“Nick, I don’t have quite the view that you do.” She gestured toward the deck.
“More’s the pity. It’s wonderful. Come on out for a minute and we’ll take a break right now.”
She laughed and followed him onto the deck, to stand next to him at the railing, where they both leaned their elbows at precisely the same time.
“See? It’s instinctive,” he told her. “You approach the rail, you lean the elbows and you take it all in.”
Leaning her head back slightly, India inhaled the warm tidal breath of the night, thick and salty and familiar.
“I miss it,” she admitted, her eyes still closed as she luxuriated in the sea air.
“What keeps you away?”
“My work.”
“You know you’d be able to get a job anywhere.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged and looked out across the dark water.
“No maybe. Want to tell me what keeps you from coming back to Devlin’s Light to stay? Or is that a secret you’re not ready to share.”
“Why would you think that I don’t want to come back?” She stared straight ahead, uncomfortable with the question. And its answer.
“Well, your family is here… your home. And from all appearances, you love it here…” His voice trailed away slightly.
“I do. More than any place,” she said softly, still not looking at him, knowing if she met his eyes she might want to tell him what he wanted to know, but not yet ready to share that part of herself.
“And yet you seem to put as much distance between yourself and your home as you can.”
India looped her fingers together and hung them over the railing, looking out to the bay but not at Nick.
“Something tells me there’s no simple answer. Maybe someday you’ll want to talk about it. Right now,” he said, pointing overhead, “there’s a serious moon on the rise.”
Silently she thanked him for not pushing her into speaking of something she did not want to speak of, something that would sully the night and take the focus from finding clues to Ry’s death and place it instead upon her, on her past, on her nightmares.
A flock of geese landed noisily, feet first, somewhere across the bay, their loud honks drifting across the water as if to scold the lead bird for not having stopped sooner.
“How ’bout we get our coffee and make ourselves comfortable and we can compare notes?”
“Sounds good.” She started to follow him through the door.
“Just stay and relax for a minute,” he told her. “I’ll bring everything out.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
India welcomed the few minutes alone on the deck, a few minutes to listen to the night sounds of the bay, to watch for the faint splashes as fish here and there poked through the plane of the water, to rest in the stillness of the marsh. The bay at night had always offered a peace to her she had not found anywhere else.
Nick returned with a tray upon which sat two mugs of steaming coffee, a carton of half and half bearing the logo of a nearby convenience store, two plates, two forks, a knife and the entire apple pie. “You planning on eating all that?” She laughed, pointing at the pie.
“Very possibly. When was the last time you ate only one piece of August Devlin’s apple pie? Even if August herself didn’t bake it, there’s nothing else that even comes close, in my book.”
“Good point.” She grinned and sat in one of the deck chairs.
“Help yourself to coffee,” he told her, “and I’ll tend to the pie.”
She giggled as he cut two large wedges from the pie and slid them onto the plates, then handed one to India, telling her, “It’s just perfect, still warm.”
“It smells too wonderful,” she noted, her mouth watering at the very thought of it. “It is perfect,” she told him as she took the first impatient bite. “Wonderful. Heaven.”
“Agreed.” He nodded as he too succumbed to the lure of the fragrance that surrounded them momentarily, before a soft land breeze began to drift the aroma toward the bay. “Eat fast,” he joked, “or we’ll have every raccoon within sniffing distance prowling up here for his share.”
“Corri tells me that you’re taking her to soccer on Tuesday nights.”
“Well, it’s August’s card night, you know.” He shrugged it off with a grin.
“You don’t have to.”
“Hey, Indy, it’s no big deal. Corri wants to play. Ry took her last year and she loved it. I just wanted there to be one less thing in her life that she had to do without because someone else was gone from her life.” He put his plate down to pour cream into the coffee.
“It’s very nice of you to do that.”
“I am a very nice guy. Thank you for noticing. And besides, it’s fun to watch her.”
“I meant it’s nice of you to care that she wants to play.”
“Well, I guess I’m just passing it on.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, you know, that old expression that if someone does something nice for you, the best way of thanking them is to help someone else in return.” Nick leaned back and crossed a denimed leg, resting his now-empty pie plate on his knee. “When I was about eleven, I wanted to play baseball in the worst way. But the league rules required that one parent volunteer to coach. My dad was gone. And Mom was out of the question—you could fill the head of a pin with Mom’s knowledge of baseball and have enough room left over for the Bill of Rights. Plus she was working during the day and trying to write at night and keep up with my sisters. She didn’t have three nights each week to spare.”
“So who stepped in?” she asked.
“Mr. Hamilton. Lived across the street from us. Retired gent. Signed me up and took me to every practice. Cheered me on at every game.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Long gone,” Nick told her softly, “but I’ll never forget all he gave me. All he taught me. When my mom or I would thank him, he’d just smile and say, ’Nick, you just remember to pass it on one day.’ I’m grateful for the opportunity to do just that.”
