Mandy’s boat endured one more assault before firmly embedding into the dock.
Mandy turned and watched the boat merge with the dock. “Well, that just creams my corn.”
“‘I think next time we’re gonna need a bigger boat.’”
She looked at him blankly.
“Er, Jaws. Never mind. Where’s Hannah?”
“I saw her on the beach. She must have gone looking for Piper.” Mandy continued toward the path leading to the house.
* * *
I’d figured Nana would lead me to civilization, not go in search of cookies by himself. I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Wherever I was, sitting this close to the Atlantic with a probable storm surge was a very bad idea. I got to my feet. My left knee must have hit a rock. It throbbed with a deep ache and felt swollen. My hand felt the same. Touching my face, I explored several raw areas from the explosion.
I was lucky to be alive.
If I kept the thunder and crash of the angry seas behind me, I’d at least be moving away from that danger.
Placing both hands in front of me, I moved forward.
* * *
Tucker’s injured leg hurt like crazy. His crutches were long gone. All the carts had been moved from their shed and undoubtedly stored for the storm.
He trailed after Mandy the best he could up the slight incline. He had to lean into the wind, and the rain at times blew sideways. Mandy, much smaller and more slightly built than he, struggled even more against the gale.
He finally reached the house, stopped, and stared at the front door. The aluminum roll-down shutter was raised, and lights glinted from inside the foyer. “Piper?”
His voice was lost in the wind. Neither Mandy nor Hannah was waiting for him outside. After surveying the area, he entered the house.
* * *
Moving slowly, too slowly, I pushed through dense underbrush. Larger branches slapped me despite my hands being up. I finally folded my arms in front of my face and pushed through. A particularly dense tangle of foliage caught my foot and I fell, landing on my already-bruised knee. I let out a howl of pain that the wind snatched away. Doggone dirty rat fink Nana! Where was my faithful dog now?
You’re the one who mentioned cookies to a treat-obsessed Newfoundland.
Pushing to my feet, I hobbled forward, this time even slower. My anxiety spiked. If the north end of the storm hit at high tide, which would be around six something in the morning, the storm surge could be extremely dangerous. And if Nana had towed me to the island rather than the mainland, the surge would wipe out everything, including one gimpy woman.
I fell again, landing hard on some sharp rocks. The jolt of pain brought tears to my eyes. I was about to think up more things to call Nana, but something about the rocks was different. I touched them, then picked up a few. Not rocks. Crushed shells. Like the surface we used on the island paths. Nana had brought me home to Curlew Island.
* * *
Tucker found Hannah and Mandy in the foyer. Both women were shivering slightly and rubbing their arms. With the foyer open to the rain, there was little protection from the elements. He was about to ask why they hadn’t gone upstairs to the main floor, but he answered his own question by glancing up. The glass wall and door that Piper had referred to were both closed.
The intercom on the wall squealed.
He jumped.
“Sorry about that.” The voice was loud and echoed around the room. “This is Piper. I’m glad you found me. I’m hurt. I may have broken my leg. I can’t get to the controls for the glass doors at the top of the stairs. Can you help me?”
It didn’t sound like Piper. The voice barely sounded human.
Tucker stepped over to the intercom and pushed the button on the microphone. “How did you hurt your leg?”
“I docked at Joyce’s, then came here. The phones weren’t working, so I turned on all the lights, hoping someone would see them. Then I came up here to wait, but I tripped and hurt my leg. Please hurry.”
“What do you think, Tucker?” Mandy came up beside him. “That doesn’t sound like Piper. It doesn’t even sound female.”
“I think that’s the system, but let me try something.” He pushed the microphone button. “Piper, do you remember when we were in the study and I told you I had certain skills?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, “You told me you had hacking skills. Why are you asking me that now?”
“Just being cautious. We’ll be right up.” He looked at both Hannah and Mandy. “We were alone when I told Piper that.”
“If she can’t open the doors up there, how are we supposed to get up?”
“Follow me.” He limped across the foyer and opened the door to the elevator. “You two can go up first—”
“No way,” Hannah said. “I’m staying with both of you.”
The three of them got into the elevator and pushed the up button. “Wait,” Hannah said. “Let me get Piggy.” She stuck her arm out to stop the doors, but they continued to shut.
Mandy yanked Hannah’s arm clear just in time. The door closed and the elevator moved. Then stopped.
* * *
The crushed-shell path stretched left and right of me. One way would lead to Joyce’s place, the other to the family house. When we’d taken off in the Taire, we would have been on the western side of the island. Nana swam to that side. If west was behind me, north would be on my left and the family home on my right.
Slowly, wincing in pain, I stood. Joyce’s place was the highest on the island, but the family home was raised.
Where would Nana go? Dogs knew nothing about storm surges. He wouldn’t be able to get into the house. He could have headed to Joyce’s place, but chances were he’d try to get into the house—into his cave.
I turned right. As long as I felt the shells crunching under my feet, I’d be on the path and not likely to run into something.
* * *
The back of Tucker’s throat burned with bile. He jammed his finger into the up button. Nothing happened. He jabbed again.
Hannah grabbed his arm. “Wha . . . what’s going on? Why aren’t we moving?”
