A flutter of wings to his left caught his attention as a russet-breasted robin whipped past him, landing on a higher branch, then cocking her head at him. She wasn’t happy with the human intrusion, Slade decided.
Up ahead, he saw Brie climb over the twisted trunk of a semi-uprooted old tree, as surefooted as any deer she might find. Why it was important to her to capture living creatures he couldn’t know. On the bicycle path in, they’d passed colorful vines in full bloom and caught glimpses of a magnificent scarlet shrub, vivid against a blue sky. She hadn’t even paused. Artists were temperamental and determined, he reminded himself. And a shade peculiar.
He noticed that she kept to the edge of the pond, yet out of sight of anyone or anything trailing along its shores. He felt more than heard the rustle of leaves near his feet and looked down in time to see a chipmunk scurry past. His quick smile took him by surprise. He was surely a city boy.
Turning back, he stopped, noticing that Brie had crouched by a fallen log just ahead. He could tell by her position that she’d raised her camera and was adjusting her lens, setting up her shot. What was she focusing on? he wondered, for he could see nothing but the play of sunlight on the gently drifting pond water, the leafy green of a weeping willow nearby.
Then he saw them on the far side of the pond, a regal swan gliding along the shimmering water under the watchful eye of her larger mate. Her sleek, white neck formed a perfect loop as she drifted, seemingly unaware of the humans invading her private playground. Then the male set out, intercepting her path before falling into formation with her. The two graceful birds swam in unison like perfectly paired professional ice skaters skimming along a silvery rink.
Tired of standing, Slade, too, crouched down and narrowed his gaze, trying to see the scene as she did. Long minutes passed and still she hardly moved as she snapped shot after shot. How, he wondered as his legs began to cramp, could she hold so still without breaking the position? There was more to this photography business than inserting a roll of film and clicking away, it would seem.
Suddenly, he caught a slight tensing of Brie’s shoulders, an alertness as she shifted a fraction to the left, then slowly raised her camera, aiming at something in the nearby trees. His eyes burned from straining as he followed her gaze. At last he saw a full-chested owl sitting on a sturdy limb. His feathers were mostly brown with streaks of white and black, and looked to be soft. His eyes were wide open, his sleep interrupted by human interlopers. A light breeze was blowing the other way so he couldn’t have picked up their scent. Unblinking, he sat perfectly still, like a statue in a taxidermist’s window.
He saw Brie slowly turn her body as she rose, her camera focused directly on the watchful bird of prey. The click of the shutter sounded oddly loud in the dense forest. For the second time, Slade found himself smiling. Now he understood why she’d wanted to come to this quiet place. Nature at its finest was hard to beat.
Light and shadow played hide-and-seek over the rippling water as the untamed swans swam out of sight. Slade watched them disappear around the bend, then glanced back as Brie shifted again. Unbelievably silent wings fluttered wide and the owl took off, scarcely making a sound.
Letting out a breath, Brie finally lowered her camera as Slade came up behind her.
“That was something,” he commented, keeping his voice low, thinking it might still startle some creature in this hushed atmosphere.
“Yes, they’re beautiful, all these untamed creatures. I wish we’d run across a doe with her fawn, but the owl alone was worth the trip in.”
“I wonder how he knew we were here. We were so quiet.”
“Owls have very keen hearing and sight as well. I’ve read that they can hear a hundred times more distinctly than a human.”
“That must make for tough sleeping.”
“I wish my darkroom was finished so I could develop these myself.” She rose, rolling her tense shoulders.
“Make the drawing. It’ll only take me a couple of days to do it. Save the film and develop it later.” He took her elbow, helping her over a jagged rock. “I’ll bet you got some great shots there.”
“I hope so.” You could never tell if your hand was steady enough or if the subject moved or if the light shifted at just the wrong moment.
At the clearing by the bike path, Slade stopped. “You probably finished a whole roll in there. When you did your book on Manhattan, how many rolls did you go through?”
