The Shape of Night(7)

Blinded, I squint against the glare, and the turret room comes into focus. I see windows streaked with salt. Silky cobwebs dangle from the ceiling, swaying in the newly disturbed air. Hannibal sits beside a stack of wooden planks, calmly licking his paw. Everywhere is woodworking equipment—a band saw, floor sanders, sawhorses. But no one is here.

A door leads outside to the widow’s walk, the rooftop deck that overlooks the sea. I open the door and step out into a bracing wind. Gazing down, I see the cliff path where I’d been walking only moments earlier. The sound of the waves seems so close, I might be standing on the bow of a ship—a very old ship. The balcony railing looks rickety, the paint long ago scoured away by the elements. I take another step and the wood suddenly sags beneath me. Instantly I retreat and look down at rotted planks. Donna had warned me to stay off the widow’s walk, and if I’d walked out much farther, the deck might well have collapsed under my weight. Yet only moments ago, I thought I’d spotted someone standing on this balcony, where the wood looks as insubstantial as cardboard.

    I retreat back inside the turret and close the door against the wind. With its east-facing windows, the room is already warm from the morning sun. I stand bathed in that golden light, trying to make sense of what I saw from the cliff, but I can summon no answers. A reflection, perhaps. Some odd distortion caused by the antique glass in the windows. Yes, that must be what I saw. When I look through the window, the view is warped by ripples, as though I’m peering through water.

At the periphery of my vision, something shimmers.

I spin around to look, but see only a swirl of floating dust, glittering like a million galaxies in the sunlight.





Four


Donna is talking on the phone when I walk into the office of Branca Property Sales and Management. She gives me a welcoming wave and gestures to the waiting area. I sit down near a sunny window and as she continues her conversation, I flip through a book of properties listed for rent. I can’t find any listing for Brodie’s Watch, but there are other enticing options, from shingled beachside cottages to in-town apartments to a stately mansion on Elm Street that comes at an equally stately price. As I flip through pages of beautifully photographed homes, I think about the view from my bedroom in Brodie’s Watch and my morning walk along the cliff with its perfume of roses. How many homes in this book came with their own private beach?

“Hello, Ava. How are you settling in at the house?”

I look up at Donna, who’s finally finished her phone call. “I have, um, a few little problems I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh dear. What problems?”

“Well to begin with, mice.”

    “Ah.” She sighs. “Yes, it’s an issue with some of our older houses around here. Since you have a cat, I don’t recommend putting out poison, but I can supply you with some mousetraps.”

“I don’t think a few mousetraps are going to take care of the problem. It sounds like there’s an army of them living in the walls.”

“I can ask Ned and Billy—they’re the carpenters—to close up any obvious entry points so more mice can’t get in. But it is an old house, and up here, most of us just learn to live with them.”

I hold up the book of rental properties. “So even if I moved to a different place, I’d run into the same problem?”

“Right now there isn’t anything available for rent in the area. It’s the height of summer and everything’s booked, except for maybe a week here and a week there. And you wanted a longer term rental, right?”

“Yes, through October. To give me time to finish the book.”

She shakes her head. “I’m afraid you won’t find anything that can match the views and privacy of Brodie’s Watch. The only reason your rent’s so reasonable is because the house is under renovation.”

“That’s my second question. About the renovation.”

“Yes?”

“You said the carpenters would only be working on weekdays.”

“That’s right.”

“This morning, when I was out on the cliff path, I thought I saw someone up on the widow’s walk.”

“On a Sunday? But they don’t have a key to the house. How did they get in?”

“I left the front door unlocked when I went out for my walk.”

“Was it Billy or Ned? Ned’s in his late fifties. Billy’s just twenty-something.”

“I didn’t actually speak to anyone. When I got back, no one was in the house.” I pause. “I suppose it could have been just a trick of the light. Maybe I didn’t see anyone after all.”

For a moment she’s silent, and I wonder what’s going through her head. My tenant is a loon? She manages a smile. “I’ll give Ned a call and remind him not to disturb you on weekends. Or you can tell him yourself when you see him. They should both be up at your house tomorrow morning. Now, about the mouse problem, I can bring you some traps tomorrow, if you’d like.”

    “No, I’ll pick some up right now. Where do they sell them in town?”

“Sullivan’s Hardware is right down the street. Turn left and you can’t miss it.”

I’m almost at the door when I suddenly remember one more thing I need to ask. I turn back. “Charlotte left a cookbook in the house. I’ll be happy to send it to her if you let me know where she wants it mailed.”