Mandy’s face was a frozen mask.
The intercom next to the control panel let out a small squeak, then the eerie voice whispered, “It didn’t occur to you that this could be used as a two-way system? I’ve been able to hear every word you’ve said.”
* * *
To take my mind off my aching knee, hand, and face, not to mention the deluge of rain, I ran through a litany of movie dialogues. Maybe something from Forrest Gump? “‘Lieutenant Dan got me invested in some kind of fruit company,’” I whispered. A colander full of apples flashed through my mind. Joyce’s apples. But Joyce was dead. No longer lost. Really most sincerely dead. And someone had tried very hard to kill me. Why?
My thoughts wouldn’t settle. Focus. Back to Forrest Gump. Next line. “‘So then I got a call from him, saying we don’t have to worry about money no more . . .’”
Money. Follow the money, that’s what Tucker told me. Where was money? Expensive. Joyce’s furniture was expensive. But she was a doctor, made lots of money. So I assumed. But she’d have even more money if the funds Tucker found were going to an “employee”—Joyce. And look at her watch. But she didn’t buy that watch—Mother did. Why would Mother buy someone a six- or seven-thousand-dollar watch? Like a payout. Payoff?
What if . . . what if . . . ? I reached up and touched my face. One side injured, like Hannah. Hannah wasn’t in a fire. A fire would have burned both sides of her face. She was in an explosion. Like me.
“State it as a series of facts, Piper. Organize it.”
Seventeen or eighteen years ago, Raven gave me a key ring with a blank key. No explanation. Dove went missing fifteen years ago. She was last seen on the Faire Taire. The Faire Taire didn’t just sink. It exploded.
Joyce left the island around the time of Dove’s disappearance. Joyce faithfully kept bird
ing journals until the October of Dove’s “death.” For the next four years, she stopped. She had a necklace in her possession that was identical to mine. My necklace was recovered from the body that had washed ashore.
I circled back around to the thought of two little girls. One who lived. One who washed up nearby.
Stay with facts. Okay, just before Joyce disappeared and her boat was discovered by marine patrol, she called and said she wanted to talk to me. That message was posted in the kitchen where anyone and everyone could read it. Joyce had already arranged to fly Hannah out to the island. Before I could talk to Joyce, she was gone.
And someone tried to shoot me. Someone with a grudge against the company and who’d been given a rifle to do so.
“Conclusion,” I whispered. Joyce was going to break her silence and tell me my daughter washed up . . . Wait. Joyce had a birding scope. Maybe she saw the explosion of the Faire Taire. Maybe she went out to investigate in her boat and found my badly injured daughter, rescued her. Decided to keep her and let everyone think she’d disappeared with the stolen yacht.
That still didn’t fit all the facts. A body did wash up, a body with my daughter’s DNA.
A light twinkled ahead through the madly dancing trees. I stopped. There shouldn’t be any lights on anywhere.
Continuing forward, I moved from the center of the path to the edge, keeping the tossing foliage between the light source and me.
Someone had opened the storm shutters and turned on every light in the house.
Chapter 27
I had no doubt that whoever had rigged the Taire with a bomb was now in the house. He, or she, or they, must have come over on the boat with Silva driving, probably using the excuse that Nana was still out here. How had Bailey referred to Silva? “That boat captain, who keeps his mouth shut for a price.”
The price Silva was paid was his life.
It seemed someone had checked the GPS and seen that one of the family boats had been used to go to Curlew. They lit up the Taire, knowing I’d try to escape the island on the larger boat. They waited on the shoreline until I boarded, then engaged the autopilot from a remote.
But why turn on the house lights?
I knew the answer even before I’d finished asking myself the question. Another trap.
The murderer, or murderers, would believe the explosion killed me, but then they’d be stuck on the island until the hurricane passed. Why not turn on all the lights as a beacon to attract any would-be rescuers? Staying in the shadows, I crept around the house, then headed for the dock. If someone was here for rescue, I should see a boat.
Like the house, the landing was lit up. A good-sized boat was embedded into the dock, a hole in its side getting larger as the waves rocked it back and forth. It said Marion Inlet Police Department Marine Patrol on the side.
Mandy? Did she get off the boat successfully? Where would she be?
The house. She would be inside, probably with the killer.
Would I now need to rescue my rescuer?
If Mandy was in uniform, she should be armed. The problem was, whoever was behind the murders was extremely skilled at appearing like a good person. My protective big brother, the state senator? My ex-husband, the outgoing sports jock? My mother, the gentle bird-watcher? Joel, my father’s right-hand man? Mildred, the elderly housekeeper? Raven, my invisible sister? Or even someone not directly connected to the family?
I couldn’t go in there with guns blazing. There were no guns on the island unless Mandy had brought one. No bows and arrows or even slingshots. I didn’t know self-defense. Nana had already proven he’d give his life for me—if it was a water rescue. The only thing he ever guarded was his food dish, and that was from birds.
I did have one weapon: surprise. I was supposed to be dead.
* * *
Tucker wanted to scream, to pound the walls, to curse the one who had so cleverly trapped them, but both Hannah and Mandy were holding in their feelings. The elevator space was tight—at most one of them could sit at a time. At least the light was on.
