The Bone House

statement and get him out of the house, which was exactly what Cab would do if it was his own turf. Before he was banished, Cab wanted to know if Hoffman had left behind any clues about what he intended to tell him. Whatever information the man had, it had been enough to get him killed.

He backtracked to the kitchen. Based on the cane and pushed-back chair, he concluded that Hoffman had been sitting at the dinette table before he made his way to the front door and was shot. There was nothing on the table except a pen and an open bottle of Jameson's. On the kitchen counter, he saw the man's bulky key ring and a pair of glasses. He checked the master bedroom, which was impeccably neat, and spotted a computer and printer on one wall. When he lifted the top of the printer, the glass was clear. The wastebasket beside the desk was empty. He pulled open the top drawer and found pens, paper clips, staples, and a neatly folded Door County map. That was all.

He did a quick review of the filing cabinet near the man's desk, but the folders mostly revealed tax and property records, which would take hours to study in detail. He nudged the computer mouse with the knuckle of his finger, but the computer had been powered down.

Cab frowned. Nothing.

He checked his watch and knew the clock was ticking. He needed to call the sheriff. He made his way back to the living room and stared down at Peter Hoffman.

'What did you want to tell me?' he said aloud to the corpse at his feet.

At that moment, the body began to sing to him in Steven Tyler's voice. It was an Aerosmith song. 'Dude Looks Like a Lady.'

Cab started in surprise before realizing that the music came from the dead man's pocket. It was a phone. Cab bent down and used two fingers to reach inside Hoffman's right pocket and slide the phone into his hand. He answered neutrally. 'Yeah?'

'Hello? Mark? Who's this?'

'You first,' Cab said.

'This is Hilary Bradley. I don't know who you are, but I think you've got my husband's phone.'

Cab shook his head in sad disbelief. This wasn't going to be a happy call, it's Cab Bolton, Mrs Bradley.'

'Detective?' He could hear her freeze with shock and surprise. 'How on earth did you get Mark's phone?'

He didn't answer her question. 'Do you know how he lost it?'

'No, I don't.'

'Where is your husband now?'

'As far as I know, he's on the ferry back to the island. What's going on? Where did you find his phone?'

'I can't tell you that right now.'

'Excuse me?'

'You won't be able to get it back.'

'Why not?'

'I'm sorry,' Cab said. 'That's all I can say.'

'Is something wrong?'

'I'm sorry,' he repeated. 'I have to hang up now. It would be better if you didn't call this number again.'

He ended the call before she could say anything more. She'd know what it was all about soon enough. The sheriff was going to be out for blood, finding Mark Bradley's phone in the pocket of Peter Hoffman, lying dead in his own house. Peter Hoffman, who was Reich's lifelong friend. Peter Hoffman, who swore he had information that could help put Mark Bradley behind bars.

He bent down next to Hoffman's body. As he slid the phone back into the dead man's pocket, his fingers grazed something else. Paper. He extracted a single folded sheet with his fingertips, and when he unfolded it, he found an enlargement of a map showing a small portion of the NorDoor section of the county stretching west to east from the town of Ellison Bay to Newport State Park. Nothing was written on the page itself.

Curious, Cab reached into Hoffman's pocket again and dug to the bottom. This time he found something metal. He pulled it out and cupped it in his hand.

It was a key.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Hilary saw Mark's face as he drove off the ferry and knew that something had gone terribly wrong. He drove by her, oblivious to everything around him. His face was pale. His eyes were blank and distracted. She hit the horn to get his attention, and he pulled off the road when he spotted the Taurus. He got out and walked toward her. He climbed into the passenger seat, but when she hugged him, he sat motionless, not responding.

'What is it?' she asked. 'What's wrong?'

'Peter Hoffman's dead,' Mark told her.

'Oh, my God, what happened?'

'I don't know, but I know who they're going to blame for it.'

Hilary stared at the ferry port. They were behind schedule, and she knew they'd be rushing to get the half- dozen cars on board. 'Back up, back up,' she told him. 'What the hell's going on?'

Mark ran his hands through his hair. 'Hoffman confronted me at the market. He was spouting off about how I'd killed Glory. It got physical. He hit me. Cracked me right in the jaw.'

Hilary closed her eyes. 'What did you do?'

'I pushed him, and he fell. Everybody saw it happen.'

'You mean he died? Right there?'

'No, no, no, no, but everyone knows there was a fight.'

'Mark, you're not making any sense. What happened to your phone?'

'I dropped it at the store when Hoffman hit me. When I realized it was gone, I called my number, and Hoffman told me he had it. So when the ferry was delayed, I drove to his house. I wanted to apologize, get my phone back, and get the hell out of there. But he was dead. Someone blew his head off. It was so recent that I could still smell it. It must have happened in the fifteen minutes or so between when we talked and I drove over there.'

'What did you do?'

'I left. I ran.' He added, 'I didn't kill him, Hil. It wasn't me.'

Hilary cupped her hands in front of her mouth. Her mind raced. 'They already found your phone,' she murmured.

'What?'

'I called you. I forgot about your message. Cab Bolton answered. He must have been at Hoffman's house, which means he found the body and your phone.'

Mark shook his head. 'They're going to crucify me.'

Hilary wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she wasn't going to fool either of them with false hope. He was the obvious suspect. The accusations, the fight, the phone calls, all of it played against him, and all of it could be proved by witnesses and records. She felt a sense of uneasiness herself, however much she tried to pretend she was immune. Hesitation. Doubt. Every time she quelled it, something happened that pushed her deeper into shadow.

He saw it in her face. 'Even you're wondering if I'm a murderer.'

'I'm not.'

'You're thinking, he's got a temper. Hoffman pushed him too far, and he lost it and killed him.'

'Don't talk that way, Mark.' She didn't want him to know what was in her head. He did have a temper. He had been pushed too far. None of that mattered now.