Stone Cove Island (14 page)

“Bess left before any of them. And she was alone,” said Charlie, piecing together the timeline.

“We think. Or, my mom thinks. So, after I talked to Nancy I went back to the library and I felt stuck. I thought about drownings and how it’s particularly hard to know what really happened, especially if the body’s never found. I started Googling drownings on Stone Cove Island in the
Gazette
archives. We’ve had a lot of drownings here. Did you know that?”

“We are on an island,” Charlie pointed out. “Water on every side.”

“Right,” I said. “I realize that. That’s not what’s weird about it. I’ll give you an example. There was a developer from Florida who bought land here in the eighties. He wanted to build a big condo development and resort. The island’s review boards fought him and eventually won. Then he decided what the island really needed was a causeway from Rockport. Can you imagine?” Charlie nodded. Something like that would change everything about Stone Cove. We sat silent a moment, both picturing Miami along East Beach.

“Yeah. That would have been crazy. How did they stop it?”

“They couldn’t. They took him to court, but for whatever reason, maybe he was really hooked up with the state politicians, they approved the initial plan and were going to put it on the ballot in the next election to fund it.”

“Something must have stopped it though.”

“Not it,” I said. “Him. He drowned in a swimming accident a month after the state approved his plan. He was the main force behind it, so the idea kind of just went away. Another example: there was this African American family who moved here. The dad wanted to join the Anchor Club. Same era. Before he could be initiated, he and his wife drove their car off the road near the bluff and drowned.”

“How did you figure out that those were connected?”

“Working backward. Finding out who drowned and then looking for news stories related to them right before. This guy would have been the first black member in the late seventies. The next black member joined in 1998.”

“You think they were sent anchors before they drowned.”

I shrugged. “None of the stories mentioned that. Of course.”

“No one could ever prove that those weren’t just accidents though.”

“Exactly. And no one can prove who killed Bess or why. But in each case, the problem goes away.”

“What kind of problem was Bess?”

“That’s what we have to figure out. She could have been a different problem for different people. Maybe she knew someone’s secret. Maybe she saw something she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it was about money.”

“Right,” he said. He stared down at the table, thinking. “Maybe—”

A gruff throat-clearing interrupted us. Officer Bailey stood next to our table looking like she wanted to join us.

“Hi, kids,” she said cheerfully. “Eliza. I’ve been hoping
to catch up with you.” The letter. I knew she’d corner me eventually.

“Should I go?” asked Charlie.

“Oh, no. No need,” she said. “I just have a few questions. Just trying to check some details.”

“Would you like to sit down?” I asked, not really meaning it. I wanted to stay here in my little bubble with Charlie, disturbed only by the occasional coffee refill. But I was going to have to talk to her sooner or later. And maybe I could find out something from her. Was she reopening Bess’s case? Had she worked on the murder when it had happened? Or would she have been too young back then? It was hard to tell. She had one of those faces you could picture looking the same at every age, fifteen or fifty.

She sat, nodding to Kelly to come over.

“Earl Grey with milk,” she told her, then turned her attention on me. “So. Your father filled me in a little, but I’d like to hear the story in your words.” The story? Did she know Charlie and I had been playing amateur detective? I must have looked blank, because she went on. “How you found the letter?”

“Oh, right,” I began. “Well, it was on the cleanup day at the lighthouse. When I went upstairs. The keeper’s office was a mess, with papers blown everywhere. I picked the letter up. Maybe it stood out because of the blue paper.”

“Who else was at the lighthouse that day?”

“Meredith and Colleen. But they were downstairs.”

“And then what did you do with the letter?”

“I took it home and showed my parents.”

Officer Bailey nodded, pulling a notepad and pen from
her thick belt. “My dad thought we should give it to you. I would have given it to you right away, but I wasn’t sure you’d think it was important.”

“Not a problem,” she said. “Well, thanks for your help.”

“Wait, that’s it?” I said.

“Yup.”

“Well, does this mean you’ll reopen the investigation?”

“If the letter turns out to be authentic, which I think is pretty darn unlikely. But that’ll be for the state police to decide. We don’t investigate homicides locally, you know.”

