Gull Harbor (18 page)

****

Gary drove by his old house for the fourth time in as many hours, his mouth set in a hard line. Claire Linden’s battered car was still in the driveway; he’d had no idea she was such a homebody. He’d pictured a wild twenty-something girl who spent her time at The Scrimshaw.
Go out,
he silently commanded her as he pulled back into a driveway further down the desolate street.

For most of the afternoon, he’d been sitting in his sweltering parked car in front of a house on Mill Pond Road that he knew was currently unoccupied. He cursed himself for sleeping so late. He’d awoken in his seedy motel room at noon and showered quickly in the tiny bathroom. Then he’d immediately headed to Main Street in Hyannis to find some food.

Paranoia settled in as he walked along the crowded sidewalks. Behind dark glasses, his eyes darted between the faces of pedestrians and the cars rolling down the one-way street. It was unlikely that he would see anyone he knew—Gull Harbor was another forty-five minutes north of the village of Hyannis.

Still, he did not want to be recognized. The crowds would thin out as he traveled farther up the Cape. After a quick breakfast at a coffee chain, he had wandered into The Joke Shop and purchased a fake moustache and sideburns. They weren’t particularly realistic, but then, he had no intention of getting close enough to anyone in Gull Harbor for that to be an issue.

Now he scratched at the sideburns anxiously and checked his watch. Six o’clock in the evening, and almost five hours since he’d last taken an Oxy. He longed for one, but he’d left his stash hidden in the shabby motel room. Trying to find a room in Gull Harbor would be pointless—it was a much smaller town, and at the height of summer, he would have little chance of finding a vacancy. Besides, the risk of running into someone he knew was just too great. There was no need to take unnecessary chances. He wanted to be back in Connecticut, with no recent ties to this place, when Claire Linden was found dead.

He grimaced, staring at the quiet street. Sweat ran down his sides in thin rivulets. He would give this one more hour—maybe she would go out to dinner. Part of him wanted to just go take care of her right this minute, while she was alone, and be done with it. His knife was under the front seat; having already spent time in jail for carrying an unregistered handgun, he figured a knife was the best choice of weapon.

But the knife was for another day. He knew he couldn’t kill Claire until he found out where she was getting her information, and who she might be sharing it with. If he couldn’t find that information on his own, he would have to make her talk.

As aggravated as he was with the situation, the idea of torturing this nosy woman made his stomach turn. He was no sadist. Getting Maria hooked on heroin had been one thing. The end goal had justified the means, anyway—she owed him something for taking such a huge risk. He had never asked to be a part of her reckless scheme to get into the country. And he hadn’t meant for her to die. She’d ended up costing him money, in the end. A waste of his time and product, all for nothing.

Anger bubbled up inside him, heating his blood another few degrees. Why hadn’t he just told the captain of the
Barracuda
to fuck off? Greed had gotten the best of him. And he’d paid dearly; he’d had to leave everything behind: his house, his friends, and his business. The cops had already been showing way too much interest in him at the time anyway. So he’d fled, deciding he could live elsewhere, start a new business, and make new friends. The alternative—living in Gull Harbor in a constant state of fear—just wasn’t worth it.

He struggled to calm his growing resentment. Thinking about the past would only serve to distract him from his purpose here. Obviously he’d been stupid to get involved in the whole Maria disaster, but he’d fixed his blunder. He couldn’t afford another mistake now. He had to be patient and careful; no loose ends could lead back to him.

Jamming a cigarette between his lips, he reached for the plastic lighter resting on the passenger seat. One more hour, he thought to himself as he blew smoke out the window into the warm evening air. If she didn’t go out by then, he’d head back to Hyannis and come back tomorrow. According to Jake, she went to the Gull Harbor Diner most mornings. He hoped that was still true, because he’d be here early tomorrow, waiting.

Chapter 24

A rhythmic creaking pulled Claire from a deep, dreamless sleep. Her first thought was the stairs, and she dragged her heavy lids open as her pulse began to accelerate. Was someone in the house?

