“Good idea,” Robbie said. “Gramps, Beckett, and I can watch for Marla down here until we can get hold of the cops. I’m going to keep trying.” He walked over to a cell phone that was plugged into a wall charger to try again.
Jack and I headed outside. Before we could step into the Jeep, a faint shout came from the beach.
We turned toward the Paines Creek parking lot.
“Help!” This time the cry was clearer. A young man came into view, dressed in a tee shirt, shorts, and running shoes. His alabaster white face was twisted in fear. “Somebody help!”
We raced toward him, but Jack made it first. My knee still hurt like hell and I lagged behind.
“There’s a man,” the jogger panted. “On the sand. He’s…”
Jack stood by his side as the runner tried to recover. “It’s okay now. Just catch your breath.”
I reached them and peered around the young man. “On the beach, you say?”
“Yes. I think he’s dead.” The jogger couldn’t be more than twenty, maybe twenty-one. I suspected that his out-of-breath state was more due to finding the body than to his being out of shape. He looked like he ran every day.
Jack said, “Can you take us to him?”
“Sure. It’s this way.”
My heart filled with dread. I had a bad feeling about this. I didn’t think we’d find a sad victim of the hurricane, someone who’d been caught in his boat without warning. I didn’t think this man would have drowned. No. I imagined this poor fellow had been shot point blank with a rifle.
My fears were realized when I recognized the pale face of Winston Waterford. He lay on his stomach with his head turned sideways on the sand. His eyes were fixed and staring at nothing. A large red wound blossomed on his back.
She’d shot him as he ran away? Shot him in the back?
I shuddered. She was crueler than I’d imagined.
I’d left my phone behind; it was plugged into Jane’s extra iPhone charger at her house. But Jack had his phone, and thankfully he’d just finished charging it in his Jeep on the way home from the hospital.
“Is it Waterford?” he asked, staring at the body.
“It is.”
“She shot him in the back?” he asked, as if he couldn’t comprehend such a thing.
“Looks that way.”
“I’ll try 911,” he said, tapping his phone screen. He lifted it to his ear.
I doubted if he’d get through to the authorities, knowing how we’d found the place just a few hours earlier. But we had to try, because the tide was coming in and the sun was setting.
“No answer,” Jack said. “It rings over to a message saying the voicemail inbox is full.”
“Figures. Listen, we have to get him off the beach before the tide comes in.”
The men beside me looked grim.
“You guys up for it?”
Jack shook himself and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
The young runner seemed frozen. He raised his eyes to mine, suddenly covered his mouth, and ran up to the dunes to retch.
“Looks like he might be busy for a while. I guess it’s you and me, Jack. I’ll take the legs if you take the arms.”
The water had already begun to lap around Winston’s legs. A hermit crab crawled over his shoe, and I shuddered. I felt like I was in a non-stop horror movie. But this was too damned real.
“Let’s do this,” Jack said.
We rolled him over, and then lifted him up. The wound on his chest—which I guessed is what they call the “exit wound”—was three times larger than the hole in his back. His body swayed awkwardly between us, leaving a trail of blood on the shore. We got him to the driest sand above the high tide line, and then lugged him up another ten feet toward the dunes. Now the high tide wouldn’t take his body out to the ocean.
Panting, we both stopped to catch our breath. The runner came back down from the dunes looking green.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve never seen—”
“It’s okay, son.” I gestured toward the parking area. “Come on. Let’s get back up to the house. Maybe we can find a tarp or something to cover up Mr. Waterford until the authorities get here.”
“I can try to call from our house,” the boy said. “Our land line’s working.”
“Thanks,” I said. “If you get hold of them, make sure you tell them to call us.”
Jack gave him his phone number.
“There’s also another matter that needs attention.”
The boy glanced between both of us. “I’m guessing you mean the person who killed him?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid so. Do you know the Waterfords at all?”
