by Edwin Hill
He leapt as flames shot from the wall behind him. And he came at her, slamming into her chest and knocking them both to the ground. Hester rolled across leaves and pine needles. Ethan’s sweatshirt was on fire. She pounded at it with her bare hands, ignoring the burns. She took the boy’s hand and fled into the trees, toward the water. Off in the distance, a bell rang, a chime from another time alerting the town to danger. When they reached the water, Hester plunged into it, despite the cold, to stop the burning, to save her flesh. Water enveloped her, a world away from this one, a world of peace where mothers didn’t die horrible deaths while wondering if they’d saved their children, where friends didn’t go missing, where children stayed at home. She crawled to the beach. Ethan sat on the sand, and she examined him from head to foot. His hair had singed on one side, but otherwise he seemed fine, at least on the outside.
“What happened?”
Hester spun around. Daphne stood a few feet away. Behind her, flames burst over the tree line. The ends of her red hair had burned. Hester lifted Ethan from the ground. He was lighter than Kate, skin and bones enrobed in a University of Maine sweatshirt. Still, he smelled of innocence and everything good. And of urine. And smoke. She’d need to bathe him at the hotel. She’d need to figure out what to do, where he should go. What the next step was when a kid had no parents. She’d have to do all of this. And she’d make Daphne watch. Make her see what it meant to take responsibility.
“What did you do?” Hester asked. No, she shouted. She was tired of being nice and trying to understand. She was tired of waiting and wondering. She was tired of putting Daphne’s presence and absence and her every decision at the center of her world. And she was tired of pretending that any of this was normal. “You did this,” she said.
Pop.
A bullet ricocheted off granite. The rifle went off again, and everything slowed. Hester’s first instinct was to dive to the ground, to cover Ethan’s body with her own, to crawl and to hide. Her second impulse was to be grateful, grateful that she’d sent Kate off with Morgan, to know whatever happened here, whatever happened with this other person’s child, that for once, Hester had made the right decision and Kate would be safe. She’d choose Kate any day. Her third impulse was the one she followed. She slammed her shoulder into Daphne and tackled her to the ground right as another bullet ricocheted off a boulder. A wail began in the base of Ethan’s throat, and she pulled him close, putting her lips to his ear, kissing him, tickling him, hoping the tricks she used to keep Kate on the right side of a tantrum might work here.
“How many friends does Thomas have?” she mumbled, right over his ear, barely a murmur. “List them off, but as quiet as you can, and I’ll try to remember. It’s a game.”
“He has a lot of friends.”
“That’s why you have to list them all.”
“There’s Toby,” Ethan said.
“Even quieter,” Hester whispered. “Right in my ear.”
Reasoning almost never worked with Kate, and maybe, if Ethan had known Hester, it wouldn’t have worked with him, but he relaxed into her arms as he went through the list of names, Gordon and James and Percy.
“You’re bleeding,” Daphne said.
“Shut up before you get us killed,” Hester said.
Daphne lay flat on the sand. She took Hester’s hand in hers and squeezed.
“It’s just a scratch,” Hester whispered, scanning their surroundings. “Come,” she said, crawling to a thicket of roses. “And watch the thorns,” she whispered to Ethan as he continued to list off names, as if a thorn could matter now, but even as she said it another shot rang out. “It’s coming from over there,” she whispered, nodding her head toward an outcropping of rock two hundred yards down the beach. The shooter was positioned to block them from returning to the Victorian, to the fire, to the safety of a crowd.
“Where should we go?” Daphne asked.
“Down there, around the bend?” Hester said. “If we can get there, we should be out of the line of sight.”
“Then that’s what you should do.”
Daphne was on her feet, running and weaving, dashing toward the trees, shouting at the top of her lungs. At the tree line, bark exploded around her. Hester lifted Ethan onto her hip and ran, stumbling over rocks, her feet splashing through tidal pools. The rifle went off again. And Hester was around the bend, and the spit leading to the lighthouse was in front of her. And she didn’t dare turn.
