Come Morning

by Pat Warren

  “Plywood,” Briana said, then drained the last of her coffee. “We’ll need to get some sheets of plywood and lots of nails.”

  Slade wrinkled his brow. “Plywood?”

  “Yes, to cover the windows. Broken glass is just one problem a hurricane brings.”

  “Is plywood strong enough?”

  “Usually. I was here one fall weekend years ago when a huge storm was scheduled to hit. I don’t know if it had been labeled a hurricane, but Lord, it was bad. Everyone was running around nailing plywood over their windows, stocking up on food and bottled water. It hit and pounded on us for seven or eight hours. The electricity went out so my grandparents and I sat in the living room in the dark, waiting it out. I was about fourteen and plenty scared, never having experienced anything like it before. The worst was the sound of the wind. It was eerie, like nothing you’ve ever heard, and that wasn’t even a full-fledged hurricane.”

  “I’ll bet on Jeremy’s house all I have to do is close the shutters on the windows that have them, right?”

  “I think so. We can check at the hardware store. They’ll know.” She grabbed her keys and purse. “Can we take your truck?”

  Slade glanced at his barely tasted coffee. “You want to go right now?”

  “Yes, right now. I’m telling you, that timetable of thirty-six hours is only an estimate. It could hit much sooner. The shutters I ordered haven’t arrived.” Her frown was deepset and worried. “I … I really don’t want to lose this house.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t. Come on.”

  But as Briana headed for the door, the phone rang. In the kitchen arch, she stopped to stare at it, the memory of that raspy voice sending a chill up her spine.

  “Don’t answer it,” Slade suggested. “Let the machine take it.”

  “No,” she said, suddenly straightening. “I’m not going to be frightened out of my own house. Let him confront me in person, the coward.” She grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  “Brie, it’s Craig.”

  She nearly sagged with relief, fully aware that her bravado had been just that. Not that she wanted to talk with Craig, but it was far better to hear from him than the threatening stranger. “Craig, why are you calling?” Would the man just never back off?

  “I’m calling with hat in hand again, Brie.” His voice was contrite, almost humble. “I had no business saying the things I said when you were here that day. Robert was as honest as the day is long, just like you said. I was just sort of playing devil’s advocate, examining things from all angles. Old man Brighton’s had us all on the carpet since this thing surfaced and I guess I’m a little strung out. Forgive me?”

  She didn’t particularly want to, since he might take it as encouragement, but she’d never been one to hold a grudge. “We’ve all been under a strain, I guess.” She noticed that Slade stayed where he was, unabashedly listening. Not that she minded.

  Craig had lost his cockiness, sounding almost pleading. “I hope you won’t hold that one conversation against me, Brie. I’ve finally got it in my thick head that there won’t be anything more between us than friendship. But I think so very highly of you that I’d hate it if we were no longer friends.”

  As long as he didn’t cross the line, she could agree to his request. “We’re still friends, Craig.” Brie saw Slade turn his back to her and go look out the window.

  Craig exhaled noisily. “Great. I feel a whole lot better. Say, I hear your weather’s not the best over there.”

  “No, it isn’t. We’ve had a lot of rain, and now they’re predicting a hurricane may be headed this way.” And she was anxious to get moving, to get her plywood so she could secure the house. It was a strain to continue to be polite. “How is it there?”

  “Gray skies but no rain so far. Maybe you should consider coming home?”

  Same old tune, Brie thought. “Listen, Craig, I’m on my way out. I’m glad you called, that we cleared the air. I’ll be in touch soon, but I’ve got to run for now.”

  “Yeah, sure. You be careful, you hear?”

  “I will, thanks.”

  “Any message for your folks? I can call them for you.”

  Impatiently, she frowned. She could damn well phone her own parents. Why was he so solicitous? She fervently wished he’d find someone else to hover over. “No, thanks, I’ll be talking with them myself, probably tonight. Good-bye, Craig.” Hanging up, she shook her head as she walked to the living room where Slade was waiting for her.

  “You’re nicer to him than I would have been.”

