Cleanup was easy, if a little chaotic, with so many people helping. At a certain point, I quietly stepped out onto the back porch. Nobody noticed I’d left, which was fine with me.
A flash of orange caught my eye at the edge of the lawn. “James?” I called.
I heard a distant meow as he darted further away.
“Oh no you don’t,” I said, starting across the lawn. “You’ve been outside enough today. Did you steal some bones or something? Get back here!”
Not even a flick of a tail this time. Who had spoiled this cat so badly?
Oh, right: that would be me.
I stopped in the middle of the back lawn and looked up at the sky. It hadn’t rained all day, though it had been cloudy; now, stars were out. It was remarkably peaceful. It never got old, how quiet and calming Orcas Island was.
Well, most of the time. When I wasn’t being kidnapped or threatened, and my neighbor wasn’t being broken into by a crazy boat dude who trashed her house and then died on her living room floor the day before Thanksgiving.
I wondered how Lisa was doing. Had she gotten her place cleaned up at least? Was she cooking for the actors, or had she gone out? I hoped she wasn’t there all alone.
I walked around to the front of the guesthouse, cringing again at the sight of the massive Intruder parked behind all our cars, and then around the main house, trying to peer through the trees to Lisa’s house. I couldn’t hear anything, but then again, it was a little too far for that. But I ought to be able to see lights, I thought.
The main Brixton house was ablaze with lights, making it hard to see next door. I walked across the front drive toward the path that separated the two estates. James had come this way, I thought; I told myself I was just looking for my stupid cat.
It was even partly true.
In a minute, I had crossed over to Lisa Cannon’s estate. I could see one light burning in a kitchen window, but since most of her windows faced the water, the place might be full of merry-making people and I’d just never know.
But I should have heard something by now, if so. Was she all alone here?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I walked up her front steps and knocked.
As I stood there waiting, it occurred to me that, nervous as it made me to be this unaccustomedly forward, my skin wasn’t tingling at all. I was in no danger of chameleoning away. I liked Lisa, and I trusted her, I told myself.
Well, that and the fact that I’d been drinking all day. Alcohol really calmed down my chameleoning tendencies.
The door opened. Lisa stood there, a look of surprise briefly crossing her face before she gave me a relieved smile. “Oh, Cam. What’s up?”
I shrugged, smiling back at her. “I just . . . my house is super full of people, and I was worried about you. How are you doing?”
She took a step back from the door into the entryway. “Come on in. Do you want a glass of wine?”
I followed her, laughing. “No thanks. I think I’ve had a case already. I just wanted to see how you were. After . . . you know.”
“I know.” She gave her tinkling laugh as she led me down the few steps into the immaculate living room. “All cleaned up, as you can see.”
“That must have been a lot of work.”
“The actors helped me. And JoJo.”
“Really? He’s at my place now; he’s been there all afternoon. Do you think he’s spending any time at all with his own family?”
Lisa sat on the sofa and motioned for me to sit next to her. I did. “Not if he can help it, I’m sure,” she said. “Apparently, even his beloved sister has turned against him.”
“Beloved sister?” I thought of the cool, sleek creature I’d met at the Brixtons’ front door yesterday, her smirking drop-by with her mother, her shrieking out the window across the yard at him this morning. “What’s she done?”
Lisa gave me a wry smile. “Brought a girlfriend, I hear.”
“I . . . oh. Oh!” I shook my head. “Have you spoken with Diana and Emmett? I mean, are they, did they—” Now I could feel my face flushing, though thankfully, the rest of my skin remained calm. “I told Diana about the break-in this morning, and she didn’t take it that badly, all things considered.”
“I’m sure she was just building up steam. Apparently she was quite angry that JoJo hadn’t told her. He was rather dramatic about it all; I’m not quite sure what happened over there. Truthfully, he should join my troupe. He has such a flair about him.”
“That he does,” I agreed, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned any of this at my house. I glanced down at the coffee table, now wishing I had a glass of wine after all, just to have something to do with my hands. The table was perfectly tidy, just like the rest of the room. “So, did you do anything for Thanksgiving, or have you just been alone here all day? I mean, after the cleanup?” I added, stupidly realizing she’d just told me about everyone being here helping her.
“Oh, the holiday isn’t a big deal to me,” she said. “My ex-husband’s family all had to get together at a great-aunt’s house every year. Something like forty-five people came, and it was quite the production. I wasn’t sure anybody other than the smallest children ever actually enjoyed it. Since the divorce, I find it nice to spend holidays on my own.”
