Enright Family Collection (5 page)

“That’s ‘cause Ry knew everything about the beach. He knew everything about the bay.” Corri’s eyes brightened slightly.

“Yes, I believe he did. He loved it here, and he—”

Corri froze as they rounded the tip of the cove. The lighthouse rose across the inlet, silent and tall and proud.

“I want to go back.” Corri turned to run, and India grabbed her gently by the arm.

Turning the little girl around as calmly and gently as she could, India told her, “It was the place he loved best, Corri. You can’t run away from it. You can’t hide from it if you’re going to stay in Devlin’s Light, sweetie.”

“Am I?” The tremulous voice was barely a whisper. “Am I going to stay?”

“Of course you’re going to stay.” Aunt August had been right. In addition to grieving over Ry, the child was uncertain of her future. And the uncertainty had her terrified. “Corri, we are your family. Aunt August and I love you. You
belong here with us, and absolutely, positively, you are staying here with us. Devlin’s Light is your home.”

“I … I … wasn’t sure. Ry adopted me, but my mama said—” She stopped suddenly, her little face taking on a worried look.

“Your mama said what, sweetie?” India sat on the sand and tugged on Corri’s hand. Corri sat down next to her and permitted India to put a loving arm around her. The child relaxed almost immediately, her slight body easing into India’s side.

“Mama said that we … we weren’t like Ry. That we never would be like real Devlins …” Her little voice faltered.

“Well …” India cleared her throat. Why was she not surprised that Maris had planted such seeds in her daughter’s young mind? “You know, your mother wasn’t married to Ry for a very long time, so maybe she never got to feel like a Devlin. But you’ve been family for two whole years now, and when Ry adopted you, your name changed to Devlin. That makes you very much a real Devlin.”

“You think?”

“I’m certain of it.”

Corri’s face visibly relaxed.

India let out what felt like a long-held breath. Whatever it took to give this child security, to make her understand how much she was loved, she would do.

Three sandpipers landed on the sand a mere fifteen feet from where they sat. The frenetic little birds pecked at the sand, seeking favored tidbits of food. Soon several other shore birds lighted at the water’s edge, looking for lunch, their little feet following the gentle ebb and flow of the waves.

“Look, Corri”—India pointed—“there are some terns.”

“Least
terns, they are called,” Corri corrected her.

“Hmm. Right you are.” Impressed, India smiled to herself. The child
had
spent a lot of time with Ry, who had known every variety of every shore bird on the East Coast.

“And those,” said the little girl, pointing a straight little finger at a small group of chunky little birds, dark feathered above, lighter below, “are purple sandpipers. Ry called them ‘rock peeps.’”

“Why, so he did.” India laughed. “I had forgotten that.”

“And there—look, India” A hushed Corri rose onto one knee, whispering excitedly. “That’s a plover. We don’t see so many of them, ‘cause they’re
dangered.
Ry called them ‘sand peeps.’”

“Very good, Corri.” India rubbed Corri’s back fondly. “Ry would have been so very proud of you.”

Corri beamed at the praise. For a moment, the child was there, in her smile, for the first time in days. And in that moment individual grief became shared grief. As she burst into tears, Corri buried her face in India’s chest.

“It’s okay, Corri, it’s okay to cry.” India fought herself to speak the words she knew the child had to hear, then gave in to the tears she herself had not yet shed that day.

India rocked the weeping child in her arms until the sobs slowly subsided and eventually ceased to rack the small body. Both Darla and Aunt August had expressed alarm to India that Corri had not wept since the night Ry had died. The cork on that bottle of emotions having finally popped, Corri cried until her throat hurt.

“Feel any better?” India asked as Corri tried to dry her face with the back of her hands.

“A little.” Corri’s frail shoulders still trembled sporadically.

“Listen, Corri, it’s okay to cry. When you hurt inside, sometimes crying is the only way to bring out some of the hurt. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Anytime you want someone to hold you while you cry, you come to me, hear? Or Aunt August, or Darla. We all hurt too, Corri. It helps to share it sometimes. But we all have to remember that as long as we love him, Ry will still be with us, even if we can’t see him.”