  Brie shrugged. “What’s the point? Maybe now he’ll find someone else to pester.”

  “Doubtful.” He remembered the arrogant way Craig had marched in and pulled Brie into a hard, fast kiss. It rankled every time he thought of that jerk’s hands on her. “He’s got a real case on you.”

  Dangling her keys, she looked up at him. “Jealous?”

  “Yeah, sometimes I am. But not of some guy who wears ironed khakis and loafers with tassels.”

  “Who’d have believed you’d be a reverse snob?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’ll bet he wears paisley suspenders with handkerchiefs to match, am I right?” He shoved open the door and walked through the porch and outside.

  Actually, she’d seen Craig in exactly that, Brie thought, following. “You don’t like him because he dresses out of GQ?”

  He stopped, turning back to her. “I don’t need a reason to dislike him. I just do. Now, are we going to stand around discussing Craig’s wardrobe down to his underwear, or are we going to get moving?”

  “I’ve never seen his underwear.”

  Slade opened the truck’s passenger door for her. “I’m relieved to hear it.” Once inside, he turned the key. “Where we going?”

  “Wilkins Lumber and Hardware. Just head toward Main Street and I’ll tell you where to turn off.”

  As the sturdy truck bounced through the puddles, Brie forgot about Craig and stared up at churning gray clouds. How much time did they have? she wondered. “I know you think I’m being silly, but this hurricane could be serious. Besides, there’s only so much plywood around and …”

  He touched her arm. “It’s okay. I understand.” She’d lost her grandparents, her ex-husband, her son, and had two homes invaded by strangers. She couldn’t face another loss, even if it was just a house. She was entitled. “Actually, I sort of envy you. I’ve never been attached to a place, hardly been in one long enough to get that way.”

  “Even now? What if Jeremy’s house got hit and turned into a pile of rubble? Wouldn’t that bother you?”

  Turning on the windshield wipers against a light sprinkling, he shrugged. “I suppose. But not the way it would bother you if Gramp’s house got hit. I haven’t any memories wrapped up in that house. Well … maybe one.” He glanced at her, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “The master shower and bed, now there’s a memory that’ll warm you on a cold night.”

  Despite all they’d done together, all they’d been to each other, Brie felt the heat rise along her throat and into her face. The first time they’d made love. Would he hold the memory dear if he didn’t care? “Yes, that’s a special memory for me, too.”

  Slade’s big hand reached over and scooted her closer to him on the bench seat. “There, that’s better.” He placed her hand palm down on his thigh and laced his fingers with hers.

  Memories, he thought as he followed the curve of the road. He’d best stockpile some special memories for the time when they’d be all he’d have.

  Two hours later, they parked in Brie’s driveway so Slade could unload the sheets of plywood into Gramp’s open garage. The newscast on the car radio had sounded ambivalent, the announcer noting that tracking the probable path of capricious Donald was confounding the best forecasters because of its erratic nature. The uncertainty had nearly everyone on edge, some pounding nails already, others doing nothing, sure the hurricane would hug the coast of the mainland and bypass Nantucket.
Squinting into a shifting sky, Slade had a tendency to agree with the latter group, but for Briana’s sake, he’d do what she thought necessary.

  “Hey, lady,” he said after propping the last heavy sheet against the garage wall, “do you suppose, since we skipped breakfast, that we could grab some lunch before we get to this, or is feeding the help going to throw off your schedule?”

  “Is that all you think about, your stomach?” she teased, setting the bag of nails on a shelf.

  In a flash, he had her turned into his arms and close up against his warm body, his smile lascivious. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Laughing, she kissed him lightly. She’d feed him, she’d even clown with him a bit, but she badly wanted those windows covered. The thought of anything damaging Gramp’s house was more than she could bear just now. “Come on, then. How about a sandwich and some fresh coffee?”

  “Sounds good.” Stepping on the front porch as Brie unlocked the door, Slade noticed a package in a plain padded manila envelope on one of the rocking chairs. “Looks like the mailman’s been here.” Picking it up, he followed her inside and handed it over.

