Suddenly there it was—Fox Harbor, nestled in the shelter of a shallow inlet. She had not expected it to be such a small town, little more than a dock, a steepled church, and a string of white buildings facing the bay. In the harbor, lobster boats bobbed at their moorings like staked prey, waiting to be swallowed up by the incoming fog bank.
Driving slowly down Main Street, she saw tired front porches in need of paint, windows where faded curtains hung. Clearly this was not a wealthy town, judging by the rusting trucks in the driveways. The only late-model vehicles she saw were in the parking lot of the Bayview Motel, cars with license plates from New York and Massachusetts and Connecticut. Urban refugees who’d fled hot cities for lobster and a glimpse of paradise.
She pulled up in front of the motel registration office. First things first, she thought; I need a bed for the night, and this looked like the only place in town. She got out of her car and stretched stiff muscles, inhaled damp and briny air. Though Boston was a harbor town, she seldom smelled the sea at home; the urban smells of diesel and car exhaust and hot pavement contaminated every breeze that blew in from the harbor. Here, though, she could actually taste the salt, could feel it cling like a fine mist to her skin. Standing in that motel parking lot, the wind in her face, she felt as if she’d suddenly emerged from a deep sleep, and was awake again. Alive again.
The motel’s decor was exactly as she’d expected it would be: sixties wood paneling, tired green carpet, a wall clock mounted in a ship’s wheel. No one was manning the counter.
She leaned forward. “Hello?”
A door creaked open and a man appeared, fat and balding, delicate spectacles perched like a dragonfly on his nose.
“Do you have any rooms for the night?” Maura asked.
Her question was met with dead silence. The man stared at her, jaw sagging open, his gaze riveted on her face.
“Excuse me,” she said, thinking that he had not heard her. “Do you have any vacancies?”
“You … want a room?”
Didn’t I just say that?
He looked down at his registration book, then back at her. “I’m, uh, sorry. We’re full up for the night.”
“I’ve just driven all the way up from Boston. Is there some place in town I might find a room?”
He swallowed. “It’s a busy weekend. There was a couple came in just an hour ago, asking for a room. I called around, had to send them all the way up to Ellsworth.”
“Where’s that?”
“About thirty miles.”
Maura looked up at the clock mounted in the ship’s wheel. It was already four forty-five; the search for a motel room would have to wait.
She said, “I need to find the office for Land and Sea Realty.”
“Main Street. It’s two blocks down, on the left.”
Stepping through the door into Land and Sea Realty, Maura found yet another deserted reception room. Was no one in this town manning his post? The office smelled like cigarettes, and on the desk, an ashtray overflowed with butts. Displayed on the wall were the firm’s property listings, some of the photos badly yellowed. Clearly this was not a hot real estate market. Scanning the offerings, Maura saw a tumble-down barn (PERFECT FOR A HORSE FARM!), a house with a sagging porch (PERFECT HANDYMAN SPECIAL!), and a photo of trees—that was it, just trees (QUIET AND PRIVATE! PERFECT HOUSE LOT!). Was there anything in this town, she wondered, that wasn’t perfect?
She heard a back door open and turned to see a man emerge, carrying a dripping coffee carafe, which he set on the desk. He was shorter than Maura, with a square head and close-cropped gray hair. His clothes were far too large for him, the shirtsleeves and trouser cuffs rolled up as though he was wearing a giant’s hand-me-downs. Keys rattling on his belt, he swaggered over to greet Maura.
“Sorry, I was out back washing the coffee pot. You must be Dr. Isles.”
The voice took Maura aback. Though it was husky, no doubt from all those cigarettes in the ashtray, it was clearly a woman’s. Only then did Maura notice the swell of breasts under that baggy shirt.
“You’re … the person I spoke to this morning?” Maura asked.
“Britta Clausen.” She gave Maura a brisk, no-nonsense handshake. “Harvey told me you’d gotten into town.”
“Harvey?”
“Down the road, Bayview Motel. He called to let me know you were on the way.” The woman paused, giving Maura the once-over. “Well, I guess you don’t need to show me any ID. No doubt, looking at you, whose sister you are. You wanna drive up to the house together?”
