“If I can’t talk you out of going out tonight, let me at least fill you in on what I found out. Sit down. Some of this may come as an unpleasant surprise.”
She sat down beside him. “I have updates for you as well, but you go first.”
He told her about his theory that someone might have killed Sparrow to secure her shares in Boone Industries.
“That thought had occurred to me as well.”
He went on to inform her about Montgomery’s affairs.
“It’s hard to think of your own father that way. He always presented himself as someone . . . honest. Upright. He always went along with Mother’s belief that we had the perfect home on the perfect island for the perfect family. Yet if he was so morally corrupt . . .”
“Piper, there isn’t any such thing as a perfect person. All of us are sinners in one way or another. I should know. I’ve spent the last eight years atoning for what I did and finding forgiveness.”
She stiffened beside him. “You’re sounding religious.”
“I like to call it a relationship. Sometime soon we’ll talk about this, but I do want to say the aching desire for your lost daughter is the same that your Father in heaven feels for you.”
She let out a small gasp.
“When you’re ready,” he continued, “we’ll have that conversation. In the meantime, what did you need to tell me?”
She gave him the news about the fate of the Faire Taire. Then she told him about the dead woman at the condo and the attempt to frame him for the murder.
An unpleasant tingling shot up his spine. It took him a moment to speak. “So yet another murder, and this time the killer didn’t take the time to make it look like an accident. I think the murderer is getting bolder. Certainly he’s getting more violent. You need to take this all to the police. Let them deal with it.”
“What would I take? My father’s or Sparrow’s accidents? Already investigated. Old news. The woman at the condo? We anonymously called that in. How am I going to explain how I knew she was dead? By now the police may be looking for Joyce, but I don’t see them making much progress with this hurricane threat. And even you don’t believe me about Dove being Hannah.”
“Piper, you’ve already had two attempts on your life.”
“Two?”
“Someone gave that shooter at the café the money to buy the gun. And his victims were women who looked a lot like you.”
“I don’t—”
“BettyJo wasn’t an accident. At dinner you told everyone you were going for a walk. But it was BettyJo who walked out on the deck and was shoved into the empty pool.”
In the silence that followed, a clock ticked somewhere nearby, and the refrigerator kicked on with a hum. Piper found her purse and pulled out the small game-score notepad she’d used for brainstorming.
“This is my analysis of alibis and motives. I can’t trust anyone in my family or on the island. I’m assuming the worst—that someone I love is a cold-blooded killer.”
Chapter 22
In the dim illumination of a night-light, I found clean, dry clothes in Mother’s bedroom—waterproof cotton trousers, camp shirt, vest, and raincoat. The vest had numerous pockets where I could store anything I found in the safe. I’d talked tough to Tucker about going to Curlew, but that’s all it was. Tough talk. I’d taken the different boats out, but never in these conditions. And his point about the attempts on my life had sunk in.
This was the stupidest thing I could ever do.
No. The stupidest thing was to attempt to take my own life. This was second on the list. I moved to the mirror. I whispered, “‘You’ve got to ask yourself one question: “Do I feel lucky?” Well, do ya, punk?’” I tried to grin, but it came out a grimace. “Dirty Harry. The year was . . . was . . . I can’t remember.”
Working my way through the house, I found a small flashlight and fresh batteries in a kitchen drawer. I put them in one of the vest pockets. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the island.
Mildred answered. “Boone residence.”
“Hi, Mildred. Listen, I’m heading inland at this point. I’ll meet up with everyone at the usual place. Could you pack up my journals, Dove’s rabbit, and her christening gown?”
“Of course. Where are you now?”
“On my way. Oh, and what kennel is Nana going to?”
“Silva would know. Did you want me to see if he’s back and have him call you?”
“So he’s already left with the dog?”
“I assume so. I’ve been busy packing up and preparing the house. I could find Tern or your mother—”
“Never mind. Thank you.” I hung up. I had no choice now. I couldn’t leave Nana on the island.
Tucker was by the front door. “So you’re not going to change your mind.”
“No. The family will arrive in the morning, lock up this house, then head inland. Silva will take the Taire to a marina we use that’s safer than here. Pay attention to which direction he turns. Right means he’s heading for the marina. Left, he’s heading back to the island. In the hall closet you’ll find a trapdoor leading to a ladder that will take you to the ground. The trapdoor is only secured by the inside latch. Even if the rest of the house is closed down and boarded up, you’ll be able to get out that way.”
“Piper—”
“Dial the island number and let it ring twice. Hang up and dial again, this time one ring. That means not everyone—Mother, Tern, Ashlee, Joel, and Mildred—came over with Silva and someone’s still on the island. I’ll get off as fast as I can. If anyone heads back over, if Silva turns left with the boat, do the same thing.”
“But—”
“Once it’s daylight, if I’m not back in four hours, take my car. The keys are with my notes. You need to get clear of here before they shut down the roads.”
“What if you’re stuck on the island and can’t get off?” He seemed determined to talk me out of it. I was determined that he wouldn’t.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. If the north end of the hurricane comes at high tide, we could have a storm surge.”
