“I’m not going anywhere, but I’m going to look.”
“Okay.”
He stepped out of the car but stayed close. He could hear her calming the dogs as he scanned the drive, the trees. Spring had leafed out those trees, forcing him to try to angle through the green and search the shadows. While the pretty breeze fluttered, he took a few steps away to try for a better vantage point, and followed the curve of her drive.
Her pretty house stood quiet before the dark arches of the forest. Butterflies danced on the air above her garden, while in her field, grasses and buttercups barely stirred.
He walked back, opened his door. “Everything looks fine.”
“He read the article. He wants me scared.”
“No argument. Stupid to leave the marker if he’s still around.”
“Yes. I don’t think he is either. He accomplished what he wanted. I’m scared. The cops are coming. It’s all in my face again, and I’m thinking about him. We all are. I called Agent Tawney.”
“Good. Here come the cops.”
He closed the car door, watched the two cruisers approach. He heard her get out the other side, nearly snapped at her to get back in. She wouldn’t, he thought, and it was probably unnecessary.
He watched the sheriff get out of the first cruiser. He’d seen the man around the village a few times, but they’d never had a conversation—or a need for one. Patrick McMahon carried a hefty girth on a big frame. Simon imagined he’d played high school football—maybe a tackle—and likely continued with hard-fought Sunday games with friends.
Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but his wide face held grim lines, and his hand rested on the butt of his weapon as he walked.
“Fee. I’m gonna want you to stay in the car. Simon Doyle, right?” McMahon held out a hand. “I’m gonna want you to stay with Fee. Davey and I, we’ll go down, take a look at things. Matt’ll stay here. He’s gonna take some pictures and put that scarf in an evidence bag so we’ll have it secure. Did you lock the doors when you left?”
“Yes.”
“Windows?”
“I... Yes, I think so.”
“They’re locked,” Simon told him. “I checked them before we left.”
“Good enough. Fee, how about you give me the keys? Once we clear everything, we’ll call on down to Matt. How’s that?”
She came around as Simon took the keys out of the ignition, then she peeled off the link that held her house key. “Front and back door.”
“Good enough,” he said again. “Sit tight.”
McMahon got back in the cruiser, swung around Fiona’s car and started down the drive.
“Sorry about this, Fiona.” Matt, barely old enough to buy a legal beer, gave her arm a little pat. “You and Mr. Doyle get on back in the car now.” He glanced down at the gun she held down at her side. “And keep the safety on that.”
“He’s younger than I am. Matt,” Fiona said when she got back in the car. “Barely old enough to drink. I trained his parents’ Jack Russell. He’s not going to be there,” she murmured, running her fist up and down her chest. “Nothing’s going to happen to them.”
“Did you ask anybody to come by, check on the place while we were gone?”
“No. It was just overnight. If it had been longer, Syl would’ve come by to water the pots, pick up the mail. God, God, if it had been longer, and—”
“Didn’t happen.” Simon cut her off. “No point projecting it. Everyone on the island, or damn near, would’ve known you were on that search by this morning. It’s not enough time for him to have pulled this.”
Unless, Simon thought, he was already on the island.
“I think it comes from the article—the timing of it—the way he mailed me the scarf after the first one. I guess he wants me to know he can get closer. Did get closer.”
“It’s arrogant, and arrogance leads to screwups.”
“I hope you’re right.” She stared at the scarf, forced herself to think. Follow the trail, she ordered herself. “Did it rain here last night? Did that storm, or the edge of it, blow through here, too? It was supposed to. The scarf’s dry, or dry enough to wave in the breeze. But then, the sun’s warm and bright today. He’d want to do that at night, wouldn’t he? At night or early enough there wouldn’t be much chance of a car going by.”
“We’ve been sitting here twenty minutes and I haven’t seen a car go by.”
“True, but it’s a stupid risk. Not just arrogant, stupid. If he came here at night, he’d need somewhere to stay on the island, or have a boat of his own. But if he came by boat, he’d need a car to get out here.”
“One way or the other, he was here. The odds are someone saw him.”
A car approached now, slowed, crept by.
“Tourists,” Fiona said quietly. “The summer season’s already geared up. Coming and going by ferry’s the easiest way to disappear. But maybe he didn’t come and go in the same day. Maybe he booked a room or a campsite or—”
She jolted when Matt tapped on the window.
“Sorry,” he said when she lowered it. “Sheriff says it’s clear.”
“Thanks. Thanks, Matt.”
She studied everything as Simon drove, everything so familiar. Could he have walked here? she wondered. Would he have risked the dogs? Would the need have overridden sense and caution? He might’ve taken the chance, creeping down, wanting a better look at the house, maybe hoping to see her sitting on the porch or weeding the garden.
Ordinary things, everyday things people do.
Walking down to get the mail, she thought, running an errand, holding a class, playing with her dogs.
Routine.
The idea he might’ve come before, might’ve studied her, watched her, stalked her—just as Perry had done— filled her with a sick dread that tasted bitter in the back of her throat.
McMahon opened her door when Simon stopped. “No signs of break-in. I can’t see that anything inside’s been disturbed, but you can tell me if you see different. We took a walk around outside, and I’m going to have Davey and Matt take another look, go a little farther out while we talk inside. Okay?”
“Yeah. Sheriff, I called Agent Tawney. I felt I should. I don’t mean to step on your toes, but—”
“Fiona. How long have you known me?”
She let out a relieved breath at the easy tone. “Since I started coming out to see my dad in the summers.”
“Long enough for you to know I’m not worried about my toes. I want you to go in, take a good look around. If you see anything off, you tell me. Even if you just think maybe.”
The advantage of a small house, Fiona thought, was it didn’t take long to go through it, even when she took the time—obsessively, maybe—to open a few drawers.
“Everything’s the way we left it.”
“That’s good. Why don’t we have a seat and talk about this?”
“Do you want something to drink? I could—”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about that.” He took a seat, continued in the avuncular tone Simon realized was designed to calm nerves and tempers. “I’ve let Davey take point on this, not because I haven’t been involved, but because I figured you’d be most comfortable with him. I don’t want you to think I’ve been brushing this off.”
“How long have you known me?”
He smiled at her, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling deep. “There you go. What time did you leave yesterday?”
“I logged the call in at seven-fifteen. I didn’t note down the time when we left, but I’d say it was less than fifteen minutes. Just enough time to pass the call to Mai, check the packs, lock up and load up. We dropped the dogs, except for Bogart, off at Syl’s, headed over to Chuck’s. The full unit was on its way at seven fifty-five.”
“That’s good response time.”