“I hope you tell Corri that story some day.”
“Some day.” He nodded. “So, how’s the dessert?”
“Wonderful.” She sighed contentedly.
“Another slice?”
She contemplated the possibility. When was the last time she had had two servings of dessert?
“Just a small one.” She laughed.
“You look like you could use a few extra calories,” he told her.
“There’s a shabby excuse for gluttony if ever I heard one.” She speared a slice of warm apple and it melted in her mouth. If there was in fact a heaven, they would of a certainty serve warm apple pie made from her aunt’s recipe. No doubt about it.
She was just about to share this thought when Nick asked, “So, tell me, what information have you been able to dig up about Manning and Hatfield?”
“The Paloma P.D. wasn’t able to find out a whole lot. Hatfield has a history as an agitator. Seems to have joined in just about every protest launched at Bayview State over the past eight years. Heavy on environmental issues. I can’t tell whether he’s truly committed to the causes he becomes involved with, or if he just likes the action and the rhetoric. Either way, the consensus is that he’s very much nonviolent. I got pretty much the same report on Manning.”
“Is Manning a tall man, salt-and-pepper beard, wears a backpack and always has a pair of binoculars around his neck?”
“That’s pretty accurate from what I recall. Unfortunately, I left the reports back in Paloma, but he was described as being about six-two, about one hundred seventy pounds, brown hair, a little gray at the temples, close-cropped beard. You’ve met him?”
“He was around a few times there in late May, early June, then again back in late June. First he was protesting the number of people on the beaches during the bird migrations. Next he was trying to work up support for his efforts to ban the fireworks display for July
Fourth. Said it spooked the birds.”
“Do you know if he had any dealings with Ry?”
“I don’t know that I’d call them dealings, exactly, but I know they had words on more than one occasion.”
“Words?”
He nodded. “Ry had wanted to open the beach for the first two weeks in June so that people could come to watch the migrations.”
“And Manning didn’t like the idea?”
“Manning thought that publicizing the spawning of the horseshoe crabs and the bird migrations, to encourage people to come to watch, would frighten the birds away. He was very open—some might say hostile—about his opposition to Ry’s plans.”
India frowned. “I don’t recall Ry wanting to do much more than make the public more aware of how important the Bay is, in an ecological sense. Where its place is in the grand scheme of things.”
“A few months back, he and Darla were talking about opening a tea room in the first-floor rooms of the lighthouse. So that people coming to watch the whole horseshoe crab thing could sit out there on the point and have a light meal while they watched Mother Nature’s main event. Ry thought it would remove the sightseers from the immediate area of the activity while still providing an excellent vantage spot.”
“And at the same time use the Light for something constructive and permit Darla to start her own business.” India put her mug down on the floor near her feet. “Manning and Hatfield don’t sound promising as suspects. I’d sure like to know who Ry saw that week, what his last few days were like.”
“Well, I can take a drive out to Bayview and try to reconstruct his day at school. Maybe get a list of his students.”
“They won’t want to give you that.”
“The administration won’t, but I do know a few of Ry’s friends on the faculty. I’m sure one of them will help out. Maybe I can dig up some information that might prove helpful.”
“You mean you’ll look for clues?”
“Sweetheart, in the immortal words of Henny Young-man, a clue is what the police boast about when they can’t find the criminal.” He laughed. “I’m just going to see if I can re-create his day, talk to the people he talked to.”
“I think Chief Carpenter already did that,” she reminded him.
“Maybe he missed someone.” Nick shrugged. “In any event, it can’t hurt. Maybe someone will remember something. You never know. Unless you don’t want me to.”
“Why would I not want you to? I just hate to see you waste your time,” she added.
“Well, something might turn up. And besides, it will make me feel better. Like I’m doing something for Ry.”
“You are doing plenty for Ry. Stopping in to see Aunt August—”
“She’s a special lady. I just stop by to give her a hand now and then.”
“And Corri…”
“She’s a special little girl. I enjoy her company.”
“And Darla? Aunt August said you showed up in your four-wheel to deliver her baked goods to her customers when her road was washed out after a bad storm a few weeks back.”
“Darla is working very hard to get Darla’s Delectables off the ground. How could I have left her stranded with all those muffins and breads and whatever else she had spent the past two days baking? It was no big deal. A drive out to her house, a drive into town.”
“And into Cape May.”
“It’s not that far, India. Darla needed help. She’s struggled to start up this little business of hers for the past two years. She has finally established a pretty decent clientele. I hated to see her lose out because of an ill-timed storm.”
“You don’t have to be defensive, Nick. I think it’s wonderful of you to help her out. But tell me, did Aunt August call you and tell you that Darla was stuck?”
“Actually, I believe she may have. Why?”