I frowned. “Of course it’s authentic. Why would you say it’s not authentic? I know it is.”

Officer Bailey’s eyed me skeptically. “You know it is? Now why would you say that?”

I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again. The reason I knew was because my mother had quoted it in her diary. She was the only one besides Bess who had read the letter. If I told Officer Bailey about the diary, I would drag my mom into it. Or worse, I would implicate her.

“It … I don’t know. But who else would write something like that? And the paper looked old.” My backtracking was pathetic, but I couldn’t think of what else to say. Charlie put a hand on my shoulder.

“Eliza’s pretty shook up about being the one to find it,” Charlie said.

Luckily Officer Bailey seemed to buy his excuse for me. Her features settled back into the sympathetic pose she’d started with. “I’m sure it was a little shock for you, Eliza. But it’s nothing to get worked up about. It’s most likely
just a prank. Kids. It’s getting close to Halloween. But the state police will check it out and see if there’s anything to it. Anyway, thanks for your help. Hello to your folks from me, okay?” She stood up to go.

“That’s all?” I asked.

“That’s all I need.”

“Well, is this the first time … I mean, did you work on the investigation originally?” I was risking insulting her, but I couldn’t help it. I had to ask.

She laughed. “Dear God, no! I was a kid then too. Same class as Bess Linsky.”

“Oh. Ha,” I laughed weakly. “Of course.” It seemed like everyone on the island had graduated that year. The door of the diner swung partway open with a jingle. The deputy sheriff stuck his head in the door.

“Lynn,” he said. “When you get a minute. On the radio.” He gestured toward their squad car with his thumb.

“Be right there.”

Lynn. I’d forgotten that was Officer Bailey’s name, if I’d ever known it. Lynn.
LB
. The girl who tagged along at the spring fling. The girl who copied Cat’s hairstyle and was laughed at. The girl who’d wanted so desperately to be included. How had Bess treated her back then? If only I had Bess’s diary instead of my mom’s. I so longed to know what had been going on in her head that summer. Or maybe I just wanted to leave my mother’s head behind.

CHARLIE AND I WERE
halfway to the green when I realized I’d forgotten my book bag at the diner. I hurried back. The place
had cleared out. It was the lull between afternoon pie and early dinner, and Kelly was alone, wiping down tables. I found my bag right where I’d left it, on the banquette in the booth. I held it up to Kelly and rolled my eyes to say “I’m a complete idiot.”

She smiled as if she agreed. “No problem, Eliza.”

WE WERE QUIET AT
dinner. Dad, usually the chattiest of the three of us, seemed far away. I’d snuck out to the shed when I’d come home and found the anchor back in its hiding place at the back of the drawer. I wondered what that could mean. My mother was focused on carefully dividing the food on her plate. It was an unconscious habit. She would separate it into piles like a little kid, not wanting the different foods to touch. From time to time she would look up at me or Dad and ask a question. I often had the impression she needed to remind herself to do this. Keep talking. Stay in the world.

“How was school?”

I almost said I hadn’t gone, but caught myself. “In the afternoon? It was okay.”

“You feeling better?”

“Yes.”

She pushed the roasted carrots to one side, lining them up and then said to my dad, “Everything going well with the roof?”

My dad scowled. “Jimmy’s causing hassles with the board. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

I could see Mom’s nerves bristle at this, hackles rising on a cat. “But it will be okay, right? You and Jimmy always
work things out. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of him, Nate. He gives you so much business.”

“I know that, Willa.”

“So, you can work things out,” she insisted.

“I’m trying. There’s nothing for you to worry about at this point.”

She managed to look chastened and pleased at the same time.
My father doesn’t like his job
, I realized with a shock. It was the first time I’d ever come to that conclusion, but I could suddenly see clearly that it was true. I wondered if he had imagined his life would be something else.

I helped Mom with the dishes and then she and Dad put a nature program on. I didn’t have any homework, but I pretended I did. I went to my room, opened my laptop, and tapped UCLA into the search window. I wouldn’t really go. I knew that. But it couldn’t hurt to apply, even just as a private joke between me and Charlie.
Nice to be away from Misery Island
. I could almost hear Bess talking to me.