“Has that happened around here before?”
“I suppose.”
He waited.
“Hurricane Hugo in 1989 had an estimated storm surge of over nineteen feet.”
He caught his breath. “What’s the island’s elevation?”
“Fourteen feet at the highest,” I said reluctantly. “Stop worrying. I’ll get on and get off.” I drew in a deep breath. “After what you told me about Father, I’ll check out his office in the studio. I’m sure he had a satellite phone installed, so I’ll be able to hear you. I’ll look in Tern’s and Mother’s rooms for evidence that they concealed Dove’s survival, and finally Raven’s room for that safe. I’ll also rescue Nana.” I reached for the door. “I wrote all this down, along with Mandy’s cell.”
“Piper . . .”
“Yes?”
“Just . . . be safe. Don’t take any chances.”
I tugged up my hood, then jerked the door open and charged out into the rain before I could change my mind.
The steady slap of rain on my hood was loud. If someone were to run up behind me, I wouldn’t hear them. Angling toward the second boathouse, I stopped and turned every so often to check for movement. Unfortunately, everything moved. The steady downpour sent the palms and palmettos tossing and grasses swaying.
Headlights came into view at the end of the street. I’d made it to the second boathouse by then and ducked behind it. The car drew closer. Suddenly a spotlight lit up the yard and raked across to the house. I risked a peek. Police. Maybe someone noticed the slight glow of Tucker’s computer screen and called it in. Or Tern made good on his threat to have Tucker arrested and they were searching for him. Or they’d found the old woman’s body at the condo and were following up on the planted clue that Tucker was the killer.
They could also be looking for me. Whoever was trying to kill me could have told the police some lie so
they’d notify my family where I was. Then the killer could make one final attempt on my life.
If they got out of their car and did a more thorough search, they’d find me. The only place I could retreat was to the water. Snakes and alligators lived in those waters.
I could just walk over and talk to them. I did own the house, or at least the corporation did. I had a right to be here. They’d just place a call to Tern or Mother to confirm I could be here.
Right.
The light went off. A second peek showed they’d completed their search and were driving away. Wasting no more time, I unlocked the boathouse by flashlight and went inside. The automatic garage door squealed as it opened, and I held my breath, hoping the police hadn’t hung around the neighborhood. A quick check showed the key to the boat was in the ignition. I engaged the winch, grabbed the remote and bow line, then walked with the boat as it slowly backed down the rails. Once afloat, I stopped the winch, unhooked the cable, and reversed the winch. I tied the line to a ring at the bottom of the rails and returned the remote to the boathouse.
The water was tossing even in our little inlet. I had to use a light to see where I was going, but I caught a break in the rain. While clearing the mainland, I put on a life jacket. The boat had a built-in computer system with navigational software. I set my destination to Joyce’s dock, then adjusted my speed so the bow would lift with the waves. I aimed for a 45-degree angle on the waves to be sure my propeller stayed in the water and I had control.
The black night, even inkier water, and chilly air caused my shaking to return. I should have looked for gloves and a sweater. I should have listened to Tucker.
Admit the real reason you wanted to go tonight. If all we’d discovered about my family was true, we, or at least I, had lived a massive lie. People had been systematically murdered by someone I knew and loved. I didn’t want anyone around if, or more likely when, my world came crashing down.
The rogue wave came from nowhere, crashing over the stern of the boat and dragging it down. I held on to the steering wheel and braced myself against the seat. The boat struggled against the extra weight of the water, slugging up and down the waves. Just a little farther, hold on, almost there. My chattering teeth added to the shaking of my hands.
Joyce’s dock came into view. I wouldn’t be able to do an elegant docking. I’d be lucky if I didn’t crash into it.
I made it, though I nearly ended up in the churning water when I jumped from the boat. Hopefully the pumps would have all the water cleared by the time I returned.
Using the flashlight, I crawled and slipped up the muddy path to Joyce’s house. Someone, probably Joel, had closed all the hurricane shutters and moved everything off the porch. Inside the house, the air was stale and smelled of old garbage. I decided to keep the lights off and use only the flashlight, just in case Joel was taking his caretaking duties further than usual.
Even though I’d gone through the house with Mandy, and Hannah had searched for evidence of what had happened to Joyce, neither investigation had really been meticulous. Starting in the kitchen, I pulled out each drawer, emptied it on the counter, then felt around and underneath for anything taped in place. Cupboards received the same treatment. I inspected all the appliances as well as the kitchen table and chairs. There had to be something that would show Joyce had taken custody of my daughter fifteen years ago. It wasn’t logical. It didn’t fit the facts, but it was the only hope I could cling to.
But all I confirmed was that Joyce was an impeccable housekeeper and did very little cooking. I moved to the living room. Joel had moved the outdoor furniture into this room, crowding the small space. She had a bookshelf of bird identification books with her birding journals below. Each journal was leather bound with her name and the year it covered engraved on the front. I opened the one dated the year of Dove’s disappearance. The entries stopped in October. A four-year hiatus came next, then partial birding journals. Circumstantial evidence that something other than birding occupied Joyce starting around the time of Dove’s disappearance.
