A Bookmarked Death (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

I
T
WAS
STILL
before 10 a.m. so I parked in the residents’ lot in Port Lewis and stopped to buy two cappuccinos in the Whaler’s Arms.

Susie was already inside Port Lewis Books and unlocked the door for me. “Oh, you’re a darling,” she said when she saw the coffee. “Coffee’s one of the things I haven’t gone off yet.”

Her face was rosy and cheerful once more, her navy overblouse already pushing out slightly. I did not think I could handle another pregnancy crisis without saying something I would regret, but it appeared that for now things were calm. Then Susie said, “I told Paul we’re keeping the baby no matter what.”

“Good for you! What did he say?”

“Nothing. But I think he’s starting to realize that it’s part of
him
too. That sounds so obvious, but I think he was thinking of the baby as this—I don’t know—alien. We’ll see. Have you been out mailing books already?”

I groaned, thinking of the unwrapped orders in the barn. One of the things I promised was fast service. “No, I still have to wrap. I just wanted to check in here and make some calls.” I thought of something. “Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?”

“Sure. But I thought you had a better one.”

“Dead battery.” I made my face rueful. “I’m bad at charging things.” That much was true.

“Me too,” Susie agreed. “But I keep my phone with me in case Paul has to reach me. He won’t use the bookstore phone.” She moved behind the counter and brought up a maroon Nokia. I could see that it didn’t do any tricks.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

She glanced up from the counter, admiring. “Your life is like something out of a book.”

One I never hope to read again.

I started to walk back to the small office, then hesitated. Could the whole store be bugged? “I’ll be right back,” I assured Susie.

Stepping outside into a crisp May day that promised untold delights—to someone, somewhere—I started back to the Whaler’s Arms, then stopped. It would look suspicious after I had just walked out carrying two cups of coffee. Instead I turned in the other direction and crossed the street to the Port Lewis Library, which stood a little way up the hill. The white columns in front made the building look grander than it was, but they had a good collection. I knew the library frowned on cell phone use, but I could go downstairs and find a secluded area near the restrooms.

I smiled at the clerk behind the desk, an older woman I had known for years, then went to the stairs in the rear. Certain that I was being overcautious, I pushed open the door to the ladies’ room and went into a stall. Then I took out the paper with Will’s number and pressed it in rapidly.

“
Hola!
”

“Hi, Will, this is Delhi.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound happy about it and my heart began to pound. I realized I did not trust him.

“Can I talk to Elisa?”

“I’ll give her a message.”

“
Please?
”

He sighed, loud enough to make sure I understood his displeasure. “Liss?”

After a moment she was on the line. “Delhi?”

“Are you around here? Don’t tell me where. They want us to take the 3:30 ferry to Fire Island, to Watch Hill, from West Street in Patchogue.”

Silence.

“I know it’s asking a lot. Probably too much.”

“Oh, no, I’ll do it. I’m the one who got her into this. Besides, all those animals need her.”

I gave a shaky laugh. “Do you know Patchogue at all?”

“I’ve been there.”

“West Street. Meet me on the Watch Hill dock a little after three.” I considered telling her to meet me somewhere else, like the Patchogue Library parking lot or outside Friendly’s Ice Cream, but couldn’t guarantee there would be other people there for protection. “Don’t let anybody see you before. Walking down the street or anything.”

“Okay.” Her voice was flat.

“One more thing. Don’t stay where you are now. I don’t know if they tapped my phone, I’m using a different one now, but if they did they heard our first conversation. I don’t know if they can trace where you are from Will’s phone. Just to be safe.”

“To be safe,” she agreed.

“And Elisa? I’m sorry.”

“I’ll see you at three.”

Someone came in and went into the stall beside mine. I pushed up against the opposite wall to try and see underneath the partition. Whoever it was had on navy pants and matching navy wedgies. A librarian? I waited, listening to her pee. Finally the stall latch was pulled back and I heard the sound of water, then the soap dispenser. Probably a librarian, though everyone in Port Lewis took the posted notice to wash your hands seriously.