THE CRASH WOKE ME
up from a comatose sleep. It took a minute to remember where I was. Then I head my dad, half running, half stumbling to the front door. My alarm clock read 2:45
A.M
. I jumped out of bed, pulled on a lumpy cardigan and followed him.

There was no one outside. Down the street a neighbor’s dog barked, warning us belatedly. Where was Salty in all this? Probably curled up in a ball at my mom’s feet, sleeping right through it. He was getting a little deaf. My father stood at the end of the driveway staring into the
darkness, in a T-shirt and bare feet, despite the chill. I wandered slowly out to meet him. Had he told my mom to stay inside? Or was she too afraid to come out?

“Dad?” I said. At his feet lay my mangled bike. Well, that explained the metallic clatter we’d heard. It didn’t explain how Paul knew where I lived, which was an uncomfortable feeling. I hadn’t really believed him when he said he knew who I was. Or I hadn’t wanted to.

“Dad?” I said again. I was standing right next to him, but he was so rigid with anger he couldn’t look at me. Now he forced himself to take a deep breath and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll fix your bike. I’ll fix it.” He didn’t ask what had happened to it, why it was lying twisted in the driveway. “Now go inside. Go back to sleep, okay?”

I nodded. Then I went back into the kitchen and watched through the side window as he walked to the back of the house and stood by the shed. He took out his cell phone. I crawled to the back door, even though the lights were off and he probably couldn’t see me. I pushed one of the back windows open, just enough to hear what was going on outside, and sat below it.

“Jimmy, God damn it, Jimmy. That’s it. The last straw. I’m done,” he was talking into the phone in a whisper, but the rage behind the words carried them hissing across the lawn to me. It was three in the morning. I couldn’t believe he was calling Jimmy now. He was supposed to be working things out with him, not ensuring that his project would fall apart. I should have told him in the driveway that it was Paul. But it was too late now. Plus, I told myself in
guilty rationalization, he was already fighting with Jimmy. Was it worse for him to think Jimmy had done this than to know I’d gone out to the marina to see Paul? I heard him slam his fist against the side of the shed. I knew I’d better get back to my room before he walked in and caught me eavesdropping.

The next morning, true to his word, Dad was in the shed, my bike turned upside down on a worktable as he untangled the metal. I brought him a cup of black coffee. He was in his pajamas.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, taking the mug.

“You’re not going to work today, Dad?”

“Nope. Taking the day off. Mental health day.” I nodded. He could see I was worried.

“It’s a good thing. I should have done it long ago. I need some time off.” Mom was going to completely freak out. “Go on. You better get ready for school.”

“Dad,” I ventured. “You had Mr. Malloy for English, right?”

He looked at me with no expression. Or rather, he looked at me, removing any trace of expression from his face. On purpose. Which wasn’t the same thing at all.

“I did,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“He’s one of my favorite teachers,” I said. This was a lie. And Dad knew it. What I meant was:
Please don’t hurt Mr.
Malloy, if you’re the one behind the anchor, or if it’s someone you know who’s planning to do something bad
.

“Yeah. He was pretty good as I remember. Hated tardiness, though, am I right?”

“I have English last period, but I take your point, Dad.” I turned and headed inside. I had to go to school. I couldn’t skip a second day, especially after Malloy had seen me in perfect health. Only right now, school felt like a huge waste of time—the way it had to Bess, all those years ago.

WHEN I ARRIVED WITH
only minutes to spare, the perennially early Meredith was on the front steps, talking to Pete Brewer, a dopey jock baseball player in our class. As I joined them, Pete muttered awkwardly, fiddled with his baseball cap and hulked away, making his way into the building, his arms held stiffly away from his body by the overdeveloped muscles along his sides. He reminded me of an ape, although truthfully, he was probably a nice enough guy. The only time I’d heard him talk about anything other than his own stats, however, was in English class, where he wasted tons of time bullshitting about the books he hadn’t read. The less he’d read, the longer he rambled.