He took off his soaked jacket and pressed it against the intercom. “Do you think we can negotiate out of here?” he whispered.
“Hard sayin’,” Mandy whispered back. “That’s one sick individual.”
“What’s he, or she, gonna do with us?” Hannah asked quietly.
Mandy looked at her watch, then glanced at Tucker.
“Mandy”—Hannah folded her arms—“you don’t have to candy-coat anything for me. Looking like this . . . well, I’m pretty tough.”
Mandy patted Hannah on the shoulder. “I can see that. I won’t pull any punches. We haven’t had an update on the storm. When we left, it was a category four. It could have changed since then, either upgraded or downgraded. It could have changed direction. All that being said, if it stayed the same, this house will take a pretty direct hit. The damage could be extensive. We are also stuck pretty much at ground level, so a storm surge is a real threat.”
Tucker leaned against the wall to stay upright.
“So we could be either crushed or drowned?” Hannah asked.
“Ya really don’t like sugar-coatin’,” Mandy said. “That about sums it up.”
Drowned. Just like his wife and unborn baby. Fitting ending for his life. Stop it! I may be deserving of that end, but Mandy and Hannah aren’t. “Well then, let’s get to work.” He reached up and felt the ceiling for any panels. It appeared to be one piece of steel.
Mandy fished a coin from her pocket. She edged to the control panel, handed Tucker the soggy jacket he’d used to muffle their conversation, then used the coin as a makeshift screwdriver.
Hannah looked from Mandy to Tucker, then, in a clear, sweet voice, began to sing “Amazing Grace” softly. She sang a second, then a third song he didn’t know.
“Stop singing in there!” the voice crackled from the intercom.
“Open the door,” Tucker said.
An eerie sound came through the speaker. It took Tucker a moment to figure it out. Laughter.
* * *
The house had no video surveillance equipment, and the rain made it difficult to see, but I still approached with caution. The shutter over the front door was raised, and lights came from the foyer. I moved to where I could peer inside. The glass wall separating the foyer from the upstairs landing was moving, rolling back.
Only people who lived here knew where those controls were located.
I’d bet my Jimmy Stewart collection that this was a trap. Jogging to the studio, I figured I’d come up with a plan while sneaking into the house by way of the apartment. Once inside, I could flank the enemy.
* * *
Tucker again muffled the PA system. “How are you doing?” he whispered to Mandy.
“Not good. There’s no reason we can’t move, so whatever was done to the mechanism, it’s on the outside. What about you? Any luck on the ceilin’?”
“No. Welded shut. Everyone needs to shift so I can work on the doors.”
Mandy moved away from the control panel, allowing Tucker a better angle to pry the doors open. He slid his fingers along the seam, feeling for enough space to get leverage. The two doors were flush. He checked the top and bottom of the doors as well. Standing, he tried shoving against the door with his hands pressed against the surface. They slipped with the sweat on his palms.
His chest felt tight. Blood pounded in his ears. He didn’t want to, but he looked at the two women. They could see the answer in his face. “The door seems to be sealed tight.”
“How tight?” Hannah asked.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
* * *
Once more I faced the narrow stairs going up to Mildred and Joel’s apartment. I couldn’t shout, or even speak out loud, any movie dialogue to help me get to the top. I’d have to move as quietly as possible.
The force of the wind whistled through the eaves of the building and drummed branches against the walls and shutters. The open w
indow rattled with the gusts and stirred the dust from the surfaces. I sneezed, then pinched my nose to stop further sounds.
Give God another try. The words rose unbidden from my brain. He hadn’t exactly answered my last prayer, but He hadn’t said no either. I couldn’t remember much from the required chapel sessions at the boarding school. “Okay, God, I really need Your help,” I whispered and started up the stairs. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want . . . Something about green pastures . . . Oh, help my soul.” I shut my mouth but continued to try to remember. Why was it I could remember complex movie dialogue but not this? Wasn’t this important? No. I’d created a world to live in without God, family, friends. I didn’t think twice about giving money to a homeless man or injured animals or some kind of women’s march, but I gave nothing to anyone of me. Because I was empty inside.
I was at the top of the stairs.
Waiting until my heart rate slowed, I held on to the doorjamb. Thank You, God. I made it.
Moving carefully in the dim light, I crept through the apartment, then down the short, enclosed walkway to the foyer of the north wing of the house.
The effects of the storm were muted here. Footsteps tapped in my direction. I slipped into the media room, leaving the door open a crack.
I’d left a trail of water on the light bamboo wood floor from the walkway to the media room. Anyone walking this way would be sure to see it.
I held my breath and listened.
The footsteps retreated.
I exhaled with a whoosh. I couldn’t stay in the media room all night. I needed to get up the courage to confront the person causing the “curse” of the Boone family.
How strange that I should be hiding in here. I’d probably entered the media room less than a dozen times in the past fifteen years, preferring to watch movies in my room. Yet I’d been here twice in as many days. Media room, sewing room, Sparrow’s room. Sparrow, the first to fall victim to the curse. Just like . . .
Relative Silence Page 22
