Right Across the Bay, page 1
RIGHT ACROSS THE BAY
QUINN AVERY
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. Namely: BMW, Rolex, Tom Ford, Gucci, Prada, Ken, Barbie, Louis Vuitton, Mercedes, Tiffany’s, The Twilight Zone, Nike, Levi, Jurassic Park, Vacation, Tesla, Oreo O’s, Disney, Forbes, Nirvana
Right Across the Bay
1st Edition
Copyright © 2024 Jennifer Naumann
Cover: Najla Qamber Designs
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023950901
www.QuinnAvery.com
CONTENTS
1. Present Day
2. 24 Months Earlier
3. Present Day
4. 29 Years Earlier
5. Present Day
6. Present Day
7. 29 Years Earlier
8. Present Day
9. 24 Months Earlier
10. 21 Months Earlier
11. Present Day
12. Present Day
13. 28 Years Earlier
14. Present Day
15. 10 Months Earlier
16. Present Day
17. Present Day
18. 9 Months Earlier
19. Present Day
20. Present Day
21. 28 Years Earlier
22. Present Day
23. Present Day
24. 23 Months Earlier
25. Present Day
26. The Night of Britta’s Death
Epilogue
Also by Quinn Avery
Acknowledgments
For our friends across the bay.
You were right, I’m always watching.
1
PRESENT DAY
Maxine
I stare in equal parts disbelief and horror as two sheriff’s deputies lift the bodybag containing the remains of my lifelong best friend. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening.
Britta can’t be dead.
Oliver, her husband, stands a few feet from her body, his face an ashen mask that doesn’t give any emotions away. The attractive med student with an easygoing smile I met decades ago has become hard and arrogant from too many hours standing above an operating table.
He had only been around to witness the discovery of Britta’s body because I’d begged him to come back after she’d been missing for three entire days. I thought it was ridiculous that he hadn’t felt the slightest obligation to fly his private plane down the moment I’d first told him her whereabouts were unaccounted for.
The deputies open the back door of the sleek white hearse parked at the edge of the pristine lot, preparing to set the black bag inside. My heart gives a sporadic squeeze.
The macabre scene sharply contrasts with the backdrop of the serene lake, glittering like a thousand precious gems in the morning sunlight. The grand mansion my husband built stretches high into the cloudless blue sky across the bay, framed by hundred-year-old oak trees.
Once again, tragedy will overshadow my life. I had finally experienced a deep, inner peace after moving in with Noah beside the 3,500-acre lake in southwestern Minnesota. Sorrow slashes through my stomach like razor blades. This morning's nightmare will have a lasting impact on our surroundings.
“Maxine!” A warm hand briefly presses against my spine before I’m enveloped in Gabby’s signature lilac-scented perfume. “Oh my god, Max, sweetheart, I came as soon as I heard!” She pulls me into an embrace, squeezing her arms until I’m unable to breathe.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” I rasp against her shoulder.
Just weeks after I moved in, Gabby, a recent widow, came to inspect the modern ranch-style home she’d inherited next door to Noah. After I introduced her to Britta, the three of us formed a tightly knit bond. By the end of that summer, Gabby sold her home in Palm Springs and became a permanent neighbor.
Britta declared us to be the “Fake Housewives of Lake Shetek.” She was essentially living independently because of her empire, Gabby’s late husband had left her with millions, and I had married into a sizable amount of wealth. It was a ridiculous title, but it was also the kind of outlandish notion that Britta was known to create.
“I’m so sorry.” Gabby backs away, smoothing her hand over my dark hair. “I know how much you loved your cousin, and what she meant to you.”
Vivid life experiences with Britta—starting with a childhood bond that only first cousins could share—flicker through my mind with the painful rush of a train on a runaway track. Riding bikes for miles…stealing veggies from our grandmother’s garden…fishing for bullheads at the dam…giggling late into the night…supporting each other as our careers dipped and soared…then finally becoming neighbors for what we thought would be the rest of our lives…
“You’re my ride-or-die,” she told me countless times, usually with a playful spark set deep inside her bright, cornflower blue eyes.
Although people often commented how we could pass as sisters, Britta’s golden-blond hair versus my brown, and her wide, expressive eyes set us apart. Plus my figure could be considered average while hers was molded to perfection.
Britta built an empire helping women transform their bodies. Before the era of “influencers," she rose to fame with her collection of exercise DVDs. Once her only child left for college, she decided to move out of Minneapolis and create streaming videos in the privacy of her home. She built a lakefront mansion on the land she inherited from our grandma.
As I watch a deputy close the back door to the hearse, Gabby’s wide hazel eyes, surrounded by a nest of lash extensions, narrow on Oliver. “He sure doesn’t look too upset. He just seems…pissed. He’s probably upset that Brit left him first and now he has to take care of her.”
