Sixteen
ABRA WOUND HER WAY THROUGH TABLES, BUSING EMPTIES, taking orders and checking IDs as the Boston-born band pulled in a hefty share of the college crowd. Following bar policy, she rewarded each party’s designated driver—when they had one—with free non-alcoholic drinks through the night.
Otherwise, tonight’s crowd leaned heavy on beer and wine. She kept her tables happy—casually flirting with guys, complimenting girls on hair or shoes, laughing at jokes, quick conversations with familiar faces. She enjoyed the work, the noise and the hustle. She liked the people-watching, the speculating.
The stone-cold-sober DD from her table of five channeled any desire he might have had for beer into hitting on a nearby table of girls, particularly the milk-skinned redhead. From her reaction, the way the two of them danced, the whispers when the girl group trooped off as a pack for the ladies’, Abra figured the DD might just get lucky later.
She served a round to a pair of couples—she cleaned for one set—and was pleased to see earrings she’d made dangling from both women’s earlobes.
Boosted, she made her way to the back table, and its single occupant. No familiar face here, and not by her gauge a particularly happy one. Anyone who sat alone at the back of a bar nursing tonic and lime didn’t project happiness.
“How’s it going back here?”
She got a long stare and a tap on the now empty glass in answer.
“Tonic with lime. I’ll take care of that. Can I get you anything else? We’re famous for our nachos.”
When all she got was a shake of the head, she took the empty, tried an easy smile. “I’ll get right back to you.”
Thinking the likelihood strong that the tonic-and-lime would be a lousy tipper, she headed back to the bar.
Risky, he thought. Risky coming in here, getting so close to her. But he’d been reasonably sure she hadn’t seen him that night in Bluff House. Now as she looked him right in the eye without a single flicker of recognition, he could be absolutely sure. And rewards, God knew, took risk.
He’d wanted to watch her, to see how she behaved—and he’d hoped Landon would be there, opening up a fresh opportunity to get back into the house.
But then he’d hoped the police would take Landon in for questioning. He’d needed only a small opening to get in, plant the gun, make an anonymous call.
Now, they’d searched the place, so planting the gun in Bluff House wouldn’t work. But there was always another avenue. The woman might be the best route.
She could be his way back into Bluff House. He needed to think about that. He had to get back in, finish his search. The dowry was there; he believed it with every fiber of his being. He’d already risked so much, lost so much.
No going back, he reminded himself. He’d killed now, and found it a great deal easier than he’d expected. Just the press of a finger on the trigger, hardly any effort at all. Logically, it would be easier the next time, if a next time proved necessary.
In fact, he might enjoy killing Landon. But it had to look like an accident, or suicide. Nothing that made the police, or the media, or anyone, question Landon’s guilt.
Because he knew, without doubt, Eli Landon had killed Lindsay.
He could use that, and already imagined forcing Landon to write out a confession before he died. Spilling that blue Landon blood as the coward begged for his life. Yes, he found he wanted that more than he’d realized.
An eye for an eye? And more.
Landon deserved to pay; he deserved to die. Making that happen would be nearly as rich a reward as Esmeralda’s Dowry.
When he saw Eli walk in, the rise of rage nearly choked him. The red-hot haze of it blurred his vision, urged him to reach for the gun holstered at his back, the same gun he’d used to kill Kirby Duncan. He could see, actually see the bullets punching into the Landon bastard’s body. The blood gushing as he fell.
His hands trembled with the need to end the man he hated above all else.
Accident or suicide. He repeated the words over and over in his head in a struggle to regain control, to calm his killing fury. The effort popped beads of sweat on his forehead as he fought to consider his options.
At the bar Abra waited for her drink orders and chatted with her favorite village character. Short, stocky, with a monk’s ring of wispy white hair, Stoney Tribbet worked on his second beer and a bump of the night. Stoney rarely missed a Friday night at the pub. He claimed he liked the music, and the pretty girls.
He’d be eighty-two that summer, and he’d spent every year of it—except for a stint in the army in Korea—in Whiskey Beach.
“I’ll build you your own yoga studio when you marry me,” he told her.
“With a juice bar?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“I’m going to have to think about that, Stoney, because it’s pretty tempting. Especially since it comes with you.”
His weathered map of a face went pink under its permanent tan. “Now we’re talking.”
