Devlin's Light (16 page)

“You don’t have to be defensive, Nick. I think it’s wonderful of you to help her out. But tell me, did Aunt August call you and tell you that Darla was stuck?”

“Actually, I believe she may have. Why?”

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, okay? But August adored Ry. He was like the son she never had. I would hate to see her transfer that to you, if you know what I mean. I’d hate to see her, even unconsciously, try to… to…”

“Fit me into Ry’s place?” he suggested. “Naw, she knows I’m not Ry. And I know how dependent she was upon him to help her here and there around the house. August and Ry both went a long way to make me feel at home here in
Devlin’s Light, to make me feel like—I don’t know, like a part of the family. I’d do whatever I could to help her out. I’m happy to be there for her. Especially now, with Corri back in school… she could use a hand now and then.”

“And of course we all know that hand should be mine.” India stood up and paced the length of the deck slowly.

“When you can, you will.”

“May not be soon enough.” India related the story of how Corri had only recently decided what last name to use.

“Look, India, for the time being, Corri is fine here. She has lots of loving adults. And she’s smart enough to know that what you are doing is important.”

“I don’t want her to think that it’s more important than she is.”

“Well, you are the only one who can convince her that it isn’t.”

“I’m still trying to decide the best way to do that.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out before too long.”

“I’m not sure that the best way to do that isn’t to take her back to Paloma with me.” There. India had said it aloud for the first time.

Nick stared at her for a long hard minute, then said calmly, “That’s entirely up to you, of course. Have you discussed that possibility with your aunt?”

“Not yet. I’m still thinking about it. But you said yourself that a small child is a lot for her to handle.”

“And I also said that she doesn’t have to handle it all alone. It’s one of the nicest things about a small town like this, India. People help each other. And are actually happy to do it. So if you’re looking for an excuse to take Corri to Paloma, you’re going to have to come up with something better than that.” Strangely enough, Nick actually sounded agitated.

India glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his face told her nothing.

“And you will, of course, make your decision with Corri’s best interests in mind. And in keeping with what Ry would have wanted.”

“Of course I will,” she replied, fighting a sudden urge to snap at him.

“Well then, there’s nothing more to be said about that.”
He turned on his hundred-watt smile and she felt her knees twitch, protesting her expectation that they continue to hold her upright when those little dimples on either side of his mouth appeared. Even in the dim light here on the deck, she could see that little glint in his eyes, and the agitation she had so recently felt began to melt away and was replaced by the seeds of a different kind of turmoil.

India had always been a sucker for a man with a twinkle in his eyes.

“So, India Devlin”—he reached out to touch her hair— “what do we talk about now?”

She tried to not act like the wide-eyed girl she was beginning to feel like as he inched closer.

“Let’s see, we’ve talked about Corri. And August. Darla’s business. How we will proceed to investigate Ry’s death. Horseshoe crabs… bird migrations. Have we missed anything?”

His hand was on her elbow and he guided her toward him even as he moved toward her, bridging the slight distance between them with his body until his face was inches away from hers.

“I didn’t think so.” He murmured the answer to his own question as he lowered his lips to hers, tentatively at first, as if giving her the opportunity to protest, just in case she wasn’t sure. When she did not pull away, he pulled her closer, intensifying the pressure of his lips on hers, then parting her lips slightly with his tongue.

Nick tasted of cinnamon and apples and smelled of Old Spice and bay breezes, a combination not to be resisted. India slid her arms toward his neck, wanting his closeness and his warmth, and he was more than happy to oblige her. His hand caressed the side of her face slowly, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. She wondered if it was possible to pass out from the sheer pleasure of a kiss and hoped that she wasn’t about to humiliate herself by finding out the hard way.

“There.” He broke away suddenly and turned in the direction of the bay. “Listen. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Her heart had been pounding half out of her chest. What could she possibly have heard in the midst of
that
racket?

“Listen.” Without relinquishing his hold on her, he turned her body slightly toward the right, then stood stock still, as if waiting.

A sharp call, akin to a bark, pierced through the silence of the night.

“What?”

“It’s an owl,” he said softly, still not moving.

“Sounded more like a bark than a
whooooo.”

“There’s a short-eared owl that has been nesting in the marsh since midsummer—I’ve seen it several times. When it’s disturbed, it makes a snarling, barking sound.”

She turned her head to one side, listening.

“There it is again,” she whispered. “Funny, all the years I lived in Devlin’s Light, I never identified the sound.”

“You lived over on the beach side,” he said, smiling faintly in the dark, “this bird nests in the marshes, among the cattails—There, there it is again.”

“I never would have thought that was an owl… not from that sound.”

“I might have missed that too, except that this one decided to make his home relatively close to mine. I’ve sat on the deck many a night and watched him hunt. He goes off at dusk, mostly hunting mice, voles. He’s brought home his occasional songbird or two over the summer.”

Nick’s open palm was slowly stroking her back, leaving a warm river of skin beneath her sweater as it trailed across her shoulders. India was beginning to care less and less about the bird.

“But the significant thing about
that
bird,” he told her, his breath soft against the side of her face, “is that the last time I heard it scream like that was the night Ry died.”

“And you think it was that same owl?”

“Yeah, I do. Once you’ve heard that sound, you don’t forget it. The first time I heard it was early in the summer. A group of kids, probably high-school kids, were out on the bay at night in small boats, a whole flotilla of them.”