They could hide in the lighthouse, barricade themselves in. They could wait. If they waited long enough, the tide would come in and the spit would disappear. Six hours of safety. Six hours for anyone but them to find the gunman.
Hester’s arm ached. She could put Ethan down, hold his hand, tell him to run beside her. She could put him down and leave, save herself. For Kate. Or at least that’s what she could tell herself for all the years going forward, for all the years of guilt and regret. But she pushed that thought away and held Ethan to her chest, even as she dared to ask what Kate would face without her. “We’re all right,” she whispered in Ethan’s ear, her breathing labored. “Everything will be all right.”
“There’s Donald and Bill and Whiff,” Ethan whispered.
Sand fell away. She hurtled forward, crashing across the beach. Ethan rolled away from her. And she crawled even as he fell, scrambling toward him, hand to his mouth. “The game,” she said. “Who’s next? Who else is friends with Thomas?”
“Rosie?” Ethan said.
And they somehow moved as one, crawling and crab walking till they sat, backs against a rock, out of sight. She held Ethan between her legs. He’d skinned his cheek. She resisted touching it or asking him about it, because it was the kind of hurt you felt only when you knew it was there.
“I don’t like this game,” he said.
“You’re good at it, though,” she whispered. “Much better than me. And I think you’re winning.” She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet of waves lapping at the shore. She rested her burned, blistered palms on the cool, damp sand.
“I’m scared,” Ethan said.
“What color is Thomas? Is he pink?”
“Thomas is a boy.”
Hester resisted arguing. Arguing made noise. “Tell me about all of Thomas’s friends. Start again. From the beginning. But this time tell me what color they are. As quiet as you can.”
CHAPTER 25
Emily Broward lived in a ranch-style house that had seen better days, as had most of the houses in the cul-de-sac outside of Portland. The vinyl siding had cracked, windows sagged, and the little grass on the front lawn was covered with brown patches Morgan recognized as pee stains from a dog. As Angela parked along a dusty sidewalk, Waffles, in the back of the van, sat up. A woof at the back of her throat turned into a growl. Inside, the lacy curtains swept aside as another dog snarled and pawed at a window.
Hester had been right when she’d told Morgan he’d ask the right question. At the Walmart, he’d shown a photo of Daphne to any employee who would look at it, till finally a greeter had simply said Daphne was friends with her niece, Emily, and had given him directions to the house.
“How do you want to do this?” Morgan asked Angela.
“I shouldn’t, but I guess I can let you go this time,” Angela said. “I don’t like dogs,” she added. “Except for yours, of course, but definitely not the vicious kind. Put my number in your phone and hit Send if anything happens. And don’t go inside the house.”
Morgan told Kate to listen to Angela while he was gone. He walked up the flagstone path toward the front door. In his place, Hester would have told a story, one that would help her maneuver her way into the lives of the people who lived there, and she wouldn’t stop at a few questions. She’d learn who these people were, what made them keep going. He’d be lucky to say hello. As he got closer, the dog—what he’d have called an “American Mix” at work but was probably part German Shepherd, part pit bull, and part many other breeds—seemed as if it wanted to force it
s way through the glass, right to his throat. Morgan handled much worse than this at work. He knocked and waited. He knocked again. “Anyone home?” he called, till finally a woman answered, blocking the space in the door with her body. She was more of a girl, really, twenty at most, with thin, light brown hair that fell on a round, gentle face.
“I don’t have any money,” she said.
Morgan made a clicking sound in his throat that got the dog’s attention. “I’m a vet,” he said. It seemed like a good-enough place to start.
“Did the neighbors call?” the woman asked. “They’re always calling, and they want me to do something.”
“You’re Emily, right? Who’s this?”
Emily eyed him warily. “Trouble,” she said.
“Can she have treats?” Morgan asked.
“It’s a he. And only if you want to lose a hand.”
“People call my dog a boy all the time,” Morgan said. “It drives me nuts, so I overcorrect. And I’ll be fine. The only dog that ever bit me was a Shih Tzu named Maddie. She was the most vicious creature I’ve ever met. Trouble will be a piece of cake. How old is he?”