“Okay. But still, Lisa.” I thought about it a minute. “I mean, you could come over to my place for dessert if you wanted. We have three kinds of pie.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I just want to stay in and do nothing that involves putting on shoes.” She looked at me with some surprise. “But you haven’t had dessert yet? Did you eat late?”
I laughed. “Very late. Not that we meant to.” I told her the whole story of the day.
“Oh, Cam!” she exclaimed, giving me that look of gentle chiding disappointment that she must have perfected working in the tech industry. “My oven works perfectly. You didn’t have to have everyone on the floor doing a repair job.”
I shrugged. “Well, I need an oven, don’t I? And now it works.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m just glad all those helpful men were there to do the job,” I said, just to see if I could get her to give that look again.
She was smarter than that, though, and merely laughed. “Of course.”
I suddenly realized I’d been over here a while, without having told anyone where I was going, or even that I was going anywhere. I got to my feet. “Well, I should head on home. Thanks for the sanity break.”
She got up as well and walked me to the front door. “Any time. I value your company, Cam. You know that.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right. That must have been so scary, to have all your stuff gone through like that. Even before you found the . . . the man who . . . dropped dead in here.”
A shadow passed across her face briefly. “Yes, it was terrifying. I’m probably not completely over it yet; I’m just trying not to think too hard about it.”
“And I’m happy that nothing’s missing.” I opened the front door and stepped out. Was I fishing? Sure, I was fishing.
Lisa stood in the doorway, looking like she wanted to say something more. Then she said, “Have a nice dessert. Say hello to your family for me.”
“I will.”
I started to head across the driveway and lawn toward the path through the trees, but stopped halfway. It was awfully dark in there. Sure, I’d walked over here in the dark; yet somehow now it seemed darker.
My first morning here came rushing back to me. When I’d watched Sheila shoot down a man in cold blood. Gregory Baines, once-famous commercial fisherman (well, according to Jen; he’d appeared on some sort of reality TV show for a couple of seasons). A man without anyone in the world, it seemed; no one to notice he was missing, to wonder if he were all right. No one even knew he was dead, until I told Kip everything that Sheila had revealed to me during her kidnapping of me, and insisted that the sheriff’s deputy look into it.
By now, I had thoroughly spooked myself. I did not want to walk down that dark path.
I turned and walked up Lisa’s driveway toward the road, only to again stop myself. There was another option, and it might even be safer than a no-shoulder, winding country road at night. Turning once more, I crossed her lawn and found the steep path that led to Lisa Cannon’s dock.
It was so steep, it was actually a neat wooden staircase at times. I climbed down, not worried that she would see me. I’d been down on her rocky beach a couple of times, with Jen; you couldn’t see Lisa’s house from below. So it would stand to reason that you couldn’t see the dock from the house, even if Lisa were watching for it.
When I emerged on the shingle, I took a moment to gaze out at the water. Still my favorite part of living on the island, even if these were the waters of Massacre Bay. There was no moon tonight, but the starlight made tiny ribbon-like designs on the gently stirring water. Gorgeous.
I started walking again, only to pause once more and look at her dock. Gregory Baines’s boat was gone, and another boat was tied up. Of course: Gregory’s poky, nameless little fiberglass craft must have been the boat that Sheila took when she fled. She’d been tracked to Crane Island, Kip had told me, and had left behind blood and a suicide note. But no body—or boat—had been found.
Crane Island. That’s where the late Ephraim Snooks had lived—no, he didn’t live there, but he shuttled people there, apparently. Was it a coincidence? Did he have anything to do with Sheila?
Either way, this other boat had to be his. Despite my growing urgency to get back to my house full of guests, I walked over to Lisa’s dock for a closer look.
It was a far more interesting boat than Gregory’s, that was for sure. I could certainly believe that an eccentric old coot had lived on it. If a chicken shack had been built inside a large rowboat, roofed with rusty corrugated metal, then painted with leftover cans of paint from an elementary school remodel project, this might be the result. It must have started life as a fishing boat, but had been so tweaked and added to and remodeled over the years . . . yeah. Eccentric indeed. It bobbed quietly in the water, thumping gently against the dock’s bumpers.
The “Police Line Do Not Cross” tape hardly even clashed with the rest of the colors.
I stood looking down at it, simultaneously wishing I had Jen’s boldness and wondering what in the world had happened to me that I was even thinking about climbing aboard. What could I possibly find here that the sheriff’s deputies hadn’t already? And presuming I did so, who would I even tell? It was one thing to trespass on a seemingly abandoned boat; quite another to cross that yellow tape.