Her sluggish mind finally identified the sound. Not the stairs, she thought with relief. Sitting up, she peered through the darkness to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. It rocked gently in the moonlight that leaked through the window, empty except for its invisible occupant. The sight was both eerie and somehow slightly comforting. Claire’s heart rate slowed even as goose bumps rose along her chilled skin.

She tore her gaze from the creaking chair to the clock beside her bed. The red numbers informed her that she had slept for twelve hours. This seemed more shocking than the ghostly presence in the corner of her room. But she had, after all, taken a pair of sleeping pills at 2:00 in the afternoon and chased them with a small glass of wine.

Slipping out of bed, she shuffled across the room, whispering, “Hi, Maria,” as she passed the rocker. She used the bathroom and filled a glass of water. Pausing in the hallway, she sipped the water and examined the staircase. Her shoes had been lined up, one on the right side of each step. Each one was poised precisely at the edge, toes forward, ready to march down the stairs. Claire shivered, hugging one arm around her waist. Obviously Maria was trying to keep busy until Claire was ready to connect with her again.

A new sound caught her attention. The grumble of an engine drowned out the creaking chair, growing louder as it approached the house. She hurried to the bedroom window, keeping her silhouette hidden while she peered out into the night.

A single headlight cut a path down the dark street. The motorcycle slowed, cruising by her house. Max. She stayed in the shadows, her heart knocking painfully against her ribcage. An arc of light flashed across the room as he made a U-turn in the middle of the road. The bike roared off, headed back in the direction from which it had come.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions. He had come by to check on her before going home. He still worried about her, still cared enough to take the time after a long day and night at work to drive by her house. Surely that was a good sign.

Crossing the room on trembling legs, she collapsed back into her bed. Tomorrow she would go and talk to him, she vowed. Perhaps they could get past the hurt and fear keeping them apart. It was worth a try. Maybe Dan was right, and she and Max did belong together.

She pulled the covers up to her chin, hoping sleep would return for a few more hours. The ache in her chest had eased a bit at the sight of Max. The headache that had plagued her had faded to a general grogginess which would hopefully be gone by morning.

It would be back, though, when she opened herself back up to Maria. Claire’s eyes popped back open as she registered the silence that had settled over the bedroom. The chair had stopped moving. Maria was gone.

****

Finally. Gary slouched down further in the driver’s seat as he watched Claire’s car sputter down Mill Pond Road, headed in the direction of town. Once she was safely past, he sat up and ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. Pulling the brim of his baseball cap down, he climbed out of his own car and walked purposefully down the street.

He slipped on a pair of latex gloves as he approached the house. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, he produced his old key ring. Although it was unlikely they would still work, he was pleased he had found them.

Sure enough, his key did not fit in the new lock on the front door, and Claire hadn’t left it open. He trotted down the porch steps quickly and skirted the side of the house. The lock on the kitchen door also rejected his key, and the doorknob refused to turn under his gloved palm. He had one more shot before he would have to resort to climbing in a window.

Crossing the backyard, he glanced around furtively, but it was mostly out of habit. The back of this house was completely isolated, hemmed in on three sides by woods. Mentally crossing his fingers, he crouched next to the rusty metal doors of the bulkhead that led to the basement. The long handle turned easily, and the door opened with a squeaky groan.

One more piece of luck and he’d be in. He descended eight crude wooden steps and eyed the lock on the basement door in the shadowy light. It appeared old and unchanged. Flipping to the correct key, he slid it into the lock. With a smile, he listened to the bolt slide back as he turned the key. The door swung open, and he was inside.

He hesitated for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The unfinished basement was empty, its concrete walls streaked with moisture from the humidity. Gary hurried to the stairs, hoping his luck would hold. The only obstacle left was the door at the top of the staircase.

His concern was that the couple who had bought his house may have installed a locking knob on this interior door. He blew out a breath as his fingers twisted the dull metal doorknob with no resistance. Stepping into the kitchen, he took a quick look around.

Claire had probably taken her computer with her; he had expected that. There was nothing to do but search the house and hope he stumbled onto something worthwhile. He started opening kitchen drawers, his hands sweating inside the pale gloves.