“I’ll follow you in my car.”
Miss Clausen sorted through the key ring on her belt and gave a satisfied grunt. “Here it is, Skyline Drive. Police are all finished going through it, so I guess I can walk you through.”
Maura followed Miss Clausen’s pickup truck up a road that suddenly curved away from the coast and wound up a bluff. As they climbed, she caught glimpses of the coastline, the water now obscured beneath a thick blanket of fog. The village of Fox Harbor vanished into the mists below. Just ahead of her, Miss Clausen’s brake lights suddenly flared, and Maura barely had time to hit her own brakes. Her Lexus skidded across wet leaves, coming to a stop with its bumper kissing a Land and Sea Realty FOR SALE sign staked in the ground.
Miss Clausen stuck her head out the window. “Hey, you okay back there?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, that last curve takes you by surprise. It’s this driveway, off to the right.”
“I’m right behind you.”
Miss Clausen gave a laugh. “Not too close behind, okay?”
The dirt road was hugged so closely by trees, Maura felt as though she was driving through a tunnel in the woods. It opened up abruptly to reveal a small cedar-shingled cottage. Maura parked beside Miss Clausen’s pickup truck and stepped out of the Lexus. For a moment she stood in the silence of the clearing and stared at the house. Wooden steps led to a covered porch where a swing hung motionless in the still air. In a small shade garden, foxgloves and daylilies struggled to grow. On all sides the forest seemed to press in, and Maura found herself breathing more quickly, as though trapped in a small room. As though the air itself was too close.
“It’s so quiet here,” said Maura.
“Yeah, it’s a ways from town. That’s what makes this hill such a good value. Real estate boom’s gonna move up this way, you know. Few years from now, you’re gonna see houses all up and down this road. This is the time to buy.”
Because it’s perfect, Maura expected her to add.
“I’m having a house lot cleared right next door,” said Miss Clausen. “After your sister moved in, I figured it was time to get these other lots ready. You see one person living up here, it gets the ball rolling. Pretty soon everyone’s looking to buy in the neighborhood.” She gave Maura a thoughtful look. “So what kind of doctor are you?”
“A pathologist.”
“That’s like, what? You work in a lab?”
This woman was starting to irritate her. She answered, bluntly: “I work with dead people.”
That answer didn’t seem to disturb the woman in the least. “Well, you must have regular hours, then. Lot of weekends off. A summer place might interest you. You know, the lot next door’s gonna be ready to build on soon. If you ever thought of owning a little vacation place, you’ll never find a cheaper time to invest.”
So this was what it felt like to be trapped with a time-share salesman. She said, “I’m really not interested, Miss Clausen.”
“Oh.” The woman huffed out a breath, then turned and stomped up onto the porch. “Well, just come on in, then. Now that you’re here, you can tell me what to do with your sister’s things.”
“I’m not really sure I have that authority.”
“I don’t know what else to do with it all. I sure don’t want to pay for storing them. I’ve got to empty out the house if I ever want to sell it or rent it out again.” She ra
ttled through her keys, looking for the right one. “I manage most of the rental units in town, and this place hasn’t been the easiest one to fill. Your sister, she signed a six-month lease, you know.”
Is that all Anna’s death means to her? Maura wondered. No more rent checks, a property in need of a new tenant? She did not like this woman with her clanking keys and her acquisitive stare. The real estate queen of Fox Harbor, whose only concern seemed to be bringing in her quota of monthly checks.
At last Miss Clausen pushed open the door. “Go on in.”
Maura stepped inside. Though there were large windows in the living room, the closeness of the trees, and the late afternoon hour, filled the house with shadow. She saw dark pine floors, a worn area rug, a sagging couch. The faded wallpaper had green vines lacing across the room, adding to Maura’s sense of leafy suffocation.
“Came completely furnished,” said Miss Clausen. “I gave her a good price, considering that.”
“How much?” asked Maura, staring out the window at a wall of trees.