Abra gave him a kiss on his grizzled cheek, then lit up when she saw Eli.
“I didn’t expect you to come in.”
Stoney turned on his stool, gave Eli the hard eye, then it softened. “Now that’s a Landon if I ever saw one. Are you Hester’s grandboy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stoney Tribbet, Eli Landon.”
Stoney shot out a hand. “I knew your grandpa—you got his eyes. We had some adventures together back a ways. Some long ways.”
“Eli, why don’t you keep Stoney company while I get these drinks served?”
“Sure.” Due to the current lack of a stool, Eli leaned on the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Looks like I’ve got one here. Belly up, boy, and I’ll buy you one. You know your grandpa and I both had our eye on the same girl once upon a time.”
He tried to picture his tall, lanky grandfather and this fireplug of a man on adventures, and competing for the same woman.
A tough picture to mind-sketch.
“Is that so?”
“Rock-solid truth. Then he went off to Boston to school, and I scooped her up. He got Harvard and Hester, and I got Mary. We agreed we both couldn’t have done better. What’re you drinking?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
Pleased two of her favorite people were sharing drinks and conversation, Abra snaked her way through to deliver orders. As she moved toward the back, she saw the empty table, and the bills tossed on it.
Odd, she thought, putting the money on her tray. It looked like her solo had changed his mind about another tonic and lime.
At the bar Eli settled in, snagging a stool when an ass lifted off one, listening to stories—some he assumed were exaggerated for effect—about his grandfather as a boy and young man.
“He rode that motorcycle hell for leather. Gave the locals a fit.”
“My grandfather. On a motorcycle.”
“Most usually with a pretty girl in the sidecar.” Eyes twinkling, Stoney slurped through the head of his beer. “I thought he’d win Mary because of that motorcycle. She loved riding. The best I could offer back then were the handlebars of my bike. We’d’ve been about sixteen then. Used to have the best damn bonfires down on the beach. With whiskey Eli nipped from his father’s cabinet.”
Now Eli tried to picture the man he’d been named for driving a motorcycle with a sidecar, and pilfering his own father’s liquor supply.
Either the image came more naturally, or the beer helped it along.
“They threw some big parties at Bluff House,” Stoney told him. “Fancy people would come up from Boston, New York, Phillydelphia and where-not. They’d have the house lit up like a Roman candle, with people gliding along the terraces in their white tuxes and evening gowns.
“Made a hell of a picture,” Stoney said, and downed his bump.
“Yeah. I bet it did.”
Chinese lanterns, silver candelabras, big urns of tropical flowers—and the people in their Gatsby elegance.
“Eli, he’d slip out, get one of the servants to bring down food and French champagne. I’m pretty sure his parents knew about it. We’d have our own party on the beach, and Eli, he’d go back and forth between. He was good at that, if you take my meaning. Good at being between. Rich and fancy, and everyday. First time I saw Hester, he brought her down from a party. She was in a long white dress. Had a laugh in her, always did. One look at her, and I knew Mary was mine. Eli couldn’t take his eyes off Hester Hawkin.”
“Even as a kid I knew they were happy together.”
“So they were.” Nodding sagely, Stoney banged a hand on the bar, his signal for another round.
“You know, Eli and I married our girls within a couple months of each other. Stayed friendly, too. He lent me the money to start my carpentry business. Wouldn’t take no when he heard I was going to go to the bank for a loan to get it going.”
“You’ve lived here all your life.”
“Ayah. I was born here, figuring on dying here in another twenty, thirty years.” He grinned over the dregs of his beer. “I did a lot of work in Bluff House over the years. Been retired awhile, but when Hester got it in her head to refit that room up on the second floor for a gym, she brought the plans to me to look over. I’m glad she’s doing better. Whiskey Beach isn’t the same without her in Bluff House.”
“It’s not. You know the house pretty well.”
“I’d say as well as those who’ve lived there. Did some plumbing for them on the side. No plumbing license, but I’ve got handy hands. Always did.”
“What do you think about Esmeralda’s Dowry?”
He snorted. “I think if there ever was such a thing, it’s long gone. Don’t tell me you’re looking for it. If you are, you’ve got your grandfather’s eyes but not his good sense.”
“I’m not. But somebody is.”