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, okay? But August adored Ry. He was like the son she never had. I would hate to see her transfer that to you, if you know what I mean. I’d hate to see her, even unconsciously, try to… to…”
“Fit me into Ry’s place?” he suggested. “Naw, she knows I’m not Ry. And I know how dependent she was upon him to help her here and there around the house. August and Ry both went a long way to make me feel at home here in Devlin’s Light, to make me feel like—I don’t know, like a part of the family. I’d do whatever I could to help her out. I’m happy to be there for her. Especially now, with Corri back in school… she could use a hand now and then.”
“And of course we all know that hand should be mine.” India stood up and paced the length of the deck slowly.
“When you can, you will.”
“May not be soon enough.” India related the story of how Corri had only recently decided what last name to use.
“Look, India, for the time being, Corri is fine here. She has lots of loving adults. And she’s smart enough to know that what you are doing is important.”
“I don’t want her to think that it’s more important than she is.”
“Well, you are the only one who can convince her that it isn’t.”
“I’m still trying to decide the best way to do that.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out before too long.”
“I’m not sure that the best way to do that isn’t to take her back to Paloma with me.” There. India had said it aloud for the first time.
Nick stared at her for a long hard minute, then said calmly, “That’s entirely up to you, of course. Have you discussed that possibility with your aunt?”
“Not yet. I’m still thinking about it. But you said yourself that a small child is a lot for her to handle.”
“And I also said that she doesn’t have to handle it all alone. It’s one of the nicest things about a small town like this, India. People help each other. And are actually happy to do it. So if you’re looking for an excuse to take Corri to Paloma, you’re going to have to come up with something better than that.” Strangely enough, Nick actually sounded agitated.
India glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his face told her nothing.
“And you will, of course, make your decision with Corri’s best interests in mind. And in keeping with what Ry would have wanted.”
“Of course I will,” she replied, fighting a sudden urge to snap at him.
“Well then, there’s nothing more to be said about that.” He turned on his hundred-watt smile and she felt her knees twitch, protesting her expectation that they continue to hold her upright when those little dimples on either side of his mouth appeared. Even in the dim light here on the deck, she could see that little glint in his eyes, and the agitation she had so recently felt began to melt away and was replaced by the seeds of a different kind of turmoil.
India had always been a sucker for a man with a twinkle in his eyes.
“So, India Devlin”—he reached out to touch her hair— “what do we talk about now?”
She tried to not act like the wide-eyed girl she was beginning to feel like as he inched closer.
“Let’s see, we’ve talked about Corri. And August. Darla’s business. How we will proceed to investigate Ry’s death. Horseshoe crabs… bird migrations. Have we missed anything?”
His hand was on her elbow and he guided her toward him even as he moved toward her, bridging the slight distance between them with his body until his face was inches away from hers.
“I didn’t think so.” He murmured the answer to his own question as he lowered his lips to hers, tentatively at first, as if giving her the opportunity to protest, just in case she wasn’t sure. When she did not pull away, he pulled her closer, intensifying the pressure of his lips on hers, then parting her lips slightly with his tongue.
Nick tasted of cinnamon and apples and smelled of Old Spice and bay breezes, a combination not to be resisted. India slid her arms toward his neck, wanting his closeness and his warmth, and he was more than happy to oblige her. His hand caressed the side of her face slow
ly, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. She wondered if it was possible to pass out from the sheer pleasure of a kiss and hoped that she wasn’t about to humiliate herself by finding out the hard way.
“There.” He broke away suddenly and turned in the direction of the bay. “Listen. Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Her heart had been pounding half out of her chest. What could she possibly have heard in the midst of that racket?
“Listen.” Without relinquishing his hold on her, he turned her body slightly toward the right, then stood stock still, as if waiting.
A sharp call, akin to a bark, pierced through the silence of the night.
“What?”
“It’s an owl,” he said softly, still not moving.
“Sounded more like a bark than a whooooo.”
“There’s a short-eared owl that has been nesting in the marsh since midsummer—I’ve seen it several times. When it’s disturbed, it makes a snarling, barking sound.”
She turned her head to one side, listening.
“There it is again,” she whispered. “Funny, all the years I lived in Devlin’s Light, I never identified the sound.”
“You lived over on the beach side,” he said, smiling faintly in the dark, “this bird nests in the marshes, among the cattails—There, there it is again.”
“I never would have thought that was an owl… not from that sound.”
“I might have missed that too, except that this one decided to make his home relatively close to mine. I’ve sat on the deck many a night and watched him hunt. He goes off at dusk, mostly hunting mice, voles. He’s brought home his occasional songbird or two over the summer.”
Nick’s open palm was slowly stroking her back, leaving a warm river of skin beneath her sweater as it trailed across her shoulders. India was beginning to care less and less about the bird.
“But the significant thing about that bird,” he told her, his breath soft against the side of her face, “is that the last time I heard it scream like that was the night Ry died.”
“And you think it was that same owl?”
“Yeah, I do. Once you’ve heard that sound, you don’t forget it. The first time I heard it was early in the summer. A group of kids, probably high-school kids, were out on the bay at night in small boats, a whole flotilla of them.”
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