Chapter 48

Joshua was still smiling when his parents drove off. He was pleased with how he had stood up to his mother; a lead weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His dad was right: he should have put his mom in her place a long time ago.

Joshua tilted his head backward—though the movement aggravated his sore neck—and let the afternoon sunshine warm his face.

Lucky to be alive, the cop had said.

Joshua breathed deeply. The winter sky was a gorgeous, cobalt blue. Like a becalmed sea.

The image caused an idea to suddenly sputter like a wavering flame in the back of his mind. He had to go inside right away and look at something.

First, he popped open the cargo door of the Explorer. An aluminum baseball bat was wedged in the back of the cargo space, from when he’d played in the softball league at his former job. He pulled it out with his good hand.

He doubted Bates would be so bold as to return to the house so soon after the cops had left, but better safe than sorry.

Armed with the bat, Joshua went inside.

* * *

Coco was barking her welcome-home bark when Joshua came in. Joshua had confined her in her kennel in the bedroom upstairs until he had a chance to clean up the broken glass in the house, but the little dog’s yaps were as good a sign of any that Bates wasn’t there. When Bates had been around, the dog had been hunkered beneath the bed like a kid taking refuge from a hurricane.

Nevertheless, Joshua kept the bat balanced on his shoulder as he walked deeper into the house.

Bates had done the most damage in the family room, where the largest number of photographs was displayed. Although Bates had gouged the furniture with a knife, broken the lamps, shattered the glass end tables, and knocked down the Christmas tree and stomped on the ornaments, he had reserved his most intense violence for the pictures.

The frames were smashed, many of the photos slashed to tatters. But Bates had left one large photo mostly untouched; there was a crack on the edge of the frame, but that as all.

It was the panoramic photo of the beach. A curve of white sand. An ocean of clear blue water beyond the shore. A boat in the distance, cresting the waves.

Joshua stood in front of the picture, the idea that had flickered in his thoughts gaining substance.

Two consecutive nights, he had dreamed of walking a beach with Rachel and their child. He hadn’t thought the dream had any particular connection to the photo. He didn’t even know where the beach was located. There was no title scrawled on the border of the picture, no indication of where it might be.

But Rachel would know. Because that was where she was hiding.

A chill, not of terror, but of wonder, stepped along the ladder of his spine.

He recalled LaVosha Prescott’s words: I can tell you that Rachel loves her property dearly. It’s been . . . a part of her for a very long time.

This had been the first photo that Rachel had hung in their house. She kept miniaturized versions in her study, and in her office at the salon. She had a screensaver of the beach on her laptop and cell phone, too.

When he’d asked her once about the photo months ago, she’d said only that she loved all beaches, and that it was a picture that made her happy whenever she looked at it. I think I was a beach bum in a former life, sweetie.

All along, the answer to where she was hidden had been hanging in front of his face.

He had no proof, yet, only a sense of certainty in the pit of his gut. He knew that was where she had gone. Somewhere she had kept secret from him, and from Bates, too.

If Bates had known about it, he would have destroyed the photo. That he had left it alone was evidence that he didn’t understand its value.

But where was the beach?

The property management company operated exclusively in Georgia. They had a branch office in Savannah. Where could you find a beach in Georgia?

On the southeastern coast of the state. Or on the barrier islands off the coast.

Setting the softball bat against the wall, Joshua lifted the photo off the hanger. He placed it face-down on the sofa, and used a key to loosen the picture from the frame. He peeled out the photograph.

He examined the back of it. There was a computerized inscription from Wolf Camera dated three years ago, but nothing giving him the location of the beach.

He flipped over the photo. He brought it closer to his face.

There was text scrawled on the side of the boat. But it was much too tiny for him to read.

He went into the kitchen, stepping around the detritus on the floor. He rummaged through their junk drawer—it was full of random, miscellaneous items that didn’t seem to fit anywhere else—and found a small magnifying lens underneath old Chinese take-out menus.

He held the lens above the boat in the photo. No good. The text was still blurry. He needed more powerful magnification.

 He took the picture into his office. At the doorway, he stopped, cursed. He’d forgotten that Bates had banged up his computer, printer, and scanner. His work files were safe—he backed them up daily to an online file storage site—but his equipment was shot. Bates had destroyed Rachel’s computer equipment, too.

He took out his Blackberry and called Eddie.