I nodded. “I saw something back there by Gryffin’s place. In those woods leading up to the house, those pine trees? There was an animal up in one of them.”
“Did it look like Robert?”
“No. Really. I never saw anything like it before. It was about this big—” I held out my hands. “Dark brown fur. Kind of a long fuzzy tail. It was fierce. I thought it was going to attack me. It growled, and I could see its teeth, these white sharp teeth—it was mean.”
Suze frowned. “That’s weird.”
“I think it was a fisher. Toby told me about them—the ones that eat all the cats.”
“A fisher?” She slid my Jack Daniel’s into a bag and handed it to me. “If you were over in Burnt Harbor, yeah. But not here. Fishers never leave the mainland.”
“Toby said they can swim.”
“Technically, maybe. But they’re pretty big, and their fur is so heavy that if they swim, it just weighs them down. I know, ‘cause one of my uncles used to trap them. You take a rooster and cut its throat and hang it from a tree, alongside a steel trap. It’s illegal now. My uncle, he once saw one on the ground and it jumped, like, twenty feet. From here—”
She pointed to a far corner of the room. “—to there. Bang, like that. Jumped right into the tree. Those things are vicious as a wolverine. What you saw, that was probably somebody’s cat. Was it gray? Maybe it was Smoky.”
“This was big,” I said. “And it wasn’t a cat.”
“Well, maybe. But I doubt it was a fisher. I’ve been here my whole life, and I never heard of a fisher here. There’s nothing for them to eat—no rabbits or porcupines or anything.”
“That’s why it ate Smoky.” I picked up my bag. I was getting pissed off; I definitely needed something to slow me down a little. “Is Toby around? I need to talk to him about a ride back to Burnt Harbor.”
“He’s probably still in bed.” She peered down at the harbor. “Yeah, his boat’s there. You know where he lives, right? Just go round back and knock real loud. He’ll be bummed about Aphrodite—not for her, for Gryff. They’re good buds.”
I stuck the bourbon into my pocket and said, “Gryffin was telling me about that guy Denny Ahearn. He seems kind of weird. To me, anyway. Like, if this was the United States of America, Homeland Security or someone would be asking him questions about this girl, and not me.”
“Denny?” Suze smiled. “Nah. He’s pretty harmless.”
“Do you know him?”
“Sure. I used to hang out with all those guys when I was sixteen, seventeen. Denny was really charismatic. Plus, he always had the best dope.”
She laughed. “He was fucking crazy! The mirror game, that was one of his big things. When you were tripping. Some people totally freaked over that shit. I always thought it was fun. For a while, anyway. Then some sad shit came down, Denny’s girlfriend died. He never really got over that.”
“How’d she die?”
“Car accident.”
The door banged open and the same woman with two small kids barged in. “Listen,” I said quickly to Suze. “You have a phone I could borrow? It’s long distance, but I really need to make a call down to New York. Here—”
I started to pull out my wallet, but Suze stopped me.
“Don’t worry about it.” The kids started smacking the ice-cream cooler as Suze handed me a phone. “Here, go upstairs, it’s quieter.”
I hurried up to the second floor and dialed Phil’s cell phone. It rang, I heard the noise of downtown street traffic, then his voice.
“Phil Cohen Enterprises.”
“Phil, it’s Cass—”
“Hey hey! Cassandra Android! How’s it going up there?”
“Not good.” I paced the room nervously. “You sent me here. Why?”
“Why?” His voice edged up defensively. “Whaddya mean, Cassie?”
“I mean you told me that Aphrodite wanted me—that she specifically wanted me to come up here to interview her. Then I got here and she says she never fucking heard of me. Or you.”
“No shit.” The background noise grew louder. Phil shouted at someone, then said, “Well jeez, Cass, I—”
“Don’t fuck with me, Phil.” I leaned against the wall and wiped sweat from my cheeks. “She had no clue about any of this. She never even knew there was an interview.”
“I—”
“You said there was some guy up here you knew.”
