The Shape of Night(26)

    “So this wasn’t a robbery?” says Quinn.

“I’m not ready to say that yet.”

“Why didn’t he take anything?”

“Maybe because he never got the chance.” Tarr lumbers out of the kitchen into the foyer. Grunting, he slowly drops to a crouch. Only then do I notice what he’s looking at: a clump of dirt just inside the threshold of the front door, which I’d missed earlier.

“Cast off from his shoes,” says Tarr. “Funny, isn’t it? He didn’t track dirt anywhere else in the house. Just in the kitchen and here, on his way out the front door. Which makes me think…”

“What?” I ask.

“Why did he leave so quickly? He didn’t take anything. Didn’t go upstairs. Just climbed in the window, walked across the kitchen, and then left the house in such a hurry he didn’t even bother to close the door.” Tarr grunts as he rises back to his feet. The effort leaves his face flushed a bright red. “That’s the puzzle, isn’t it?”

The three of us stand silent for a moment, considering the explanation for the intruder’s odd behavior. Hannibal slinks past me and sprawls at the feet of Officer Tarr, whose torpor seems to match his own.

“Obviously something scared him off,” offers Quinn. “Maybe he saw her headlights coming up the driveway and ran.”

“But I didn’t see anyone,” I tell him. “And there was no car in the driveway when I got home.”

“If it was a kid, he might not have come in a car,” says Quinn. “Could’ve walked here using the cliff path. The trailhead starts at the public beach only a mile from here. Yeah, I bet that’s what we’re dealing with. Some kid who thought he was breaking into a vacant house. It’s happened here before.”

    “So I’ve heard,” I say, remembering what Ned had told me about the Halloween breakin and the unfortunate girl who fell to her death from the widow’s walk.

“We’ll just give you the same advice we gave her. Keep the doors and windows locked. And let us know if—”

“Her?” I look back and forth at the two officers. “Who are you talking about?”

“The lady who was renting the house before you. The schoolteacher.”

“Charlotte had a breakin, too?”

“She was in bed when she heard a noise downstairs. Came down to find a window open. By then he was gone, and nothing was taken.”

I look down at the clump of dirt, cast off from the shoe of the intruder who violated my home tonight. An intruder who might still have been here in my house as my car came up the driveway. Suddenly I am shivering and I hug myself. “What if it wasn’t just some kid who did this?” I ask quietly.

“Tucker Cove is a very safe town, ma’am,” says Officer Quinn. “There’s the occasional shoplifter, sure, but we haven’t had a major incident in—”

“It’s always smart to take precautions,” interjects Tarr. “Keep your doors and windows locked. And maybe think about getting a dog.” He looks at Hannibal, who’s contentedly purring against his boot. “I don’t think your cat here’s scary enough to chase off a burglar.”

But I know someone who is. The ghost.



* * *



—

I bolt the front door and walk through the first floor of the house, closing and latching all the windows. The police have checked every room, every closet, but I am still jittery and certainly not ready to go to bed.

    So I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of whiskey. And then another.

The second bottle is nearly empty. When I moved into Brodie’s Watch, this bottle was full; have I really gone through all the whiskey that quickly? I know I should limit myself to one drink, but after this truly disturbing day, I need a comforting sip. I carry my glass and the bottle with its last few inches of whiskey and head upstairs.

In my bedroom, I cannot help but scan the room as I unbutton my blouse and slide off my blue jeans. Standing in only my underwear, I feel exposed, although there is no one else here. No one, at least, that I can see. The ocean is restless tonight, and through the open window I hear the swoosh of waves rolling ashore. Black as oil, the sea stretches out to a starlit horizon. Although my room looks out over deserted cliffs and water, I understand why Charlotte wanted curtains over this window. The night itself seems to have eyes that can see me, standing here framed in the light.

I turn off the lamp and let darkness cloak me. No longer do I feel exposed as I stand at the window, letting the cool air wash over my skin. I will miss this when I return to Boston, these nights of falling asleep to the sound of the waves, the salt air on my skin. What if I never go home to the city? Lately this possibility has been on my mind more and more. After all, I can work anywhere, write anywhere; I have burned my bridges in Boston, carelessly torched my old life like a drunken arsonist. Why not stay here in Tucker Cove, in this house?

I pull on my nightgown, and as it slips over my head, I glimpse a flicker of light beyond my window. It flares for just an instant, then vanishes.

I stare out at the night. I know there is nothing out there but the cliff and the sea—where did that light come from? I’m invisible in my dark bedroom, but only moments ago, anyone watching this window would have seen me standing here undressed, and the thought makes me back away, deeper into the gloom. Then I see more flashes of light, bobbing like a cinder adrift in the wind. It floats past the window and winks away into the night.