“Even in the winter?” Wedmore asked.
“Sure,” Elliot said. “We’ve got a heater, we’ve got water, it’s not so hard.”
“I love it,” Gwyn said. “I hated the upkeep with a house. This is so much easier.”
“When we need groceries or to do the laundry, we get a taxi and run our errands,” Elliot said. “It’s close quarters, I’ll give you that, but we have everything we need. And it means when our kids want to come visit, they have to take a hotel. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
Wedmore was impressed. She had no idea anyone could live here year-round, and doubted any officers who’d been down here investigating Ann Slocum’s death would have thought to look for anyone.
“I wanted to ask you about the woman who died here the other night.”
“What woman was that?” Elliot asked.
“Just over there? Friday night? A woman fell off the pier. Struck her head, drowned. Her body was found there later that night when an officer noticed her car sitting there, the door open, the motor running.”
“That’s a new one on us,” Gwyn said. “But we don’t have a TV, or listen to the radio much, and we don’t get a paper. And we sure don’t have a computer here, so we’re not on the Internet. Christ Himself could rent a boat here and we wouldn’t know about it.”
“That’s the truth,” Elliot agreed.
“So you didn’t see the police early Saturday?”
“I did notice a couple of police cars,” Elliot said. “But it didn’t seem to be any of our business, so we stayed on the boat.”
Wedmore sighed. If they hadn’t been curious enough to check out a swarm of police cars, it wasn’t likely they’d noticed much of anything going on around here.
“I don’t suppose you saw anything out of the ordinary late Friday night, early Saturday morning, then?”
The two looked at each other. “Just those cars that drove down, wouldn’t you say, hon?” Gwyn asked Elliot.
“Just that,” he said.
“Cars?” Wedmore asked. “When was this?”
“You see, when anyone drives down that ramp there toward the pier,” Gwyn explained, “their lights flash right into our bedroom.” She smiled, then pointed to the forward hatch, where Wedmore could make out a bed that tapered toward the bow. “It’s not much of a bedroom, but there are some very small windows in there. And I guess it was around ten or eleven, something like that.”
“Did you notice anything else?”
“I got up on my knees and took a peek outside,” Elliot said. “But it must not have been the same thing you’re talking about.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, there were two cars. Not just one car came down. Some woman was getting out of her car just as another one was pulling in right behind her.”
“The first car, it was a BMW?”
Elliot frowned. “Could have been. I don’t pay much attention to makes of cars.”
“And the car that pulled in behind it, can you remember what it looked like?”
“Not really.”
“Would you at least be able to remember whether it was a pickup truck? A red one?”
He shook his head. “Nope, wasn’t a pickup truck. I think I would have noticed that. It would have sat up more, been shaped different. I think it was just a regular kind of car, but that’s about all I could tell ya.”
“Did you see who was in it?”
Another shake. “Couldn’t tell ya. That’s when I dropped back down and went to sleep. I have to tell you, I’ve never slept better than since I started hearing the sound of waves lapping up against the hull at night.” He smiled. “It’s like a lullaby.”
FORTY
Standing just inside the door, hearing an intruder moving around in my kitchen, my heart pounded as I tried to figure out how to handle this.
I could charge in there and surprise whomever it was. But there were problems with that. First, they might not be surprised. They might be waiting for me. And if the person waiting for me was Sommer, I knew he carried a weapon. I did not. So, not such a great plan.
I could try something really radical, like calling out, “Who is it?” But that had all the drawbacks of the previous strategy. Someone waiting for me could come out of the kitchen and shoot me just as easily as waiting for me to walk in there.
A third option made the most sense. Back quietly out of the house and call the police. I reached noiselessly into my jacket for my phone. Worried that the beeping would alert whoever was in the house to my presence, I opted to wait until I was outside before punching in 911.
I was turning to slip back out when the woman shrieked.
“Oh God! You gave me a heart attack!”
She was standing in the kitchen doorway, a beer bottle in one hand, a plate of crackers and cheese in the other.
My own heart did a flip, too, but I managed not to scream. “Jesus, Joan, what are you doing here?”
All the color had drained from her face. “Were you walking on your tiptoes or something? I didn’t hear you come in at all.”
“Joan-”
“Okay, okay, first of all, why don’t you take this beer?” She smiled and took a couple of steps toward me. She was wearing tight jeans, and that top again that showed a hint of bra. “You look like you could use it. I’d planned to nurse this one till you got here, but you take it and I’ll crack open another one. I figured it was okay to put some snacks out now.”
“How did you get in here?”
“What, Sheila never told you?”
“Told me what?”
“That I had a key? We had keys to each other’s place, in case there ever was a problem. You know, like if Kelly came to my place after school, but there was something she needed at home, or who knows? Kelly is away, right? I mean, I saw you putting her little suitcase in the truck, so I just figured maybe she was going to stay with Fiona for a day or two after the house getting shot up and all. Is that what you decided to do? It makes sense, it surely does.”
I stood there, stunned. “Go home, Joan.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry. I know what you’ve been going through and I just thought, When’s the last time anyone’s done anything nice for you? It’s been a while, am I right? Sheila told me her mother’s never cottoned to you, so I know the last thing she’s been to you these last few weeks is a comfort.”
“Carl Bain doesn’t have a wife,” I said. “At least not one that he lives with. She ran off when Carlson was only a baby.”
Joan stood there, frozen. The plate of crackers and cheese suddenly looked very heavy.
“Why did you tell me that story?” I asked. “Because it was all a story, right? The boy, he never said anything about his father hurting his mother. And you never told Sheila you were wondering what to do. Because it was all bullshit, right? You made those lies up.”
Joan’s eyes started to mist.
“Just tell me why,” I said, although I thought I’d already figured it out.
I saw panic in her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t talk to him.”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. I just do. You can’t do something like that.” I shook my head. “You can’t.” I took the beer and the plate from her hands and walked them into the kitchen. When I turned around, she was standing there, looking very small.