“Six hundred a month. I could get four times that, if this place was closer to the water. But the man who built it, he liked his privacy.” Miss Clausen gave the living room a slow, surveying look, as though she hadn’t really seen it in a while. “Kind of surprised me when she called to ask about the place, especially since I had other units available, down by the shore.”
Maura turned to look at her. Daylight was fading, and Miss Clausen had receded into the shadows. “My sister asked specifically about this house?”
Miss Clausen shrugged. “I guess the price was right.”
They left the gloomy living room and started down a hallway. If a house reflected the personality of its occupant, then something of Anna Leoni must linger within these walls. But other tenants had also claimed this space, and Maura wondered which knickknacks, which pictures on the wall had belonged to Anna, and which had been left by others before her. That pastel painting of a sunset—surely not Anna’s. No sister of mine would hang something so hideous, she thought. And that odor of stale cigarettes permeating the house—surely it had not been Anna who smoked. Identical twins are often eerily alike; wouldn’t Anna have shared Maura’s aversion to cigarettes? Wouldn’t she, too, sniffle and cough at the first whiff of smoke?
They came to a bedroom with a stripped mattress.
“She didn’t use this room, I guess,” said Miss Clausen. “Closet and dressers were empty.”
Next came a bathroom. Maura went in and opened the medicine cabinet. On the shelves were Advil and Sudafed and Ricola cough drops, brand names that startled her by their familiarity. These were the same products she kept in her own bathroom cabinet. Right down to our choice of flu medicines, she thought, we were identical.
She closed the cabinet door. Continued down the hall to the last doorway.
“This was the bedroom she used,” said Miss Clausen.
The room was neatly kept, the bedcovers tucked in, the dresser top free of clutter. Like my bedroom, thought Maura. She went to the closet and opened the door. Hanging inside were slacks and pressed blouses and dresses. Size six. Maura’s size.
“State police came in last week, gave the whole house a going-over.”
“Did they find anything of interest?”
“Not that they told me. She didn’t keep much in here. Lived here only a few months.”
Maura turned and looked out the window. It was not yet dark, but the gloom of the surrounding woods made nightfall seem imminent.
Miss Clausen was standing just inside the bedroom door, as though waiting to charge a toll before she’d let Maura exit. “It’s not such a bad house,” she said.
Yes it is, thought Maura. It’s a horrid little house.
“This time of year, there’s nothing much left to rent. Everything’s pretty much taken. Hotels, motels. No rooms at the inn.”
Maura kept her gaze on the woods. Anything to avoid engaging this distasteful woman in any further conversation.
“Well, it was just a thought. I guess you found a place to stay tonight, then.”
So that’s what she’s trying to get at. Maura turned to look at her. “Actually, I don’t have a place to stay. The Bayview Motel was full.”
The woman responded with a tight little smile. “So’s everything else.”
“They told me there were some vacancies up in Ellsworth.”
“Yeah? If you want to drive all the way up there. Take you longer than you think in the dark. Road winding all over the place.” Miss Clausen pointed to the bed. “I could get you some fresh linens. Charge you what the motel would have. If you’re interested.”
Maura looked down at the bed, and felt a cold whisper up her spine. My sister slept here.
“Oh, well. Take it or leave it.”
“I don’t know …”
Miss Clausen gave a grunt. “Seems to me you don’t have much of a choice.”
Maura stood on the front porch and watched the taillights of Britta Clausen’s pickup truck disappear into the dark curtain of trees. She lingered a moment in the gathering darkness, listening to the crickets, to the rustle of leaves. She heard creaking behind her, and turned to see the porch swing was moving, as though nudged by a ghostly hand. With a shudder, she stepped back into the house and was about to lock the door when she suddenly went very still. Felt, once again, that whisper of a chill against her neck.
There were four locks on the door.
She stared at two chains, a sliding latch, and a dead bolt. The brass plates were still bright, the screws untarnished. New locks. She slid all the bolts home, inserted the chains into their slots. The metal felt icy against her fingers.
She went into the kitchen and flipped on the lights. Saw tired linoleum on the floor, a small dining table with chipped Formica. In the corner, a Frigidaire growled. But it was the back door she focused on. It had three locks, brass plates gleaming. She felt her heart starting to thump faster as she fastened the locks. Then she turned and was startled to see yet another bolted door in the kitchen. Where did that one lead?
