Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
"I dunno. One of those states out there."
Maddie didn't care about the Texans. She and Joan were near Dan's front door, where a dozen people were lined up patiently, waiting to use the bathroom inside. Trixie Roiters had appointed herself Official Bathroom Hostess and was shepherding guests in and out with ruthless efficiency. All perfectly routine for the Fourth of July in
Sandy
Point
—but would Dan think so?
Maddie pictured him at his desk trying to write to the sound of endless flushing, and she smiled. The Fourth was a funky, friendly holiday in
Sandy
Point
, as endeared to its citizens as cotton candy on a boardwalk.
She scanned the second-story windows. Was he even inside? A part of her soul felt suddenly, wistfully alone, convincing her that he was somewhere else.
She turned to see Norah dragging the long tall Texans over to meet them. Introductions were brisk. The men had money and were willing to spend it, that's what came across.
Almost at once Norah said, "Dan's off with one of the men in search of more charcoal; some of the bags got soaked in yesterday's thunderstorms."
"Charcoal, on the
Cape
, on the Fourth? Lotsa luck," said Joan.
Norah shrugged and said, "He told me that I should give the tour to anyone who was interested. Jake, Cliff, and I are just going over to join half a dozen other contributors for a tour of the place. Come join us. You'll be surprised to see who one of them is."
Maddie didn't want to. It didn't feel right to go through Dan's house—it was his house, after all, and not a public exhibit—without Dan being there. And besides, she was getting anxious about the rest of her family. George had called to say they'd be late, but not this late.
Joan jumped at the chance to sneak a look at Dan's library, so Maddie wandered off on her own again, rationing her lemonade because the lines at the stand were getting long now. The sea breeze had died to a whisper, leaving a
warm
, clear evening, perfect for enjoying skyrockets, pinwheels, Roman candles, and burned hot dogs.
But who to enjoy them with? On a good day, Tracey would be mortified to have her mother share her blanket with her—and this was hardly a good day. If George made his way through the bottleneck on the
Bourne
Bridge
in time, Maddie would no doubt be watching the display with her mother, him, and Claire.
But Maddie wanted
... more.
Granted, fireworks at the lighthouse were a family affair, as old a tradition as Christmas. But this year's show was going to be special, and Maddie wanted someone special to share it with. Call it selfish, but she had reached the age in her life
..
..
She stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the old and the young and wondering where the ones like her, the ones in the middle, fit in. When she was a child, her mother had sat her on her lap and together they'd oohhed and ahhed at the bright bursts of colors high in the sky. Later, when she was a young mother herself, she'd sat Tracey on her own lap, and together they'd oohhed and ahhed at the bright colors overhead.
But Maddie's kids had their own friends now, and Maddie herself was forty. How many more fireworks would there be in her life? A Fourth of July here, a Labor Day there
... and pretty soon, she'd be opting to watch the show through her bedroom window
... or worse still, just wishing the noise would get over with so she could stop feeling guilty for not going.
Don't let that happen to me, she prayed, suddenly leveled by dread. Please... let me hold on to the magic.
"Maddie! Maddie Regan!"
She turned around, disoriented by the voice; it didn't belong outside on a beach. She saw a man that she recognized, but he was wearing clothes that she didn't: a green knit shirt over rust and blue plaid shorts; white socks pulled up tight to the knees; and spit and polished black loafers.
"Detective Bailey—what're
you
doing here?" she blurted.
Detective Bailey hitched his
sagging shorts back up to beer-
belly height and gave her an off duty smile. "I've got family in Wakeby, and I brought the wife and brood down for the day. Matter of fact, the whole gang's coming here later for the fireworks, but I decided to get a head start on 'em. I figured I'd touch base with you and enjoy a little peace and quiet all at the same time," he said with a chuckle.
"You've found something, then," Maddie said eagerly. "What? Tell me what!"
The smile fell away. He shook his head. "Nothing so far, I'm afraid. You?"
Maddie sighed and said, "I've been working my way backward through every calendar of events I can get my hands on, but nothing jumps out at me for April 6. I was hoping that since my dad was a gardener, it might be the date of a flower exhibition. But April 6 is too late for the indoor show and too early for an outdoor one. It's frustrating."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Bailey looked around and said, "So. They selling beer at this thing?"
She offered to accompany him to the concession stand, and they commiserated for a minute or two in their frustration over the unsolved
crime
. They talked about the note, and Maddie realized that though she wanted the slip of paper to have an innocent explanation, Detective Bailey did not. For him the note was a clue, possibly the best one they'd found so far.
He said, "The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that ten o'clock on April 6 ended up being an appointment with your dad's murderer.
"
The carjacking theory never sat too well with us, you know that,
"
he reminded
her. "There were just too many
loose ends: the cockeyed attempt to remove the sound system; the fact that the car was loc
ked when we found it; the half-
removed license plate. Someone was trying to suggest a theft—and maybe slow down our ability to track the owner—but I guarantee that the man who was in the car with your father was there at your father's invitation."
"I guess the killer had to be a man, didn't he?"
"Probably. I don't picture a woman pushing your father out of the car that way. Either way, after that the killer drove to the T parking lot, dumped the car, hopped a train, and was home free. He could've connected to practically anywhere. Now, a busy parking lot might seem like an easy place to be noticed, and if your dad had been driving an orange Jaguar, that might've been true. But a silver Accord? There are half a dozen in every lot. It was a reasonable risk, especially in a lot like
Norfolk
's, which isn't too visible from the road."