“They said he was two years old when I brought him home, but then he got bigger and bigger.”
Morgan took a treat from his pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to where Angela waited. “Can I come in?”
“Don’t let him out,” Emily said. “He won’t come back, though that might be a good thing.”
To Morgan, the dog seemed more bored than dangerous. He dropped a treat on the floor to distract it and got on all fours to meet the dog on his level. When Trouble stopped barking, Morgan coaxed him to his side and, not being able to help himself, gave the dog a cursory exam. “He has some mange,” he said. “And his teeth need cleaning. How are you exercising him?”
“Walking,” Emily said.
“Every day?”
“Mostly. And I put him in the backyard, but he barks. All day. That’s when the neighbors call.”
“He’s a big dog and still young. He needs at least an hour of exercise a day. He’s a good boy but protective and bored. You have a kid, right?” Morgan asked.
“What do you want?” Emily asked, recoiling from him. “And who are you?”
“Sorry,” Morgan said, nodding toward a photo of a girl in overalls sitting by the door. “I assumed.”
“I forgot that was there. I get jumpy. Still, why are you here anyway? Are you some, like, social worker for dogs?”
Morgan moved away from Emily. Trouble followed him. A message from Angela popped up on his phone.
I told you not to go inside!
“Dogs are pleasers, and every one of them has it in them. Sometimes you have to look.” He closed the message from Angela and pulled up the photo of Daphne on his phone. “I’m looking for someone I think you might know.”
Emily took the phone from him and smiled. “Susan!” she said. “Is she okay?”
“Why do you ask?” Morgan said.
“Because I don’t know where she went. We were friends—at least I thought we were—but now that I think about it, I haven’t seen her in months. Not since the spring.”
Morgan nodded toward the living room. As he sat on an old La-Z-Boy, Trouble leapt onto his lap. The dog was too big to sit on anyone, but Morgan let him stay anyway, scratching at his belly. “Susan’s my sister,” he said.
“You don’t know where she is either?”
“I haven’t for a while. But I found out she was here. And someone told me that she knew you. Now I guess she’s gone someplace else. Any idea where?”
“I thought she . . . really, I lost track of her. I thought she might pop up one of these days. You know, ask me to go get a manicure.”
“She’s not really the manicure type,” Morgan said. “Or at least not the side of her that I know. She’s more of a jock.”
“I guess you’re right,” Emily said. “But you know what I mean. I thought she’d come by.”
“Tell me how you met,” Morgan said.
“Oh, you know. Around.”
“Don’t like to share much, do you?” Morgan said. “Here, I’ll share something with you: A dealer down by Northfield told me about you. He knew my sister, and he knew you. Seems like those were the circles you lived in.”
Emily’s face turned to stone.
“Did she deal?” he asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
“Not Susan. That wasn’t her thing. Her thing was being kind. To me. To Jordan. That’s my daughter.”
“And what happened? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
“We are still friends, but you know how things go. You talk to someone every day, and it’s intense and real and special, but it can’t stay that way. Then it turns to every other day. And then once a week, and then a few months have gone by and you haven’t really even noticed. That’s where we’re at. People come and go. I don’t think I realized that I hadn’t heard from her till you showed up.”
Emily stood and glanced out the window to where Angela sat in the minivan, looking in. Trouble leapt off Morgan’s lap and joined her, barking again. “You’re not a vet,” Emily said. “You’re a cop. I can spot a stakeout a mile away.”
“I guarantee you I am not a cop,” Morgan said, taking his vet license from his wallet to show her. “I’d be the worst cop in the world. My friend out there, she is a cop, but she’s off duty and watching my niece, so you don’t have to worry about her. I just want to know what happened to my sister.”
Emily suddenly seemed so small and young to Morgan, too young to have dealt with everything life had thrown at her, too young for a troublesome dog, let alone a child.
“You met at the Walmart, right? Returning things,” he said.