He shook his head. “Uh. I heard about them a little, but never met them.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say we believe it was that man’s wife who shot him. The last time we saw Marla Waterford, she was at her mansion. The cops need to go there, too.”
“Oh, wow. Unbelievable.” He stood for a while, taking it all in.
“Could you try to call the police, then?”
“Yeah. No problem. If I can get through, I’ll tell them everything, and have them call you.” The boy began to jog toward a cluster of houses further down Paines Creek Road, calling over his shoulder. “Good luck.”
Jack slung an arm over my shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got one more job to do.”
Chapter 37
We took the shore road this time. Jack expertly maneuvered around the debris-filled streets, avoiding the flooded areas by driving onto higher ground along the side of the road. At one point we drove up onto a woodland trail that ran parallel to the road, winding around scrub pines. We emerged back onto the road further down the way where the flooding wasn’t as bad.
“That was one of my favorite running trails,” he said. “It’s beautiful in the fall.”
I nodded, wondering if we’d ever get to think about normal things again like the changing colors of the leaves, or eating an ice cream at Kate’s, or—my heart twisted with guilt—calling my family to let them know I was okay. They must have heard about the hurricane. It must have been all over the news. They were probably going crazy with worry.
“Jack, can I borrow your phone? I need to let my family in New York know that Camille and I are okay.”
Without a word, he slid the phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I dialed Freddie’s number. How many days had it been since I’d spoken with her? I realized I’d only been here five days so far, although it felt like five weeks.
She answered on the third ring. “Hello?” I could tell by her suspicious tone that she didn’t recognize Jack’s number.
“Hi, honey.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m using a friend’s phone. Mine’s being charged.”
“Oh, Dad. We’ve been so worried. Are you and Camille okay? We heard about the hurricane. I’ve been trying to call you both over and over again but it just keeps going to voicemail.”
“We’re fine. We lost power for a while, and there’s flooding all over the village. But we’re just fine.”
“Thank God.” I heard her cover the mouthpiece and whisper the news to Siegfried. In the background, I heard him say, “Thank Gott.”
I assumed she was in her veterinary clinic, probably just getting ready to head home. “You getting ready to close up for the night?”
“Yeah. We’re running a little late tonight. We had an emergency litter of Bichon puppies. The mother couldn’t give birth naturally and was suffering so much, so we helped her with a C-section. She had three puppies, and they’re all doing fine.”
“Good work, sweetie.”
“Thanks.” She waited a beat. “Dad? We really miss you. A month is such a long time.”
“I know. We miss you guys, too. How is everyone?”
She laughed. “Oh, you know, the usual. Johnny and the twins are pretty much tearing up the house, dancing on the furniture every night, asking me over and over
again where Opa is. I keep telling them you’re coming home ‘soon.’ Mrs. Pierce had another argument with Lily about who should do what work in the house. You know how territorial Mrs. Pierce can be with her laundry and cooking duties.”
I rolled my eyes. I loved the woman, but sometimes she was a bit too controlling. “Yeah. I know what you mean. Did they resolve it?”
“Actually, Maddy got between them and threatened to tell you all about it when you got home if they didn’t come to a peaceful resolution.”
“Did it work?”
“It did. They eventually started to smile and apologize and worked it all out. Mrs. Pierce gave Lily Mondays and Thursdays to help with the laundry, big generous soul that she is.”
“But isn’t Lily still working with Sig at the veterinary clinic, too?”
“She is, they’re both back at work now since they finished up the painting in their house. But Lily only comes on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
“I get it.” I chuckled, and it felt good to think about everyday family problems instead of pirates’ treasure and a disturbed woman who wanted to lock me up in a dungeon. “Wow. You’ve had a lot of drama.”
“Oh, and that’s not all. Johnny has a girlfriend.”
“What?” I laughed. Johnny was just five.
“Her name is Isabel and she’s a pretty little blonde.”
“So, when’s the wedding?”
“I don’t know about that, Dad, but she’s coming over this weekend for a play date.”
