Whiskey Beach (11 page)

At nine o’clock that evening, Abra finished her at-home yoga class, grabbed a bottle of water as her students rolled up mats.

“Sorry I was a little late,” Heather said—again. “Things just got away from me today.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I hate missing the warm-up breathing. It always helps me.” Heather let out a sigh, pushed air down with her hands and made Abra smile.

Nothing brought Heather down. She imagined the woman talked in her sleep, just as she did through a sixty-minute massage.

“I ran out of the house like a maniac,” Heather continued. “Oh, I did notice Eli’s car wasn’t at Bluff House. Don’t tell me he’s already gone back to Boston.”

“No.”

Unwilling to leave it at that, Heather zipped up her coat. “I just wondered. It’s such a big house. With Hester, well, she’s a fixture, if you know what I mean. But I imagine, especially with everything he must have on his mind, Eli just rattles around in that place.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“I know you see him when you go over to take care of the house, so that’s
some
company. But I’d just think, with all that time on his hands, well, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. That can’t be healthy.”

“He’s writing a novel, Heather.”

“Well, I know that’s what he
says
. Or that’s what people say he says, but he was a lawyer. What does a lawyer know about writing novels?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Ask John Grisham.”

Heather opened her mouth, closed it again. “Oh, I guess that’s true. But still—”

“Heather, I think it’s starting to rain.” Greta Parrish stepped up. “Would you mind giving me a ride home? I think I may have a little cold coming on.”

“Oh, well, sure I will. Just let me grab my mat.”

“You owe me,” Greta murmured as Heather dashed off.

“Big time.” She gave the older woman a grateful squeeze of the hand, then hurried off to look busy stacking mats.

The minute her house was empty, she let out a sigh.

She loved her at-home classes, the intimacy, the casual conversations before and after. But there were times . . .

After she’d straightened the sunroom, she went upstairs, put on her favorite pajamas—fluffy white sheep frolicking over a pink background—then walked back down.

She intended to pour herself some wine, build up the fire and snuggle in with a book. The sound of rain plopping on her deck made her smile. A rainy night, a fire, a glass of wine—

Rain. Damn it, had she closed all the windows in Bluff House?

Of course she did. She wouldn’t have forgotten to . . .

Did she? Absolutely every one? Like the one in Hester’s home gym?

Squeezing her eyes tight, she tried to visualize, tried to see herself walking through, securing the windows.

But she just couldn’t remember, just couldn’t be sure.

“Hell, hell, hell!”

She wouldn’t relax until she’d checked, and it would take only a few minutes. In any case, she’d made that turkey stew earlier. She’d take the container she’d culled out for Eli down with her.

She pulled it out of the refrigerator, then took off her cozy socks to stick her feet in her ancient Uggs. She pulled her coat over her pj’s, grabbed a hat and, dragging it over her head, jogged out to her car.

“Five minutes, ten tops, then I’m back home with that glass of wine.”

She zipped down to Bluff House, unsurprised by a rumble of thunder. Late March equaled crazy in the weather department. Thunder tonight, snow or sixty and sunny tomorrow. Who knew?

She made the dash through the rain, heading straight for the front entrance, keys in one hand, turkey stew in the other.

She booted the door closed with her hip, reached out to flip the light switch so she could key in the alarm code.

“Great. Perfect,” she muttered when the foyer remained dark. She knew all too well the iffy power in Bluff House during a storm, or in Whiskey Beach altogether. She flicked on the little penlight on her key ring and followed the tiny beam to the kitchen.

She’d check the windows, then she’d report the power outage—and the fact that the backup generator had failed. Again. She wished Hester would update that old monster. She worried how Hester would get by in a serious power outage, no matter how the woman pointed out she’d been through plenty of them and knew how to hunker down.

In the kitchen, she retrieved a full-size flashlight out of the drawer. Maybe she should go down into the basement, check the generator. Of course she didn’t know what to check, but maybe.

She started for the door, stopped. Dark, cold, potentially damp. Spiders.

Maybe not.

She’d just leave a note for Eli. If he came home in the middle of the night to no power, no heat, no light, he could bunk on her sofa. But first she’d check the windows.

She hurried upstairs. Naturally, the window she’d worried about was secured, and naturally
now
she could clearly remember pulling it shut, flipping the latch.

She went back down, turned toward the kitchen. She wasn’t easily spooked, but she wanted to get home, wanted out of the big, dark, empty house and into her own cozy cottage.

Thunder rolled again, made her jump this time, made her laugh at herself.