Together they sat on the sand, watching the gulls swoop down for a tidbit here and there. Soon Corri was pointing out the distinctions between the black-backed gulls and the herring gulls. The August sky hung hazy and cornflower-blue over the primeval beach and the flat of the bay. A scorching noonday sun beat down, and India began to swelter.

“Let’s go back to the house and put our bathing suits on,” India suggested, “and we’ll go for a swim.”

“Can we bring my tube so I can float in the bay?” Corri asked, her voice still somewhat hoarse from crying.

“Certainly.”

“Okay. But can we have a drink first, before we walk back to the house?” She gestured toward the picnic basket, which, she knew, housed a small jug of Aunt August’s tart lemonade and some paper cups.

“I’m a bit thirsty myself.” India nodded. “I’ll race you to the quilt.”

Woman and child took off down the beach, sand flying. Corri slid feet first to reach the edge of the blanket before India, who had given her a slight head start.

“Why, I do believe you’ve done this before.” India grinned, and Corri collapsed in gales of laughter as powerful and as vital as the sobs that had earlier engulfed her. She rolled onto her back on the quilt, still giggling at having outmaneuvered India. Shielding her eyes from the blazing sun, she sat halfway up and called, “Hi, Nick!”

India turned in time to see the tall, lean form of Nick Enright make its way across the sand. Cutoff jeans revealed amazingly tanned legs, and a pale yellow tank top stretched across his equally darkened shoulders and broad chest. Curly dark brown hair hunkered down beneath a red Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap worn brim-backward. Dark glasses hid his eyes, but she remembered they were light brown, the color of clover honey, of molasses. He smiled, and twin dimples punctuated the corners of his mouth. Had she been too distraught the day before to have noticed?

And why, she wondered, had Darla not told her about Nicholas Enright?

“Hi, sugar plum.” Nick reached down and grabbed Corri by one of her bare toes and gave it a little shake, and she giggled.

He slid his glasses off and turned to India.

“How are you today?” he asked as if it mattered.

“Doing better.” She nodded. “Little by little …”

“Good,” he told her. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“We’re going to have some lemonade and then we’re going to go home and put on bathing suits and come back and swim and then have a picnic,” Corri announced all in one breath.

“All that in one morning?” Nick asked earnestly.

“Yup.” Corri bounced on her knees to the cooler, which she struggled to open. Nick bent down and removed the cap for her.

Without asking, India poured a glass of lemonade for him and passed it to him, then poured two more. She sat down on the quilt next to Corri, who downed the cool liquid in record time. Just as quickly, Corri refilled her cup, then danced down to the water’s edge to stand in the surf wash and wiggle her toes in the warm bay water.

“Corri seems a little better today,” Nick noted as he lowered himself to sit on the blanket’s edge.

“She finally had a good long cry,” India told him, “and I think that helped her enormously.”

“And you?”

“I’ve had more than my share of cries this past week,” she said, sipping at her drink, “and none of them seemed to have helped at all.”

“You know, if there’s anything I can do for you, for your family …”

“Help us find the person who killed my brother.”

“If I could do that, it would have been done already.”

“Sooner or later Ry’s killer will be found,” India insisted. “The answer is always there if you read the evidence the right way.”

“There was no evidence,” he reminded her.

“There is always something, Nick. It just hasn’t been found. Or recognized.”

“You really believe that?”

“I have to.” She shrugged. “There is someone who knows what happened.”

“Right. The killer. And all we have to do is figure out who that person is.”

“It isn’t impossible.”

“It becomes less and less probable every day, India, but I would guess that you, out of all of us, would best know that.”

“Someone lured Ry to the lighthouse that night. There was no reason for him to have been there. You said yourself it was a beautiful, calm night. A full moon. No storms. No reason to shine a light from the tower. So someone must have called him, arranged to meet him there.”

“Well, no one’s been able to come up with a likely suspect, India.”