Take care of her, I think with a deep shiver. Like she’s a piece of discarded trash.
The eggs and toast I’d consumed mere minutes before spotting the flicker of red and blue lights across the bay threaten to return. Britta believed in reincarnation. With every new gimmick to come out—Have your ashes made into a record! Come back in another life as a tree!—she’d change her mind on what she wanted done with her remains.
Knowing Oliver, he’ll simply throw her in a casket and burry her inside a traditional vault. I don’t imagine he’ll arrange anything beyond a simple grave-side service.
Gabby’s perfume clogs my throat when it dawns on me that I’ll never again lay eyes on my beautiful cousin’s crooked smile, hear her jaded giggle, or experience the comfort of her strong hugs.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I declare, pushing away from her. I hustle to the nearest tree, leaning against its bark and dabbing my fingers against my sticky forehead. My stomach violently twists and folds over itself but refuses to give up its contents. I attempt to take deep, calming breaths, but it’s as if my lungs have forgotten their job.
A part of me has died along with my little cousin.
It’s worse than missing a limb.
I want to disappear along with her.
I would give anything to wake from this nightmare.
Gabby soon stands beside me again, her enhanced lips screwing into a thoughtful expression. “There’s nothing more you can do for Brit here. Why don’t you come back to my place? You need to get off your feet, have a drink. You can share stories about your cousin, or we can simply get blitzed out of our minds off champagne the way she would want us to. You can stay as long as you want since Noah isn’t home.”
Wiping at my wet face, I gulp down another cry. “I have to call him. He’s in a meeting with clients from Japan…in New York. He doesn’t know.”
My breath catches.
Oh, god.
New York.
Mention of the city reminds me of Britta’s pride and joy, my goddaughter. Taylor remained in New York after graduating N.Y.U. and is engaged to a classmate she met her freshman year. My heart all but shatters when I envision her walking down the aisle without her beloved mother at her side.
“Taylor,” I whisper. “I can’t leave. She’ll need me.”
Gabby shakes her head, tossing her white-blond waves around her broad shoulders. “She probably won’t arrive until late this afternoon at the very earliest. You can call her after we get to my place.” She glances over to where Oliver converses with the sheriff, arms folded and expression grim. “Besides, I’m sure her doting father will take care of everything.”
At that ludicrous notion, we both burst out in giggles. My laughter is harsh from crying and accompanied by snot. As always, Gabby’s is bright and bubbly, causing me to laugh even harder. It’s inappropriate to laugh with Britta’s corpse nearby, but I suspect it’s fueled by a touch of hysteria.
When I catch Oliver scowling our way, I straighten and press my lips together.
“Lets get the hell outta here before the principal comes this way to give us detention,” Gabby tells me, speaking from the side of her mouth.
As she guides me by my arm toward her black BMW parked on the gravel road, everything about the moment takes on a surreal s
Britta struggling for air as water fills her lungs.
Waving her hands around her head.
Desperately kicking her legs.
The light leaving her eyes.
With a shiver, I shake my head repeatedly. “I can’t believe they found her in the lake. Britta avoided swimming in there at all costs.”
Gabby’s hazel green eyes flip back towards Oliver, becoming stern. The faint lines around her full lips deepen with a snarl. “I know.”
With her sour expression, I wonder if she’s right to imply Oliver may have done something to his wife. Britta’s net worth had long since surpassed his generous surgeon’s salary, and he wasn’t interested in maintaining a healthy marriage any longer.
Then I remember how hard I had to plead with him to come here. When I first realized something was amiss, he had been in Minneapolis—or so he claimed.
The reality that my cousin, my best friend, was possibly murdered causes my stomach to plummet with the force of the first drop on a steep roller coaster ride.
But if Oliver didn’t kill her, then who else wanted her dead?
2
24 MONTHS EARLIER
Maxine
A glass of sparkling wine in hand, I take in the shadowed surroundings from behind the fire pit with a content sigh. When I moved to Lake Shetek as a teenager to live with our grandmother, the view offered a serenity I never would have thought possible. Sitting on Britta’s deck, the familiar blissful comfort begins to return.
Without the bright lights of the city, the stars in the dark sky shine extraordinarily bright and vivid. The houses across the bay are all dark except for the grandest one, constructed with cedar, narrow bricks, and entire walls of glass.
This morning, the neighborhood gradually came to life with the excited chirp of birds and the gentle lap of waves against the rocks on the shoreline. Although most of the lake’s residents have yet to move in for the summer months, many of her neighbors are older and retired, living here year-round. They’ve been quiet, except for the occasional rumble of a lawnmower throughout the afternoon.
When my cousin called four years ago, saying she was building a house where our grandmother’s ancient trailer had been, I thought she was insane. Britta’s the type that thrives on the madness of the big city life.