She slid open the bolt and opened the door. She saw narrow wooden stairs leading down into darkness. Cool air rose from below, and she smelled damp earth. The back of her neck was prickling.
The cellar. Why would anyone want to lock the door to the cellar?
She closed the door, slid the bolt shut. That’s when she realized this lock was different; it was rusted, old.
Now she felt the need to check that all the windows were bolted as well. Anna had been frightened so badly that she had turned this house into a fortress, and Maura could still feel that fear permeating every room. She tested the kitchen windows, then moved to the living room.
Only when she was satisfied that the windows were all secure in the rest of the house did she finally begin exploring the bedroom. Standing before the open closet, she gazed at the clothes inside. Sliding the hangers across the pole, she eyed each garment, noting they were precisely her size. She pulled a dress from its hanger—a black knit, with the clean, simple lines that she herself favored. She imagined Anna standing in a department store, lingering over this dress on the rack. Checking the price tag, holding up the garment against her body as she gazed into a mirror, thinking: This is the one I want.
Maura unbuttoned her blouse, removed her slacks. She stepped into the black dress, and as she pulled up the zipper, she felt the fabric close over her curves like a second skin. She turned to face the mirror. This is what Anna saw, she thought. The same face, the same figure. Did she, too, deplore the thickening of her hips, the signs of impending middle age? Did she too turn sideways, to check the flatness of her belly? Surely all women who try on new dresses perform an identical ballet in front of a mirror. Turn this way, turn that. Do I look fat from behind?
She paused, her right side to the mirror, staring at a strand of hair that clung to the fabric. She plucked it off and held it up to the light. It was black like hers, but longer. A dead woman’s hai
r.
The ringing telephone made her jerk around. She went to the nightstand and paused, heart pounding, as the phone rang a second time, a third, each jangle unbearably loud in that silent house. Before it could ring a fourth time she picked up the receiver.
“Hello? Hello?”
There was a click, and then the dial tone.
Wrong number, she thought. That’s all it is.
Outside, the wind was picking up, and even through the closed window she heard the groan of swaying trees. But inside the house, it was so silent she could hear her own heartbeat. Is this what your nights were like? she wondered. In this house, surrounded by dark woods?
That night, before she climbed into bed, she locked the bedroom door, then propped a chair against it as well. She felt a little sheepish doing so. There was nothing to be afraid of, yet she felt more threatened here than in Boston, where the predators were human and far more dangerous than any animal that might lurk among these woods.
Anna was afraid here, too.
She could feel that fear, still lingering in this house with its barricaded doors.
She bolted awake to the sound of screeching. Lay gasping for breath, heart thudding. Only an owl, no reason to panic. She was in the woods, for god’s sake; of course she’d hear animals. Her sheets were soaked in sweat. She had locked the window before going to bed, and the room now felt stifling, airless. I can’t breathe, she thought.
She rose and slid open the window. Stood taking in deep breaths of fresh air as she stared out at the trees, their leaves silvered by moonlight. Nothing moved; the woods had once again gone silent.
She returned to bed and this time slept soundly until dawn.
Daylight changed everything. She heard birdsong, and looking out her window, saw two deer cross the yard and bound off into the woods, white tails flashing. With sunlight streaming into the room, the chair she’d propped up against the door last night now struck her as irrational. I won’t be telling anyone about this, she thought, as she pulled it aside.
In the kitchen she made coffee from a bag of ground French roast she found in the freezer. Anna’s coffee. She poured hot water through the filter as she inhaled the steamy fragrance. She was surrounded by Anna’s purchases. The microwave popcorn and packages of spaghetti. The expired cartons of peach yogurt and milk. Each item represented a moment in her sister’s life when she had paused before a grocery store shelf and thought: I need this, too. And then later, upon the return home, she had emptied sacks and put away these choices. When Maura looked at the contents of the cabinets, it was her sister’s hand she saw, stacking the cans of tuna on the flowered shelf paper.
The Rizzoli & Isles Series 10-Book Bundle Page 103