“It was dark. All I could say for sure was that it was a ‘him.’”
“This was last night?”
“I drove straight to the sheriff’s station afterward. Larner wasn’t there. He had this sign in the window—”
“
“What is it with you people and not answering your doors?”
“If it’s that important, it can wait.”
“Ah, more Chapel Isle logic.”
“Only kinda logic I got. Anyhow, I was meaning to give you a ring. You don’t have to do my route anymore. Tonight can be your last night. I’m feeling better. I can do it myself.”
“Are you sure? You’re still walking with your umbrella.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m peachy. And I’m well prepared if it rains.”
“Okay, but what about the man I saw? Do you think I should tell the sheriff?”
“Your call,” Merle answered, indifferent.
“Don’t you care that somebody’s coming to the island,
“Yes, I care. Except those houses that are being robbed, they’re for the tourists. They’re not for us. I worry for Lottie’s sake. If she’s hit, she’ll get the insurance money, then she’ll have to pay to fix whatever damage the burglar did and her rates will skyrocket. That’s a raw deal. Fact is, she sends me around only so she can keep track of which units have been broken into and which haven’t. It’s not prevention. It’s treading water.”
“What if it was your house? What then?”
“It won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
He wouldn’t answer.
“Merle,” Abigail pressed.
“Whoever’s doing these burglaries, they never target islanders’ homes. Don’t even step foot on our side of town. Because as soon as they came to one of
“Then who is it? Someone from the mainland who visits during the summer?”
Merle looked at his feet, as though his expression might give him away.
“You think it’s somebody from Chapel Isle.”
He frowned yet didn’t disagree.
“Why would someone who lives here do that?”
Merle lowered himself onto a folding chair. What he was about to say appeared to pain him more than his injury.
“Wasn’t the best summer this year. People were praying for better. Heck, they were counting on it. Fishing industry’s gone soft. There are more boats in these waters than fish. People’ve gotten to depend on the summer money. Weak as this season was, it’s not a shock someone’s gotten desperate. Not a shock at all.”
“Do you think the sheriff knows what’s going on?”
“Dunno.”
“What if he does?”
“Then he does.”
That was how it was on Chapel Isle. A secret could be widely known but still be a secret. A crime could occur with an island full of witnesses and not be a crime.
The road from Merle’s house brought Abigail to an intersection. She could either turn right toward town or left to the lighthouse. She had a choice to make: whether to tell the sheriff what she’d seen or let it lie.
As her engine idled, a school bus pulled up on the opposite side of the road. Children were running from their houses to catch it and waiting in line to board. It was such a normal sight that it made Abigail feel normal simply watching it.
The school bus rode onward, passing her station wagon. She flipped her turn signal. She went left.
Abigail spent the rest of the day pushing and pulling the manual lawn mower across the backyard. The constant whirring of the blades drowned out thought. The steady motion anesthetized her mind. When she finished, the lighthouse appeared taller and the brick caretaker’s house seemed less dilapidated.
Satisfied, she went inside, then drew herself a hot bath. Abigail had gone three days without bathing, a lapse that would have been unconscionable in the past.
“Your hygiene certainly has suffered since moving here. Welcome to the new Abby.”
For a change, she was excited about being in the bathroom. The white grout made the tiles gleam. The pale yellow paint gave the cramped room an airier feel. While the bathwater ran, Abigail went to the study to grab something to read in the tub. She perused the shelves. None of the books struck her fancy. That was until her eyes
