(blurb+prologue: https://saragawde.com/seekers-the-detective-and-the-liar-blurbprologue/)

Olivia

She could smell the trees, and the dirt, carrying that scent of belonging she had craved for the past 3 days. She hated it.

“Well ma’am, are you coming or not? That card round your neck tells me you’re a journalist for the Wright case. Come on then, I don’t have all day.” The old boatman said. “You must, with how long you’ve been standing stupid there.” He’d seen her staring at the water for 15 minutes, unmoving, and his kindness had compelled him to to get his boat from the village after offering her a ride, which she’d accepted. It’s not like she was about to swim to the place, with all the boats for the investigation somehow on the other side of the lake. God forbid she ever come in direct contact with these waters again.

She got into the boat. It swayed under her slightly, but the old man lent her a hand to help her balance. “Thank you.” She muttered. All Olivia wanted to do then was close her eyes and try not to think about the surface under the boat. Her mind cringed, the lake. She felt every hair on her body stand, and her legs shook as she fell into the seat. “You know, I don’t know if what I’m doing is entirely legal with this area of the lake being prohibited, but when I saw you standing there by the shore, unsure and without a boat, I knew I had to help in some way.” There was no echo to his voice, no whisper in her head. He must have meant what he said.

Olivia was rocking in her seat, her hands over her face and her elbows on her lap, her legs were crossed tightly under her pencil skirt which she’d brought at the city a day ago. God, she hated the lake, every inch of it. And yet, she was there, sailing to Rebecca Wright’s lakehouse. A place she hated even more. Somehow, that hate had warped into fear she couldn’t escape now. This sense of the world attacking her, like it was out to get her.

“Are you ok ma’am?” The old man asked leaning forward, concerned as he placed a hand on her shoulder, his other hand still rowing. She looked at him through the gaps between her fingers. His wrinkled brown eyes stared at her with genuine concern, and she felt like she wanted to cry. “I hope she’s alright.” She had been wrong, Rebecca had been so wrong. People weren’t monsters. They were liars. There was comfort in that truth.

She nodded, dropping her hands to her sides. “I’m fine. Thank you for the ride.” She said, her hand going to her handbag which sat next to her. She had dropped the rest of her luggage at her room at the inn. Right now, all she had was a few 30 pounds in her purse, a notepad, and a pen. She produced a 20 pound note from it, a reasonable fare, she assumed.

She forced herself to focus on the man’s face, trying to ignore the murky moss green lake behind him. If she covered the sides of her face, to not look at the lake, she would seem weird, concerningly weird.

Fortunately, the man kept up conversation which partially distracted her from her surroundings- until he started describing the beauty of nature in his village. She let out a small groan at the back of her throat, straining to look ahead at the nearing house. She didn’t need to know about how pleasant the sounds of the animals in the forest were or how cool the breeze from the lake was at night, she’d felt all of it for eighteen years.

As soon as shore nudged the bottom of the boat, Olivia sprang to her feet. Not waiting for the boat to entirely park, she jumped onto land, letting out a held in breath. She held out the scrunched up twenty to the man. “Thank you.” She said, her eyebrows jumping up and then down as she nodded in evident panic.

“Oh you really don’t have to.” The man smiled, his eyes getting smaller as he did. “Seriously, I was just doing my job.” But he accepted the note. “Well, thank you, I suppose. I appreciate it.” He said, pulling down his hat slightly as he did.

Olivia smiled small, her handbag over her shoulder as she pat the collar of her white shirt. She pulled down the thin netted frills at the ends of her sleeves.

“Oi, no common public allowed here!” An accented voice rang. She turned around to see a well built policeman approaching them with an accusing finger pointed at the boat she’d arrived in.

“Yeah well the journalist miss needed to get to this side, and you holes didn’t have the common sense to leave her a boat or a boatman back there!” The old man yelled back, already retreating into the lake, paddling backwards.

Olivia smirked as she observed their exchange. “That’s cuz she’s late!” The policeman said, throwing a fist in the air as he stood at the place where the boat had left some disarranged dirt.

An urgent realization occurred to Olivia. She was late, dammit. Olivia trudged on, the skirt slightly holding her back. She swore. The boatman and the policeman kept quarreling back and forth. “You take care miss!” She heard the boatman’s distant yell as she climbed up steps to the porch of the 2 storey lakehouse.

She turned around to wave one last time at the boatman who replied with the same gesture, before she opened the door to the house she’d thought she’d never set foot in again.

***

Was it normal for journalists to be late? Probably not, not when they were dying to know more about absolutely anything- especially this case. But it couldn’t possibly be her fault if she’d vomited out of her taxi to the nearest train station to this village that morning. Exactly the way she’d vomited while leaving this place for the city.