“Why would someone want to meet him in the middle of the night? Someone who wouldn’t want to be seen speaking with him?” She frowned as she pondered this. “Why wouldn’t someone want to be seen with him?”

She stood up and began to pace unconsciously, still speaking, but it was obvious to Nick that she was thinking aloud.

“Or maybe … someone who had a grudge, a quarrel … a reason to wish him harm …”

“India, I’ve asked myself those same questions a dozen times.”

“If we don’t keep asking, we’ll never find the answer.” She stopped and studied his face. “Nick, you’ve lived on the bay for the past year, you must know who is making a living off the crabs, who is fishing for a living these days. And it might help to know who was opposing Ry’s plans to open the beach to tourists during the bird migrations.”

“I can find out.” Nick nodded.

“Good. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll come up with something that will help Chief Carpenter to narrow the field. And I still want to come out to the cabin.”

“Anytime,” Nick offered without hesitation. He had wanted to approach her, to find an excuse to get to know her better, to spend some time with her. If he had to become her personal part-time private investigator to do that, so be it.

“I think I want it to be on a night when the lighting is the same.”

“Sort of to re-create the atmosphere?” he suggested.

“As much as possible.” She nodded. “Of course, there won’t be a full moon for almost another month. I should be back by then.”

“You’re leaving?” He appeared surprised, as if the thought had not occurred to him that she would leave so soon.

“I have to. I have a trial set for next week. I’ve done all the work on this case myself and I don’t want to hand it over to anyone else.” Her eyes narrowed. “This particular piece of offal needs to be put away for a very long time.”

“Sounds personal.”

“Anytime a man preys upon children, it’s personal.” Her jaw set like stone, India tossed the remaining drops of liquid from her cup onto the sand with a deliberate flick of her wrist.

“When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Well, if the trial starts on schedule—which is always impossible to predict—I don’t expect more than a week of testimony. Unless more witnesses crawl out of the woodwork, which can happen with a case like this one. Then I have two more trials coming up.” She shrugged. “I need to sit down with my files and see how much time off I can get, and when.”

“Well, if you think of anything you want me to do, you know that you only have to call.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

Later, she would think back on that moment and wonder if there had not been something there in his eyes. Something meant truly just for her. She would never know, however, what that something might have been, since Corri chose that moment to come flying back up the beach.

“A peregrine! There, look there, up on the dune!” Corri danced up and down in delight, whispering loudly.

She pointed a finger trembling with excitement. There, on one of the remaining posts of what had once been a fence across the crest of the dune, sat the bird, regal and lethal.

“See, Indy, that’s why there’re all gone,” she whispered loudly. “All the birds have left the beach. That’s why they’re all hiding someplace, so that he can’t see them.”

The falcon turned toward them, bestowed an imperious glance, as if aware of their admiration, then dropped with grave elegance from the fence post. It swept over and past them as it flew toward the lighthouse and the marsh beyond.

“That’s the same one Ry and I tracked last spring. I know it is.” Corri’s eyes shone brightly. “He always sits there and flies over to there. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Magnificent,” India agreed.

“Can we get our suits now?” Corri begged. The bird, now out of sight, was in fact out of mind, and so on with the agenda.

“I was just leaving.” Nick stood up, then reached a hand down to assist India. His hands were large, as she had noted on their first meeting, slightly callused, but gentle. He held on to the tips of her fingers and asked, “When do you plan on leaving?”

“Probably in the morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Corri’s head shot up, her eyes widening. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“I have to go back to the city to finish a job that I started,” she said softly, sensing the child’s panic.

“What kind of job?” Corri was clearly on the verge of tears.

“The police arrested a very bad man who did very bad things to some very good children,” India explained. “My job is to tell the judge and the jury what the bad man did, so that the jury will decide to send the man to jail for a very long time.”

Corri thought this over. “Will you come back?”

“Of course. As soon as I can, sweetie.““And you’ll stay?”

“For as long as I can,” India promised. “In the meantime, you’ll have Aunt August.”

“Aunt August doesn’t like to fish.” Corri shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

“Hey, what about me?” Nick feigned insult. “I can’t fish?”