That first morning here, she'd made coffee and sat by the window. It had been a clear, brilliant day – the cloudless sky purple-blue; the bay tranquil and still; the only movement the arc of sea gulls hovering near the fishing boats.
With her fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, she'd sipped and watched. The warmth of the coffee had flowed through her body. The sunbeams had warmed her face. The tranquillity of the scene enhanced the calming sense of peace that the long, dreamless sleep had begun.
Peace… give me peace. That had been her prayer during the trial; in prison. Let me learn to accept. Seven years ago…
Nancy sighed, realizing that she was still standing by the bottom step of the staircase. It was so easy to get lost in remembering. That was why she tried so hard to live each day… not look back or into the future.
She began to go upstairs slowly. How could there ever be peace for her, knowing that if Rob Legler ever showed up they'd try her again for murder; take her away from Ray and Missy and Michael? For an instant, she dropped her face into her hands. Don't think about it, she told herself. It's no use.
At the head of the stairs she shook her head determinedly and walked quickly into the master bedroom. She threw open the windows and shivered as the wind blew the curtains back against her. Clouds were starting to form, and the water in the bay had begun to churn with whitecaps. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Nancy was enough of a Cape person now to know that a cold wind like this usually blew in a storm.
But it really was still clear enough to have the children out. She liked them to have as much fresh air as possible in the morning. After lunch, Missy napped and Michael went to kindergarten.
She started to pull the sheets from the big double bed and hesitated. Missy had been sniffling yesterday. Should she go down and warn her not to unzip the neck of her jacket? It was one of her favourite tricks. Missy always complained that all her clothes felt too tight at the neck.
Nancy deliberated an instant, then pulled the sheets completely back and off the bed. Missy had on a turtle- neck shirt. Her throat would be covered even if she undid the button. Besides, it would take only ten or fifteen minutes to strip and change the beds and turn on a wash. Ten minutes at the most, Nancy promised herself, to quiet the nagging feeling of worry that was insistently telling her to go out to the children now.
CHAPTER TWO
Some mornings Jonathan Knowles walked to the drugstore to pick up his morning paper. Other days he pedalled on his bike. His outing always took him past the old Nickerson house, the one that Ray Eldredge had bought when he married the pretty girl who was renting it.
When old Sam Nickerson had had the place it had begun to be rundown, but now it looked snug and solid. Ray had put on a new roof and had painted the trim, and his wife certainly had a green thumb. The yellow and orange mums in the window boxes gave a cheerful warmth even to the bleakest day.
In nice weather, Nancy Eldredge was often out early in the morning working on her garden. She always had a pleasant greeting for him and then went back to her work. Jonathan admired that trait in a woman. He'd known Ray's folks when they were summer people up here. Of course, the Eldredges had helped settle the Cape, Ray's father had told Jonathan the whole family line right back to the one who had come over on the Mayflower.
The fact that Ray shared enough love for the Cape to decide to build his business career here was particularly exemplary in Jonathan's eyes. The Cape had lakes and ponds and the bay and the ocean. It had woods to walk in, and land for people to spread out on. And it was a good place for a young couple to raise children. It was a good place to retire and live out the end of your life. Jonathan and Emily had always spent vacations here and looked forward to the day when they'd be able to stay here the year around. They'd almost made it, too. But for Emily it wasn't to be.
Jonathan sighed. He was a big man, with thick white hair and a broad face that was beginning to fold into jowls. A retired lawyer, he'd found inactivity depressing. You couldn't do much fishing in the winter. And poking around antique stores and refinishing furniture wasn't the fun it had been when Emily was with him. But in this second year of his permanent residency at the Cape, he'd started to write a book.
Begun as a hobby, it had become an absorbing daily activity. A publisher friend had read a few chapters of it one week-end and promptly sent him a contract. The book was a case study of famous murder trials. Jonathan worked on it five hours every day, seven days a week, starting promptly at nine-thirty in the morning.
The wind bit against him. He pulled out his muffler, grateful for the watery sunshine he felt on his face as he glanced in the direction of the bay. With the shrubbery stripped, you could see clear to the water. Only the old Hunt house on its high bluff interrupted the view – the house they called The Lookout.
Jonathan always looked at the bay right at this point of his trip. This morning again, he squinted as he turned his head. Irritated, he looked back at the road after barely registering the stormy, churning whitecaps. That fellow who rented the house must have something metallic in the window, he thought. It was a damn nuisance. He felt like asking Ray to mention it to him, then ruefully brushed the thought away. The tenant might just suggest that Jonathan check the bay somewhere else along the way.
He shrugged unconsciously. He was directly in front of the Eldredge house, and Nancy was sitting at the breakfast table by the window talking to the little boy. The little girl was on her lap. Jonathan glanced away quickly, feeling like an intruder and not wanting to catch her eye. Oh, well, he'd get the paper, fix his solitary breakfast and get to his desk. Today he'd begin working on the Harmon murder case – the one that he suspected would make the most interesting chapter of all.
CHAPTER THREE
Ray pushed open the door to his office, unable to shake the nagging sensation of worry that like an unlocated toothache was throbbing somewhere inside him. What was the matter? It was more than just making Nancy acknowledge her birthday and risking the memories it aroused. Actually, she'd been pretty calm. He knew her well enough to understand when the tension was building about that other life.
It could be triggered by something like the sight of a dark-haired boy and girl together who were the age of her other children, or a discussion of the murder of that little girl who'd been found dead in Cohasset last year. But Nancy was all right this morning. It was something else – a feeling of foreboding.
'Oh, no! What does that mean?'
Ray looked up, startled. Dorothy was at her desk. Her hair, more grey than brown, casually framed her long, pleasant face. Her sensible beige sweater and brown tweed skirt had an almost studied dowdiness and signalled the wearer's indifference to frills.
Dorothy had been Ray's first client when he had opened his office. The girl he had hired didn't show up, and Dorothy had volunteered to help him out for a few days. She'd been with him ever since.
'You do realize that you're shaking your head and frowning,' she told him.
Ray smiled sheepishly. 'Just morning jitters, I guess How are you doing?'
Dorothy immediately became businesslike. 'Fine. I have the file all together on The Lookout. What time do you expect that fellow who wants to see it?'
'Around two,' Ray told her. He bent over her desk. 'Where did you ever dig out those plans?'
'They're on file in the library. Don't forget, that house was begun in sixteen-ninety. It would make a marvellous restaurant. If anyone is willing to spend money renovating it, it could be a showcase. And you can't beat that waterfront location.'
'I gather Mr Kragopoulos and his wife have built up and sold several restaurants and don't mind spending the dollars to do everything the way it should be done.'
'I've never yet met a Greek who couldn't make a go of a restaurant,' Dorothy commented as she closed the file.
'And all Englishmen are fags and no German has a sense of humour and most Puerto Ricans – I mean Spies - are on welfare… God, I hate labels!' Ray took his pipe from his breast pocket and jammed it into his mouth.