Silence. Car engines droned into the bass thump of a radio.
“Phil! Who was it?”
“The guy I used to do business with,” he said at last. “Guy named Denny Ahearn.”
“Denny Ahearn.” I stared across the room at the shelf with the bowling trophy and the turtle shell. “Did you ever talk to her at all? Aphrodite?”
Another silence.
Then, “No. I mean, I couldn’t, I didn’t have her number or anything. I emailed Denny, we went back and forth a few times. We started batting around names of people who might go up there to see her, and I mentioned I knew you, and suddenly he got all hepped up. So I figured I’d do you a favor.”
“Goddam it, Phil! Why’d you fucking lie to me?”
“Listen, Cassie.” He sounded aggrieved. “I woulda suggested you anyway—”
“I don’t care about that! I don’t know who this guy is! Why did he ask for me? What did he say?”
Phil sighed. “Well, okay, let me think. He said he liked your book—he said you were very simpatico. I guess he’s an artist or something these days. And he knows her—Aphrodite. He just wanted you, that’s all. I thought he was like doing you a favor, huh? He said he wanted you to see his work. He said he thought you’d see eye to eye.”
Eye to eye.
“Fuck,” I said. I hung up.
“Hey, Cass?” I turned and saw Suze’s face framed in the doorway. “You okay? I need the phone.”
“Yeah, sure.” I handed it to her. “I’ll be right down.”
She left. I dug out the Jack Daniel’s and drank until my hands steadied, walked over and picked up the turtle shell.
S.P.O.T. That crudely carved eye.
And, on the other side, the letters ICU.
Not a set of initials, not the intensive care unit.
“I see you too,” I whispered, and put it back.
I went downstairs. Suze was alone again.
“Why doesn’t he go off that island?” I knew I sounded wired and drunk, but I didn’t care. “Denny. And how would anyone know if he did or not?”
Suze stared at me curiously. “I hardly see him. Once or twice a year, he’ll come over to get supplies. Toby always brings him. Toby says he’s gotten kind of, I dunno, just weird, I guess. Like an agoraphobe. And he and Aphrodite, they kind of hate each other. So in a place as small as this, you just keep your distance, you know? But I don’t think Denny could hurt someone.”
“I have one word for you, Suze: Unabomber.”
“Really, that’s not Denny.” She sounded pissed off. “He’s more like—”
“Charles Manson? John Wayne Gacy?”
“No! He’s more—well, spiritual. The commune, it wasn’t just smoking dope and stuff. After it busted up, I was, what, sixteen? Denny organized this guerrilla street theater, we’d go around and protest. Down to Bath Iron Works where they built those battleships; we threw pig blood on them and got on TV. After that Denny really got into the mystical shit. He was reading all these books, eating a lot of acid. You’re about my age, you remember what it was like, right? He was playing the mirror game once, he thought he had a vision or something. Like a vision quest.”
She turned to shove a carton of cigarettes onto a shelf. “So then we all had to get spirit guides. Totem animals. We made these beautiful masks out of papier-mâché—they were amazing. I still have mine, up there—”
She looked at the ceiling. “In my apartment. You want to see it?”
“Maybe another time.” I started for the door. “I really have to find Toby.”
&nb
sp; “Boy, you’re suddenly in a hurry.” She cocked her head. “You think you might be back?”
“I doubt it. I couldn’t afford the taxes.”
“Cheaper if you share,” she said and grinned.
At the door I paused. “So what was your spirit animal?”
“A dolphin. Fun in the sun, endless summer. What about you?”
“DeeDee Ramone,” I said, and left.
I took a few steps toward the harbor, then stopped. I searched the road until I found the sea urchin I’d set down the day before. I looked around, saw no one, put my boot on top of the shell and pressed until it cracked.
The keys were there, glinting in the drab light. I nudged them with my boot’s pointed toe then kicked them so they landed near the Island Store’s stoop.
“Be more careful next time, Tyler,” I said. I headed for the water.