  In the kitchen, Brie checked out the typed label. “No return address.”

  Looking over her shoulder, Slade frowned. “There’s no postmark, either. This didn’t go through the mails. Someone had to have hand delivered it.” Carefully, he took it from her. “I’m not sure you should open this, Brie.”

  Fear prickled along her spine. “You’re scaring me. What do you think we have here, a bomb dropped off by our friendly neighborhood nutcase?”

  He examined the package, his fingers pressing gingerly. He could feel no wires, nothing suspicious. He was far from an alarmist, but something didn’t seem right here. “Let’s at least go out back and open it, all right?”

  His concern was contagious. “All right.” She followed him into the backyard. “We’re going to feel stupid when we find some curtain samples or something in there.”

  Cautiously, holding the envelope at arm’s length, ready to toss it should he hear or feel something wrong, Slade ripped off one end. Nothing happened. Relieved that there was no danger, he shook the contents out onto the grass.

  Briana gasped as she recognized what she was seeing. Scattered on the ground were remnants of Bobby’s size-one seafoam-green beach shoe cut into chunks and jagged pieces, as if done by a very angry, very vicious hand. Wild-eyed, she looked at Slade. “I left that shoe in the house, in my bedroom. Oh, God, Slade, he’s been in my home!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sheriff Stone stooped down to examine the thick pieces of slashed plastic. Thoughtfully, he examined first one, then another, and still more. There had to be a dozen. Straightening, he held the chunks in his big hand. “Not many scissors would cut through this stuff. Had to be a very sharp knife, like a fish-boning knife, or one a butcher might use.”

  Standing white-faced and silent, Briana just stared at the remains of the small mutilated shoe that had once belonged to her son.

  Her outward calm didn’t fool Slade; he knew inside she was breaking into more pieces than the shoe. Perhaps he could hurry the slow-moving sheriff along. “Brie remembers leaving that shoe in her bedroom closet. After the break-in, I put deadbolts on both doors and reinforced the window locks. How in hell he got in is a mystery.”

  Stone pursed his lips. “How many keys and who has them?” he asked Briana.

  “Two keys and I have both.”

  “Where are they?”

  “One’s on my key ring and the other’s in my dresser drawer.”

  “You want to check for me that it’s still there?” Stone watched her walk away without another word. He turned to Slade. “You didn’t keep a key, did you?”

  He’d been expecting the question. A good lawman would ask and not care who he annoyed. “No, I didn’t.”

  Stone turned the padded manila envelope over, checking both sides. “The label’s common enough. You can get them at any drugstore. The printing’s block letters, black pen. No clue there.” He sighed heavily, then glanced toward the house. “Briana’s not been herself since her son died. Do you think she might have left the shoe outside and forgotten about it?”

  Slade remembered in great detail the day she’d stumbled across the shoe and run inside where he’d found her weeping in the kitchen. He’d noticed the shoe on the counter, then seen her take it into her bedroom after his attempt at comfort had turned into more. “No, it was definitely inside the house. She’s also had several hang-ups on her answering machine and one message that you should listen to.”

  The sheriff looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “All right, let’s hear it” He followed Slade into the kitchen just as Brie came in.

  “Here’s the other key, Sheriff.” She held it up. “And here’s the second one on my key ring.” She showed him that as well.

  “Were your keys ever out of your sight when you were away from home, Briana, like maybe you forgot them somewhere and had to go pick ’em up, or maybe at a restaurant while you went to the rest room?”

  Annoyed that he’d think her so careless, she shook her head. “I always keep them in my purse, or in my pocket if I’m out on the beach.”

  “I thought the sheriff ought to hear the message on your machine,” Slade told Briana. He saw her nod, then brace herself to listen to that disturbing voice again.

  Stone listened to the tape, a frown on his face. “Have you had any calls since this one?” he asked Briana.

  She thought of Craig’s annoying call and the company wanting to clean her carpets. “Yes, two.”