“Several hundred, and sometimes I could use only one or two from a specific roll. Night shots are harder, working with artificial lighting. The buildings were easy, but people are more difficult to capture on film than animals. Animals have no guile, no ego to get in the way, and if they don’t want you around, they simply run away. Not so people.” She repacked her case and anchored it on the bike rack.
“What do people do, get angry and argue with you?”
“Some. Or demand payment. Or want copies or credit in the book. I always carried release forms with me for them to sign so I wouldn’t get sued.”
“And did they sign?”
“Some. Not all.”
Slade shook his head as he reached for his bike. “Everyone wants their own fifteen minutes of fame, I guess.”
“Once a man grabbed my camera and threw it in the East River. Frightening.”
“Some vagrant, I suppose.”
She looked up. “Not at all. A well-dressed, middle-aged man smoking an expensive cigar.
But
he was strolling along with a blonde young enough to be his daughter, though I doubt she was. The funny thing is, I wasn’t even taking their picture. There was an old tug moving down the river that I was trying to shoot.”
“Ah yes, a guilty conscience. Makes people do whacky things.”
Which brought to mind her cheating father. Why was it that Wayne Gifford didn’t suffer from that common malady?
Slade straddled his bike. “You ready to go back?”
Brie glanced up at the lowering sun and noticed more fast-moving clouds drifting in. It had felt good, holding the camera, envisioning the shot, setting up the angle, working again. Maybe she’d call Jocelyn next week and tell her she was ready to consider a second book again.
Pleased with the afternoon’s shoot, she smiled at Slade. “I think so. How does pasta cooked in my new kitchen sound to you?”
“Like I can’t wait. Let’s go.”
Brie led the way into her living room, still without furniture but not for long. She’d gone shopping yesterday and found a few good pieces she was considering. “You can make yourself useful and open the wine while I start the sauce. I wouldn’t mind a glass while I cook.”
“You’ve got it.” While she put away her equipment, Slade paused for a moment in the kitchen doorway. Briana had done wonders with what had been a large, plain room. Recessed lighting, grainy textured wood cabinets with trailing green plants artfully placed on soffits all around. Red tiled floor, copper pots hung over an island sink, an overflowing fruit bowl, a cookie jar shaped like a brown bear with a straw hat. She had a knack for combining warmth and convenience that Jeremy had missed by a mile with his stainless-steel-precision cooking area. But all that was about to change. With Brie’s encouragement, Slade was gradually redoing his house.
His
house. Another milestone.
Walking in, he bent to the built-in wine rack and read the labels on her small collection. Although he’d been reading a book on wines that Jeremy had, Slade still was a long way from being an expert. But at least he was getting so he liked the taste of some better than others. That was a start.
“Red would be good, right?” he asked as she joined him after changing into a soft yellow sweatshirt and matching loose pants.
“Red would be great.” Passing the answering machine, she saw the red light blinking and hit the PLAY button before bending down to search for a big pot.
After a slight pause, a voice came on—low, gravelly, muffled. “You thought you could run away, but you can’t. I’m watching you, every day, everywhere. There’s nowhere you can hide.” A hang-up click followed.
Stunned, Brie straightened slowly, her knees a little wobbly as she stared white-faced at the machine.
Slade’s eyes were stormy. “What the hell!” Walking over, he hit the
PLAY
button again. A second message came on, a woman’s voice asking if the resident needed any carpet cleaning done. Annoyed, he hurried past that and pushed the button. Slipping his arm around Brie’s waist, he listened again to the playback.
As it finished, Brie shuddered. “Good Lord!” She wished her voice wasn’t so shaky. “Who is that?”
B
rie’s color was a little better after two sips of the blackberry brandy he’d found in the cupboard, Slade decided. “I don’t suppose you recognized the voice?”
“No, but who could? He’s obviously trying to disguise it.” She realized her grip on the snifter was hard enough to shatter glass, and she carefully set it down. “I wonder if it’s the same person who’s been calling and hanging up.”
Slade’s mind snapped to attention. “When did you get hang-ups and how many?”
“Just two. Probably nothing.”
“Tell me anyhow.”