“Does Isabel’s father know Johnny’s in love with her?”
“Oh, yes. Apparently, the feelings are mutual.” She laughed. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on those two.”
Jack began to pull into the Waterfords’ driveway.
“Honey, I’ve gotta go. But I’ll be in touch in a few days, okay? Tell everyone I love ‘em and miss ‘em, okay?”
“Sure, Dad. But call this weekend so the kids can talk to you, too, okay?”
“It’s a deal. I’ll try for Saturday morning.”
“Have fun on the beach. And don’t tick off any sharks.”
“Don’t worry, hon. It’s rare to see them, especially here in Brewster.” I didn’t admit to her that I often scanned the horizon for fins before I went in for a swim. I’d never gotten over the movie, Jaws.
We said goodbye and I was about to hand the phone back to Jack, but before I could do so, I smelled smoke.
Jack shifted the Jeep into first and roared toward the Waterford mansion.
The house was ablaze, with fire licking out of the windows on the east side. Thick smoke curled upward and the freight-train sound of the inferno filled the air. I punched in 911 and hit send. It rolled over to a full voicemail box, and I disconnected. I couldn’t even leave a message.
“No one’s coming,” I said. “I can’t get through.”
“Do you think she’s still in there?” Jack shaded his eyes from the glare of the blaze.
“I don’t know. Pull around toward the back. Let’s check the garage.”
He did so, and we found both the dune buggy and Marla’s car parked inside.
“She may still be inside, Gus.” He moved the Jeep away so it wouldn’t get burned if the fire jumped to the garage. I got into my car and started it up, spitting gravel to get it out of the way. There wasn’t much I could do about Albert’s car, which sat about ten feet in front of the garage. He hadn’t left the keys in it. I prayed the flames wouldn’t reach it.
“I’ll go inside,” I said, searching for an entrance that wasn’t already ablaze. “We’ve got to try to find her.”
“No.” Jack held my arm. “It’d be suicide.” He gestured toward the building and pulled me back a few feet. “Look. There’s no way in.”
“Let’s check the other side.” I ran around toward the front, driven to save the woman, in spite of her failings. Was I nuts? I wasn’t sure. Marla was ill, and it wasn’t her fault.
I grabbed the door latch for the front door but yanked my hand away when it burned my fingers. “Way too hot,” I said, blowing on the scalded spots.
“That means the fire’s just behind it,” Jack yelled. We scrambled backwards, just as the door exploded and the flames climbed the front façade of the house with renewed vigor.
I was thinking about trying one of the porch windows, when a bullet zinged past my shoulder.
Marla leaned out of a second story window—it might’ve been the bedroom where she’d locked us in the closet—with her rifle aimed at us. A wicked laugh echoed across the lawn. In seconds, another bullet whizzed by my ear.
“Get down!” I pulled Jack toward the fallen tree and we clambered over it, ducking behind the enormous trunk. Two more bullets skimmed the bark just overhead.
“She’s a damned good shot,” Jack mumbled.
“Yeah, she is. Stay down.”
We waited until the shooting stopped, then dared to straighten and glance toward the upstairs window.
“She’s gone,” Jack said. “Do you think she’s going to try to get out?”
“I don’t know. But it’s spreading.” I pointed to the seaward side of the mansion that suddenly roared into flames, licking hungrily up the old cedar siding. I imagined the ghosts of the McNabb clan floating upward with the flames. Centuries of one family feuding with another. Centuries of guilt. Or was it centuries of pride? Certainly centuries of hoarding stolen treasures. And maybe centuries of passing on defective genes that caused problems like Marla had.
It saddened me to think of all the beautiful woodwork and antiques being burned inside the inferno.
We came out of our protected spot behind the tree and started toward the house, but our steps were slower now. If Marla hadn’t come out yet, it was very unlikely she’d make it through the fire.
“Oh my God,” Jack said. “Up there.” He pointed toward the roof. “She’s on the widow’s walk.”