The flashlight flew out of her hand when he grabbed her from behind. For an instant, just an instant, full, mindless panic struck. She struggled helplessly, clawing at the arm hooked tight around her neck.

She thought of a knife held to her throat, of the blade skipping down her ribs, slicing flesh on the way. Terror shoved the scream from her guts to her throat where the arm chained it down to a choked wheeze.

It cut off her air, had her fighting to draw a breath until the room started to spin.

Then survival kicked in.

Solar plexus—hard elbow jab. Instep. Full-force stomp. Nose—a hard turn as the grip loosened, then a slam with the heel of her hand where instinct told her the face would be. Groin, fast, furious upward jerk of the knee.

Then she ran. Instinct again driving her blindly toward the door. Her hands struck it with enough force to shoot pain up her arms, but she didn’t stop. She dragged the door open, ran to her car, dragging her keys out of her pocket with a shaking hand.

“Just go, just go, just go.”

She hurled herself into the car, jabbed the key in the ignition. Her tires squealed as she threw the car in reverse. Then she whipped the wheel, shot it into drive, floored it.

Without conscious thought she drove past her own house, slammed the brakes in front of Maureen’s.

Light. People. Safety.

She ran to the door, shoved it open, stopping only when she saw her friends snuggled up in front of the TV.

Both of them lunged to their feet.

“Abra!”

“Police.” The room spun again. “Call the police.”

“You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!” Even as Maureen rushed to her, Mike grabbed his phone.

“I am? No.” Swaying, she looked down at herself as Maureen grabbed her. She saw the blood on her hoodie, on the pajama top beneath.

Not from the knife, no. Not this time. Not her blood.

“No, it’s not mine. It’s his.”

“God. Was there an accident? Come sit down.”

“No. No!” Not her blood, she thought again. She’d gotten away. She was safe. And the room stopped spinning. “Someone was in Bluff House. Tell the police someone was in Bluff House. He grabbed me.” Her hand went to her throat. “He was choking me.”

“He hurt you. I can see it. You sit. You sit down. Mike.”

“Cops are coming. Here.” He tucked a throw around Abra when Maureen led her to a chair. “You’re okay now. You’re safe now.”

“I’m going to get you some water. Mike’s right here,” Maureen told her.

He knelt down in front of her. Such a good face, Abra thought as her breathing labored. A caring face with dark puppy-dog eyes.

“The power’s out,” she said, almost absently.

“No, it’s not.”

“At Bluff House. The power’s out. It was dark. He was in the dark. I didn’t see him.”

“It’s all right. The police are coming, and you’re all right.”

She nodded, staring into those puppy-dog eyes. “I’m all right.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“He . . . He had his arm tight, tight around my throat, and my waist, I think. I couldn’t breathe, and I got dizzy.”

“Honey, there’s blood on you. Will you let me take a look?”

“It’s his. I hit him in the face. I did SING.”

“You what?”

“SING,” Maureen said as she came in with a glass of water in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other. “Self-defense. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Abra, you’re a miracle.”

“I didn’t think. I just did it. I must’ve given him a nosebleed. I don’t know. I got loose, and I ran. I ran out and came here. I feel . . . a little sick.”

“Sip some water. Slowly.”

“Okay. All right. I need to call Eli. He needs to know.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Mike told her. “Just give me the number, and I’ll take care of it.”

Abra sipped, breathed, sipped again. “It’s on my phone. I didn’t take my phone. It’s at home.”

“I’ll get it. I’ll take care of it.”

“I didn’t let him hurt me. Not this time.” Abra clamped a hand on her mouth as the tears came. “Not this time.”

Maureen sat beside her, drew Abra into her arms and rocked.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“Shh. You’re okay.”

“I am okay.” But Abra held tight. “I should be dancing. I didn’t fall apart—until now. I did everything right. He didn’t hurt me. I didn’t let him hurt me. It just . . . it brings it back.”

“I know.”

“But that’s done.” She eased back, rubbed tears away. “I handled it. But for God’s sake, Maureen, somebody broke into Bluff House. I don’t know where they were or what they were doing. I didn’t notice anything out of place, but I only went up to the gym, into the kitchen. I nearly went into the basement to check the generator, but . . . He could’ve been down there. He must’ve cut the power to get in. The power was down. I—”

“Drink this now.” Maureen pushed the whiskey into her hand. “And just take it slow.”

“I’m all right.” She took a slow sip of whiskey, breathed out when it ran warm down her sore throat. “It started to storm, and I couldn’t remember if I’d closed all the windows. It nagged me, so I drove down. I just thought the power had gone out. I didn’t see him, Maureen, or hear him. Not with the rain and the wind.”

