The Secret Hour

by Luanne Rice

  “There's nothing else I'd rather do,” she said.

  White scarf flying out behind, Maggie rode her bike from Gramps's house to the Beach Road. Late in the day, after school, the day's last light gleamed pewter gray, flat and hard. A few lines of orange blazed in the storm clouds. She rode harder, leaving the main road at the East Wind Inn, cutting through the apple orchard, over the small brook that bordered her own yard and the Nature Sanctuary, and onto the dirt road.

  Along the way, she stopped to pick dried flowers and grasses—her bike basket nearly overflowed with them. The storm clouds darkened, and the wind picked up; involuntarily, Maggie glanced up at the lighthouse. It stood about a hundred yards away, gleaming white against the sky.

  That was the best place to find salt hay: at the top of the bluff, where it had the best chance of being bleached by the sun, wind, and spray. Kate had made everything about Chincoteague Sound so beautiful and salty; Maggie felt the same way about Silver Bay, and she wanted her bouquet to show it.

  Zooming over the bumpy road, feeling the storm coming, Maggie felt a great need building in her chest. Sometimes, since her mother's death, she thought her heart had hardened—grown tight and small, like a walnut. Her shoulders had caved in, as if they could grow together in front, forming a protective cage. Was it just this way in girls, or did Teddy feel it, too?

  Now, riding her bike down the dirt road, Maggie thought of her dad. The cold wind made her eyes and nose stream. She imagined her dad, making a long voyage across a vast and stormy sea, with two motherless children by his side.

  The more she pictured her father, the wetter her face became. He tried very hard. He was so protective. Remembering the way he had rocked her the day she had glimpsed that evil photo filled Maggie with such emotion she had to pull off to the side of the dirt road and catch her breath.

  With his hands, he had stroked her hair. She had felt his mouth against her cheek and ear, and she had heard him whisper, “You're my little girl, Maggie. I'll always take care of you . . .”

  Maggie held her handlebars tight, as if they could keep her from blowing away. Her father had known how afraid the picture had made her; he was trying to reassure her that nothing so terrible would ever happen to her. She had the feeling that the new curtains at her bedroom window had something to do with that.

  That single photo had made Maggie more afraid than she had ever been in her life. Maybe that's why it meant so much, that Kate had given her the white scarf. Wearing it now, the white silk wrapped around her neck, gave Maggie the feeling of courage.

  The sandy clay road had a few fresh tire tracks, probably from the lighthouse's caretaker. There were always things to repair in buildings close to the sea. The road diverged, just past a heavy chain strung across it. One spur went inland, to a small dump. The other veered right, straight to the lighthouse. Maggie wheeled her bike around the stanchion, then climbed back on.

  Choosing the right lane, Maggie saw the white tower rising above her. The road was dusty with tire tracks, but there were no cars or vans in sight. It was just as well. Even though she knew Caleb and Mr. Jenkins, a shiver tickled her spine as she remembered what her father always said: “Stay away from men in vans, Maggie. People in any car, for that matter. If anyone ever tries to pull you in, scream as loud as you can and run away.”

  Her dad knew what he was talking about, considering his criminal defense work.

  But . . . the Jenkinses were friends, and this was practically home. Couldn't she see her own house, just across the field, on the other side of that shallow cove? Turning to look, she located her own bedroom window in the big white house half a mile away and felt reassured. Nothing bad could happen here—this was her own backyard!

  Gazing up at the lighthouse, she noticed how sturdy it looked. White brick walls that could withstand a hurricane! Maggie counted the windows: six vertical ones, and twelve around the top. Perhaps Rapunzel dwelled in there. She could let down her golden hair . . .

  The image made Maggie stop. A strong shiver went all through her body, as if the wind had started blowing colder, or as if she was getting a cold, a fever. That image of Rapunzel: a girl trapped in a tower, unable to escape.

  Maggie thought of the girl in that picture. Her face white, her eyes staring . . . So many girls, hurt by her father's client, left in breakwaters. How could a person do such terrible things to another person? Maggie didn't get it. She thought everyone should help each other—not hurt.