“Do tell.”
Sometimes, Eli thought, the way to get information was to give it. He did tell.
Stoney pulled on his bottom lip and considered. “What the hell could you bury in that basement? The floor’s as much stone as dirt. There are better places to hide a treasure, if you’re hiding it. Not too bright to think it’s in the house in the first place. Generations of people living there—servants, workmen like me and my crew. Plenty of us have been over every inch of that place at one time or another, including the servants’ passages.”
“Servants’ passages?”
“Long before your time. Used to be staircases behind the walls, and ways for the servants to get up and down without running into family or guests. One of the first things Hester did once they took over the house was have them closed up. Eli made the mistake of telling her how kids had gotten lost and locked in behind the walls. He made half of it up, I expect, that was his way to a good story. But she put her foot down. I closed them up myself, me and three I hired on for the job. What she didn’t close off she opened up—the breakfast room, another bed and bath on the second floor.”
“I had no idea.”
“She was carrying your father when we did the work. Everybody who’s lived in Bluff House put their stamp on it one way or the other. What are you planning?”
“I haven’t thought about it. It’s my grandmother’s house.”
Stoney smiled, nodded. “Bring her back home.”
“That I am planning on. Maybe you could give me a better idea where those passages were.”
“Can do better.” Stoney picked up a bar napkin, rooted a pencil out of his pocket. “My hands aren’t as handy as they once were, but nothing’s wrong with my brain cells or memory.”
They closed the place down. Though Stoney outdrank him two for one, Eli was damn glad he wouldn’t drive home. And just as glad when Stoney told him he was on foot.
“We’ll give you a lift,” Eli told him.
“No need for that. I barely live a Stoney’s throw from here.” He cackled at his own joke. “And it looks to me like I’ve got another Landon eyeing my girl.”
“I don’t know if this one can fix my screen door.” Abra tucked her arm through Stoney’s. “I’ll take Eli’s keys and drive all three of us home.”
“I didn’t bring my car. I figured I’d ride home with you.”
“I walked.”
Eli frowned down at her high black heels. “In those?”
“No. In these.” She pulled a pair of green Crocs out of her bag. “And it looks like I’m putting them back on because we’re all walking home.”
She changed her shoes, zipped into a jacket. When they stepped outside she took each man by the hand. “Looks like I won tonight’s jackpot. Two handsome men.”
Both of whom, she thought as they walked, were just a little bit drunk.
Over his objections, they detoured to walk Stoney to the door of his trim little house. The sound of high-pitched barking sounded before they were within two yards.
“All right, Prissy! All right!”
The barks turned to excited whines. “The old girl’s half blind,” Stoney said, “but she’s got her hearing. Nobody gets past old Prissy. You two go on now. Go do what healthy young people ought to be doing on a Friday night.”
“I’ll see you Tuesday.” Abra kissed his cheek.
They strolled away, but waited until the lights switched on before veering back toward the shore road. “Tuesday?” Eli asked.
“I clean for him every other Tuesday.” She hitched her bag more securely on her shoulder. “He and his Mary, I never got to meet her. She died five years ago. They had three kids. A son and two daughters. The son’s in Portland—Maine—one of the daughters lives in Seattle. The closest one is in D.C., but they manage to visit him pretty regularly. And there’s grandchildren, too. There are eight, and five great-grandchildren so far. He can take care of himself, but it doesn’t hurt to have somebody right here looking in from time to time.”
“So you clean his place every other week.”
“And run errands. He doesn’t do much driving anymore. His next-door neighbor has a kid about ten who’s crazy about Stoney, so he rarely gets a day when somebody’s not dropping in or calling. I’m fairly crazy about him myself. If I marry him, he’s promised to build me my own yoga studio.”
“I could . . .” Eli considered his carpentry skills. “I could have a yoga studio built for you.”
On a flutter of eyelashes, she tipped her face up to his. “Is that a proposal?”
“What?”
She laughed, curled her arm through his. “I should’ve warned you Stoney has an impressive capacity for alcohol. He likes to say he was reared on the whiskey of Whiskey Beach.”
“We were switching off. He bought the first round, so I bought the second. Then he bought a third, and I felt obligated. I don’t quite remember how many times I felt obligated. There’s an awful lot of fresh air out here.”