She sat in a chair, one leg dangling over the arm. “Susan used to come with me to the Walmart and help me find receipts in the parking lot. You take them into the store, find the item on the shelf, then return it. Most people at Walmart are lucky if they make more than minimum wage. They don’t care if ‘the man’ loses some cash.”
“What was the money for?”
“What do you think?” Emily said. “First it was Oxy, then heroin.” She rolled her eyes. “I got hooked in high school, got pregnant, dropped out, lived on the streets for a while. OD’d a few times. It’s not a very original story.”
“Did you deal?” Morgan asked.
“I did anything I could to score,” Emily said. “And when I say anything, use your imagination. But I wanted out. I just couldn’t stop no matter how much I tried. I’m clean now, and I’m not ashamed, not of anything I did. I’m safe. Jordan’s safe, and I got those people out of my life.”
“Like Daph . . . like Susan?” Morgan asked. “Is she one of the people you cut out of your life?”
“No!” Emily said, sitting up. “Not at all. Susan saved me. She saved Jordan too. Neither of us would be here if it hadn’t been for her.”
“Tell me what happened,” Morgan said.
“I can’t,” Emily said. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.”
“Please,” Morgan said. “My sister is missing. She might be in danger. Her name isn’t Susan, it’s Daphne. Daphne Maguire. She moved to Finisterre Island this summer and sent a note two days ago asking for help.” Morgan scrolled through his phone to a photo of Vaughn Roberts. “Do you know this guy?”
Emily shook her head.
Morgan found a photo of Trey Pelletier. “How about him?”
Emily took the phone. “Yeah,” she said. “I knew him, but not that well. He’s a cop, but not a good one.”
“Well, now he’s dead. Someone I care about found his body.” Morgan pulled up the Amber Alert for Ethan Sullivan. “Did you know this boy? His mother’s name is Frankie, and she used to live here in Portland too. Probably did some of the same things you used to do. There was an Amber Alert out for Ethan two nights ago. I have a kid about his age.” Even as the words came out of Morgan’s mouth, they sounded right. He’d cl
aimed Kate as his own. “If anything ever happened to Kate, I don’t know what I’d do,” he added, realizing how much truth there was in that simple sentence. “Tell me what you know.”
Emily looked at Ethan’s photo. “Poor boy,” she said.
“He’s fine,” Morgan said. “He wandered home on his own. They found him sitting on the back stoop in the morning.”
Trouble whimpered and rested his head on Morgan’s thigh. Morgan ran his hand through the dog’s mangy coat. “Please,” he said. “Tell me.”
* * *
A few moments later, outside, Morgan took a moment to collect himself. He faked a smile as he strode toward the minivan, Kate waving, Waffles’s nose pressed to the rear window. In those steps, he gave himself over to this life, to Kate, finally and completely. He gave himself over in a way that Hester already had done months ago. She’d been waiting for him, all this time, unwilling to turn back to what had been. The whole time he’d seen problems with her, where the only problem had been him. This was their family now. It was time for him to step up and protect them.
“We need a hotel that takes dogs,” Morgan said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “You and Kate can have one room. I’ll take the other. And we can go to Fore Street for dinner. You can handle dinner in a restaurant, right, Kate?”
“Yes!” Kate said.
“Tomorrow we’ll drive to Boothbay Harbor, pick up Hester, and we’ll head home.”
“What happened in there?” Angela asked.
Morgan turned toward the house, and Trouble came to the window, barking, pawing at the glass again. Desperate. Morgan counted out $120 from his wallet. “Do you have cash?” he asked.
Angela handed him four twenties. “That’s all I have.”
“I’m good for it,” Morgan said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
At Emily’s front door, he handed her the cash and put Trouble on a leash, and the girl seemed more relieved than anything else. “Dogs take a lot of work, so don’t feel bad,” he said. “You focus on making for Jordan the best life you possibly can, and if you ever want another dog, give me a call. I’ll get you set up with the right one. In the meantime, Trouble will be in good hands.”
