Whiskey Beach, Page 33

  “You are all right.” He kissed her hand.

  “Someone was in the house. I didn’t dream it.”

  “No, you didn’t dream it. I won’t let him come back, Gran. He won’t hurt you again.”

  “It’s you who’s in the house now, Eli. You have to protect yourself.”

  “I will. I promise you. Bluff House is my responsibility now. Trust me.”

  “More than anyone.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Behind the armoire, on the third floor—the big double armoire—there’s a mechanism in the molding that opens a panel.”

  “I thought all the passageways were sealed.”

  Her breathing leveled, and when she opened her eyes again, they beamed clear. “Yes, most are sealed, but not all. Curious little boys can’t move that heavy armoire, or the shelving in the basement, in the old section—where your grandfather had a little workshop for a short time. There’s another panel behind the shelving. The rest I had sealed. A compromise.”

  Now she managed to smile at him. “Your grandfather let me have my way, and I let him have his. So we didn’t seal those two, and completely close a Bluff House tradition. I didn’t even tell your father, not even when he was old enough not to be foolish.”

  “Why?”

  “His place was Boston. Yours is here. If you need to hide, to get away, use the panels. No one else knows, except Stoney Tribbet, if he remembers.”

  “He remembers. He drew me a blueprint of where the panels used to be. But he didn’t tell me two were still open.”

  “Loyalty,” Hester said simply. “I asked him not to tell anyone.”

  “All right. Now I know, and you don’t have to worry about me.”

  “I need to see his face, the man who was in the house that night. I will see it. I’ll put the pieces together.”

  “Why don’t I fix you that tea now?” Abra offered.

  “It’s past time for tea.” Hester squared her shoulders. “But you can help me get up, get myself downstairs. Then you can pour me a good glass of whiskey.”

  Twenty

  TWICE DURING THE NIGHT ELI ROSE TO PROWL THE HOUSE, the dog padding faithfully by his side. He checked doors, windows, the alarm, even slipped out to the main terrace to scan the beach for movement.

  Everyone he cared about was sleeping in Bluff House, so he’d take no chances.

  What his grandmother remembered changed things. Not the intruder—he’d already believed there was one on the night she fell. But the location. She’d described seeing someone upstairs, then running down, or trying to. Not someone on the main floor, someone who had come up from the basement.

  That left three options.

  His grandmother’s mind was confused. Possible, of course, given the trauma she’d suffered. But he didn’t think so.

  It was also possible they were dealing with two different intruders, either connected or completely separate. He couldn’t and wouldn’t discount that avenue.

  Last, a single intruder, the same one who had broken in and assaulted Abra, the same person who had excavated the old basement. Which posed the question: What had he been looking for upstairs? What had been the purpose?

  Once the family left for Boston, he’d go through the house again, room by room, space by space looking for answers from that angle.

  Until then, he and Barbie were on guard duty.

  He lay wakeful beside Abra, trying to piece it together. An unnamed intruder partnered with Duncan? Move to the “No honor among thieves” theory, and the unnamed kills Duncan, then removes all records associated with him from Duncan’s office.

  Possible.

  Duncan’s client, the intruder, hired him. Duncan learns the client’s breaking and entering, attacking women. Confronts the client, either threatening to report him to the police or attempting blackmail. And the client kills him and removes the records.

  Equally possible.

  The intruder or intruders weren’t related to Duncan in any way. In doing his job, he discovered them, and was killed.

  Possible, too, but unlikely, at least it seemed so at four in the morning.

  He tried to shift his mind to his work. At least there were channels and possibilities in his plot he could solve before dawn.

  He’d boxed in his main character—with the antagonist, with a woman, with the authorities. With his life in turmoil, he faced conflict and consequences on every level. It all came down to choices. Would he turn left or right? Would he stand still and wait?

  Eli considered all three as his mind finally started to fuzz with sleep.

  And somewhere in the maze of his subconscious, fiction and reality merged. Eli opened the front door of the house in the Back Bay.

  He knew every step, every sound, every thought, but still couldn’t make himself change any of it. Just turn around, walk back out into the rain. Just drive away. Instead, he repeated the loop he’d taken the night of Lindsay’s murder and revisited in dreams ever since.

  He couldn’t change it, and yet it changed. He opened a door in the Back Bay and walked into the basement at Whiskey Beach.

  He held a flashlight as he maneuvered in the dark. Some part of his mind thought, Power’s off. The power’s off again. He needed to kick-start the generator.