As soon as the outer door wheezed shut, I pressed in Frank’s number.

“Marselli.”

“Yes, hi. They called me when I was in the parking lot. They want us to take the 3:30 Fire Island ferry from West Street in Patchogue to Watch Hill.” I was talking so fast I had to stop and take a breath. “They’ll give me instructions when we get there.”

“Watch Hill on Fire Island. Three-thirty ferry. We’ll be there.”

“But not—you know—they said—”

“You won’t know we’re there.”

“I borrowed my friend’s phone to call. I don’t trust mine.”

“Good. Only call if there’s a change.”

“Okay.”

I hung up as the bathroom door opened again. This time it was a harried mother escorting several toddlers.

Chapter Thirty-Two

R
ATHER
THAN
TRY
to make another phone call, I decided to drive over to the university and find Colin. I had five hours to fill before I had to be in Patchogue.

On my way out of the library I picked three books from the shelves in the new releases room and checked them out. I barely noticed the titles. They were my alibi, to explain to anyone watching why I had gone into the library.

After returning Susie’s phone, I retrieved the van and drove the ten minutes to Stony Brook University. I did not know Colin’s teaching schedule, but if he had a class I would wait in his office until he returned. The university had been part of my life for so long that I turned off Nicolls Road at the main entrance without thinking. I barely saw the cement buildings, useful but without charm, and parked in the multilevel garage near the humanities building. Since I had last been here they had finished the on-campus Hilton Garden Hotel across the way.

I entered the brick social sciences building. Having eaten nothing since the coffee from the Whaler’s Arms, I felt too weak to climb the stairs and took the elevator to the fifth floor. I try to eat regular meals, but life often gets in the way. Now I saw lunch as a way to eat up some time.

Although Colin taught archeology, he was part of the larger anthropology department. Leaving the elevator, I began turning corners to reach the Institute for Long Island Archaeology. I turned into the hall where the offices were, but stopped abruptly. Colin, in profile, was explaining the bulletin board photographs to a graduate student. He had his hand companionably on her shoulder and I could tell he was instructing her in the warm, erudite way he used to dazzle young women. She was taking it all in eagerly, studying the wonders of his face as much as the board.

That girl was me. She was the entranced sophomore I had been twenty-six years ago, believing that this man, and this man alone, could give me the life I craved. He could teach me everything and show me the world I had known only from books. Not just that: He was bright, charming, witty, and adored me.

Standing in the shadow, I didn’t suspect that there was anything going on between Colin and this particular young woman. I was seeing instead how ordinary I must have been, just part of that year’s parade. Would he have even thought of marrying me if Jane hadn’t been on the way? Maybe it had simply been time for him to settle down and have a family. For me there had been no question, of course. I had been ready to hand my life over to him like an empty blue book.

The realization was so stunning that I stepped quickly back around the corner before he could turn and see me. Any words would have stayed clogged in my throat. There had been exciting years in the beginning, I reminded myself, the times when the children were very small and we traveled to exotic countries and guest lectureships. We had never been equals, but our roles had seemed time-honored. But then in Stratford the family had been shattered and I had become someone who could be blamed for everything that went wrong.

This time I did not wait for the elevator, but hurtled down the cinder block–lined staircase and ran all the way to the parking garage. Only when I was in my van, leaning back against the seat, did I feel safe. But safe from what? No one was chasing me, nothing but the thoughts I had unleashed like lurking demons in medieval paintings. What had changed was a view of myself. Too much of me had remained an idealistic and naïve college girl instead of a woman who had given birth several times, sorrowed through the deaths of her parents, and established a good-enough business completely on my own.

I was an adult who should have embraced that life years ago. Was this what Colin had been trying to teach me by his slow fadeaway? If so, I had been a slow learner.

A slow learner who had picked the worst possible time for this epiphany.
By the way, Colin, I’ve lost our daughters, and I don’t want to be married anymore.

