Enright Family Collection (16 page)

“I hope you tell Corri that story some day.”

“Some day.” He nodded. “So, how’s the dessert?”

“Wonderful.” She sighed contentedly.

“Another slice?”

She contemplated the possibility. When was the last time she had had two servings of dessert?

“Just a small one.” She laughed.

“You look like you could use a few extra calories,” he told her.

“There’s a shabby excuse for gluttony if ever I heard one.” She speared a slice of warm apple and it melted in her mouth. If there was in fact a heaven, they would of a certainty serve warm apple pie made from her aunt’s recipe. No doubt about it.

She was just about to share this thought when Nick asked, “So, tell me, what information have you been able to dig up about Manning and Hatfield?”

“The Paloma P.D. wasn’t able to find out a whole lot. Hatfield has a history as an agitator. Seems to have joined in just about every protest launched at Bayview State over the past eight years. Heavy on environmental issues. I can’t tell whether he’s truly committed to the causes he becomes involved with, or if he just likes the action and the rhetoric. Either way, the consensus is that he’s very much nonviolent. I got pretty much the same report on Manning.”

“Is Manning a tall man, salt-and-pepper beard, wears a backpack and always has a pair of binoculars around his neck?”

“That’s pretty accurate from what I recall. Unfortunately, I left the reports back in Paloma, but he was described as being about six-two, about one hundred seventy pounds, brown hair, a little gray at the temples, close-cropped beard. You’ve met him?”

“He was around a few times there in late May, early June, then again back in late June. First he was protesting the number of people on the beaches during the bird migrations. Next he was trying to work up support for his efforts to ban the fireworks display for July Fourth. Said it spooked the birds.”

“Do you know if he had any dealings with Ry?”

“I don’t know that I’d call them dealings, exactly, but I know they had words on more than one occasion.”

“Words?”

He nodded. “Ry had wanted to open the beach for the first two weeks in June so that people could come to watch the migrations.”

“And Manning didn’t like the idea?”

“Manning thought that publicizing the spawning of the horseshoe crabs and the bird migrations, to encourage people to come to watch, would frighten the birds away. He was very open—some might say hostile—about his opposition to Ry’s plans.”

India frowned. “I don’t recall Ry wanting to do much more than make the public more aware of how important the Bay is, in an ecological sense. Where its place is in the grand scheme of things.”

“A few months back, he and Darla were talking about opening a tea room in the first-floor rooms of the lighthouse. So that people coming to watch the whole horseshoe crab thing could sit out there on the point and have a light meal while they watched Mother Nature’s main event. Ry thought it would remove the sightseers from the immediate area of the activity while still providing an excellent vantage spot.”

“And at the same time use the Light for something constructive and permit Darla to start her own business.” India put her mug down on the floor near her feet. “Manning and Hatfield don’t sound promising as suspects. I’d sure like to know who Ry saw that week, what his last few days were like.”

“Well, I can take a drive out to Bayview and try to reconstruct his day at school. Maybe get a list of his students.”

“They won’t want to give you that.”

“The administration won’t, but I do know a few of Ry’s friends on the faculty. I’m sure one of them will help out. Maybe I can dig up some information that might prove helpful.”

“You mean you’ll look for clues?”

“Sweetheart, in the immortal words of Henny Young-man, a clue is what the police boast about when they can’t find the criminal.” He laughed. “I’m just going to see if I can re-create his day, talk to the people he talked to.”

“I think Chief Carpenter already did that,” she reminded him.

“Maybe he missed someone.” Nick shrugged. “In any event, it can’t hurt. Maybe someone will remember something. You never know. Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Why would I not want you to? I just hate to see you waste your time,” she added.

“Well, something might turn up. And besides, it will make me feel better. Like I’m doing something for Ry.”

“You are doing plenty for Ry. Stopping in to see Aunt August—”

“She’s a special lady. I just stop by to give her a hand now and then.”

“And Corri…”

“She’s a special little girl. I enjoy her company.”