"Could there have been more than one assailant, do you think?"
T
he detective shook his head. "
One man, and your father knew him. They left together from the same place in your dad's car; that's my gut talkin'."
He offered to treat Maddie to a beer. When she declined, he held up a forefinger to the vendor, then turned back to her and said, "Another thing bothers me, we never did find your father's address book."
"I've thought about that a lot," she said. "Why would someone steal it? Just because they also stole the wallet? I mean, it's not as if my father knew a lot of movie stars and millionaires. Who would want it?"
The detective took a long, thirsty slug from the plastic glass and said over a discreet burp, "If the killer stole it, it's because his name was in it. If it really is gone, that's a significant factor. But I'd like to make sure it's gone. It could be somewhere still in your family's possession. It doesn't help the case so much if it is, but we gotta know."
Scanning the crowd the way a Secret Service agent might, he said, "That's what I came here to see you about. We never found it in your parents' house in
Sudbury
, but you did say that your father came down to
Sandy
Point
occasionally in the off-season for a quiet place to work. Could he have left the address book in
Rosedale
cottage and then forgotten about it?"
Maddie shrugged. "I suppose. But I would've seen it when I packed up his study."
"Well, maybe it's not in the study. Maybe it's in a bookcase in another room. A magazine bucket in the john. Wherever. My point being, since I'm down here anyway, would you mind if I took one more look around? Right now or even tomorrow morning, if you can stand my poking through your rooms real early. Unfortunately, I plan to hit the road back to Millwood by eight."
"Oh-h
... y
ou know, maybe that's not such a great idea. My mother's due here any minute for the first time this year. She's been dreading the visit for months. That would surely make it worse."
The detective's face showed his disappointment. Maddie felt it, too. Here was someone willing to work on his own time for them, and she was telling him not to. She imagined her mother sitting in her robe in a state of anxiety while the determined detective searched under the beds and behind their clothes hampers.
No. It would be too painful for her mother. Maddie couldn't let it happen.
"I'll take the house apart room by room myself, starting tomorrow morning, I promise," she said with an apologetic smile. "I'll go through every box that I've packed."
"Okay
... well
...
just thought I'd try." A resigned but compassionate smile flickered on his round, scarred face as he looked away, hiding behind his uplifted beer.
Maddie was so touched by the detective's concern that she threw her arms around him in an impulsive, affectionate hug and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for everything so far," she whispered in his ear. "We owe you so much."
The detective, clearly embarrassed by the public display of emotion, patted her gingerly on her lower back with his free hand as he muttered something about a job and just doing it.
"Hey, hey—that's my woman you're messing with, mister!"
Caught off guard by the crack, the detective stiffened. Maddie released him and turned in annoyance to her ex-husband, who was standing behind her holding three helium balloons: a red, a white, a blue. He handed them over to Maddie with a grin as he said to the detective, "How goes the battle, chief?"
"Never ends," said Bailey with a cool look.
"That's what they say. Maddie tells me you have a hot new clue. Anything going on with that note?''
Maddie hadn't told Michael a damn thing—he'd read the note on his own. She resented his implying that they were still intimate, and took it on herself to cut him off at the pass.
"Whatever the note leads to," she told her ex-husband, "I'm sure Detective Bailey will keep me informed."
She glanced up at the balloons that Michael had thrust in her hand. "
Maybe you should take these back
," she said, handing him the strings
,
"
and give them to someone who'd appreciate them
."
She saw the flash of annoyance in his eyes, but his grin was cheerful as he turned to a mother who was walking past just then with two young children.
"Excuse me," he said, offering them to her. "I have extras. Do you think you can put these to good use?"
Surprised but pleased, the mother accepted them with thanks and walked off, dispensing the balloons to her little boy and girl as they went.
The detective said to Maddie, "I'll be in touch." He nodded to Michael. "See you around."
He was barely out of earshot when Maddie turned to Michael and said, "You can be insufferable, you know that?"
Michael folded his arms over his head in a comical cringe. "Whoa, whoa! What'd I do now?"
"You embarrassed him, and you embarrassed me. And I really won't stand for it any longer, Michael. Stop making assumptions about you and me. Stop implying to everyone else that we're still a couple. We are not."
He cocked one eyebrow. "What brought this on, darlin'? I'm behaving the same as
I
always have."
"No, you're not," she said automatically. "And if you are, it's time to change. We have Tracey in common, Michael. And that's all."
"Bullshit! We have a marriage in common."
"That marriage is over. How many different ways do I have to say it?"
"What's the matter?" he asked with sudden insight. "Am I cramping your style?"
She didn't dignify the remark with an answer. Instead, she asked him a question of her own. "Have you seen Tracey yet?"
"No," he answered, a little sullenly. "I was foolish enough to want to see you first."
"Well, you're bound to get the tragic version of events when you do, so I'll give you the real version first."
She described the gathering in the tower, and Tracey's apology afterward, and the terms of the grounding. She was gratified to see the expression on Michael's face turn more and more grave.
"My God. Already?" he said when she was through. "I know they all do it—"