Before tackling her bedroom, I checked the hidden room with the washer and dryer. The shelves held only laundry detergent and the box of dog cookies. An electrical circuit-breaker panel was on the wall on the left, and an ironing board with an iron hung on the right. Nothing but dust bunnies lurked behind the washer or dryer.
I gave her bedroom the same treatment. I pulled out drawers, removed clothing from the closet, and stripped the bed. Once again I found nothing. I found myself staring at the now-empty closet with just the clothing rod and breaker panel. I was tired and had little to show for all the searching. Except . . .
Breaker panel? Why would a house this small have two? I opened the cover. It looked like the standard issue. The one in the laundry closet looked identical. The bedroom was part of the original cement building, whereas the rest of the house was newer. There wouldn’t have been electricity available for the original structure.
Joyce had a small tool bag in the kitchen. I found a Phillips screwdriver and raced to the bedroom closet. After opening the gray metal door, I went to work on the screws.
The panel came off. Instead of wires, I found a space with a dusty box.
My vision narrowed to just that box, illuminated by my flashlight. I licked my suddenly dry lips and reached for the box, lifted it out, and moved to the living room. The only clear space was a corner of the coffee table. I placed it there and removed the lid.
My breath caught. Inside was an amber teething necklace. I lifted my own necklace from my shirt, took it off, and placed it beside the other necklace.
They were identical.
Chapter 23
Two necklaces. Two little girls? One who lived. One who washed up nearby. One taken home by Joyce and raised like a granddaughter. One left to be found by the family dog.
Be rational. Two girls drowned at the same time. The same place. The same age.
I put my hands over my ears. The thoughts continued.
And the one who died had Dove’s DNA.
I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t accept it.
“God,” I whispered. “If You’re up there, if You have even the tiniest bit of love in You, if You have the slightest mercy, You will make this right. You will give me back my daughter. Do that and I will believe in You, worship You, and spend the rest of my life thanking You.”
I waited, hoping for a sign that God heard me and was willing to hold up His side of the bargain. All I heard was the wind whooshing through the nearby palmettos.
Maybe I should have asked on my knees. Or prone, arms outstretched. Did God want my life in exchange for hers? I would offer that as well.
Still no answer. The house creaked and moaned, and the wind whistled around the windows.
Negotiation? If what Tucker said is true and You want me like I want my daughter, I’ll come to You. Would that be fair? Do You really understand my pain?
What if God needed something from me first? Money. Some good deeds. Talking to a priest or rabbi. Joining a church. All that would take time. I didn’t want to wait anymore. Fifteen years had been an eternity.
I didn’t know any answers. And the ache in my chest was unbearable.
* * *
His cell phone rang. “Landry.”
“Tucker, this is Scott from Clan Firinn. After your emails, I wanted to follow up.”
He clenched the phone. “Thank you.”
“What’s going on, Tucker?”
“I guess you could say I hit a few more bumps in the road.”
Scott was silent for a moment. “How are you doing?”
Tucker tried to think of an answer.
“That’s what I thought,” Scott said. “You know, fears, doubts, worries, indecision, blame are all part of the human condition. We all make mistakes, but mistakes aren’t failure. Clan Firinn’s given you the tools to cope, but we’ll always be here to brush you off and set you back on your feet if you do fumble. Are you hearing me, Tucker?�
��
“I hear you.”
“How’s it going with the rocks I left you?”
Tucker touched them. “Still safely in my pocket. What am I supposed to do with them?”
“You’ll know. Stay safe and keep in touch.”
After disconnecting, he shoved the black thoughts of his future out of his mind. He’d move to the attic. The window overlooking the dock had the best view.
* * *
I didn’t dare move to the family compound until I could be reasonably assured the island was empty. If I showed up too early, Nana would find me in a heartbeat and proudly announce my presence. Moving into the bedroom, I curled up on the bed, wiggling around until the various outfits I’d strewn across the surface became a somewhat comfortable mattress.
I didn’t think I could sleep, but it seemed that I’d barely closed my eyes when the blackness beyond the windows turned gray. I checked my watch. Eight a.m. How had it gotten so late?
Knowing Tern and Ashlee, they’d want to get to Marion Inlet well ahead of the storm and have the mainland house locked up tight. They’d probably be boarding the Taire right now.
The rain was a steady drizzle and the wind gusty as I jogged down the cart trail. As I got close to the house I took a diagonal footpath, one that would let me see what was going on at the dock.
I crept through the last few feet of underbrush, then settled where I could watch the action. Silva was busy loading several plastic tubs into the boat. Soon Tern appeared, holding a suitcase in one hand and Mother’s arm in the other. They walked onto the dock. Behind them was Mildred, holding a small bag, then Ashlee with several suitcases. Joel followed at the rear with a handcart of additional luggage.
Nana was nowhere to be seen.
They finished loading and Silva pushed off.
My face grew hot. I backed away. So it was true. They were leaving Nana to die. Stomping on stiff legs, I moved to the house. As expected, the hurricane shutters were fastened down and nothing of value remained outside.
Relative Silence Page 19