“And Darla? Aunt August said you showed up in your four-wheel to deliver her baked goods to her customers when her road was washed out after a bad storm a few weeks back.”

“Darla is working very hard to get Darla’s Delectables off the ground. How could I have left her stranded with all those muffins and breads and whatever else she had spent the past two days baking? It was no big deal. A drive out to her house, a drive into town.”

“And into Cape May.”

“It’s not that far, India. Darla needed help. She’s struggled to start up this little business of hers for the past two years. She has finally established a pretty decent clientele. I hated to see her lose out because of an ill-timed storm.”

“You don’t have to be defensive, Nick. I think it’s wonderful of you to help her out. But tell me, did Aunt August call you and tell you that Darla was stuck?”

“Actually, I believe she may have. Why?”

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, okay? But August adored Ry. He was like the son she never had. I would hate to see her transfer that to you, if you know what I mean. I’d hate to see her, even unconsciously, try to… to…”

“Fit me into Ry’s place?” he suggested. “Naw, she knows I’m not Ry. And I know how dependent she was upon him to help her here and there around the house. August and Ry both went a long way to make me feel at home here in
Devlin’s Light, to make me feel like—I don’t know, like a part of the family. I’d do whatever I could to help her out. I’m happy to be there for her. Especially now, with Corri back in school… she could use a hand now and then.”

“And of course we all know that hand should be mine.” India stood up and paced the length of the deck slowly.

“When you can, you will.”

“May not be soon enough.” India related the story of how Corri had only recently decided what last name to use.

“Look, India, for the time being, Corri is fine here. She has lots of loving adults. And she’s smart enough to know that what you are doing is important.”

“I don’t want her to think that it’s more important than she is.”

“Well, you are the only one who can convince her that it isn’t.”

“I’m still trying to decide the best way to do that.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out before too long.”

“I’m not sure that the best way to do that isn’t to take her back to Paloma with me.” There. India had said it aloud for the first time.

Nick stared at her for a long hard minute, then said calmly, “That’s entirely up to you, of course. Have you discussed that possibility with your aunt?”

“Not yet. I’m still thinking about it. But you said yourself that a small child is a lot for her to handle.”

“And I also said that she doesn’t have to handle it all alone. It’s one of the nicest things about a small town like this, India. People help each other. And are actually happy to do it. So if you’re looking for an excuse to take Corri to Paloma, you’re going to have to come up with something better than that.” Strangely enough, Nick actually sounded agitated.

India glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his face told her nothing.

“And you will, of course, make your decision with Corri’s best interests in mind. And in keeping with what Ry would have wanted.”

“Of course I will,” she replied, fighting a sudden urge to snap at him.

“Well then, there’s nothing more to be said about that.”
He turned on his hundred-watt smile and she felt her knees twitch, protesting her expectation that they continue to hold her upright when those little dimples on either side of his mouth appeared. Even in the dim light here on the deck, she could see that little glint in his eyes, and the agitation she had so recently felt began to melt away and was replaced by the seeds of a different kind of turmoil.

India had always been a sucker for a man with a twinkle in his eyes.

“So, India Devlin”—he reached out to touch her hair— “what do we talk about now?”

She tried to not act like the wide-eyed girl she was beginning to feel like as he inched closer.

“Let’s see, we’ve talked about Corri. And August. Darla’s business. How we will proceed to investigate Ry’s death. Horseshoe crabs… bird migrations. Have we missed anything?”

His hand was on her elbow and he guided her toward him even as he moved toward her, bridging the slight distance between them with his body until his face was inches away from hers.

“I didn’t think so.” He murmured the answer to his own question as he lowered his lips to hers, tentatively at first, as if giving her the opportunity to protest, just in case she wasn’t sure. When she did not pull away, he pulled her closer, intensifying the pressure of his lips on hers, then parting her lips slightly with his tongue.

