I hunched against the cold and swore, and wished I had another bottle of Jack Daniel’s. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of hitching a ride back to the mainland with a cop. Or a corpse. I’d wait till everyone left then head down to the harbor and see if I could find Toby. I already owed him money for the ride over. I’d make it a round trip and call it even and get the hell out of Dodge.
I glanced back through the window to see if Gryffin and John Stone had come downstairs. The kitchen was still empty. I jammed my hands into my pockets. My feet in the cowboy boots were already freezing. I headed toward the pine grove, hoping to warm myself by moving.
That was another bad idea. The wind blasted me, and the trees offered little in the way of shelter as a flurry of snow whirled up. My ears throbbed from the inside, like someone had jabbed a pencil in there. I swore again.
Above me, something growled. I looked up.
An animal crouched in a pine tree—cat sized, with blackish brown fur and glittering eyes and a small red mouth, a sleek furry tail. It glared at me, teeth bared in a hiss. I stared back, too stunned to run away. I’d seen foxes and coyotes in the woods back when I was a kid, and once even a bobcat, but nothing like this, all rage and teeth. It looked like the Tasmanian Devil in the old cartoons. It crept to the edge of the branch, its back reared like a cat’s about to spring. For a moment it was silent. Then it snarled.
I’ve never heard anything like that noise. It didn’t even sound like an animal. It sounded like a human, like a person growling in pure rage. The snarl grew louder, the fur around the animal’s face fanned out in a brown-gold halo. It moved forward, gaining better purchase on the tree limb. It was going to jump.
I took a stumbling step backward, heard a flurry of barks, and turned.
Aphrodite’s deerhounds ran along the top of the hill. Behind them strode a tall figure in a police parka. Sighting me, one of the dogs broke away and raced down the hillside. I looked back at the pine tree, but the animal was gone.
The man walked toward me. “These your dogs?” He sounded pissed off.
“No. They belong to them.” I pointed at the house.
The dogs rushed past us, sniffed hopefully then loped toward the beach.
“You part of the family?”
“They’re inside.”
The man nodded. He was broad shouldered, with a square face and blue eyes, close-cropped blond hair and a nick on his chin from shaving. Tom’s of Maine meets Tom’s of Finland. His name tag read Jeff Hakkala.
“I’ll be doing the investigation,” he said. “You said next of kin’s in there? And the sheriff?”
“Yeah.”
He headed toward the house. I let him get a few yards ahead of me then followed.
Gryffin opened the door. Hakkala introduced himself and went into the kitchen to confer with John Stone. Gryffin remained in the mudroom with me.
“You look pretty bad,” I said.
“I am. God, this is awful.”
I hesitated then asked, “Do they have any idea what happened?”
“‘They?’ Who’s ‘they?’” He glanced into the next room. “There is no they. There’s John Stone, and now this guy. He’ll call the medical examiner, they’ll do an autopsy. I have to arrange some kind of funeral…”
He buried his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry.” I felt a real pang of grief—not for Aphrodite but for him. I touched his shoulder. “Really. It’s—well, I’m just sorry, is all.”
He nodded and put his hand on mine, just for an instant.
“Yeah,” he said at last and looked away. “I gather this guy is going to ask us a few more questions and then do whatever he does up there at the crime scene.”
The back of my neck went cold. “Crime scene?”
“That’s what they call it. An unattended death—they treat it like a homicide. He didn’t think it was anything but her falling, three sheets to the wind, as usual. That’s what the autopsy will tell them, anyway. I guess it takes a few weeks before they sign off on everything.”
“Do I need to wait around?”
He shot me a grim look. “No. This guy’ll question you, and the sheriff wants to question us about the girl in the motel. Then you can go, I guess.”
For a minute we stood in silence. Finally I said, “Me being here … I guess I made it worse.”
“No, Cass.” He started for the kitchen. “You just made it weird.”