  Even strangers, like Kate. Riding into town, showing up at their house when she was most needed, taking care of Maggie, giving Brainer a bath. And then, later, helping Maggie come up with the best Halloween costume at school.

  Trembling now, Maggie decided she'd picked enough hay. Turning toward her bike, she glimpsed dog tracks in the dirt. She felt relieved; maybe Brainer had been out here. Or even Bonnie. There were people tracks, too. Big footprints, like her father's or some other man's, and smaller ones . . . like Kate's! Wouldn't it be great if Kate was out here now, walking Bonnie with Maggie's father!

  But a chill went though Maggie's bones that had nothing to do with Kate or her father. It came from somewhere very scary, and it was telling Maggie to get away from there, now.

  She wheeled around, glancing once more at the tracks, when she spotted something buried in the dirt. Bits of stone and broken clam and mussel shells had been ground into the dirt, and among them was a tiny piece of gold.

  Crouching down, Maggie brushed it off with her fingers. It was a charm—with a loop at the top, as if it had once dangled from a chain, or a charm bracelet—of a little plane. The wings were less than an inch long, and they had real propellers that spun when Maggie touched them.

  Her heart almost stopped. How had the charm gotten here?

  Maybe Kate had been here after, or before, leaving the note at Maggie's house. Kate had come back to be their baby-sitter, and she had dropped this charm while walking Bonnie on the bluff.

  Suddenly Maggie heard a scratching noise that made her jump. Looking around, she saw a privet bush blown by the strong wind, its bare branches scraping the lighthouse door. The wind whined, sounding almost like someone crying, like one of those girls in the breakwaters. Telling her that something terrible had happened here.

  Jumping on her bike, shoving the little gold plane into her pocket, Maggie began to pedal as fast as she could. Dirt blew into her eyes, flying everywhere as she sped down the sand road, just then remembering that Teddy would be waiting for her, worried out of his mind.

  chapter 23

  John drove back the way he and Kate had just come, from his father's house toward his own house and the inn beyond. When he hit the Shore Road, instead of turning left, toward home, he went right, toward the East Wind Inn and the lighthouse. Teddy's agitation had been contagious, and John's mind was filled with fears about Maggie. Where could she be?

  The sky was getting dark. Although it was just late afternoon, the days were getting shorter, and a storm at sea was making the waves build, pushing low, purple clouds in from the east. John pressed on the gas.

  The lighthouse blinked on the headland, just a quarter mile beyond the inn. The beam flashed beneath the dark nimbus clouds, looking like man-made lightning. John's heart was in his throat. Teddy hadn't said much, but he hadn't had to: He was frantic with worry for his sister.

  And John felt growing panic.

  He hit the gas again, driving faster. He had reasons to dislike—even hate—Barkley Jenkins, for breaking up what was left of his and Theresa's marriage. Could that old resentment be stirring him up right now, as he drove toward the East Wind Inn to look for his daughter?

  He had no reason to suspect anyone in the Jenkins family of violence, anything having to do with the copycat killing, but his shoulders and jaws were as tense as they'd ever been. He thought of Caleb, his young client. He had committed a criminal act, no doubt about that.

  He thought of Hunter Jenkins, Caleb's uncle, Barkley's brother, a man John had
always appreciated for his coaching of the kids. That thing about the gym last week—having Teddy go lift weights at a private club instead of school—had rubbed John the wrong way, but he couldn't have said why, and he had dismissed it out of hand.

  Driving toward the inn, John felt a vague but powerful fear building. He had no specific reasons to believe anyone in the Jenkins family would cause Maggie, or anyone, harm, but right now he was speeding as if all three men had already been tried and convicted.

  You're on a witch hunt, he told himself. This was the big build-up, two years of hating Barkley for what he did with Theresa. There was no reason to think Maggie was in any danger at all; he had just caught Teddy's panic.