Nick tasted of cinnamon and apples and smelled of Old Spice and bay breezes, a combination not to be resisted. India slid her arms toward his neck, wanting his closeness and his warmth, and he was more than happy to oblige her. His hand caressed the side of her face slowly, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. She wondered if it was possible to pass out from the sheer pleasure of a kiss and hoped that she wasn’t about to humiliate herself by finding out the hard way.

“There.” He broke away suddenly and turned in the direction of the bay. “Listen. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Her heart had been pounding half out of her chest. What could she possibly have heard in the midst of
that
racket?

“Listen.” Without relinquishing his hold on her, he turned her body slightly toward the right, then stood stock still, as if waiting.

A sharp call, akin to a bark, pierced through the silence of the night.

“What?”

“It’s an owl,” he said softly, still not moving.

“Sounded more like a bark than a
whooooo.”

“There’s a short-eared owl that has been nesting in the marsh since midsummer—I’ve seen it several times. When it’s disturbed, it makes a snarling, barking sound.”

She turned her head to one side, listening.

“There it is again,” she whispered. “Funny, all the years I lived in Devlin’s Light, I never identified the sound.”

“You lived over on the beach side,” he said, smiling faintly in the dark, “this bird nests in the marshes, among the cattails—There, there it is again.”

“I never would have thought that was an owl… not from that sound.”

“I might have missed that too, except that this one decided to make his home relatively close to mine. I’ve sat on the deck many a night and watched him hunt. He goes off at dusk, mostly hunting mice, voles. He’s brought home his occasional songbird or two over the summer.”

Nick’s open palm was slowly stroking her back, leaving a warm river of skin beneath her sweater as it trailed across her shoulders. India was beginning to care less and less about the bird.

“But the significant thing about
that
bird,” he told her, his breath soft against the side of her face, “is that the last time I heard it scream like that was the night Ry died.”

“And you think it was that same owl?”

“Yeah, I do. Once you’ve heard that sound, you don’t forget it. The first time I heard it was early in the summer. A group of kids, probably high-school kids, were out on the bay at night in small boats, a whole flotilla of them.”

“Senior night.” India smiled. “It’s been a tradition forever in Devlin’s Light. The night before high-school graduation, everyone in the class piles into boats and rows from the beach at the end of Darien Road out to the Light and back.”

“Well, some of these kids apparently decided to take a shortcut through the marsh.”

“Kids have been doing that for years too.” She laughed. “This cabin, and one farther down toward the swamp, used to be empty from time to time. Kids used to come here to… hang out.”

“Hang out, or make out?”

“Both.”

“Did you used to, ah, hang out here?”

“From time to time I may have.” She grinned as his forehead creased in a frown. “In any event, I suspect some of the kids who headed this way back in June may not have known that someone was living here.”

“Quite possibly. They may also not have known that a short-eared owl had decided to build a nest in the ground out there.” He pointed toward the marshy area between the cabin and the bay. “Apparently they came too close that night, because it was shrieking to beat the band. Just like tonight. Just like the night that Ry died.”

As they stood pondering the possibilities, a small boat rounded the point and made a big, looping, lazy turn in the bay before heading back toward the beach at the opposite end of the cove. The shadowy forms of the two occupants of the boat appeared as little more than silhouettes against the moonlit water, and the sound of light, young laughter drifted across the bay.

“I don’t recall ever seeing anyone out on the bay much later than this,” Nick said, glancing at his watch, “and it’s just after ten o’clock.”

“But the night Ry was killed you said you woke up around two.”

“What would anyone be doing out here at that hour?”

“Luring Ry to the Light.”

“You think he knew someone was there?”

“Very likely. Why else would he have gone? And it was unlikely that anyone had called. Aunt August would have heard the phone.”

“Can you see the Light from August’s house?”

“Yes. From several of the bedrooms on the second floor, and from all the windows across the back on the third floor. You can definitely see it from Ry’s bedroom.”

“So if someone was in the Light, with a lantern or something, Ry could conceivably have seen them from the house?”