Then her mom, who lives forty minutes north of the lake, was diagnosed with dementia. It ended up being a move of convenience once Britta became my aunt’s sole caretaker.
Oliver also believed Britta had lost her mind when she informed him of her latest investment. He went along with it anyway. Between their two exuberant incomes, he has the ability to fly a private plane down to visit her on whatever weekends and extended vacations his demanding schedule allows.
Plus they have a strange agreement, allowing them to live their own lives. I’m convinced they haven’t divorced since Taylor left home because Oliver likes to brag about his successful wife to his colleagues.
“Admit it, Max,” Britta sings at my side. “You’re glad you finally listened to me and came back to Shetek for a visit.”
“It stirs a lot of memories,” I admit, even though some are unpleasant. “But the view has sure changed.” I point to the grand mansion across from us. “Looks like you’re not the only millionaire who has moved into the old neighborhood.”
“Thank god for that,” she says with a dramatic wink. “Otherwise I would’ve been forced to buy up all those lots and raze those dreadful trailer homes.”
“Grandma’s trailer gave us some great memories,” I remind her. “But I can’t believe you gave up your favorite gym and choice of night clubs. What is there to do here besides fish and ride bike?”
“Basically, this.” She gestures toward the fire while taking a sip of her wine.
I shake my head, unable to envision my high-maintenance cousin doing nothing beyond relaxing in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn’t make it a week without having the ability to order takeout from one of hundreds of restaurants in Chicago. “Where do you go for a cappuccino?”
“My kitchen.” She leans back in the Adirondack chair and smooths her long and wavy blond hair around her muscular shoulders. Her wide, blue eyes sparkle in the dark every bit as much as the generous diamonds on her fingers. “I dropped ten K on an espresso machine when I moved here—best investment I’ve ever made. If I hadn’t been so busy catching up on social media this morning, I would’ve made you one. But just you wait until tomorrow.”
I take a moment to admire her beauty. She’s gracefully tall with striking eyes and high cheekbones, all traits we share. The strict diet and beauty routines she follows are executed by some of the top nutritionists and estheticians in the country, making her flawless. Her glutes and lats are toned and defined from hardcore dedication to her career. Her narrow waist compares to that of a young girl whose hormones have yet to kick in, and her augmented breasts rival an amateur porn star’s. Everything about her is impeccable.
“Still,” I say, “you don’t miss the hustle of the city? Not even a little bit?”
She laughs in a musical sound. “That way of life was becoming exhausting, Max. All that noise and movement gave me constant migraines. I love how I can walk around the seven mile trail behind my place in the middle of the day and only see wildlife. And whenever I need a fix of my old life, I can be in downtown St. Paul in a handful of hours.”
“I thought Oliver kept the penthouse in Minneapolis.”
Her smile grows. “Exactly.” Giggling, she pats my leg. “We can take the boat out tomorrow afternoon, hang out on the beach. The locals are so friendly and naive, just the way I remember. Maybe we can find you a guy to hook up with!”
Tension fills my jaw. My short experience at the local high school proved the locals to be anything but friendly. Except for Noah and his family, I remind myself. “I’m perfectly happy without a man in my life.”
“You haven’t changed one bit.” With another sip of her wine, she sniggers. “You should’ve become a nun after your divorce. At least that way, you could’ve had a free place to live while being celibate.”
I suck down what’s left of my wine, letting the snide comment go. My marriage to Roger didn’t last because of more than just my intimacy issues and my refusal to give him the houseful of children he wanted.
The real reason I divorced Roger festers in the air between us.
The following afternoon, Britta and I sip on vodka and sodas while knee-deep in the lake’s murky waters. We’re surround by raucous minors drunk off cheap beer and adults well-past their tolerance. Various water toys and anchored jet skis dot the space behind speedboats and pontoons pushed onto the small patch of sand running along the State Park’s dense trees. Several radios blast a chaotic mix of country and rock music, the lyrics and melodies almost inaudible above the din of excited conversation and laughter.
A swim would be a heavenly break from the heat, but I follow Britt’s lead. Besides, I don’t want any of my intimate parts co-mingling with the little dead bugs floating on the water’s surface.
Britta’s acknowledged by most of the locals. She throws a friendly wave back but isn’t interested in engaging with anyone beyond that until an attractive man swaggers in our direction. It's impossible not to appreciate his toned muscles, lush dark hair cascading down to his ears, a stubble outlining his square jaw, and skin bronzed to a golden hue. Black swim trunks, accented with fine blue lines, nicely cup his firm backside.
A deep rush of pleasure spreads through my core when I imagine being encased in those strong arms. The sensation comes on so unexpectedly that I have to swallow a whimper. I haven’t fantasized about a man in forever.