Then I realized he still did not know what was happening. I reached for my iPhone. Even if the line had been compromised, it wouldn’t matter. It would seem suspicious for me to suddenly stop making calls. Besides, I wouldn’t be saying anything to Colin that they didn’t already know.

As promised, he answered immediately.

“Delhi? What’s going on?”

“I found Elisa. She’ll do it.”

“You found her? Where
is
she? What about Hannah?”

“They said she’s okay. A little uncooperative, but . . .” My throat was clogging.

“What happens now?”

“They want us to go to Fire Island. Elisa and I are supposed to take the ferry from West Street in Patchogue. No police, no one else.”

“What about me?”

“They said no one else.”

“But I’m her father!”

“I know, but—” But what? “You can be there, but—come after four. We’ll be coming back to that dock.”

He sighed. I knew he wasn’t happy being sidelined. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

P
ATCHOGUE
IS
A
village that has yet to find itself. Or find itself again. Located on the South Shore of Long Island, it was a prominent seaside resort in the late nineteenth century, even known as “the land of a thousand hotels.” Trolley tracks ran from the Long Island Railroad station down Ocean Avenue to the Great South Bay. Vacationers could enjoy raw clams and oysters, vaudeville acts, and sailboat rides in the fresh air.

The gigantic houses that were once hotels and inns have been turned into nursing homes or multifamily dwellings. I arrived in Patchogue much too early and drove slowly down South Ocean Avenue. Unfortunately the early industries of shipbuilding, lumber milling, and paper making died away shortly after the vacationers moved on. When the last vestige, the Old Lace Mill, burned, it stood as a ghostly brick ruin for years. The village is finally making a comeback as an arts center.

From South Ocean Avenue I drove over to West Street. I had assumed the pier would be at the end of the street jutting into the bay, and nearly passed the rustic chocolate brown sign announcing “Fire Island National Seashore.” I jerked the van into the large lot, surprised at the number of cars and trucks already there, and parked three rows from the building. It was too soon to go inside so I sat in my van and obsessed over what would happen in the next few hours.

No other cars had come into the lot after me, but that did not mean I wasn’t being watched. Knowing I would end up here, they could already have parked and be watching everything I did.

Where was Elisa? Could I blame her if she didn’t come?

It was nearly 3:15 when a black sports car pulled into the row behind me and I saw two doors open. Elisa climbed out of the passenger side, dressed casually in jeans and a dark green hoodie, her hair pulled back from her face. The driver was a fair-skinned young man in stylish sunglasses and a red golf shirt. Could that be Will? I had formed an image of him as the cliché of a Hispanic drug dealer, someone short and swarthy with a ponytail, his arms inked with sinister designs. This young man could have been modeling his clothes.

When they had almost reached me, I climbed out of the van and locked the door. I stood facing them.

Elisa and I didn’t hug, though I wanted to. The mood was too businesslike for that.

“Will?” I asked.

His face, boyish in a prep school way, didn’t smile. “She’s not going.”

Elisa gave me a look of appeal. Did she want me to understand his concern or was she letting him speak for her?

“We can’t talk out here,” I said. “It’s safer inside.”

I moved quickly toward the modern tan building facing the water. Except for a long, narrow photograph showing Fire Island, the facade gave nothing away. The hall we stepped into was dim and cool, opening up to display two counters flanking the entrance to the pier. The only decorations were several photographic posters on the walls and the iconic Red Flyer wagon, used on the island to transport groceries since no cars were allowed.

As I moved closer, I saw that this wagon was filled with shells sprinkled on sand and some larger artifacts—a horseshoe crab, a bottle holding a message, a child’s blue plastic shovel. It was a vignette promising travelers a fantasy of ocean and beach.

We paused deep in the entryway between two backless benches on facing walls.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, then winced at the party hostess words.

Elisa turned her pretty face to Will. She was carrying a large compartmented leather bag, the purse Hannah had talked about.

“You want to put her in danger,” Will accused me.

“No, of course I don’t! But she’s going to be well-protected.”

“You don’t know them.”