  He walked by a wall of shelves filled with gleaming jars, all carefully labeled. Strawberry preserves, grape jam, peaches, green beans, stewed tomatoes.

  Someone’s been busy, he thought, circling around a mound of potatoes. A lot of mouths to feed in Bluff House. His family slept in their beds; Abra slept in his. A lot of mouths to feed, a lot of people to protect.

  He’d made a promise to tend the house. Landons kept their promises.

  He needed to get the power on again, restore the light, the warmth, the safety, and protect what was his, what was loved, what was vulnerable.

  As he approached the generator, he heard the sound of the sea like a hum, a note that rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell.

  And against the hum he heard the bright beat of metal against stone. A metronome keeping time.

  Someone’s in the house, striking at the house. Threatening what was his to protect. He felt the butt of a gun in his hand, looked down to see the glint of one of the dueling pistols in a light that had gone blue and eerie as the sea.

  He moved through it while the hum built to a roar.

  But when he stepped into the old section, he saw nothing but the trench scarring the floor.

  He stepped to it, looked into it, and saw her.

  Not Lindsay, not here. Abra lay in that deep scar, blood murderously red soaking her shirt, matting those wonderfully wild curls.

  Wolfe stepped out of the shadows to stand in the blue light.

  Help me. Help her. On the plea, Eli dropped to his knees to reach for her. Cold. Too cold. He remembered Lindsay as Abra’s blood covered his hands.

  Too late. No, he couldn’t be too late. Not again. Not with Abra.

  She’s dead, like the other one. Wolfe raised his service weapon. You’re responsible. Their blood’s on your hands. This time you won’t walk away.

  The blast and echo of gunfire jolted Eli out of the dream, and into fresh panic. Gasping for breath, he pressed at the phantom pain in his chest, stared down, certain he’d see his own blood leaking through his fingers. Beneath his palm, his heart pounded, wild drumming against atavistic fear.

  He groped for Abra, found the bed beside him cool and empty.

  It was morning, he reassured himself. Only a dream, and now the sun streamed through the terrace doors and sprinkled white stars on the water. Everyone in Bluff House remained safe, secure. Abra had already gotten up, started the day.

  Everything was fine.

  He pushed up, saw the dog curled in her bed, one paw possessively over a toy bone. For some reason the sleeping dog settled him down another notch, reminded him reality could be just as simple as a good dog and a sunny Sunday morning.

  He’d take the simple, as long as it lasted, over
the complexities and miseries of dreams.

  The minute Eli’s feet hit the floor, Barbie’s head came up and her tail swished.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said out loud.

  He pulled on jeans and sweatshirt, then went to look for Abra in her usual morning spot.

  It didn’t surprise him to find her in the gym, but it did to see his grandmother there with her. And it struck him as undeniably weird to see indomitable Hester Landon sitting cross-legged on a red mat wearing stretchy black pants that stopped just above the knee and a lavender top that left her arms and, with two deep scoops, much of her shoulders bare.

  He saw the scar from her surgery running up her left arm at the elbow—deep trenches, he thought, as in the basement. Scars on what was his, what he loved, what he needed to protect.

  “On an inhale, lean left. Don’t overstretch, Hester.”

  “You’ve got me doing old-lady yoga.”

  The annoyance in Hester’s voice made the whole scene marginally less weird.

  “We’re taking it slow. Breathe here. Inhale, both arms up, palms touch. Exhale. Inhale and lean right. Both arms up. Repeat that twice.” As she spoke, Abra rose to kneel behind Hester and rub her shoulders.

  “You’ve got a touch, girl.”

  “And you’ve got a lot of tension here. Relax. Shoulders down and back. We’re just loosening up, that’s all.”

  “God knows I need it. I wake up stiff, and stay that way. I’m losing my flexibility. I don’t know if I can even touch my toes.”

  “You’ll get it back. What did the doctors say? You weren’t hurt worse—”

  “Wasn’t dead,” Hester corrected, and with his view of her profile, Eli saw Abra squeeze her eyes shut.

  “Because you have strong bones, a strong heart.”

  “A hard head.”

  “No argument. You’ve taken care of yourself and stayed active all your life. You’re healing now, and need to be patient. You’ll be doing Half Moons and Standing Straddles by summer.”

  “I often think it’s a shame I didn’t know those positions when my Eli was alive.”

