The Kills (43 page)

Hoping
that my visitor's attention was fixed on the house's rear side, I pulled at the
knob and opened the door wide enough to slip through, still squatting, onto a
patch of dirt between the lilac bushes as branches scratched at my cheeks and
snagged my hair. The rain was pouring down, and within seconds I was soaked, my
moccasins squishing in the cold mud.

I had
choices now: I could try to run into the wooded area that ringed my property
against the traditional stone walls, or go out the driveway and try to find
cover in the yard of either of my neighbors, more than half an acre away at the
closest point. Both were summer families whose houses were locked up for the
winter months.

But if my
burglar had arrived by car, and if there was an accomplice waiting to drive him
away, that direction might prove disastrous.

There was
only one way to go. The caretaker's cottage was down the steep hill, not even
visible from the main house. It would be locked, I knew, but I also knew that
there was a crawl space beneath it, rather than a real foundation. It rested on
pilings and concrete since early house owners had moved it up from Dutcher
Dock. After Adam was killed, I had never gotten around to having it rebuilt, as
we had once planned.

I ran to
the far end of the main house but couldn't make out anyone from my position
behind a stand of hydrangea bushes. Trees were blowing and bending with the
wind, and everywhere the shadows danced and took on human form. I was wet and
tired and scared. I wanted to click my heels so that the storm would end and I
could wind up safely back in Kansas at Auntie Em's farm.

I heard
the front door of the house banging furiously behind me. If my tracker could
hear it, it would draw him around to see what was making such a racket. Now was
my chance to sprint, running downhill, taking care not to fall and slide on the
slippery grass. I reached the far side of the small shack and stopped again to
catch my breath, fearing that he might hear my heaving gasps.

I lifted
my head above the clothesline to see whether I could spot anyone, but I could
barely make out the main house's shape through the fog and mist. I would be
safe here if he didn't know the property well enough to realize that this
little cottage existed.

On my
hands and knees I crawled for the hole behind the three steps that bordered the
deck railing. I found it and began to slither inside. If someone thought to
search down here, I would be hidden completely beneath a sodden blanket of wet
leaves. That was a trade-off, then, for bellying down with whatever spiders and
snakes and rodents lived in this underground outpost.

I tried
not to think about my possible companions and I covered myself as best I could.
For more than fifteen minutes, I flattened myself against the ground, listening
to my heartbeat, hearing nothing but fierce air currents whooshing over and
around my head.

Then
suddenly, I heard what sounded like padded footsteps on the thick, wet grass. I
was lying on my stomach, my head turned to the side away from the house. I
dared not move to look up at my intruder.

I stared
straight ahead, frozen in place.

Suddenly
the pattering sound stopped. Whoever was coming had put on brakes just a few
feet from where I lay.

I smelled
the creature before I saw it. Whoever had scared me had also frightened a
mother skunk and her brood. She released her rank spray in the direction of the
main house before creeping in with them to join me in my lair.

I waited
for hours before I inched myself backward out of my flooded foxhole. I was
soaked throughout, chilled and shivering, unable to control my tremors and too
stiff to straighten myself completely.

The house
was still dark, as was the sky, and there was no smoke coming from the chimney.
I stayed as close as I could to the stone wall, as far away as possible from my
home, until I reached a clearing and climbed over to the neighboring pasture.

The rain
had stopped now and the wind had calmed to a mild breeze. I walked through open
fields in the darkness, heading downhill, knowing that before too long I would
reach the protected inlet at Quitsa Cove. Small boats were tied up there, and
as soon as Gretchen cleared the southern shore, fishermen would be back out to
check the damage, no matter what time of night. I didn't want to chance the
roadway in case someone should be waiting for me, but the odds were good that I
would find a familiar face here on the pond where I had so often moored my own
day-sailer. I wasn't a runner, but I could outswim almost anything without
fins.

Trees
were down all over my path, and limbs dangled from overhead branches. I made my
way slowly and carefully around the obstacles, sliding the last few feet as I
came to a stop in front of the rickety wooden dock that stretched twenty feet
out into the light chop of the water.

Again I
waited, sitting and staring at the trail that came in from State Road, my arms
encircling my knees, which were drawn against my chest as I tried to warm up. I
knew that even in the dark, the shape of my body on the end of the dock against
the watery backdrop would be apparent to anyone who approached. I wanted it
that way. I was looking for help, not trying to scare whoever arrived.

Another
hour went by before a pickup truck rattled down the path. Its headlights caught
me straight on, and I got to my feet, waving broadly as the driver brought the
car to a stop and stepped out, pointing a flashlight at me.

"You
okay?" a man's voice called out as he raised his hand over his brow to
peer out at me.

"Yes,
I'm fine," I said. "It's Alex Cooper. Kenny-that you?"

"Yes'm.
You tied up in here? You got a prob-? Jeez, Alex-you look like you been out in
this storm all night."

Kenny
Bainter's family had been on the island for six generations. He fished and
farmed-swordfish and sheep-and had known me for a very long time.