The lights flashed on overhead, and Gary spun around. He scanned the kitchen wildly, but it was empty, save for himself. Instinctively he searched the countertop for a weapon as he waited for someone to come around the corner. He yanked a knife from the wooden block, but no one appeared. The only sound he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears, and the hum of the lights as they flickered on and off above him.

Faulty wiring, then. Or some kind of motion sensor gone bad. He used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe at the sweat pouring down his face. God, he needed a cigarette.

He peered in the last of the kitchen drawers quickly and moved on to the living room. A picture tipped over as he passed by, clattering onto the wooden surface of an end table. He jumped forward, slamming his knee into the corner of the coffee table.

Pain ricocheted up his leg. “Damn it!” he bellowed. The lights in the living room blazed on as he clutched at his throbbing knee. “What the fuck is going on here?” He hobbled toward the stairs by the front door. “If someone is here, just come out already,” he yelled.

The smoke detector answered him with a piercing blast. Gary’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he hung onto the staircase banister for support. The monotonous beeps continued to blare as an avalanche of shoes tumbled down the steps.

“Fuck this,” he whispered, lurching away from the staircase. A picture frame suddenly took flight, soaring through the living room. The metal corner of the frame caught him in the eye, slicing the tender skin. He screamed, throwing his hand up to the injured eye as stars of agony clouded his vision.

The latex glove covering his hand was smeared with blood. He pressed it back to the wound and scrambled toward the rear of the house. Flashing lights accompanied the wailing smoke detector, and the jingle of a commercial added to the cacophony as the television switched on.

Flipping the lock, he threw the back door open and stumbled like a drunk into the back yard. He spun around to face the house, backing away toward the woods. The kitchen door slammed shut.

He ripped off the gloves as he ran through the woods, slowing down only to make sure he stuffed them safely in his pocket. When he began to feel safe, he stopped and pulled his T-shirt over his head, holding it to his bloody eye.

What the hell just happened?
Leaning against a massive pine tree, he gasped for breath. Apparently it didn’t matter whether or not he believed in ghosts. He was quite certain he had just encountered one.

He took the shirt away from his eye, which was swelling shut. His other eye stared at the dark red stains with disbelief. Grimacing, he pressed the cloth back to the cut.

When the fire in his lungs cooled, he pushed himself away from the tree and began picking his way through the underbrush. He would have to cut through the woods as much as possible to get back to his car. He looked terrifying, he was sure. The skin of his torso was covered in scratches from his dash through the scrubby woods. His face, plastered with fake facial hair, dripped blood and sweat. He was limping around on an injured knee, clutching a shirt to his engorged eye. Not exactly the picture of an inconspicuous townie he’d hoped to portray.

He made it back to his car unobserved. Collapsing in the driver’s seat, he snatched his cigarettes off the dashboard. The rush of nicotine helped calm his shattered nerves, and he pulled in the smoke as he examined his eye in the rearview mirror. The pupil was barely visible inside the pocket of swollen purple-black skin.

“Screw it,” he mumbled, tearing off the itchy sideburns and moustache. He mopped his face with his bloodied T-shirt. His sunglasses were on the passenger seat, and he slid them carefully into place to conceal his black eye.

So. Claire’s informant
was
a ghost. Fine. Actually, it was more than fine—it was fucking fantastic. He would kill Claire and burn the damn house to the ground with her in it. Problem solved.

He’d have to procure a few supplies. But that could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he needed his pain pills like he needed his next breath. Lighting another cigarette, he threw the car into gear and drove away from Mill Pond Road.

Chapter 25

Claire chewed on her lip, studying her reflection in the mirror. She looked well-rested, finally—as she should, thanks to all that sleep. After spending the morning at the diner and grocery shopping, she’d packed up the new paperback she’d allowed herself to purchase and headed to the beach. Now her cheeks and shoulders glowed from the rays that had managed to penetrate her sunscreen. She dusted bronzing powder on with a big brush to highlight the effect.