20
It was late—past noon. A ragged cloudbank hung above the mainland. The wind shifted, smelling more of smoke than the sea. I turned down the narrow alley that led toward the Mercantile Building.
It was like a northern ghost town. Dead ivy covered a wall made of granite. Near the water stood three clapboard houses, abandoned and falling into disrepair. All had for sale signs on them. Abutting them was a wooden structure, shingles flaking off like fish scales. bouldry’s chandlery was painted in white letters on the side. It had high, narrow windows, most of them broken, empty doorways that opened onto a cavernous space that smelled of turpentine. Next to this was the Mercantile Building.
I walked quickly, bent against the wind. The alley was so narrow it seemed like a building might fall on me, if someone gave it a good shove.
“Junkie bitch.”
Two figures stood in an empty doorway of the Chandlery. Robert’s cronies. One took a drag on his cigarette then tossed it at me. I flinched as it struck my arm.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said. “If you’re leaving.”
I had no time to run before they surrounded me.
“Did you hear that?” said the guy who spoke first. “You’re going the wrong way.”
They weren’t much taller than me, but they were heavier. And there were two of them. The bigger one, a guy whose Carhart jacket read Dewey’s Garage, pointed at my bag.
“That your stash in there?” He reached for it.
I stared at him, holding his gaze; drew my foot back and with all my strength smashed it into his shin. My boot’s steel tip connected with something hard as he shouted then crumpled, yelling.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
“What the fuck!” His friend stooped beside him.
“I’m not a junkie,” I said.
I took off for the Mercantile Building. The back door was off the alley. Tacked to the wall was a yellowed index card with Toby’s name on it.
I hammered on the door. “Toby!”
The guy I’d kicked had gotten to his feet. He clung to his friend, both of them staring at his leg.
“Toby!” My knuckles hurt from pounding. “Open the door!”
I could outrun these guys, but could I outrun the whole town if they got their friends after me? “Toby, goddam it—”
The door swung open. I pushed past a bleary-eyed figure and shoved it closed.
“Two guys just jumped me out there. Can you lock that?”
Toby turned a deadbolt and looked at me. He wore a Motorola T-shirt and wool pants, a pair of slippers.
“Good morning.” He rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Is it early?”
It would be hard to tell if it was—we might have been in a cave, or a subway tunnel. There were no windows that I could see, nothing but stacks of lumber and old furniture.
“Noonish,” I said. “Thanks for letting me in.”
“No problem.” He regarded me curiously. “Somebody tried to beat you up?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you do something to annoy them?”
“Besides walk down the street? No.”
“That’s a bit unusual. Did you know them?”
“I saw them earlier at the general store. I think they think I kidnapped that girl or something.”
Toby raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why would they think that?”
“Who the hell knows? Everyone here is paranoid. Including me, now.”
He tugged at his beard. “Well, my apartment’s down by the boiler room.” He pointed at a stairway. “This is all just storage up here.”
The stairway was dark. The room we emerged into was even darker, until Toby pulled a string and an overhead bulb flared to life.
“Boiler room,” said Toby. He walked past a contraption that looked like something out of Metropolis. “My apartment’s there.”
He pointed at a door covered with a pirate flag. “Welcome.”
There was something very different about his apartment, and it took me a minute to figure out what it was. It was warm. It was hot. I unzipped my jacket, plucking at Toby’s sweater.
“That’s one of the good things about living by the boiler room,” he said. “In the summer, I just switch it off and the whole place is so cool you wouldn’t believe it—those brick walls are a foot thick. It’s like what they say about Maine women.”
“Which is?”
“You want a big woman with tattoos. Shade in the summer, warm in the winter, and moving pictures all year long.”
His place was a cross between a machine shop and a roadside museum. There were boxes everywhere, jars full of nuts, bolts, drillbits. Racks of antique tools hung from the ceiling, bolts of sailcloth. A vintage Triumph motorcycle peeked from beneath a Naval Academy Sailing Squadron flag.