“The evening I came back from Boston was the first one. The light was blinking and I thought it might be a message from you. But this machine records even the hang-ups and that’s all it was. Then again when I left your place the following afternoon, there was another.” Worried eyes raised to his. “Do you think we should notify the police and play this for them?”
His look told her what he thought of the local cops. “You mean the same police who’ve done such a great job of tracking down the guy who broke in here?” The instant the words were out, he regretted opening his big mouth.
A jolt of pure terror straightened her spine, had her envisioning a madman stalking her, watching her every move, phoning to see if she was home, ready to break in again. “You think there’s a connection?”
Silently cursing himself, Slade kept his voice level. “I was only trying to point out that the cops don’t seem to be on top of things around here.” He wrapped his warm fingers around her icy ones. “Listen, this could all be nothing.” He didn’t believe that for a moment, but he wanted to ease the haunted look in her eyes. “Who doesn’t get hangups, wrong numbers? And the break-in was likely kids looking for something to hock.” But how did he explain the implied threat of that raspy voice on the tape? “The guy who left that message could have dialed a wrong number.”
Ignoring that, Brie brushed back her hair and stared at the answering machine as if it were suddenly an alien thing. “I can’t make sense of what he meant. Run away? Hide? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Slade had been wondering the same thing. The part that worried him most was when the guy had said he was watching her every day. Who on this island wanted to frighten her and why? Still, if he asked her too many questions, Brie would really get spooked. Maybe he’d do a little investigating on his own, but in front of her, he needed to play it down. “Who knows? Listen, teenage boys—and girls, for that matter—love to fool around with the phones, call strangers, get them jumpy. I used to do it myself.”
She sent him a surprised look. “You did?”
“Hell, yes. My mother was never around so this one friend I had—Gordie was his name—Gordie and I used to make crank calls, especially to old ladies in the apartment building where we lived. No answering machines back then, but we’d say all kinds of nasty things directly to them. There was this one nasty little biddy who was always yelling at all of us kids to keep off the grass, quiet down, don’t play ball against the building. She was our favorite target.”
Listening, Brie wondered if he was making all that up to take her mind off the real threat. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were such a little shit.”
He grinned, glad he’d distracted her. “I still am, only I’m bigger now. Did you notice that the caller didn’t use your name? Probably just a random dial. Gordie and I used to do that, too. Pick a number, call it, and hope we got a live one.”
Relaxing a fraction, she bent down to search for her cooking pot. “Your decadent youth. Did you ever get caught?”
“Nope. We were too smart.” He walked over as she straightened and turned her to face him. “Listen, let’s chalk this up as a crank call, but keep your eyes and ears open. If you get another call, hang-up, or message, I want to know.”
“All right.” She would try not to think about this. But she didn’t trust the world like she once had. Slade had installed dead bolts on both her doors, plus sturdy locks on all the windows. She was safe here, as safe as it was possible to be anywhere these days. For the sake of her sanity, she had to believe that.
Despite his reassurances to Briana, Slade decided he’d keep her close by his side for a while. He had the uneasy feeling that there was a sicko out there enjoying his game, for whatever reason. Which meant he wouldn’t go away easily.
As she lined up onions, tomatoes, and mushrooms for her sauce, three words kept echoing in Brie’s mind:
I’m watching you!
Before they finished eating, another storm hit along the Nantucket Cliffs, battering the shoreline, sending waves arching high overhead, then dashing down to swirl around the distant black rocks, spewing foam. Peering out through her curtainless front window, Brie watched Mother Nature vent her fury, fascinated by the display.
“When are your new drapes supposed to be ready?” Slade asked, standing alongside her. He didn’t like this open expanse of window on the seaward side. Anyone walking by on the sidewalk or the sandy shore could look in through the porch screens and see into the living room and on past the arch into the kitchen. If it was dark out and lights were on inside, they could watch Brie undetected for hours.
Of course, who would stand around in a downpour and stare into someone else’s home? A sicko, that’s who.
“Another week or so,” she answered, watching lightning bolts streak from the sky and disappear into the sea. “They brought one set out, but they’d measured wrong and had to take them back.”