“Senior night.” India smiled. “It’s been a tradition forever in Devlin’s Light. The night before high-school graduation, everyone in the class piles into boats and rows from the beach at the end of Darien Road out to the Light and back.”

“Well, some of these kids apparently decided to take a shortcut through the marsh.”

“Kids have been doing that for years too.” She laughed. “This cabin, and one farther down toward the swamp, used to be empty from time to time. Kids used to come here to… hang out.”

“Hang out, or make out?”

“Both.”

“Did you used to, ah, hang out here?”

“From time to time I may have.” She grinned as his forehead creased in a frown. “In any event, I suspect some of the kids who headed this way back in June may not have known that someone was living here.”

“Quite possibly. They may also not have known that a short-eared owl had decided to build a nest in the ground out there.” He pointed toward the marshy area between the cabin and the bay. “Apparently they came too close that night, because it was shrieking to beat the band. Just like tonight. Just like the night that Ry died.”

As they stood pondering the possibilities, a small boat rounded the point and made a big, looping, lazy turn in the bay before heading back toward the beach at the opposite end of the cove. The shadowy forms of the two occupants of the boat appeared as little more than silhouettes against the moonlit water, and the sound of light, young laughter drifted across the bay.

“I don’t recall ever seeing anyone out on the bay much later than this,” Nick said, glancing at his watch, “and it’s just after ten o’clock.”

“But the night Ry was killed you said you woke up around two.”

“What would anyone be doing out here at that hour?”

“Luring Ry to the Light.”

“You think he knew someone was there?”

“Very likely. Why else would he have gone? And it was unlikely that anyone had called. Aunt August would have heard the phone.”

“Can you see the Light from August’s house?”

“Yes. From several of the bedrooms on the second floor, and from all the windows across the back on the third floor. You can definitely see it from Ry’s bedroom.”

“So if someone was in the Light, with a lantern or something, Ry could conceivably have seen them from the house?”

“Sure, Ry and I used to do it all the time.”

“Do what all the time?”

“Go out to the Light, then signal home with a flashlight if we were there after dark.” She grinned. “It used to spook some of the little kids in the neighborhood. Especially around Halloween. They all thought it was Eli Devlin.”

“But why would Ry be up, looking out the window, at two in the morning?”

“Got me. Unless something woke him up that night too.”

“Wouldn’t have been the owl. It’s too far from August’s house.”

“Well, it couldn’t have been much of a noise. Aunt August said that she hadn’t even known he had left the house that night.”

“So whatever it was…”

“… might have been meant to awaken only Ry,” she finished the sentence for him.

The list of new information began to tick off in her head.

Could someone have been in the marsh near Nick’s cabin that night?

Had someone, somehow, gotten Ry’s attention at the house and managed to send him to the Light and to his death?

Who? How? And why?

Could the same person who disturbed the owl have awakened Ry? If not, then that could mean that more than one person had wanted Ry dead.

She shook her head. She could not think of one single person who would have wanted him dead, and two were out of the question.

“I should be going,” she said. “It’s late.”

Nick sighed deeply but did not protest. Sliding his hands the length of her arms until they encircled her wrists, he tugged gently in the direction of the house.

“I’ll get your things,” he told her, freeing her arms reluctantly.

For several long moments, India was totally lost in thought.

The sound of the screen door rubbing slightly against its wood frame brought her attention back to the immediate here and now. She watched Nick step out onto the deck, and not for the first time she admired the sight of him, tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, with a tumble of dark curls and a devastating smile.

Conscience prodded her, reminding her that she had come to the cabin in the hopes of learning more about her brother’s death, not to make time with his best friend.

She tried to keep this thought in mind as he draped first her sweater, then his arm, around her shoulders and walked with her toward the side of the cabin, following the wooden path to the steps and down to where her car was parked. Whistling, all the while, in her ear.

The Temptations. “My Girl.”

Ry would’ve loved it.

Aunt August’s Deep-Dish Apple Pie

dough for double-crust pie (prepared, refrigerated dough works fine)

8-10 apples, peeled, cored and sliced

1 cup sugar

1/4 cup flour

3 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup raisins

3 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces

Prepare crust according to package (or your recipe) for a filled, double-crust pie. Roll out dough, transfer to a deep, 10-inch pie plate. Press into place, leaving a little overhang.

Combine apples, sugar, flour, cinnamon, salt, lemon juice and raisins, mixing well. Pour into pie crust. Dot with butter. Roll out second crust, place over pie. Pinch edges of the two
crusts, then trim excess. Cut several slashes into the top crust.

Bake in a 350° oven for 45 minutes, checking crust to see if edges are browning too rapidly. If so, cover edges with foil and bake until filling is bubbling and the crust is golden.

Chapter 10

The song was still in her head as she took the steps to the second floor of the old Devlin house two at a time. How could that man have known that “My Girl” was one of her all-time favorite songs, guaranteed to turn her knees to water every time?

August had left on the small lamp next to India’s bed, and its low-watt bulb cast a faint and eerie glow into the hall. India closed the bedroom door behind her with a concentrated hush, not wanting to awaken August or Corri. It was after eleven, and the house lay in what passes for silence in an old house, with its mix of the occasional creaking pipe and the settling of old floorboards. The branch of a maple tree grazed against the window and made a slight rubbing sound. All else was quiet.