Toby called to me from farther back in the warren. “Come here, I’ll show you something.”
I followed him to his sleeping quarters, a bunk in the back corner. It was like being inside a submarine captained by Pee-wee Herman. Semaphore flags dangled from the ceiling. There was a brass hookah and a bunch of old computers and dozens of empty bottles of Captain Morgan’s rum.
I ducked beneath a chart of Paswegas Bay. “This is amazing.”
“Why, thank you.” Toby smiled. “Check this out.”
On a table beside the computers was a black rotary phone, a cheap Radio Shack microphone attached to its handset. The lunar-landing ping of a satellite connection came through the mike while a laser printer spat out sheets of paper. Toby bent to peer at one of the computer screens.
“See that?” He pointed to a grid of lines and numbers, tapped the second monitor, which showed a series of sine curves, and finally the third, which displayed a gray-and-white whorl that, when I squinted at it, resolved into a satellite map of the Atlantic Ocean and Eastern Seaboard. “That’s a northeaster.”
He picked up one of the printed pages and handed it to me. It showed a higher-definition version of what I’d seen onscreen, with classified slashed across it in white letters.
“Naval weather satellites,” he explained. “I had the Arabian Gulf earlier.”
“You hacked into this with a rotary phone?”
“It’s not that hard. You want some coffee?”
“Some water.”
He lit a cigarette and moved methodically about the room. I felt as though my face was starting to peel back, just above my eyes. When Toby appeared again, I started.
“Here—” He moved a roll of charts, revealing a chair, and handed me a glass of water. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” I drank gratefully.
Toby pointed at my boot. “You got some paint there on your shoe.” He tossed me a roll of paper towels, unscrewed the top from a bottle of rum. “Want some?”
“No thanks.” I cleaned the blood off the tip of my boot and tossed the paper towel into a wastebasket. “Listen. Things haven’t been going so good. Aphrodite—Gryffin’s mother—she died last night.”
Toby’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I think she was drinking and fell and hit her head.”
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“Jesus. How’s Gryffin taking it?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“I better call him.”
He hurried to the front of the apartment. I fidgeted and fought my paranoia with more Jack Daniel’s. It helped, but not much.
“He doesn’t sound too good.” Toby returned and sat across from me. “Coroner or someone’s on the way over; they’re taking her body to Augusta. Gryffin’s got to do something about a service and cremation. What a shame.”
He looked upset but not surprised. “She had kind of a drinking problem for a long time. Like I said, I never knew her that well, but—that whole crowd from back then, for a while there we were pretty tight. Someone should tell Denny.”
“Are you going to help Gryffin?”
Toby sighed. “I wish I could. But that northeaster—I got to get over to Lucien’s place and make sure everything’s battened down. Denny’s supposed to have closed everything up for the winter, but Lucien likes me to run backup.”
“I’ve got to get back to the city. I really need a ride back to Burnt Harbor. Can you bring me before you go?”
“I can’t. Sorry. I should have checked Lucien’s place last week, but I got caught up with another job. And now the weather’s supposed to come down. Can’t let the pipes freeze.”
“Couldn’t you just run me over first? Like, just a real quick trip there and back?”
“I’m sorry.” His dark eyes glinted. “Any other day, I’d be glad to. But I can’t let this slip. First thing tomorrow, though, I’ll be out.”
“Shit. Well, Is there someone else? Like Everett? Can I call him?”
Toby sucked at his lip. “Boy, you’re in a spot. I don’t know if you could find anyone today. They’ll be out looking for Kenzie Libby.”
“So why wouldn’t one of them give me a lift?”
“Well, I don’t know as I’d ask them. If I were you, I mean. Maybe you should just lay low till tomorrow morning. Kenzie’ll show up by then, everyone will be all pissed off at her for scaring ‘em. They’ll fall all over themselves to help you. If the weather’s not too bad, I mean. This is the first big northeaster of the year.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I want to get the hell out of here—”
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