A Stranger on the Beach(63)
“Ron,” he said, “listen, buddy, I just realized. My girlfriend’s house is sitting empty right in the path of the storm. I have to go check it for her.”
“Now? But we’re not done.”
“Hey, man, that’s what they pay you for. Nobody’s paying me, and I got other obligations.”
“What if the place gets damaged?”
“Then maybe the landlord can get some insurance money and finally fix this dump up. I’m sorry. This is too important. Good luck, my friend. See you later.”
Aidan sat in his truck and dialed Caroline’s number. His number was still blocked and went straight to voicemail.
“Caroline, it’s Aidan. I don’t know if you blocked my number, or whether you’ll even get this message or not. But I want you to know, I’m heading to your house now to make sure it’s okay in the storm. There’s no need for you to come out here in this weather. I’m praying this gets to you. Stay safe, baby. I’m thinking about you.”
Then he took off in the direction of Caroline’s house. Aidan knew that what he was doing was risky. He wasn’t worried about the storm. He was worried about getting caught. Because, if Caroline wasn’t there, he planned to break in to secure the place. He knew he shouldn’t. If Tommy found him, he’d be so disappointed, especially since he’d read Aidan the riot act after finding the St. Christopher medal at Caroline’s house. Tommy had been right, of course: Aidan was the one responsible for setting off the alarm at Caroline’s house that night. Tommy knew the score, because back in the day, Aidan and Matthew had gone through a phase of breaking into the big houses along the beach. They were stupid kids, sowing their wild oats. They’d go into places they knew were empty, taking only enough to pay for a good time on a Saturday night. It was only after they got caught that Aidan realized how much harm he’d caused. Their families were devastated. They would have gone to jail if not for Tommy. Aidan never did anything like that again. Not even after he got out of prison, when he was broke and desperate and a pariah. He’d stayed out of trouble—until Caroline came along.
He’d never seriously thought about breaking into Caroline’s house before. But the fascination had been there, ever since the night she came into the Red Anchor and dissed him with that insultingly big tip. The insult infuriated him, and yet afterward the thought of her consumed him. She was beautiful and rich and beyond his reach. And she owned that house, on that land. The house became a siren song to Aidan. He would go there at night, look up at the light shining from the windows, and dream of her. He would walk around, peek in through the glass, imagine her life there. One night, he’d made the mistake of reaching for a door handle on the terrace. Not because he planned to break in. But to make sure she’d locked it, that she was safe from those who would do her harm. That one enthusiastic jiggle of the handle wound up setting off the burglar alarm. Aidan had run away so fast that he’d dropped the St. Christopher medal, which led to that big lecture from Tommy. Now, tonight, he would break in for real. But only for the purpose of protecting her house. He didn’t have the material with him to board up the windows, but he would use whatever he found inside. He knew breaking in was wrong. But he was acting out of concern for Caroline. He just hoped to hell his brother never learned of it.
When he arrived at the house, it was raining buckets. As Aidan pulled into the driveway, he noticed the light on next door, and worried Mrs. Eberhardt would see him and call the cops. Back when he was a kid, and Gramps was alive, Mrs. Eberhardt gave them hell from dawn to dusk. Aidan and Tommy and their cousins could do no right in her eyes. Hard to imagine she was home tonight, since anybody with half a brain would evacuate that rickety beach shack at the first sign of a storm. But she was stubborn, and if she was there, she’d make trouble.
He turned off the engine. He could barely see out the windshield of the truck, that’s how hard it was coming down. Climbing through Caroline’s bedroom window would have a certain Romeo-and-Juliet quality, but scaling the building in this weather would be too risky. He’d have to go in the front door. He kept a toolbox in the bed of the truck. He rifled through it in the rain, pulling out anything that might help him—a screwdriver, a bolt cutter, some wire that he could use to pick the lock. The deluge made the ground look like it was boiling. He pulled his hood forward, but the rain streamed into his eyes anyway, making it hard to see as he ran to the front door. He stood in the midst of the downpour, trying to work the lock with a stiff piece of wire. But he couldn’t see, and couldn’t hear the click of the tumblers beneath the roar of the wind.
He was about to quit when the lock finally gave, and he stumbled into Caroline’s living room. The screeching started immediately. He had to shut the damn thing off before Eberhardt heard it and called the police. The keypad was right inside the door. Aidan held his flashlight in his mouth, shining it on the keypad as he popped the plastic surround off with his screwdriver. He eased the bundle of wires from the wall and aimed the flashlight at them. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the writhing mess of wires, and besides, he didn’t want to damage anything. He’d come here to help, not to destroy her burglar alarm. He pushed the wires back into the wall and snapped the plastic cover of the keypad back into place. Even if Eberhardt heard the alarm and called the cops, it would be a while before they’d show. In weather this bad, cops had other, more pressing concerns. He’d do what he could to protect the house, then get out before he got caught.