I stared into his amber eyes. “No, but I knew the Crosleys. I knew them before you were born. These people can’t be any worse.”

“You don’t know them,” he repeated.

“Will, it’s going to be okay.” Elisa put her hand on his upper arm. “I told you, it’ll only be for a few minutes.”

I realized they must have been having this conversation all day.

“I know you want to protect me, but I have to get Hannah back.”

He gave his head an angry shake. “It’s too risky. You take too many chances, Liss. You always have to show that you’re braver than anyone else!”

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again.

He moved closer until his face was a few inches from hers. “You just met this Hannah. You’ve known
me
all my life! Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Sibling rivalry? Was he actually jealous that Elisa had a twin she was worried about? Would Hannah lose her life because Elisa’s adopted brother felt put out?

“We have to get our tickets,” I broke in. I had been watching both doors as we talked, frightened that someone would storm in and take Elisa by force. If they had a gun, what could we or the young woman behind the ticket counter do? Perhaps going to Fire Island was just a ruse to get us into an unprotected place.

I reached out and took Elisa’s upper arm gently to move her toward the counter. A beat later Will grabbed her left wrist and started pulling her toward the doors.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Elisa tried to shake us both off. “Delhi, let go of me! Will, I told you I’m going to do this and I am.”

I dropped my hand immediately, but Will did not. Furious, she wrenched her arm away. Yet when she spoke to him, her voice was mild. “Stay here, I’ll be back. We’ll be eating fried chicken and drinking cerveza tonight. Many beers, I promise.”

“No, don’t expect to see me again. I’m asking you not to do this and you’re doing it anyway.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” She turned and walked rapidly to the accommodations counter with me in tow. I bought two roundtrip tickets, then we stepped outside onto the pier. I didn’t look back at Will. I half expected him to move around the side of the building and try and pull her away. There was still a chance he would keep her from going. The only thing that would keep him in check was her fury.

“Liss?” He was suddenly at the doorway to the pier. “At least remember what I told you!”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

He nodded, his mouth an angry line, and disappeared back into the building.

As if Elisa could tell what I was thinking, she said, “He’ll be okay. He promised not to screw things up. It’s just, he hates anything to do with my parents. They’ve said terrible things to each other, things that you never get over or forget.”

“You
know
I don’t want to put you in danger.”

Yet that was exactly what I was doing.

Seven or eight other passengers waited on the raised deck with us. I looked them over. Two young women in T-shirts and capris were sprawled on one of the benches, laughing at their whispered comments, tote bags and a six-pack of Blue Point beer at their feet. The one with dark curls periodically looked down at her smartphone, then up, without losing a word of conversation. A couple in their thirties with a rambunctious four-year-old watched fondly as he ran in crazy circles. A burly man in a Long Island Power Authority uniform sat facing the sun with his eyes closed.

The last passenger was a woman holding the leash of a small dog with wavy brown fur, a breed I could not identify. She stood by the railing with a chartreuse-dotted tote bag by her side.

I decided the LIPA worker had to be the undercover cop.

Looking at the dock, I pictured it packed with excited families laden with camping gear, and vacationers headed for rentals at the eastern end of Davis Park. Across the narrow canal from us there would be the activity of people climbing on and off the boats in the slips, sunning themselves or getting ready to push off into the bay. Today nearly every slip was filled, which meant that few people were out on the water.

But where was the ferry? It was after 3:30 and the pilings in front of us were still empty. What if it had been canceled and the kidnappers didn’t realize it? I looked around at the other people waiting to board, but they seemed unconcerned. Perhaps the boat was always late. Perhaps they knew something I didn’t.

Beside me Elisa fidgeted with the zipper of her sweatshirt. It had a white pocket logo for a ski resort in Vermont.

“You should have called me,” I whispered.

“I couldn’t. You’re one of the first places they’d look. Someone’s probably been watching you for days.”

“Really? But who
are
these people? And why do they want you?”

She gave me an oblique look and didn’t answer. Instead she put her head back against the wood and closed her eyes as if to nap. Or pray.