She stared at the staircase infront of her leading up to the first floor. She walked into the house, crossing the welcome mat and a few steps on the checkered beige and brown carpet. To her left was the living room, and the dining table. Her right held the kitchen, the bin piled with styrofoam cups.

She made a face, that was not how she’d left it.

“As you all know, Rebecca owned the lake. It was at its shore that we found her bleeding body.” A voice came, slightly high pitched as it loudened. It coughed, and she turned back to the door to see a tall man standing outside, facing a crowd of people with cameras and notepads, following him like a herd. He turned to catch a glimpse of her, fake coughing this time in what sounded like dismay.

“You’re late.” Someone whispered spitefully to her, just before a plastic cup of coffee fit into her hand. “Pathetic,” The same voice echoed right after in her head. A chubby boy with blonde hair and gold rimmed glasses fitted around his large brown irises glared at her, before walking towards the door, his dark coat flowing behind him. She took a sip of the coffee- bitter like the man who’d given it to her- he had a reputation for being that way too. Asher Jackson’s cold assistant, Liam Jester, who had more than once yelled his head off at people for bothering their investigations. Olivia gagged, coffee was off of the list of things she’d wanted to try.

She followed Liam out of the house, stopping as she joined the crowd.Getting her notepad out of her bag, she clicked her pen. Olivia had opened the first blank page when the man the journalists were listening to said: “And that concludes the tour, with every detail I know about the case in open, to all of you.” Cameras flashed in his face, lighting it up and slightly blinding her.

Seriously, she’d missed the whole tour? As the only journalist allowed for the investigation, she’d missed the tour! Olivia blinked in astonishment, before rolling her eyes. It’s not like she’d missed anything important.

“Why are no journalists or news reporters allowed on site for this case?” A reporter asked, his microphone pointed at the man of the tour. She looked up at him, just as his grey eyes found her, staring down at her with some disappointment. “They are allowed, just one though. Avery Jones. A freelancing journalist, new on the field, and one I hope can,” He cleared his throat, gesturing towards her. “Repair my relationship with the press with her lack of experience in brutal prying.”

Heads turned, human and camera, and soon, she was the one with bright lights going all over her face. “Where can we track your insights?” A woman asked her, the grey head of a microphone held at Olivia’s face like a knife. “Uh, its a long term project. You’ll see it after the case achieves, completion.” She said.

“Who do you work for?” A man asked, pronouncing every word with emphasis, like he was conversing with a caveman. “No one.” Olivia replied, repeating the same tone to him. She pursed her lower lip up, and nodded. “I work alone.”

And more cameras, this time Olivia couldn’t help but put her hand infront of her eyes, red dots still glowing in her vision.

“Asher, were you and Rebecca Wright friends? Is that why you’ve taken up this case?” A reporter yelled, and the cameras turned instantly towards Asher, apparently. “I suppose I had acquainted with the writer sometimes, mostly over her mystery novels. She was a good woman, as far as I know, and I am honored to be the one to bring her justice.” He said proudly.

More questions echoed, overlapping on eachother now. “That’s enough for today. The tour is over. I must get back to investigating this case. Thank you for your presence here.” He said, regarding the journalists. “I would like all of you off of the property now.”

Police boats began to arrive at the edge of the lake, coming from the other side of the house where they had seemingly been listening in from. Men and women in neon green jackets were the rowers for the boats. The journalists got into the vehicles, filling them up one by one while the police overlooked the process, counting their numbers.

Asher headed into the house, Liam at his heels, and Olivia following them in. “Quite the first impression Miss, you’ve made yourself easily forgettable.” Asher leaned back as he said the words to Olivia. His voice was more calm now, much less conserved than when he’d been with the journalists. Liam scoffed, patting her on the back. “Do better next time.” He said. “Or don’t, you don’t seem like the type who could anyway.”

Olivia’s lips turned to a stubborn line.

Asher spun around, his dark hair flicking as he did. For a few seconds, Olivia couldn’t help but take it in. He was quite beautiful. England’s dream boat detective with a lean muscled body the public had gone crazy over when they’d seen him at a pool. His dark brown wavy hair always seemed to fall in a small curl over his forehead, a few inches above his unreadable gray eyes.

“Avery, what’s the secret to dragging your enemies out of the dark?” He asked.

“Uhhh-” Unanswerable, she wanted to say. But instead, she listened in to his thoughts. Anything? At all? But there was just silence, and Liam being disappointed in Asher for his choice of question.

“Wrong.” Asher said. “It’s food, not ‘uhhh'” He enacted her in a low pitched voice.

Chapter 2: https://saragawde.com/chapter-2/