  Too many people, in the climate of fear and terror created by Greg Merrill's serial murders, were liable to react to anything. A pointed glance, an untoward word, an accidental touch . . . often John had defended clients who'd been wrongly accused, suspected of crimes for things having nothing to do with the case.

  It was different, of course, when the case involved his own kids. He knew he wouldn't rest till he had Maggie safe at home. The Jenkins family, the East Wind Inn had nothing to do with it.

  The cell phone rang. Praying it was Maggie, or someone at home saying she was safe, he fumbled the phone as he drove.

  “Hello?” he asked.

  “Hello, Mr. O'Rourke?” came a vaguely familiar voice.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Dr. Beckwith's assistant. . . .”

  “Oh, hi,” he said, bracing the phone, skidding around the corner.

  “Dr. Beckwith just called in, said you were supposed to meet him over at the prison, and asked me to give you a call and see if there was a problem.”

  John couldn't think about this now. He'd forgotten all about his appointment with Merrill and Beckwith, their strategy session at Winterham.

  “Sorry,” John said, turning onto the East Wind drive. “Will you tell him I won't be able to make it today? Something important's come up. Bye.”

  Bouncing over ruts, the Volvo sped down the sandy lane. Pine branches interlocked overhead, forming a canopy. John looked left and right, between the tree trunks.

  Mostly he heard wind in the boughs, waves breaking on the shore. But there, bass notes beneath the shore music, came the sound of power tools. Off to the left was the inn; to the right was the orchard, the brook, and the lighthouse.

  He stopped the car in the pine grove, climbed out of his car, and strained to hear. From the right, definitely. The hammer blows were coming from the direction of the lighthouse, but not far away—just a short walk from the inn. Maybe Barkley was repairing the old barn—where, as kids, they'd all gone to drink beer. The memory was happy and wild; Theresa had been there.

  In the declining light, as the wind picked up and began to howl, John began to run toward the barn.

  Kate and Teddy stayed in Maggie's room. Teddy didn't seem to want to leave, as if being among her things would bring her home faster. The dogs, sensing that Kate and Teddy needed comfort, came upstairs to lie at their feet, furry guardian angels.

  “I can't believe you gave Brainer another bath,” Teddy said. “Thanks.”

  “You're welcome,” Kate said. “Bonnie needed one, too. She had this funny white dust all over her.”

  “Huh,” Teddy said, drifting to the window, looking out into the dark.

  “She'll come home,” Kate said, sitting on the edge of Maggie's bed, chest tight with fear over the familiarity of the situation. She couldn't stop thinking of the first night she'd realized Willa wasn't where she was supposed to be. “Your father will find her.”

  “She's stubborn,” Teddy said, forehead pressed against the glass. “She does what she's told, but she always finds a loophole. Like, she's grounded right now, but she probably found some way around it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, say she has a homework assignment. If Gramps doesn't have the books she needs, she'll just ride her bike to the library.”

  “Do you think that's where she went?”

  Teddy shook his head. “She'd be home by now. The librarian doesn't let kids there without their parents stay past four—to make sure they get home before dark. And besides, she and I had plans. We were going to make something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Place cards,” Teddy said, shrugging.

  “Was that your idea?” Kate asked, smiling, already knowing the answer.

  That made Teddy shrug and smile. “No,” he said. “I was doing it for her.”

  “You're a good brother.”

  “I try to be. She misses our mother a lot. Dad tries, but he's busy so much. Maggie needs me.”

  “I know she does. Willa needed me, too.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes,” Kate said. “I tried to be like a mother to her. It wasn't easy, because I was young myself, and had to rearrange my schedule so much. My friends would be down on the beach, and I'd be taking Willa to the dentist.”

  “I never have to take Maggie to the dentist,” Teddy said. “But I would. I will when I get my license.”

  “I bet you will.”

  “I change my schedule for her, though. I'm not complaining or anything. But like today—we had soccer practice, and afterward, the coach was going to take everyone for pizza. I came home instead, because I know Maggie needed me.”

  “Needed you?”

  “Thanksgiving's coming,” he explained.

  “The holidays are the hardest,” Kate said, agreeing. “It's when I missed my mother the most.”