  “No use dialing Star 69 then, to trace back the last caller.” The sheriff’s eyes narrowed behind his rimless glasses as he looked from the tape to the envelope containing the slashed shoe. “I can’t imagine who’d be pulling this stuff on you, or why.” Drawing in a breath, he leaned against the counter. “I’d like to tell you we’ll find this guy, Briana, but whoever he is, he’s sly. There’d be no tracing a call like that, over and done in less than a minute, even if we had your phone under surveillance. I’ll contact the phone company, see if they can get me a list of your incoming calls. But even then, some phones have their numbers blocked for privacy.”

  Frustrated, he paced the kitchen. “Is it connected to the hang-ups? Who knows? The man can’t walk through walls, yet he got in here somehow and took that shoe, went home and did his dirty deed, then snuck over and left the envelope on your porch. It was handled by both of you so even if there were prints, we couldn’t pick ‘sem up. Chances are, careful as he seems, he wore gloves. We didn’t pick up a single print, not even a partial, from the window that was broken earlier.”

  So the sheriff thought the incidents were connected, too. Brie shivered, despite being warmly dressed in sweater and slacks. “You think it’s the same person, then?”

  Stone shrugged. “It’s possible. I don’t trust coincidences.” He glanced out the window at the gray sky. “You’ve heard, I suppose, that there’s a big nor’eastern headed our way. Maybe, while the planes are still flying, you ought to go back to the mainland. Give us time to work on this a bit”

  “I thought you said there wasn’t much to work on,” Slade interjected.

  “There isn’t, but I could set up a surveillance, have a deputy swing by the house regularly, check things out”

  Brie crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vulnerable yet again. “I don’t see what good that would do. Apparently, he’s trying to frighten me, for some reason. If I leave, I doubt he’ll come back. No one broke in while I was in Boston recently.”

  The sheriff was feeling impotent and he didn’t much like it especially with J.D. Slade’s eyes on him. “I need you to think real hard here, Briana. Is there anyone who might have reason to harm you?”

  “I have thought hard, Sheriff.” Hadn’t she been through this with the Boston police about the shooting? “I don’t know of any enemies I might have, but surely, it’s possible. The thing that pu
zzles me most is that he’s here on Nantucket I’ve had nothing but pleasant times here. I can’t recall ever having even a minor altercation with anyone on the island.” Shoving both hands through her hair, she walked away. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

  Slade thought of something. “Is Caller ID available in Nantucket?” Noticing Brie’s blank look, he went on to explain. “It’s a box you can hook up to your phone and each time someone calls, their name and number appear as a readout If this guy called back, even if he hung up, we possibly could trace him that way.”

  “Yeah,” Stone said, “I know about Caller ID. But phone customers can choose to have their name and number blocked, just like they can choose to have unlisted phone numbers. Do you suppose a guy who’s making threatening calls would be dumb enough to phone from his home?”

  “Maybe,” Slade commented. “Maybe he’s not aware of Caller ID or maybe he’s not very smart.”

  “He’s smart enough to keep me on tenterhooks.” Briana was tired of the discussion, tired of the situation, and very tired of being afraid. “Sorry to have bothered you, Sheriff. I guess there’s not much you can do.”

  Stone set the bag on the counter. “Wish there was, Briana.”

  “I know. Thanks for coming out.”

  The sheriff glanced up at Slade, remembering that he’d been here after the last incident. Seemed like these two were pretty friendly. Maybe that would help Briana. “Since she’s not leaving, maybe you can keep an eye on her, eh?”

  “I’ll do that.” Slade walked outside with him.

  “She’s a special lady. Hate to see anything happen to her.” Stone opened the door to his cruiser.

  “That makes two of us.” He watched the sheriff drive off, then stood back as Irma’s BMW replaced the sheriff’s vehicle in the driveway.

  “Just the man I’m looking for,” the widow said as she stepped out of the car, favoring her left foot. “I feel silly driving less than a block, but I was afraid I’d slip and fall on this wet pavement.” She stuck out her bandaged leg. “I’ve got a bad sprain as it is. I don’t need another.”