I had a sudden mental image of birders trying to coax him out of a tree with handfuls of sunflower seeds and cracked corn.
'Pity there isn't a decent restaurant on the island,' he added.
'Is that your latest development project?' I asked, fearing the worst.
He shuddered.
'Good heavens, no!' he exclaimed.
'That's good,' I said. 'I think the people who come here like roughing it a little.'
'Obviously,' he said. 'Each to his own; me, I plan to do everything I can to make sure I never have to come back here in my entire life. Up till now, my idea of roughing it was staying at a hotel without a four-star restaurant nearby.'
Somehow, I had a feeling that Ken Takahashi's rather jaundiced view of Monhegan would soon make the rounds to every real estate development firm on the East Coast. Which should do much, I thought with satisfaction, to discourage any other developers who might have their eyes on the island.
'That reminds me of something,' Michael said. 'Could I have a word with you?'
He dragged Takahashi off into the corner and the two of them began an animated discussion about something. I leaned back and tried to concentrate on a yoga breathing technique that was supposed to improve one's mood.
'Meg?'
Of course, you had to do the breathing for a little more than ten seconds before it started to have any effect. I bit back an oath and opened one eye. Rob stood in front of me.
'Dr. Peabody and that other birder want their digital cameras back,' he said.
'We have to give the photos to the police,' I said.
'But if it's not a murder…'
'We don't know that until the police say so,' I said.
'But can't we just--'
'No.'
'I could download the photos if you like,' Rob offered.
'Then we could just give the data files to the police.'
'Good idea,' I said. 'Want to do it now, since the power's on?'
Rob looked plaintively at his champagne glass.
'Then I'll hold on to them until you're ready,' I said. I picked up the knapsack containing cameras in question then stormed into a corner, where it was quieter.
Get over it, I told myself. What harm would it really do to let them have their silly cameras? I took the other birder's camera out of my knapsack and began flipping through the photos. I was brooding over one that showed the fateful tidal pool when Mother came up behind me and looked over my shoulder.
'Oh, what a lovely view of the shore,' she said. 'You should print that out and have it framed, dear.'
I wondered if I should tell her that this picture showed where we'd found the body of her late beau. Better not, I decided. I flipped to the next photo, one of the tidal pool from a slightly different angle.
'I liked the first one better,' Mother said. 'More unspoiled.'
I peered at the photo. It looked much the same as the first, except that in one corner you could see a tiny flash of orange.
'I know the electricity makes it so much easier, especially for the islanders who live here year-round,' Mother said. 'But I do wish they'd find a way to bury the wires, instead of having all those blue pipes and orange extension cords all over the place. So… untidy, really.'
I opened my mouth to explain the impossibility of burying pipes and wires in the island's rocky terrain, then closed it again.
Mother was right. An orange extension cord.
I flipped through the rest of the photos. The extension cord appeared in several, snaking down toward the tidal pool. No wonder all the birders thought Resnick had been killing puffins. They
I closed my eyes and thought back to how the pool had looked when Michael and I had found the body. No, I thought. I'd have seen an orange extension cord. It hadn't been there.
Who had moved it? And when? And for that matter, exactly where had the extension cord come from? Hard to tell from this angle. For all I knew, it came from out in the ocean.
I had to go back to Resnick's house and see.
Chapter 30
I grabbed two flashlights, snagged one of Dad's hiking knapsacks, stuffed the digital cameras inside, and went in search of Michael.
I found him backed into a corner, enduring a lecture from two birders.
'--vital for every educated citizen to take action!' one of them was exclaiming as I walked up. He shook his finger in Michael's face. 'We cannot afford to sit idly by and watch these large corporations--'
'Sorry,' I said, coming up and taking Michael's arm. 'Hate to interrupt you, but we have to be somewhere, remember?'
Michael started and looked at his watch.
'Oh, sorry… yes… have to run,' he said as we backed away. From their expressions, I could tell the birders wanted to ask what kind of urgent appointment we could possibly have elsewhere on the island at this time of night.
'Hurry!' I stage-whispered to Michael.
We made it to the front door, grabbed two ponchos from the pile of several dozen identical drab, damp ones, and slipped out onto the front deck. Michael looked surprised when I turned on my flashlight, pulled up my hood, and headed for the driveway.
'We're not really going anywhere, are we?' he asked.
'Oh, would you rather stay here and talk to the bird-watchers? I got the distinct impression you didn't mind being rescued.'
'I would rather be with you any day, even if it means circumnavigating the island again,' he said with an exaggerated bow. 'Only it's night, not day; and it's still rather cold and wet out here. Couldn't you have found some way to rescue me that didn't involve going outdoors?'
'We need to go back to Resnick's house,' I said. 'Something's bothering me.'
'What?'
'I'll show you when we get there.'
We hiked along in silence. I concentrated on not tripping and falling down, or at least not landing in any large puddles when I did so.
Maybe I shouldn't have dragged Michael out on this wild-goose chase, I thought. For all I knew, he might be getting tired of my amateur attempts to solve the murder and protect my family. But I felt better with his tall form striding along beside me. Not safer, really--I wasn't expecting any danger--just more natural. The idea of going back to Resnick's house, or anywhere else on the island, for that matter, and not having Michael along seemed unthinkable. Quite a remarkable change in attitude for me; stubborn independence and the need for a certain amount of solitude had always been my hallmarks. How odd, I thought, then put the subject away for further consideration after the present crisis. We'd arrived at Resnick's house.
It definitely hadn't fared well. Rain had ruined the finish on the polished wood floor of the entry, and the wood itself had buckled in several places. When we entered the living room, we startled several birds roosting on the exposed high beams of the cathedral ceiling.
'We should chase the damn things out,' I said.
'They'd only get back in again,' Michael said. 'Besides, I thought you hated this place. Wanted it torn
