and handed one to each twin. “These work better than breadcrumbs,” she whispered conspiratorially. The boys accepted the gift and stared at her in awe.
“You are
Olivia laughed, a sound rich and deep as the tolling of a bell in the distant sea. “I’m good with yours for about thirty seconds, but that’s only because they’re yours. Besides, one doesn’t have to know much about children to recognize intelligence. Your boys are smart and imaginative and I must admit, I enjoy the glint of mischief in their eyes.”
“It’s more than a glint,” Laurel murmured, but she was clearly pleased by the compliment. “Why are you filling your cart with emergency supplies?” she asked as they headed toward the checkout.
“I like to be prepared,” Olivia answered cryptically. Laurel had enough on her mind without having to worry about an impending storm. As Laurel tried to maneuver her stroller through the narrow checkout space, she looked very young and vulnerable to Olivia.
Unaware of their mother’s struggle, the twins giggled, sticking their glow sticks under their shirts and watching in scientific delight as the material in the center of their chests changed hue. It was as if their hearts had turned into little moons. Olivia reached out toward their firefly glow and tickled their chubby legs.
“Laurel,” she said, ignoring the cashier who waited for her to sign her credit card receipt. “When you get home, call a locksmith and find out if there’s anything you can do to make your home safer. Don’t take any chances.”
Clearly surprised by Olivia’s serious tone, Laurel hesitated, but she must have recognized the concern on her friend’s face, because she nodded and then pushed the stroller out the door.
“She’d be better off buyin’ a gun,” the man in line behind Olivia remarked. “Doesn’t her man have one?” he queried, making it apparent that any man who did not possess a firearm wasn’t a genuine male.
“Her husband’s a dentist. I believe he prefers other weapons.” Olivia accepted her bags from the cashier and flashed a wry grin at the man behind her. “But don’t worry. I could always loan her my rifle. I’ve got a Browning and she’s a beauty.”
As Olivia stepped outside, she heard the man murmur, “Damn, now
As the sun hit her face, Olivia gave a slight smile. Some men loved a woman with her own weapon.
Chapter 2
The Saturday before Labor Day promised to be sultry with a scattering of feathery clouds in a denim blue sky. The beaches of Oyster Bay would be packed with children and sun-worshippers, the harbor would be crammed with boats heading out for fishing trips or pleasure cruises, and every space in The Boot Top’s reservation log would be full.
Olivia was grateful to have the beach to herself this morning. She lived north of town and there was nothing but the lighthouse to capture the interest of vacationers. Even then, they had to be willing to traverse the gravel road leading to the landmark and pay a small fee for the privilege of being able to climb up the winding stairs to the main gallery.
From here, the view was spectacular. The ocean stretched endlessly into the distance until it blurred into a thin, blue line where it kissed the horizon. Ships of all sizes passed slowly across the water, and dark shadows indicative of large schools of fish provided contrast to the glittering surface waves.
This was the beauty of the lighthouse in the daytime, but only a select number of locals knew that its true magnificence was revealed when a storm front moved in or when the sun set and night fell over the ocean.
As a child, Olivia had often nicked the key from the absentminded keeper and had climbed the stairs to the watch. She would bring a book and an old towel to sit on and read as a million stars were born in the inky blackness overhead. When the sea had turned as dark as the sky, the water seemed to be pushing stars in Olivia’s direction and she felt cherished by the offering.
On other days, she’d crouch on the balcony, her blue eyes wide as heavy thunderclouds bore down upon the Point. She had traveled across the world, but never had she seen a sight more electrifying than forks of lightning bursting across the sky, endeavoring, or so it seemed, to pierce the very heart of the ocean.
Now, at a quarter past eight in the morning, the beach was deserted. The lighthouse didn’t open until ten and Olivia’s closest neighbors lived two miles up the beach and rarely ventured outside.
“What do you think we’ll find today, Captain?” she asked Haviland and lowered the Bounty Hunter Discovery 3300 metal detector to the ground.
The poodle shook his black ears and shot forward, unwilling to wait as his mistress fiddled with her noisy machine. There were gulls and sandpipers to chase and crabs that needed to be sent scuttling back into their sandy burrows.
Olivia adjusted the metal detector’s volume and began to walk, sweeping the disc in a slow and constant arc as she moved forward. After years of hunting for assorted treasures deposited onto the shore by generous waves, Olivia knew how to differentiate between the high bleeps signaling useless items like nails or bottle caps and the higher-pitched sounds indicating the presence of jewelry or coins.
She paused after half a mile and removed a bottle of water and a folding trench shovel from her backpack. After taking several swallows of water, she dug through the moist sand and uncovered two tokens for a children’s arcade located several towns away.
“Nothing exciting,” she told Haviland as he trotted over to examine her find. Still, she pocketed the tokens. Later, she would clean them with the same precision she’d apply to a priceless coin.
Olivia kept all her finds in jumbo pickle jars. Each one was labeled with the season and the year. During the winter months, she liked to sit on the floor of her cavernous living room and spill the contents onto her Aubusson rug. In front of a crackling fire in the wide stone hearth, Olivia would run her fingers over shotgun shells, rings, coins, and belt buckles, wondering about the lives of the owners as the salty smell of the sea drifted over the carpet.
Since childhood, Olivia had received gifts from the ocean. These days she had to search for them, but the long, quiet walks gave Olivia’s restless soul a measure of peace, and the steady whisper of the waves kept her company. The sea had taken her father from her, but that was the only time it had claimed anything belonging to her. Last summer, the currents had even delivered several clues that allowed her to assist the local police in solving a murder case.
As Olivia thought back on the violent death of her friend and fellow writer, she rounded a bend at the tip of the Point and hesitated. Normally, she’d turn back after this distance, driven by hunger and a desire for a second cup of coffee, but something urged her onward. The waves near her feet abruptly retreated, as though the tide had yanked them backward in order to let her pass. Up ahead, Olivia saw the glint of sunlight on metal.
“Haviland!” Olivia called and the poodle raced toward the twinkle, barking happily. “That dog loves a mystery,” she muttered to herself with a smile.
Her expression changed as Haviland’s bark became agitated. The poodle darted toward what appeared to be a child’s plastic bucket and then rapidly jumped away again. The large green bucket was planted in the sand as though someone was preparing to build the first of several castle turrets but had suddenly been called away.
“What is it, Captain?” Olivia watched her dog carefully. He was clearly repelled by the scent emanating from beneath the bucket, and as Olivia drew closer, the breeze shifted and she was nearly flattened by the stench.
“Holy Hell!” she covered her mouth and nose with her hand and winced. “What’s
Setting the metal detector on the ground, she approached the bucket warily.
“Did some kid trap a horseshoe crab?” She looked at Haviland, but he answered with an urgent bark. It was not a horseshoe crab.
Olivia searched for a stick. There were none by the water’s edge, so she climbed up the dunes and came back with a dried reed stalk. She paused to tie a bandana around the bottom half of her face, her breathing becoming shallower out of trepidation. The smell spoke of death and rot and things not meant to be exposed to the harsh light of the morning sun.
