirty. His hair was dark, swept back but falling loose at his temples. Stubble along his jaw gave him a rugged edge, but his eyes—green, and curious—softened it.
And I was still in his arms.
Heat rushed to my face as I stepped back quickly, straightening my coat like that could erase the moment. I hadn’t blushed at anyone in months.
Not since Daniel. Not since I’d told myself I was done with attraction, with weakness.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
He arched a brow “So you’re the city girl, huh?”
Of course. Everyone knew. I rolled my eyes. “Popular nickname, apparently.”
“Not a nickname,” he said, “More of a… reputation.”
He said it with the kind of ease that told me he wasn’t afraid of me, or of what the town whispered. That alone was new.
I looked around then, realizing where I’d stumbled. The place smelled of coffee beans and old paper, the air felt warmer than the streets outside. Books lined shelves along the walls. A counter split the room, with a row of stools that had seen better years.
A bookshop. And a café. Probably the only one in town.
The man leaned against the counter “The woman who found the body.” His tone was casual, but his eyes didn’t miss much.
I bristled. “That’s what everyone calls me now?”
“Word travels.” He shrugged. “In Grayhaven gossip’s faster than the tide.”
There was no malice in his voice. Just a fact.
“And you are?” I asked, sharper than I meant to.
He extended a hand. “Evan. I own the place. Bookshop, coffee, whatever keeps the lights on.”
I shook it“And what can I get you, Claire Monroe, private detective from the big city?”
The sarcasm was light, but it landed. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Coffee. Always coffee"
Evan let go of my hand, motioned toward the counter. “So. What’ll it be?”
I stared at the machine, at the faint steam curling up from it. Coffee. God, I missed good coffee. Back at the LAPD, it had been more than caffeine—it had been ritual.
Mornings at the desk, nights on stakeout and endless hours in between. Coffee had been my anchor. My best friend.
But here? In this town? I almost laughed. Grayhaven didn’t strike me as the kind of place that knew what a decent roast was.
Still, I heard myself sigh, “Coffee. Black.”
His brows arched slightly, like I’d passed some unspoken test. “Brave.”
As he moved behind the counter, I slid onto one of the stools, my body grateful for the seat even if my nerves weren’t. I let my eyes wander the room. The books were old, well-worn. Some titles I recognized, some I didn’t. A map of the coastline hung crooked on the wall, corners curled from damp.
Evan worked easily. He ground beans with his hands and poured water slow, The smell of rich coffee filled the space wrapping around the room
I caught myself watching him, the way he moved with confidence. It stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time. Still I forced my gaze back to the shelves.
He slid the mug in front of me a few minutes later. “Here. Brave the local brew.”
I lifted it cautiously, took a sip—and blinked. It was good. Better than good. Smooth, dark, the kind of flavor I hadn’t tasted since leaving the city.
He caught the look on my face and grinned, just slightly. “Surprised?”
“A little,” I admitted. “Didn’t think Grayhaven would know what coffee even was.”
“Grayhaven doesn’t,” he said. “I do.”
I found myself smiling before I could stop it. I hid it behind the mug.
“So you run this whole place yourself?” I asked.
Evan leaned on the counter with his arms crossed. “Yeah. Built it up from nothing. Books keep me sane, coffee keeps the customers awake.”
I traced the rim of the mug with my finger. “And here I thought nothing could keep this town awake.”
That earned me the smallest chuckle. “You’re not wrong. Grayhaven sleeps with its eyes open. Always watching”
I met his gaze over the coffee. “That supposed to mean something?”
His mouth tilted, just enough to make me wonder if he was mocking me. “Depends. You planning on staying long enough to find out?”
The question prickled. I set the mug down carefully buying myself a second. “Depends,” I echoed. “On whether the people here ever stop staring at me like I’ve got blood on my hands.”
Evan didn’t flinch. “That’s Grayhaven for you. They’ll watch you until you leave. Then they’ll move on to the next poor soul.”
“And if I don’t leave?”
“Then you’ll become part of the story.”
I frowned. “What story?”
He leaned closer lowering his voice. “Every small town has one. Grayhaven’s is older than most. The cliffs. The sea. The lighthouse.” His eyes flicked toward the crooked map on the wall,it was the one with the coastline curling like a scar.
The words tightened something in my chest. “What about the lighthouse?”
Evan hesitated. His jaw worked like he was deciding whether to give me the safe version or the real one.
Finally, he said, “It’s been tied to disappearances for as long as people remember. Fishermen swear they’ve seen lights that shouldn’t be there. Kids dare each other to climb the rocks, and sometimes they don’t come back. Boats vanish in calm waters, no storm, no reason.”
My fingers curled around the mug again “Disappearances,” I repeated. “But this time there was a body.”
“Exactly.” His eyes sharpened. “That’s what’s got them spooked. The sea usually keeps its secrets. This time, it gave one back.”
The image of the boy’s battered face flashed in my mind. The bruises. The bent wrist. The gash across his forehead. My stomach turned, but I forced my voice to be calm. “You sound like you believe it.”
Evan shrugged. “Believe it, don’t believe it—doesn’t change the fact it keeps happening. People go missing. Always have. The lighthouse is a part of it.”
The way he said it made my skin prickle. I leaned forward slightly. “And you? You’ve seen something?”
For the first time, his eyes shifted—away from mine, toward the window. He didn't speak for a while