That answer didn’t seem to disturb the woman in the least. “Well, you must have regular hours, then. Lot of weekends off. A summer place might interest you. You know, the lot next door’s gonna be ready to build on soon. If you ever thought of owning a little vacation place, you’ll never find a cheaper time to invest.”
So this was what it felt like to be trapped with a time-share salesman. She said, “I’m really not interested, Miss Clausen.”
“Oh.” The woman huffed out a breath, then turned and stomped up onto the porch. “Well, just come on in, then. Now that you’re here, you can tell me what to do with your sister’s things.”
“I’m not really sure I have that authority.”
“I don’t know what else to do with it all. I sure don’t want to pay for storing them. I’ve got to empty out the house if I ever want to sell it or rent it out again.” She rattled through her keys, looking for the right one. “I manage most of the rental units in town, and this place hasn’t been the easiest one to fill. Your sister, she signed a six-month lease, you know.”
Is that all Anna’s death means to her? Maura wondered. No more rent checks, a property in need of a new tenant? She did not like this woman with her clanking keys and her acquisitive stare. The real estate queen of Fox Harbor, whose only concern seemed to be bringing in her quota of monthly checks.
At last Miss Clausen pushed open the door. “Go on in.”
Maura stepped inside. Though there were large windows in the living room, the closeness of the trees, and the late afternoon hour, filled the house with shadow. She saw dark pine floors, a worn area rug, a sagging couch. The faded wallpaper had green vines lacing across the room, adding to Maura’s sense of leafy suffocation.
“Came completely furnished,” said Miss Clausen. “I gave her a good price, considering that.”
“How much?” asked Maura, staring out the window at a wall of trees.
“Six hundred a month. I could get four times that, if this place was closer to the water. But the man who built it, he liked his privacy.” Miss Clausen gave the living room a slow, surveying look, as though she hadn’t really seen it in a while. “Kind of surprised me when she called to ask about the place, especially since I had other units available, down by the shore.”
Maura turned to look at her. Daylight was fading, and Miss Clausen had receded into the shadows. “My sister asked specifically about this house?”
Miss Clausen shrugged. “I guess the price was right.”
They left the gloomy living room and started down a hallway. If a house reflected the personality of its occupant, then something of Anna Leoni must linger within these walls. But other tenants had also claimed this space, and Maura wondered which knickknacks, which pictures on the wall had belonged to Anna, and which had been left by others before her. That pastel painting of a sunset-surely not Anna’s. No sister of mine would hang something so hideous, she thought. And that odor of stale cigarettes permeating the house-surely it had not been Anna who smoked. Identical twins are often eerily alike; wouldn’t Anna have shared Maura’s aversion to cigarettes? Wouldn’t she, too, sniffle and cough at the first whiff of smoke?
They came to a bedroom with a stripped mattress.
“She didn’t use this room, I guess,” said Miss Clausen. “Closet and dressers were empty.”
Next came a bathroom. Maura went in and opened the medicine cabinet. On the shelves were Advil and Sudafed and Ricola cough drops, brand names that startled her by their familiarity. These were the same products she kept in her own bathroom cabinet. Right down to our choice of flu medicines, she thought, we were identical.
She closed the cabinet door. Continued down the hall to the last doorway.
“This was the bedroom she used,” said Miss Clausen.
The room was neatly kept, the bedcovers tucked in, the dresser top free of clutter.
“State police came in last week, gave the whole house a going-over.”
“Did they find anything of interest?”
“Not that they told me. She didn’t keep much in here. Lived here only a few months.”
Maura turned and looked out the window. It was not yet dark, but the gloom of the surrounding woods made nightfall seem imminent.
Miss Clausen was standing just inside the bedroom door, as though waiting to charge a toll before she’d let Maura exit. “It’s not such a bad house,” she said.
Yes it is, thought Maura. It’s a horrid little house.
“This time of year, there’s nothing much left to rent. Everything’s pretty much taken. Hotels, motels. No rooms at the inn.”
Maura kept her gaze on the woods. Anything to avoid engaging this distasteful woman in any further conversation.
“Well, it was just a thought. I guess you found a place to stay tonight, then.”
The woman responded with a tight little smile. “So’s everything else.”
“They told me there were some vacancies up in Ellsworth.”
“Yeah? If you want to drive all the way up there. Take you longer than you think in the dark. Road winding all over the place.” Miss Clausen pointed to the bed. “I could get you some fresh linens. Charge you what the motel would have. If you’re interested.”
Maura looked down at the bed, and felt a cold whisper up her spine.
“Oh, well. Take it or leave it.”
“I don’t know…”
Miss Clausen gave a grunt. “Seems to me you don’t have much of a choice.”
Maura stood on the front porch and watched the taillights of Britta Clausen’s pickup truck disappear into the dark curtain of trees. She lingered a moment in the gathering darkness, listening to the crickets, to the rustle of leaves. She heard creaking behind her, and turned to see the porch swing was moving, as though nudged by a ghostly hand. With a shudder, she stepped back into the house and was about to lock the door when she suddenly went very still. Felt, once again, that whisper of a chill against her neck.
There were four locks on the door.
She stared at two chains, a sliding latch, and a dead bolt. The brass plates were still bright, the screws untarnished.
She went into the kitchen and flipped on the lights. Saw tired linoleum on the floor, a small dining table with chipped Formica. In the corner, a Frigidaire growled. But it was the back door she focused on. It had three locks, brass plates gleaming. She felt her heart starting to thump faster as she fastened the locks. Then she turned and was startled to see yet another bolted door in the kitchen. Where did that one lead?
She slid open the bolt and opened the door. She saw narrow wooden stairs leading down into darkness. Cool air rose from below, and she smelled damp earth. The back of her neck was prickling.
She closed the door, slid the bolt shut. That’s when she realized this lock was different; it was rusted, old.
Now she felt the need to check that all the windows were bolted as well. Anna had been frightened so badly that she had turned this house into a fortress, and Maura could still feel that fear permeating every room. She tested the kitchen windows, then moved to the living room.
Only when she was satisfied that the windows were all secure in the rest of the house did she finally begin exploring the bedroom. Standing before the open closet, she gazed at the clothes inside. Sliding the hangers across the pole, she eyed each garment, noting they were precisely her size. She pulled a dress from its hanger-a black knit, with the clean, simple lines that she herself favored. She imagined Anna standing in a department store, lingering over this dress on the rack. Checking the price tag, holding up the garment against her body as she gazed into a mirror, thinking: This is the one I want.
Maura unbuttoned her blouse, removed her slacks. She stepped into the black dress, and as she pulled up the