“You made him bleed.”

Calmer now, Abra looked down. “I made him bleed. Good for me. I hope I broke his goddamn nose.”

“I hope so, too. You’re my hero.”

“You’re mine. Why do you think I came straight here?”

Mike came back in. “He’s on his way,” he told them. “And the police are headed down to Bluff House. They’ll be here to talk to you after they do whatever they do.” He walked over, handed Abra a sweatshirt. “I thought you might want this.”

“Thanks. God, Mike. Thanks. You’re the best.”

“That’s why I keep him.” After a bolstering pat of her hand on Abra’s thigh, Maureen rose. “I’m going to make coffee.”

As she walked out, Mike crossed over to turn off the TV. He sat, took a sip of Abra’s whiskey. Smiled at her.

“So, how was your day?” he asked, and made her laugh.

E
LI MADE IT FROM
B
OSTON TO
W
HISKEY
B
EACH IN UNDER
two hours. He’d driven in then out of the teeth of the storm as it blew south. The twenty-minute hell he’d navigated in its center helped keep his mind focused.

Just drive, he’d told himself. And don’t think outside of the car and the road.

Little fingers of fog swirled up from the road as he barreled through the village. Streetlights threw out wavery beams to glisten on puddles, on streams snaking into gutters, then he was out of the lights, away from the storefronts and restaurants and taking the curve on the beach road.

He yanked the wheel, swung to the shoulder in front of Laughing Gull. Even as he strode toward the narrow front porch, the door in the neighboring cottage opened.

“Eli?”

He didn’t know the man who stepped out, dragging on a light jacket as he crossed the short patch of lawn.

“Mike O’Malley,” he said as he held out a hand. “I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.

The voice on the phone, of course. “Abra.”

“She’s with us.” He gestured toward his house. “She’s okay—mostly it just shook her up. There are a couple cops down at Bluff House. You’ll want to talk to them. I—”

“Later. I want to see Abra.”

“Back in the kitchen.” Mike led the way.

“Did he hurt her?”

“Shook her up,” Mike repeated, “scared her. He had her in a chokehold so she’s a little raw. But it looks like she hurt him a lot more than he did her. He gave her some bruises, but she made him bleed.”

Eli registered the pride in Mike’s voice, assumed it was meant to be reassuring. But he wanted to see for himself. Needed to see.

He heard her voice as they turned out of a cozy living room and into a wide-open kitchen/great room. She sat at a table in a baggy blue hooded sweatshirt, thick pink socks on her feet. She looked up, a combination of sympathy and apology on her face. Surprise replaced it when he knelt at her feet, took her hands.

“Where’s the ring?”

“Shut up.” He scanned her face, then lifted his fingers, gently, to the raw marks on her neck. “Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m not.” Her hands squeezed his, in gratitude, in reassurance. “I’m not. He scared me.”

Eli looked to Maureen for corroboration.

“She’s okay. If I didn’t think that, she’d be in the ER, whether she liked it or not.” Maureen pushed up, gestured toward the coffeepot and whiskey bottle that stood side by side. “Which do you want, or a combination thereof?”

“Coffee. Thanks.”

“I’m sorry we had to call you, sorry we had to upset your family,” Abra began.

“They’re not upset. I told them the power was out, and I wanted to come back and check on things. I’d decided to come back tonight anyway.”

“Good. There’s no point in them worrying. I don’t know if anything was taken,” Abra continued. “The police said nothing looked out of place, but what do they know? These two wouldn’t let me go down and walk through. Maureen’s pretty scary when she’s in protective mode.”

“If there was a burglary and something
was
taken, what would you do about it?” Maureen stopped, held up her hands to Eli. “Sorry. We’ve been in that loop for the last half hour.” She handed Eli coffee. Before she could offer milk or sugar, he downed half of it black.

“I’ll go down, talk to the cops, take a look.”

“I’ll go with you. First,” Abra said when Maureen started to protest, “I defended myself, didn’t I? Second, I’ll have police and Eli. Third, I know more about what’s in the house and where it goes than anybody but Hester. Who isn’t here. And last?”

She rose, hugged Maureen fiercely. “Thanks, not only for the socks, but for looking out for me. Thanks.” She turned to hug Mike in turn.

“Come back here and sleep in the guest room,” Maureen insisted.

“Sweetie, the only reason that asshole was interested in me was because I came into the house when he thought he had it to himself. He’s not going to come sneaking into mine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure she’s all right,” Eli said. “Thanks for the coffee . . . and everything else.”