  It took a moment for Eli to comprehend, then to be shocked and mortified. It took less for Abra’s quick and wicked laugh.

  “In loving memory of your Eli, exhale, navel to spine, and lean forward. Gently. Gently.”

  “I hope young Eli appreciates how limber you are.”

  “I can attest.”

  And the young Eli decided to beat a discreet retreat.

  He’d make coffee, take a mug of it with him and walk the dogs. By the time he’d finished that his grandmother should be dressed like his grandmother. And maybe her allusion to sex with his grandfather would have faded from his mind.

  He caught the scent of coffee as he walked toward the kitchen, and found his sister, in pink pajamas, inhaling a cup.

  Sadie stirred herself to stand from her sprawl on the kitchen floor so she and Barbie could sniff at each other.

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “Right here.” Tricia patted her anthill-size bump. “Big sister’s upstairs having a Sunday snuggle with Daddy. I’m getting a window of quiet and the single stingy cup of coffee I’m allowed a day. You can have one, too, then help me hide eggs.”

  “I can do that, after I take the dogs for a walk.”

  “Deal.” Tricia stooped to give Barbie a rub. “She’s such a sweetheart, and nice company for Sadie. If she had a brother or sister, I’d snatch one up. She was wonderful with Sellie. So patient and gentle.”

  “Yeah.” Some guard dog, Eli thought as he poured his coffee.

  “I didn’t have much time to talk to you, not alone. I wanted to say you look good. You look like Eli.”

  “Who’d I look like before?”

  “Like Eli’s gaunt, pasty-faced, slightly dull-witted uncle.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You asked. You’re a little on the skinny side yet, but you look like Eli. For that I love Abra. A lot.”

  At his sidelong look, she angled her head. “Are you going to tell me she has nothing to do with it?”

  “No. I’m going to say I don’t know how I’ve lived with this family all my life without realizing the obsession with sex. I just overheard Gran make a sexual allusion to Abra about Granddad.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And now I have to burn it out of my memory. Come on, Barbie. Let’s take Sadie for a walk.”

  But Sadie sprawled out again, yawned hugely.

  “I’d say Sadie’s taking a pass,” Tricia observed.

  “Fine. Just you and me, Barbie. We’ll be back to play Easter Bunny in a few.”

  “Good enough. I wasn’t just talking about sex,” she called out.

  He glanced back from the laundry room as he grabbed the leash. “I know.”

  He tried something different since he didn’t have to keep to Sadie’s dignified pace. And he had the beach to himself on an early Easter Sunday. Once he’d downed the coffee, he screwed the mug into the sand near the steps, then set off in a kind of half jog. When he asked his body how it felt about the idea, it wasn’t altogether sure.

  But the dog loved it. Loved it enough to increase the pace until Eli found himself in full jog. No question he’d pay for this one later, he decided. Good thing he had a massage therapist on hand.

  He had a flash of her as she’d been in the dream, pale and bloody on the cold, stony dirt of the basement. The image sent his heart knocking harder than the run.

  Eventually he managed to slow the dog to a walk again, pull in some of the moist air to soothe his dry throat.

  So he was more anxious about the break-ins than he’d been willing to admit. More concerned about his family, about Abra, than he’d wanted to admit in the cold light of day.

  “We’re going to have to do more about it than bark,” he said to the dog, and turned her around to head home. “But we’ve got to get through today and tomorrow morning first.”

  He looked toward Bluff House, shocked to see how far they’d run. “Well, Jesus.” Less than two months before he’d been prone, panting and covered in sweat at a half mile. Today, he’d breezed through twice that.

  Maybe he really was himself again.

  “Okay, Barbie, let’s try for the circuit.”

  He ran back, the joyful dog beside him. When he looked up at Bluff House he saw Abra on the terrace, a hoodie over her yoga gear. She lifted her arm in a wave.

  That was the picture he’d keep in his head, he promised himself. Abra with Bluff House at her back, and the breeze dancing through her hair.

  He grabbed the mug. By the time he crested the beach steps, he was winded, but in a damn good way.

  “A man and his dog,” she said, greeting them both.

  “A man, his dog and the theme from Rocky. Adrian!” He scooped her off her feet. Her laugh rang out as he gave her a spin.

  “What was in that coffee, and is there any left?”

  “It’s going to be a good day.”

  “Is it?”

  “Sure. Any day that starts out with chocolate bunnies and jelly