Normally she took prospective clients on a brief tour of the area before showing a property, to let them see the beaches and lakes and marina; the stately old homes that were scattered between Cranberry Highway and the bay; the breathtaking views from Maushop Tower; the old town landmarks.
But today, with the sleet beating a sharp tattoo on the car roof and windows, with the sky filled with black fields of clouds and with the cold sea air chilling the very marrow of the bones, she headed directly for The Lookout.
It was so hard to keep her mind on what she was doing. She felt so distracted and shaken. She who hadn't cried in years was having to bite her lips to keep tears back. There was a crushing weight on her shoulders, a weight of grief and fear that she could not hope to support alone.
As she drove the car along the treacherously slick road, she stole an occasional glance at the swarthy- complexioned man beside her. John Kragopoulos was somewhere in his mid-forties. He had the build of a weight- lifter, yet there was an innate courtliness in his bearing that complemented his slightly accented manner of speaking.
He told Dorothy that he and his wife just sold their restaurant in New York and agreed their next venture would be in an area where they would want to settle permanently. They were anxious to be where well-to-do retired people could be found for winter business, as well as the summer-resort trade.
Mentally reviewing these points, Dorothy said, 'I'd never recommend investing in a restaurant over on the other side of the Cape any more; it's just one mass of motels and pizza parlours now – absolutely frightful zoning – but this side of the Cape is still lovely. The Lookout has unlimited possibilities as a restaurant and inn. During the thirties it was renovated extensively and turned into a country club. People didn't have money to join expensive country clubs at that time, and so it never caught on. Eventually Mr Hunt bought the house and grounds – nine acres in all, including one thousand feet of waterfront property and one of the finest views on the Cape.'
'The Lookout was originally a captain's house, was it not?'
Dorothy realized that John Kragopoulos had done some homework on the place – a sure sign of real interest. 'Yes, it was,' she agreed. 'It was built by a whaling captain in the sixteen-nineties as a gift for his bride. The most recent renovation, forty years ago, added two floors, but the original roof was put back on, including one of those charming little balconies near the peak of the chimney – widow's walks they're called, because so many of the captains' wives used to watch in vain for their men to come back from a voyage.'
'The sea can be treacherous,' her passenger agreed. 'By the way, is there a dock with the property? If I relocate up here, I plan to buy a boat.'
'A very good one,' Dorothy assured him. 'Oh, dear!' She gasped as the car skidded dangerously when she turned on to the narrow winding road that led up to The Lookout. She managed to straighten the wheels and glanced anxiously at her passenger. But he seemed unperturbed, and remarked mildly that she was a brave lady to risk driving on such icy roads.
Like a surgeon's knife the words penetrated to the core of Dorothy's misery. It was a frightful day. It would be a miracle if the car didn't skid right off this narrow road. Whatever interest she had talked herself into about showing the house vanished. If the weather were only decent, the beaches and streets and woods would be filled with men and boys looking for Missy and Michael; but in this weather only the heartiest would think of going out - especially since many felt it was a useless search.
'I don't mind driving,' she said thickly; 'I'm just sorry Mr Eldredge isn't with us. But I'm sure you understand.'
'I understand very well,' John Kragopoulos said. 'What an agonizing experience for the parents to have young children missing! I am only sorry to take your time today. As a friend and co-worker, you must be concerned.'
Determinedly, Dorothy did not let herself reply to the sympathy in the man's voice and manner. 'Let me tell you more about the house,' she said. 'All the windows to the front look over the water. The front door has an exquisite fanlight, which was a feature on the finer houses of that period. The large downstairs rooms have wonderful gable- end fireplaces. On a day like this many people would enjoy going to a restaurant where they can watch the storm while they enjoy a good drink and good food and a warm fire. Here we are.'
They rounded the curve, and The Lookout was in full view. To Dorothy it seemed strangely bleak and dreary as it loomed against the shrouded embankment. The weather-beaten shingles were stark grey. The sleet slapping against the windows and porches seemed to reveal mercilessly the peeling shutters and sagging outside steps.
She was surprised to see that Mr Parrish had left the garage doors open. Maybe he had been carrying groceries his last trip in and had forgotten to come out again to pull the door down. But it was a break for them. She'd drive right into the roomy garage and park her car beside his station wagon, and they'd be able to make a run for the house with some protection from the garage overhang.
'I've got a key to the back door,' she told John Kragopoulos after they'd got out of the car. 'I'm so sorry I didn't think to bring Ray's golf umbrella. I hope you don't get too wet.'
'Don't worry about me,' he chided. 'I'm pretty rugged. Don't I look it?'
She smiled faintly and nodded. 'All right, let's make a dash for it.' They ran out of the garage and kept close to the wall as they covered the fifty feet to the kitchen door. Even so, the sleet pelted their faces and the wind pulled at their coats.
To her annoyance, Dorothy found that the door was double-locked. Mr Parrish might have been more considerate, she fumed. She rummaged through her bag for the key to the top lock and found it. She gave a quick yank at the bell to let Mr Parrish know they had arrived. She could hear the ringing sound echoing upstairs as she pushed the door in.
Her prospective buyer seemed unperturbed as he brushed sleet from his coat and dried his face with a handkerchief. He was a low-keyed person, Dorothy decided. She had to will herself not to sound either nervous or overly talkative showing the place. Every fibre of her being made her want to rush this man through the house. See this… and this… and this… Now let me go back to Ray and Nancy, please; maybe there's been some news of the children.
She did notice that he was carefully studying the kitchen. Deliberately she reached for her own handkerchief to dab at her face, aware suddenly that she was wearing her new suede winter coat. This morning she'd decided to wear it because of this appointment. She knew it was becoming and that the grey shade complemented her pepper-and-salt-coloured hair. The big deep pockets were what made her conscious that she wasn't wearing her old storm coat – but the storm coat would certainly have been a better choice today.
And there was something else. Oh, yes. When she had put on the coat, she had wondered if Jonathan Knowles would stop into the office this afternoon and maybe notice it. Maybe this would be the day when he'd suggest they might have dinner together. She had daydreamed like that only hours ago. How could everything change so quickly, so terribly…?
'Mrs Prentiss?'
'Yes. Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I'm a bit distracted today.' To her ears she sounded falsely cheery. 'As you can see, the kitchen needs modernizing, but it is very well laid out and roomy. That fireplace is large enough to cook for a crowd – but I'm sure you'd settle for modern ovens.'
Unconsciously she'd lifted her voice. The wind was howling around the house with a harsh, mournful sound. From somewhere upstairs she heard a door slam and, just for a second, a wailing sound. It was her nerves; this house upset her today. The kitchen was freezing, too.
Quickly she led the way into the front rooms. She was anxious that Mr Kragopoulos have the important first impression of the water view.
The savagery of the day only enhanced the breathtaking panorama that met their eyes when they stood at the windows. Angry whitecaps churned, lifted, fell, crashed on the rocks, pulled back. Together they stared at the tumultuous beating of the water on the rocks at the base of the cliff below.
'At high tide these rocks are completely covered,' she said. 'But just down a little to the left, past the jetty, there's a beautiful big sandy beach that is part of the property, and the dock is just past that.'
She took him from room to room, pointing out the magnificent wide oak floors, the massive fireplaces, the leaded-paned windows, the way the overall layout lent itself to a fine restaurant. They went up to the second floor, and he examined the large rooms that could be rented to overnight guests.
'During the renovation, they changed the small bedrooms into baths and connected them with the large rooms,' Dorothy explained. 'As a result, you've got really beautiful units that only need painting and papering. The brass