She’d ditched the rifle in her climb to the roof, and now she paced back and forth in the fenced-in open box that sat atop the mansion, waving her arms and gesturing wildly toward the sky. I almost wondered if she were trying to bargain with God, or maybe with the Devil?
It didn’t take long for the fire to creep up onto the white fencing that surrounded Marla, and she quickly climbed over it and onto the steep roof, sliding down to the top of a gabled window. The fire seemed to follow her.
She straddled the peaked roof over the window, looking out toward the sea for a while as if contemplating the universe. Then, to my horror, she stood up, awkwardly balancing on the peak. Slowly, she climbed forward, arms akimbo and face strangely serene.
The flames surrounded her now, almost touching her. A gust of wind blew the fire in her direction, and when her hair lit up, she spread her arms as if she were about to fly. She leapt into the air.
Time stood still.
We watched side by side as Marla’s flaming body fell through the air and landed with a thump on the muddy lawn. It took just a few seconds for us to reach her and pat out the flames.
She wasn’t dead. Marla lay on her back, staring up at us. She clutched at me, eyes rolling wildly in her head. “They’ll never find it now,” she said, coughing. A trickle of blood came from the side of her mouth. She squeezed my hand, and an ethereal smile appeared on her lips. “McNabbs win,” she chuckled. “It’s finally over.”
I wanted to say to her that no, it’s not over, and that we knew of a separate entrance to get to the stores of treasure, that she hadn’t blocked it by burning down her house. I wanted to shout out that it had all been a horrible waste of life and property. But I didn’t. I just held her hand until her eyes closed and her head fell to the side.
Chapter 38
Beckett sat on the sofa, white-faced, staring at nothing. I’d told him an hour ago about his parents’ deaths. I spared him the details about Marla murdering his father. He could deal with that another day. In one twenty-four-hour period, the boy had lost his father, his mother, and his childhood home.
I knew he was probably in shock, and I was about to try one more time to reach the police when he began to speak.
“I should be sad,” he said. His hands trembled when he reached up to push back a lock of hair. “I should be devastated.”
“You’re probably in shock,” I offered. “It’s been a traumatic day.”
“I know.” His eyes welled and a few tears spilled over. “But all I feel is relief.” He turned to Jane. “Does that make me a monster?”
Jane’s eyes brimmed with tears, too. She took his hand, shaking her head. “No, Beckett. Your parents treated you so badly. I think feeling relieved is kinda…normal.”
“I see it all so clearly now. As I said earlier, I think she made me sick every day with her special ‘vitamin’ juice she brewed for me.”
Camille came in from the kitchen where she’d been washing the dishes. We’d eaten some frozen chili that Albert had taken out of his freezer. The food was partially thawed, but still good. With the power back on, we defrosted it in the microwave and heated it up in a big stockpot. I had two bowls. Beckett hadn’t eaten one spoonful.
“Did she find a way to give it to you when you were in the psych ward?” Camille asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But when she couldn’t, I’d start to get better. They’d send me home, thinking it was their treatment that worked. At home, I’d get worse again.”
Camille settled beside me. “Do you have any idea what she put in it?”
“I think maybe it was these weeds she used to pick. Whatever it was, it made me lose my mind, that’s for sure. I was paranoid. I saw people when there was nobody in the room. I heard voices. Terrible voices. Everything was distorted. Faces. Furniture. Everything.”
Jane snuggled over to Beckett’s side. “I knew it. I knew she made you sick.”
“Do you think your father knew about the ‘vitamin’ juice?” I asked. I wondered if she’d added some kind of hallucinogen to the brew. But how would we ever find out what it was or how she’d procured it? I wondered if the police would investigate. Maybe there would be some traces of it left in Beckett’s blood. Maybe there’d be a record of pharmaceutical purchases. Could she have made something up herself from a combination of herbs or drugs?
Murder on the Brewster Flats Page 16