“There is.” She tightened her hold when he weaved a bit. “And gravity, too. This place is lousy with air and gravity. We should get inside. My place is closer.”
“Yeah, we could . . . except I don’t like leaving the house empty. It feels wrong.”
With a nod, she forgot the shorter walk. “It’s good for you to walk in the fresh air and gravity anyway. I’m glad you came in tonight.”
“I wasn’t going to, but I kept thinking about you. Then there was the whole Easter thing happening.”
“The Easter Bunny came already?”
“What? No.” Now he laughed, the sound rolling down the empty street. “He hasn’t finished laying the eggs yet.”
“Eli, the Easter Chicken lays the eggs. The bunny hides them.”
“Whatever, they’re doing it at Bluff House this year.”
“They are?” She glanced at her cottage as they passed, but didn’t think she should run in for a quick change of clothes. She might come out and find him curled up asleep in the middle of the road.
“That’s what my mother said. They’re all coming up on Saturday.”
“That’s great. Hester’s able to travel?”
“She’s going to talk to the doctor first, but it looks good for it. The whole bunch of them. There’s stuff I have to do first. I can’t think what it is right now, except I don’t have to bake a ham. But you have to come.”
“I’ll drop in, sure. I’d love to see them, Hester especially.”
“No.” While he felt slightly steadier with the sea breeze blowing, Eli had a sudden, wicked craving for potato chips. Or pretzels. Or just about anything that would sop up some of the excess beer in his belly.
“You have to be there,” he continued, “for the thing. Easter. I thought I should tell my mother we were seeing each other so it wouldn’t be weird. Then it got weird, like I’d won a blue ribbon or something, then she started crying.”
“Oh, Eli.”
“She said happy crying, which I don’t get, but women do.” He glanced down at her for verification.
“Yes, we do.”
“So it’s probably going to be weird, but you have to come anyway. I need to buy stuff. And things.”
“I’ll put stuff and things on the list.”
“Okay.” He weaved again. “It’s not the beer, it’s the bumps. . . . My grandfather used to drive a motorcycle with a sidecar. I didn’t know that. It seems like I should have. I didn’t know there used to be servants’ passages in the house. There’s too much I don’t know. Look at it.”
Bluff House stood silhouetted in starlight, illuminated from within. “I’ve taken it for granted.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Too much of it. I haven’t paid attention, especially in the last few years. Too wrapped up in my own stuff, and couldn’t seem to roll my way out of it. I need to do better.”
“Then you will.”
He stopped a moment, smiled at her. “I’m a little drunk. You look amazing.”
“I look amazing because you’re a little drunk?”
“No. Some of it’s just knowing who you are and being good with it, doing what you do, and, well, being happy doing it. And some of it’s those sea-witch eyes and that sexy mouth with that little mole right there. Lindsay was beautiful. She took your breath away.”
A little drunk, Abra reminded herself. Allowances could be made. “I know.”
“But she, I think, she didn’t really know who she was, and wasn’t good with it. She wasn’t happy. I didn’t make her happy.”
“Everyone has to make themselves happy first.”
“Now you remember.”
“I remember.” He leaned down to kiss her, there in the shadows of the great house under a sky mad with stars. “I need to sober up some because I want to make love with you, and I want to be sure I remember that, too.”
“Then let’s make it unforgettable.”
The minute they were inside and he’d punched in the alarm code, he pulled her against him.
She welcomed his mouth, his hands, but eased away. “First things first,” she said, drawing him through the house. “What you need is a big glass of water and a couple aspirin. Hydration and hangover anticipation. And I’m going to have a glass of wine so you’re not so far ahead of me.”
“Fair enough. I really want to tear your clothes off.” He blocked her, shoved her back against the counter. “Just tear them off because I know what’s under them, and it drives me crazy.”
“Looks like we’re going to get to the kitchen floor this time.” With his teeth at her throat, she dropped her head back. “I think it’s going to live up to the hype.”
“Just let me . . . wait.”
“Oh, sure, now it’s wait after you’ve—”
“Wait.” He set her aside, his face stony now. She followed his gaze to the alarm panel.
“How did you manage to smudge that up? I’ll clean it tomorrow,” she said, reaching for him.