He turned
back to the truck and pulled a blanket out of the cab. I followed behind and
let him wrap it around my shoulders while my teeth clacked and chattered
against each other.

"You
fall in the water or something?" he went on.

"No,
no," I said, shaking my head. "Someone-someone broke into my house
during the storm. I-uh-I ran down here to get away. I was hoping you could
drive me to the Chilmark police."

"Who
the hell was it, Alex? Some kids looking to give you a fright? I'll go back
there with you and we'll-"

"Let's
not do that. It wasn't kids, I promise you." Most of the islanders who
knew me as a summer person couldn't connect me to the frontline prosecutorial
position that carried with it all the attendant dangers of urban violence. I
didn't think Kenny would understand that the intruder had been, in all
probability, someone who wanted to kill me.

"Well,
let's go get the son of-"

"Can
you just drive me over to the station? That's really all I need."

"That
and somethin' dry to put on, missy. I can't be driving you there. Storm knocked
some power lines down and the Crossroads is all blocked off. Made a mess of it
up here. Tell you what. Let me check on a few of the little stinkpots I get
paid to baby-sit here, and then we can bail one if it's not dry and I'll zip
you across the pond. How's that?"

"You
think it's safe to go out?" I said, looking back at the surface of the
water.

"Be
calm as a bathtub in half an hour. Storm's way out over the Atlantic by now.
Get up there in the truck and turn on some heat."

"Let
me help you, Kenny," I said lamely as I watched him step into the shallow
water wearing hip-waders.

"I
seen scarecrows be better help than you, Alex. Go on and dry off."

Several
small powerboats were upended on the beach, large gashes cut into their hulls.
There were lots of damaged craft, and some that had broken loose completely and
were bobbing about farther out in the pond. Barrels and buoys, nets and rope,
were all strewn around the ground. But Kenny was right about how gently the
waves were now lapping against the rocky shoreline.

When he
had finished checking everything, he unwrapped the tarpaulin cover off a small
rubber Zodiac that he must have dragged to safety and tethered to a metal post
on land before the storm hit. He led it back into the water and lowered the
engine over the side.

"C'mon,
missy. Have you there in five minutes."

I kept
the blanket wrapped around me and stepped onto the dock, lowering myself over
the bumpers and sitting on the edge of the little vessel, clinging to the
handles on either side of me.

The night
sky was still covered with clouds, but as we chugged along into the main body
of the pond, I could make out the distinctive red-shingled roof of the old
coast guard station, which now housed the local police. I knew they had a
generator, and their lights were the only ones in town working, as far as I
could see.

Kenny
steered the small dinghy alongside the dock at the Homeport restaurant and
started to tie her up. I stood and climbed the ladder that reached down to the
water as soon as we touched against it. "No need to come," I said.
"I owe you, Kenny. I'll make it up to you."

"You
don't owe me anything. Just dry that blanket off and get it back to me. It's
what keeps my dog warm when he rides around with me all winter."

"Well,
tell him I'm grateful for the loan." I blew him a kiss and made a beeline
for the station, just a hundred yards away.

"Can
I help you, ma'am?"

The clock
on the wall behind the officer's head reminded me that it was one-thirty in the
morning.

"Chip?
It's me. Alex Cooper."

He did a
double take. "What hit you?"

"I'll
tell you everything as soon as I'm out of this gear. You got any women officers
here? Someone who might have some dry civvies in a locker?" I spread my
arms to unfold the blanket so he could see the condition of my clothes.

"Just
a minute. Wait here." Chip Streeter went up to the second floor and came
back a few minutes later with another tan-uniformed officer-a young woman who
was shorter and heavier than I. She was carrying a pair of chinos and a plaid
flannel shirt, which looked better to me at that moment than the entire spring
couture line of Escada.

She led
me to a bathroom, apologized for not having clean underwear to give me, but
handed me paper toweling and a new toothbrush so I could clean myself up.

When I
had finished the job, I went back out to sit at Streeter's desk. I described to
him what had happened at the house a few hours earlier, during the storm.

"You
sure you weren't imagining things?"

I bit my
lip. "My imagination isn't that good. Have you got someone to take me home
to check it out?"

"Like
Kenny told you, we can't get through up that way by car. When the harbormaster
gets on duty in the morning, he'll give us a boat to head on over. All my guys
are out on calls on the North Road as it is. Hell of a lot of property damage,
and we're checking on some of the seniors to make sure nobody's hurt or got any
kind of medical emergency without power. Break-ins are taking a backseat right
now. Anyone off-island you want to call?"

I shook my
head. "Mind if I stay here till morning?"

"I'll
brag about this for a long time to come. Only police officer in Dukes County to
have a prosecutor in residence. Wouldn't have it any other way. We've got a
couple of cots upstairs if you want to stretch out until daybreak."

I ached
to close my eyes and be in a safe place. "Is it too much to ask for milk
and cookies?"

Chip
smiled at me and led me up to the small locker room. I thanked him and
stretched out on the narrow bed, tucking Kenny's dog's blanket around my body.