“She’s got Mom worry genes,” Abra told him when she stepped outside with Eli. “We all know this wasn’t about me.”

“You were the one attacked, so it’s very much about you. I’m driving.”

“I’ll follow you in my car, otherwise you’ll just have to drive me back.”

“That’s right.” He took her arm, steered her to his car.

“Fine. Everyone’s got Mom worry genes tonight.”

“Tell me what happened. Mike didn’t give me the details.”

“When the storm rolled in, I couldn’t remember if I’d closed all your windows. I aired out the house today, and couldn’t remember if I closed the window in Hester’s gym. It nagged at me, so I went down to check. Oh, I took a container of turkey stew—with dumplings—down while I was at it.”

“Speaking of Mom genes.”

“I prefer ‘helpful-neighbor genes.’ The power was out. I feel stupid now as I didn’t think twice about it, or the fact that it hadn’t been out in the area, at least not five seconds earlier. I was just annoyed. I used my little flashlight to go back to the kitchen, got a bigger one.”

She let out a huff of breath. “I didn’t hear anything, didn’t
feel
anything, which pisses me off as I like to think I’ve got this little sixth sense thing going on. Major fail on that tonight. So, I went upstairs, and of course I had closed the window. Then I came down again, nixed the idea of going into the basement to see if I could get that old generator running, which even eliminating spiders, dark, spooky, I don’t know the first thing about generators. Then he had me.”

“From behind.”

“Yes. There was thunder, and the rain and wind, but still I hate knowing I didn’t hear or feel anything until he grabbed me. After my initial panic, kicking, clawing at his arm—”

“Skin or cloth?”

“Cloth.” Little details, she acknowledged. The former criminal attorney would think of them, just as the police had. “Wool, I think. Soft wool. A sweater or coat. My mind wasn’t that sharp as my air supply was cut off. Lucky for me, without consciously thinking I went into defense mode. I taught some classes on it. SING. That’s—”

“I know what it is. You remembered how to use it?”

“Some part of me did. I told the police this already,” she said when he pulled up at Bluff House. “I jammed back with my elbow, and it took him by surprise. And hurt him, at least a little, enough his grip loosened some because I could breathe. I stomped on his foot, which probably didn’t hurt as much as throw him off since I was wearing Uggs. Then I swung around and aimed toward his face. I couldn’t see it in the dark, but had the sense of it. Heel of the hand. Then the coup de grâce.”

“Knee to the balls.”

“And I know that hurt him. I didn’t really register it at the time as I was running like a maniac for the door, for my car, but I’m pretty sure I heard him go down. And the nose shot worked, too, because he bled on me.”

“You’re pretty calm about it.”

“Now. You didn’t see me curled up in Maureen’s arms crying like a baby.”

But the idea of it tightened every muscle in his body. “I’m sorry about this, Abra.”

“Me, too. But it’s not your fault, and it’s not mine.” She got out of the car, smiled at the deputy who approached. “Hi, Vinnie. Eli, this is Deputy Hanson.”

“Eli. You probably don’t remember me.”

“Yeah, I do.” The hair was shorter, and brown rather than bleached blond, the face fuller. But Eli remembered. “Surfer dude.”

Vinnie laughed. “Still am when I can grab a board and a wave. Sorry for the trouble here.”

“So am I. How did he get in?”

“He cut the power. Shorted it out, and jimmied the side door—the one going into the laundry room. So he knew or suspected there was an alarm. Abra said you left late this morning, went into Boston.”

“That’s right.”

“So your car wasn’t here all day, into the evening. You can take a look around, see if there’s anything missing. We called the power company, but they’re probably not going to get on this until tomorrow.”

“Soon enough.”

“We didn’t find any vandalism,” Vinnie continued as he led the way. “We got some blood on the floor right in the foyer, and on Abra’s pajama top and hoodie. It’s enough for DNA if he’s in the system, or if we get him. But that’s not going to be quick.”

He opened the front door, shone his light, then picked up the flashlight Abra had dropped and he’d already set on a table in the foyer.

“We get a break-in now and then, on rental cottages empty during the off season. But that’s mostly kids looking for a place to hang out, have sex, smoke dope or, at worst, vandalize or steal some electronics. This doesn’t look like kids. None of the local boys would risk Bluff House, for one thing.”

“Kirby Duncan. Boston PI. He’s been poking around, asking questions about me.”

“It wasn’t him,” Abra said, but Vinnie took out his book, noted down the name.

“It was dark. You didn’t see his face.”