18
The detective didn’t spend much time with me. I answered his questions, he wrote everything down. Then he went to see Gryffin in the living room. I remained with John Stone in the kitchen, watching as he fed the woodstove.
“Been up here before?” He nudged the stove door shut with his foot.
“No.”
“Probably won’t be in much of a hurry to come back, now.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. I kind of like it, except for the cold.”
“Not much besides the cold. For the next six months, anyway.”
He looked up as Gryffin stepped back into the room.
“He’s on the phone,” Gryffin said. “This could take a while.”
John Stone glanced from him to me. “Mind if I ask you a few quick questions about Merrill Libby’s girl?”
Gryffin sank into a chair. “Go ahead.”
“Well, did either one of you see her the other night? I gather you did—Everett said his daughter was on the computer with Merrill’s girl. She said she’d seen you at the Lighthouse.” He turned to me. “And that Robert Stanley, the one works for Mr. Provenzano—he said you was talking to Merrill’s girl. That’s what she told him, anyway.”
“MacKenzie,” I said. The sheriff looked confused. “Libby’s girl—she’s got a name. MacKenzie.”
John Stone blinked. “Well, yes, of course she does. But she—did you see her?”
“She checked me into the motel. Afterward, she came to my room—I’d asked her father if there was someplace to eat. He said no, but she wanted to tell me there was a place, that restaurant down at the harbor. The Good Tern.”
“She enter your room?”
“Yeah. For, like, a minute. It was freezing, I didn’t want to make her stand outside. She told me about the restaurant. Then she left. End of story.”
“Some of the kids—well, one of them, Robert, he said that the girl—that MacKenzie told him you were going to give her a ride somewhere.”
Fucking Robert. I felt myself grow hot. “I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t tell her anything. I said about five words to her, and that was it.”
John Stone allowed himself a wry smile. “Five words, huh? Well, Miss Neary, we picked up a lot of chatter—teenagers talking, you know. They may confiscate her computer, see what shows up on there.”
My mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”
“Computer records. We had a incident last year, a juvenile met someone online and was abducted. Picked her up down in Portsmouth.”
He shook his head. “Least she was alive. Me, I wouldn’t let my kids do that stuff. God knows who they meet up with. So you were at the Good Tern that night? Did you see her there?”
“No.”
Stone stared out the window again, brooding. “I talked to Toby Barrett yesterday evening, he said you’d been there with him and Gryffin here.”
He looked at Gryffin. “You were at the motel too, right? You and Miss Neary—you were in adjacent rooms? And Toby said you were at the Good Tern afterward. But Miss Neary, you said you only met him yesterday.”
I stared at John Stone. So did Gryffin.
“I forgot,” I said at last. “I mean—I saw him at the motel. I bumped into him.”
“Really bumped into me,” said Gryffin. “Outside my room.”
“What does this have to do with MacKenzie Libby?” I said. “Because my father’s an attorney, and if you’re going to do any kind of questioning, I’m going to call him right now.”
John Stone lifted a placating hand. “No, no—Me
rrill Libby said he hadn’t seen the two of you together when you checked in. He said he always rents those two rooms out in the winter, something about the heat. We just—he’s obviously concerned about the young lady. MacKenzie. He says she’s a good kid. A good girl.”
He sighed. “These kids … I got a grandson that age, you don’t want to think of what can happen to them. Right now they’ve got the Game Warden searching for her.”
“Game warden?” I broke in. “An old lady dies of natural causes and you send out a homicide detective, but this kid disappears and she gets a freaking game warden? Like she’s a dog?”
John Stone looked taken aback. “Well, it’s standard procedure. They’re starting to organize people to search for her. Merrill Libby, he’ll mobilize the whole town. But I’ll you the truth, Miss Neary—you wander off into the woods, you’re a lot better off having the warden service look for you with trained dogs. He knows those woods better’n anybody.”
“But you just said she might have taken off with someone. Not that she’s lost in the woods.”