  “Maggie comes to my soccer games, and I go to her school plays and concerts.”

  “I used to do that. Once I went to see Willa at a swim meet. Only, she had stubbed her toe on her way into the water, and she was crying so hard, she couldn't stay afloat. She lost by a mile, but I cheered like crazy the whole time.”

  They laughed, sharing stories of being the oldest sibling, caring for a younger sister. But suddenly Teddy's eyes flickered, and when he looked up at Kate, she saw him as a young boy, in his own right.

  “I heard you cheering for me,” Teddy said, clearing his voice.

  “You did?”

  “Yes. At my soccer game, when you were here in October.”

  “That was a great game,” Kate said, remembering the brisk sunny day, Teddy's huge smile as he'd run over to say hello. “You were the star.”

  “I was really glad you were there,” he said.

  “So was I,” she said.

  “It mattered so much; I'm not even sure why.”

  “Everyone needs someone to cheer for them,” Kate said softly.

  They sat on the edge of Maggie's bed, smiling at each other as if this was the way it was supposed to be for both of them; easy, hanging out together in a cozy place with two dogs, talking about life.

  “I just wish Maggie would get home,” Teddy said, the worry returning to his face as he stared at the dark window.

  “I know,” Kate said, hugging the boy. “So do I.”

  Although it was dark now, the beam from the distant lighthouse flashed across the sky, helping John find his way.

  Finally, just fifty yards ahead, John saw a light through the trees. Filtered through pine needles and the first fog rolling off the sea, the light glowed in the single window of a red barn. Getting closer, the louder the hammering sounded. Music played as well, as if a radio was turned up loud. Branches brushed his face and scratched his arms as he walked.

  Dark red, hidden among scrub oaks and white pines, the barn had once housed the sheep that grazed all over these headlands. It had been common land, and some of the ship builders and whaling captains had let their livestock roam free. When John and Theresa had first bought their house, tilling the land for a garden, they had found a horseshoe. They had hung it over the kitchen door for luck.

  Now, thinking of the luck it had brought them, he felt fury building. He remembered coming here with Theresa. They were in high school; their bes
t friends were inside, waiting. Now she was gone, and he couldn't find their daughter. John didn't stop to knock, but shoved open the big rustic barn door and stepped inside, scanning the space for Maggie.

  All the Jenkins men were there.

  Not Maggie.

  Barkley leaning over blueprints; Caleb on a ladder; Hunt, handing up a long board. John stood there, looking around. The barn's huge, open, rough interior had been broken up; they were framing rooms.

  “Hey, John,” Barkley, the senior family man, called over. “What brings you out our way?”

  “Mr. O'Rourke, how're you doing?” Caleb asked, grinning down from the ladder. “We're building four new guest rooms, so we can outdo the Silver Bay Inn next summer.”

  “Where's Maggie?” John asked.

  “Your daughter?” Barkley said, frowning. “We haven't seen her. Why would she come here? What's going on?”

  John approached him. His eyes burned, staring at his old friend. They had been high school friends together; soccer teammates; lifelong buddies. And Barkley had taken John's wife away, been with her the night she had died, and returned home to live a normal life: Here he was with his son and brother.

  Time was, John had wanted—needed—to rip Barkley's face off. But not now; Kate Harris had changed that, taken the old jealousy and thrown it into the wind. John only wanted to find Maggie, bring her home.

  “Pretty cool place, huh?” Caleb called as John walked closer. He sounded a little worried. John had been his lawyer; perhaps he feared that there was trouble, the aftereffects of his case, something to do with parole. “We're putting hot tubs in the bathrooms. It's going to be—”

  “Seen my daughter?” John asked, standing at the foot of the ladder. Looking up, seeing Caleb's scared expression, feeling a rage beyond words building. He had gotten this kid off on a serious charge, and right now he didn't know where Maggie was, and he was fighting the urge to climb up and tear the boy apart.

  “No, Mr. O'Rourke,” Caleb Jenkins said, sounding frightened. “I haven't.”