“No, but I had an up-close-and-personal with his build. Duncan’s soft in the middle, paunchy, and this man wasn’t. And Duncan’s shorter, more beefy.”

“Still.” Vinnie tucked his book away again. “We’ll talk to him.”

“He’s at Surfside B-and-B. I poked around,” Abra explained.

“We’ll check it out. There’s some easily portable valuables in the house, and electronics. You’ve got a nice laptop upstairs, there’s flat-screen TVs. I imagine Ms. Hester’s got jewelry in a safe. Maybe you had some cash sitting around?”

“Yeah, some.” Eli took the kitchen flashlight, started upstairs. He checked the office first, booted up his laptop.

If Duncan had been after anything, he suspected it would be a look at his personal e-mail, files, Web history. So he ran a quick diagnostic.

“Nothing since I shut it down this morning. That shows.” He opened drawers, shook his head. “It doesn’t look like anything’s been gone through. And nothing’s missing in here.”

Eli walked out and into his bedroom. He opened a drawer, saw the couple hundred in cash he kept for easy access. “If he was up here,” Eli said as he shone the light, turned a circle, “he left everything just the way I did.”

“It could be Abra interrupted him before he got started. Look, you should take your time, take a good look around. You may want to wait until you’ve got some light. We’ll be doing drive-bys, but he’d be pretty damn stupid to come back at this point. It’s late,” Vinnie added, “but I don’t have a problem rousting a private investigator out of bed. I’ll follow up with you tomorrow, Eli. Do you want a lift home, Abra?”

“No thanks. You go ahead.”

With a nod, he took out a card. “Abra’s got one, but keep this around. You call me if you find anything missing, or have any more trouble. And if you pick up a board, we could see if you remember any of those lessons I gave you back in the day.”

“In March? The water’s freaking freezing.”

“That’s why real men wear wet suits. I’ll keep in touch.”

“He hasn’t changed much,” Eli commented when Vinnie’s footsteps receded. “Well, the hair. I guess bleached-out shoulder-length isn’t police issue.”

“But I bet it was cute on him.”

“You know each other? Before tonight, I mean.”

“Yeah. He lost a bet with his wife last year and had to take one of my yoga classes. Now he’s a semi-regular.”

“Vinnie’s married?”

“With one and a half kids. They live down in South Point and throw exceptional barbecues.”

Maybe Vinnie had changed, Eli thought as he continued to scan the room. He remembered a rail-thin guy, perpetually high, who’d lived for the next wave and dreamed of moving to Hawaii.

The beam passed over the bed, then came back to shine on the hand towel, the pipe-smoking fish. “Really?”

“I’m going to see if I can manage a guard dog next. Maybe a rottweiler or a Doberman. Maybe it’ll work.”

“You’re going to need a bigger towel.” He scanned her face in the dim light. “You’ve got to be tired. I’ll take you home.”

“More wired than tired. I should’ve skipped the coffee. Look, you shouldn’t stay here without any power. It’s going to get colder, and no lights, no pump, so no water. I’ve got a more-or-less guest room and a really comfortable sofa. You can take either.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to leave the house empty after this. I’m going to go down and bang on the generator.”

“All right. I’ll go down, too, make girl noises and hand you inappropriate tools. You’re gawky yet, but you should be able to stomp on any spiders. It’s wrong, I know, considering the good work they do, but I have a thing about spiders.”

“I can make manly noises and get my own inappropriate tools. You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not ready.” She gave a kind of shaking shrug. “Unless you have strong objections to my company down there, I’d rather stick around. Especially if I can have a glass of wine.”

“Sure.” He suspected, whatever she’d said to Maureen, she had nerves about being alone in her own house.

“We’ll both get drunk and bang on the generator.”

“That’s a plan. I did a kind of half-assed cleaning down there before you came, at least in the main area, the wine cellar, seasonal storage. I don’t really go beyond there, and I don’t think Hester has in years. The rest of the place is huge and dark, dank and just pretty scary,” she told him as they started downstairs. “It’s not my favorite place.”

“Spooky?” he said, and turned the flashlight under his chin for a horror-movie effect.

“Yes, and stop that. The furnaces make grunting and grinding noises, things clang and creak. And there’s too many strange little rooms and spaces. It’s
The Shining
of basements. So . . .”

She stopped in the kitchen, got out the wine herself. “Courage from the grape, which may also counteract the very late-night coffee and adventure. How was everything at home? In Boston?”

“It was good. Really.” If she needed to talk about something else, he could talk about something else. “Gran looks stronger, my parents look less stressed. And my sister’s expecting her second child. So there was something to celebrate.”