John Stone shrugged. “Well, probably that’s all that happened. Probably she got ticked at her dad and run off. Then it got cold, it got dark, she started back but she got disorientated and she’s out there now. I just hope she didn’t take a fall somewhere, like if she went down to that pier at Burnt Harbor.”
He made a grim face. “Probably not cold enough for someone to freeze to death, long as she didn’t go in the water, not a young person in good health, anyway.”
He turned to where Hakkala was putting away his phone. “Well, I think that’s about it. Time to go find Everett, take me back over. You think of anything else about Merrill Libby’s girl, you let me know, okay?”
“Kenzie,” I said, but John Stone didn’t hear. He set down his clipboard and headed into the next room. Gryffin went with him.
I looked at the table. Stone’s ballpoint was lying on top of the papers he’d filled out. It was a nice pen, dark blue with gold lettering on the barrel. I picked it up and read paswegas county police department: proud to serve. I glanced to where Stone and Gryffin were talking, their backs to me, then slid the pen into my jacket pocket.
“Sorry again for your loss,” the sheriff said. He shook hands with Gryffin, stepped over to have a word with Hakkala. Gryffin walked back to me.
“Well,” he said.
“I better get going too.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at my feet. “Look, I—”
“Stop.” He turned to the window, blinking away tears, then glanced back at me. “How’re you getting back to Burnt Harbor?”
“Toby, I guess. If he’ll take me.”
“Oh, he’ll take you. If you can find him. Know where he lives?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I stared at him, that green-shot eye, and, inexplicably, thought of Christine. Grief took me, the irrevocable knowledge that I was seeing him for the last time and I would never, ever be able to make it right.
I looked away. “I better go get my things. Will they let me go upstairs?”
“I already brought them down.”
He ducked into the next room, and I had a flash of panic, recalling the turtle shell with my film in it. Before I could say anything, he’d returned.
“Here.” I tried to look grateful as he handed me my bag and camera. “Hope you get home okay.”
“Yeah, me too. Gryffin—I’m really sorry.”
I turned to go. He stopped me and drew me to him. For just an instant he held me, his chin grazing the top of my head. Then he pulled away and walked into the next room.
I zipped my jacket, grateful I still had Toby’s sweater, slung my bag over my shoulder then looked up to see Hakkala watching me.
“You’re leaving?”
“Unless you need me for something.”
“Is there a way to contact you—cell phone, local number?”
“I don’t have a cell phone. I’m going to Burnt Harbor to get my car and drive back to New York. You have my number there.”
He nodded. “Thanks for your assistance,” he said and rejoined the others.
And that was it. As abruptly as Aphrodite had dismissed me during our aborted interview, I’d been cut loose. I really was free to go.
The realization should have been a relief. Instead I felt a stab of hopelessness that not even speed could blunt. I took a deep breath, went outside and started walking, stooped against the frigid wind. I’d buy another bottle of Jack Daniel’s and then find Toby. As I headed through the evergreens I scanned the trees, looking for signs of the animal I’d seen earlier. But there was nothing there.
19
There was a little crowd inside the Island Store when I arrived. Five young guys in Carhart jackets stood by the beer cooler, talking. As the door slammed behind me they glanced up. One of them was Robert.
“Hey,” Suze called as I approached the counter. “What’s going on up there? I heard Gryffin’s mother died.”
“Yeah, n’she probably killed her,” muttered Robert.
Suze glared at him. “It’s Sunday! No beer till twelve!”
“Isn’t that one underage?” I cocked my thumb at Robert.
“What, just because he’s still in high school?” She shook her blond dreadlocks then lowered her voice so the others couldn’t hear. “They’re looking for trouble. Actually, they’re looking for you. So stick around here after they leave, okay? You guys ready?” she yelled.