“I didn’t.” He stepped over, examined the door. “I think the door’s been forced. Don’t touch anything,” he snapped when she went to him. “Call the police. Now.”
She dug into her bag, then her hands froze when he pulled a knife out of the block. “Oh God, Eli.”
“If there’s any trouble, you run. Do you hear me? You go out that door and you run, and don’t stop until you’re safe.”
“No, and now you wait.” She punched numbers on the phone. “Vinnie, it’s Abra. Eli and I just got back to Bluff House. We think someone’s broken in. We don’t know if he’s still here. In the kitchen. Yes. Yes. Okay. He’s coming,” she told Eli. “He’s calling it in on the way. He wants us to stay right where we are. If we see or hear anything, we go out, and get gone.”
Her heart picked up another speed when she saw Eli’s gaze turn toward the basement door. “If you go down there, I go down there.”
Ignoring her, he walked to the door, turned the knob. “It’s locked from this side. The way I left it.” Still holding the knife, he walked to the back door, unlocked it, opened it, then crouched.
“Fresh marks here. Back door, facing the beach at night. Nobody to see. He had to know I wasn’t here. How did he know?”
“He must be watching the house. He must have seen you leave.”
“On foot,” Eli remembered. “If I’d just been taking a walk, I might have been gone for ten, fifteen minutes. It’s a lot of risk.”
“He might’ve followed you, seen you go into the bar. A calculated risk that he’d have more time.”
“Maybe.”
“The alarm pad.” Still wary, Abra edged a bit closer. “I’ve seen that somewhere—TV, movies—I thought it was just made up. Spraying something on the pad so the oil from fingerprints comes up. You know what numbers have been pressed. Then a computer thing runs different patterns until it breaks the code.”
“Something like that. It’s how he might’ve gotten in before, when my grandmother was here. He could’ve gotten her keys, made copies. Just let himself the fuck in after that. But he didn’t know we’d changed the code, so he cut the power the last time when the old code didn’t work.”
“That makes him stupid.”
“Maybe desperate or panicked. Maybe just pissed off.”
“You want to go down there. I can see it. You want to know if he started digging again. Vinnie will be here any minute.”
If he went down and she came with him, and anything happened, he’d be responsible. If he went down and she stayed put, and anything happened, he’d be responsible.
So, Eli concluded, he was stuck.
“I was gone about three hours. God damn it, I gave him a nice, big window.”
“What are you supposed to do? Pull a Miss Havisham and never leave the house?”
“The alarm system sure isn’t doing any good. We’re going to have to beef that up.”
“Or something.” She heard the wail of sirens. “That’s Vinnie.”
Eli slid the knife back into the block. “Let’s go let him in.”
Cops swarmed his house again. He was getting used to it. He drank coffee, and walked the house with them, starting with the basement.
“Determined bastard,” Vinnie remarked as they studied the trench. “He got another couple feet in. He must’ve brought in more tools, and took them away with him this time.”
Eli glanced around to make sure Abra hadn’t come down. “I think he’s crazy.”
“Well, he ain’t smart.”
“No, Vinnie, I think he’s crazy. He’d risk breaking in, again, to spend a couple hours hacking at this floor? There’s nothing here. I talked to Stoney Tribbet tonight.”
“Now there’s a character.”
“He is, and he also said something that makes clear sense. Why would anyone bury anything here? It’s damn hard dirt and rock, or a lot of it is. It’s why we never bothered to lay concrete. If you bury something—excluding a body—don’t you usually intend to dig it back up, at some point?”
“Most likely.”
“Then why make it so damn much work? Bury it in the garden, plant a fucking bush over it. Out front where the ground’s softer, or where it’s mostly sand. Or don’t bury it at all, but hide it under floorboards, behind a wall. If I’m looking for the damn treasure, I’m not going to use a pick and shovel down here. Or if I’m crazy enough to believe it’s here, I’m going to wait until I know the house is empty for a couple days—like it is when my grandmother visits Boston—and I’m going to go at it with a jackhammer.”
“I’m not going to argue, but this is what it is. I’m going to let Corbett know about this, and we’ll increase the patrol. We’re going to make noise about the extra patrols.” Vinnie added, “If he’s in the area, he’ll hear about it. It should give him second thoughts about trying this again.”
Eli doubted second thoughts would stop anyone willing to risk so much for a legend.