she too had pulled off the road in the town of Rockport to stretch her legs and had lingered beside the statue of Andre the seal while she gazed over the harbor. Had shivered as the wind blew in a chill from the water.
Maura climbed back into her car and continued north.
By the time she passed the coastal town of Bucksport and turned south, down the peninsula, sunlight was already slanting lower over the trees. She could see fog rolling in over the sea, a gray bank of it, advancing toward shore like a hungry beast swallowing up the horizon. By sunset, she thought, my car will be enveloped in it. She had made no hotel arrangements in Fox Harbor, had left Boston with the quaint idea that she could simply pull into a seaside motel somewhere and find a bed for the night. But she saw few motels along this rugged stretch of coast, and those she did pass all displayed NO VACANCY signs.
The sun dipped even lower.
The road made an abrupt curve, and she gripped the wheel, barely managing to stay in her lane as she rounded a rocky point, past scraggly trees on one side, the sea on the other.
Suddenly there it was- Fox Harbor, nestled in the shelter of a shallow inlet. She had not expected it to be such a small town, little more than a dock, a steepled church, and a string of white buildings facing the bay. In the harbor, lobster boats bobbed at their moorings like staked prey, waiting to be swallowed up by the incoming fog bank.
Driving slowly down Main Street, she saw tired front porches in need of paint, windows where faded curtains hung. Clearly this was not a wealthy town, judging by the rusting trucks in the driveways. The only late-model vehicles she saw were in the parking lot of the Bayview Motel, cars with license plates from New York and Massachusetts and Connecticut. Urban refugees who’d fled hot cities for lobster and a glimpse of paradise.
She pulled up in front of the motel registration office. First things first, she thought; I need a bed for the night, and this looked like the only place in town. She got out of her car and stretched stiff muscles, inhaled damp and briny air. Though Boston was a harbor town, she seldom smelled the sea at home; the urban smells of diesel and car exhaust and hot pavement contaminated every breeze that blew in from the harbor. Here, though, she could actually taste the salt, could feel it cling like a fine mist to her skin. Standing in that motel parking lot, the wind in her face, she felt as if she’d suddenly emerged from a deep sleep, and was awake again. Alive again.
The motel’s decor was exactly as she’d expected it would be: sixties wood paneling, tired green carpet, a wall clock mounted in a ship’s wheel. No one was manning the counter.
She leaned forward. “Hello?”
A door creaked open and a man appeared, fat and balding, delicate spectacles perched like a dragonfly on his nose.
“Do you have any rooms for the night?” Maura asked.
Her question was met with dead silence. The man stared at her, jaw sagging open, his gaze riveted on her face.
“Excuse me,” she said, thinking that he had not heard her. “Do you have any vacancies?”
“You… want a room?”
He looked down at his registration book, then back at her. “I’m, uh, sorry. We’re full up for the night.”
“I’ve just driven all the way up from Boston. Is there some place in town I might find a room?”
He swallowed. “It’s a busy weekend. There was a couple came in just an hour ago, asking for a room. I called around, had to send them all the way up to Ellsworth.”
“Where’s that?”
“About thirty miles.”
Maura looked up at the clock mounted in the ship’s wheel. It was already four forty-five; the search for a motel room would have to wait.
She said, “I need to find the office for Land and Sea Realty.”
“ Main Street. It’s two blocks down, on the left.”
Stepping through the door into Land and Sea Realty, Maura found yet another deserted reception room. Was no one in this town manning his post? The office smelled like cigarettes, and on the desk, an ashtray overflowed with butts. Displayed on the wall were the firm’s property listings, some of the photos badly yellowed. Clearly this was not a hot real estate market. Scanning the offerings, Maura saw a tumble-down barn (PERFECT FOR A HORSE FARM!), a house with a sagging porch (PERFECT HANDYMAN SPECIAL!), and a photo of trees-that was it, just trees (QUIET AND PRIVATE! PERFECT HOUSE LOT!). Was there anything in this town, she wondered, that wasn’t
She heard a back door open and turned to see a man emerge, carrying a dripping coffee carafe, which he set on the desk. He was shorter than Maura, with a square head and close-cropped gray hair. His clothes were far too large for him, the shirtsleeves and trouser cuffs rolled up as though he was wearing a giant’s hand-me-downs. Keys rattling on his belt, he swaggered over to greet Maura.
“Sorry, I was out back washing the coffee pot. You must be Dr. Isles.”
The voice took Maura aback. Though it was husky, no doubt from all those cigarettes in the ashtray, it was clearly a woman’s. Only then did Maura notice the swell of breasts under that baggy shirt.
“You’re… the person I spoke to this morning?” Maura asked.
“Britta Clausen.” She gave Maura a brisk, no-nonsense handshake. “ Harvey told me you’d gotten into town.”
“ Harvey?”
“Down the road, Bayview Motel. He called to let me know you were on the way.” The woman paused, giving Maura the once-over. “Well, I guess you don’t need to show me any ID. No doubt, looking at you, whose sister you are. You wanna drive up to the house together?”
“I’ll follow you in my car.”
Miss Clausen sorted through the key ring on her belt and gave a satisfied grunt. “Here it is, Skyline Drive. Police are all finished going through it, so I guess I can walk you through.”
Maura followed Miss Clausen’s pickup truck up a road that suddenly curved away from the coast and wound up a bluff. As they climbed, she caught glimpses of the coastline, the water now obscured beneath a thick blanket of fog. The village of Fox Harbor vanished into the mists below. Just ahead of her, Miss Clausen’s brake lights suddenly flared, and Maura barely had time to hit her own brakes. Her Lexus skidded across wet leaves, coming to a stop with its bumper kissing a Land and Sea Realty FOR SALE sign staked in the ground.
Miss Clausen stuck her head out the window. “Hey, you okay back there?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, that last curve takes you by surprise. It’s this driveway, off to the right.”
“I’m right behind you.”
Miss Clausen gave a laugh. “Not
The dirt road was hugged so closely by trees, Maura felt as though she was driving through a tunnel in the woods. It opened up abruptly to reveal a small cedar-shingled cottage. Maura parked beside Miss Clausen’s pickup truck and stepped out of the Lexus. For a moment she stood in the silence of the clearing and stared at the house. Wooden steps led to a covered porch where a swing hung motionless in the still air. In a small shade garden, foxgloves and daylilies struggled to grow. On all sides the forest seemed to press in, and Maura found herself breathing more quickly, as though trapped in a small room. As though the air itself was too close.
“It’s so quiet here,” said Maura.
“Yeah, it’s a ways from town. That’s what makes this hill such a good value. Real estate boom’s gonna move up this way, you know. Few years from now, you’re gonna see houses all up and down this road. This is the time to buy.”
Because it’s
“I’m having a house lot cleared right next door,” said Miss Clausen. “After your sister moved in, I figured it was time to get these other lots ready. You see one person living up here, it gets the ball rolling. Pretty soon everyone’s looking to buy in the neighborhood.” She gave Maura a thoughtful look. “So what kind of doctor are you?”
“A pathologist.”
“That’s like, what? You work in a lab?”
This woman was starting to irritate her. She answered, bluntly: “I work with dead people.”