They shuffled over. They were all built like Robert, heavyset and leaning toward muscle, with cold, challenging eyes. They bought cigarettes and Slim Jims and a couple bottles of Mountain Dew, took their change and left, brushing past me as they headed for the door. After they’d gone, Suze’s big black dog ambled out from behind the counter, tail sweeping the floor in a lazy wave, and snuffed at me.
I scratched his ear and looked at Suze. She wore a lime green hooded sweatshirt and baggy cargo pants, earcuffs shaped like silver lizards.
“So you heard,” I said. “She died in the night, I guess. Gryffin found her when he got up. It looks like she fell and hit her head.”
“Poor Gryffin. I never really knew her. She didn’t come in much, and she wasn’t real friendly when she did. Like I said, a bitch. Want some coffee?” She filled a Styrofoam cup. “Here. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, I saw John Stone go up there, and that state cop. It’s no surprise—you know that, right? She was a mean drunk; she got picked up a few times over the years when she’d go over to Burnt Harbor and drive. She finally had her license revoked. I think Gryff got the car.”
She went into the kitchen. A moment later I heard PIL coming from the boombox.
I wondered what she did for fun around here. Wait for people like me to show up? I drank my coffee and glanced down toward the harbor. Robert and his cronies stood beside an abandoned building, smoking.
“What’s his problem?” I said when Suze came back out.
“Robert? He thinks you had something to do with Kenzie taking off.”
“What?”
She raised her hands. “I know. But that’s Robert. He’s not the sharpest knife in the box.”
“She his girlfriend?”
“Nah, they’re just friends. All the kids here, you know—they fight like cats, but they look out for each other. And people from away, they’re not too popular here. I mean, the lobster fishery’s in trouble from shell disease, there was a red tide last year killed the clamming season. The Grand Banks are fished out. I saw some underwater pictures this guy took, an urchin diver? The whole bottom of the ocean’s scraped clean. Like a fricking desert—nothing’s there. Scallop trawlers did that. So the fish are gone, and the paper mills are shut down, and everyone’s buying their timber from Canada ‘cause it’s cheaper. You see those logging trucks heading south, they’re not from here. Ten years ago, MBNA came in, hired people to work as telemarketers, and everyone thought that was the best thi
ng ever happened. Then MBNA pulled out and everyone’s out of work again, only now they’re carrying a shitload of credit card debt. It sucks. Meanwhile, the tourists come and think this is fucking Disneyland. You own property here or Burnt Harbor, doesn’t matter if your family’s been there for a hundred years. Our taxes went from one or two thousand bucks a year to ten or twelve thousand. A lot of people don’t make that much in a year. So they have to sell their houses for teardowns, or their land, and all of a sudden you have all these rich assholes complaining that they can’t get a moccachino.”
I finished my coffee and tossed the cup into the trash. “Your point?”
“We don’t like people from away.”
“What about you?” I leaned against the counter. “You don’t like me either?”
Suze set her elbows down and leaned forward until her forehead touched mine. I cupped her chin in my hand, speed fizzing in me like champagne, then kissed her, her mouth small and warm.
“I like you just fine,” she said in a low voice. “I was hoping you might stick around for a while. But now—”
She withdrew, glanced out the window and shook her head. “Those boys, they’d just hassle you. And me. And if Kenzie doesn’t show up soon, it could get ugly. If I were you, I’d split.”
“What, frontier justice?”
“Pretty much. Doesn’t matter what the cops say. If they don’t find her, they’ll start looking for someone else.”
“Seems like you’d have some likely candidates without going too far out of the gene pool.”
“We hang together here. Like, we beat our wives and kids and shit, but we still don’t like people from away.”
“What about those flyers? And people disappearing and washing up on the beach? Did they all run into someone from away?”
“Hey, it’s nothing personal.”
She turned and climbed up the ladder. She had a cute ass, what I could see in those cargo pants, anyway. I said, “While you’re up there, get me another pint of Jack Daniel’s.”
“Sure.” She stepped down and over to the register. “That it?”
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