“Don’t do it,” I said to myself in a low whisper.
Then the boat rocked. More vigorously than the movement of the water could possibly explain.
Someone was on that boat!
My heart hammered; my skin tingled painfully; my breath caught, smothering my voice; and I vanished, frozen in place, standing on Lisa’s dock right next to a crazy dead man’s crazy abandoned boat.
The boat rocked a second time, and I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
I could barely breathe, and I could not move a muscle. My gaze was focused on the boat, right at the opening to the weird little chicken-coop interior.
A woman stepped out onto the deck.
Sheila! I thought, but immediately realized my mistake. It was not her. This woman had none of Sheila’s solid posture and blocky build. She was tall and quick; her movements held a certain economy. Her hair was longer, pulled back in a ponytail under a baseball cap. And her eyes, when they gleamed in the starlight, seemed sharp and intelligent.
She reached down and pulled at something on the deck. It bumped and rattled a little. She stopped and waited, alert and still. She made her way to the side of the boat, where two folding chairs had been set up. When the boat shifted and she bumped one of them, she immediately reached out and held it fast, keeping it from toppling over. She glanced up at Lisa’s house, obscured by the trees and the steep rise, waiting and listening. Then she bent over and opened something I couldn’t see, below my line of vision. A box, or locker, or something.
I remained completely frozen. Only my heart pounded. Even my breath was silent. No matter how much I wanted to run, or scream, my chameleoning kept me in place.
Because that’s what had been safest when I was a child. Vanish in place. Make myself invisible and forgotten.
Not so useful now. If I couldn’t get it back under control in time for her to leave the boat, she’d walk right into me. Though if I became visible right now, she would see me easily. She was hardly five feet away, and the starlight seemed brighter all the time.
She continued to quietly rummage around the deck, clearly searching for something and not finding it. Her movements went from smooth to forceful, as if she were running out of time. She was going to finish up and leave the boat, jumping off right where I was standing.
What would happen then? Would we both fall into the water? Would she kill me?
Move, limbs, move. I tried to take a deeper breath. I could barely control even that simple a movement.
Suddenly, a fast-moving dark shape flashed at the corner of my vision, on the beach behind me. The woman saw it too. Her head shot up and she stared after whatever it was.
Wasn’t she afraid of getting caught trespassing? She was so clearly not any kind of authority, and she’d crossed police line tape to search a dead man’s boat. What if she . . .
She stared at the bushes and dark foliage at the end of Lisa’s small beach, where the mystery figure had gone. Animal? Person? I wished I could turn my head.
The woman stepped forward to the front of the boat. It rocked crazily under her weight, but ultimately kept its balance. She stood there, peering into the darkness. I was now completely behind her. Move it, move it. Another deep breath.
Nothing more moved on shore. But here, on the dock: my hand moved.
Oh, thank god. I flexed my fingers, as tentatively as possible. After another long moment, my neck released enough so that I could glance down at myself. My eyes still wanted to shy away from myself, but not so badly as before.
I was visible, just a little bit. Both bad and good.
Another breath, and then another, and I felt my legs coming to life once more. I crouched down, then slowly, quietly, crab-walked myself backwards, moving further out the dock but placing myself near the back of the boat, and—I hoped!—more out of sight.
I was halfway there when the shape moved again, darting back across the beach. And I had to stifle a gasp of relieved amazement.
James, my silly orange cat, was racing around on Lisa Cannon’s beach. Probably chasing a shrew or a water rat. My little hunter.
The woman relaxed, seeing his light fur in the starlight. Just a cat, not a person. I was mostly out of her sight. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t notice me, hunkered down nearly below the walls of the boat, or whatever they’re called. I really have to improve my nautical knowledge, I thought nonsensically. If I was going to live on an island, I ought to not sound like a complete land-lubber when I had to describe my totally insane actions down here on the dock.
From my now-lower vantage point, I watched as the stranger on the boat soundlessly hauled herself over its rail onto the dock—right where I had been standing a minute ago. She gave one dark, disgusted look back at the boat and the police tape she’d had to pick her way through, and moved up the dock and across the beach, in the opposite direction from the Brixton estate. She made almost no sound at all. In a minute, she was gone altogether. The only sounds were the tiny waves lapping the shore, and the slowly calming beat of my heart.
My stinging, tingling skin settled down. I became completely visible once more. And I was really late getting back home.
I stood up, stretching my stiff muscles, and hurried off the dock. I looked for James as I quickly crossed Lisa’s beach to the Brixton beach, but I didn’t see him. I thought about calling, but I didn’t want to make any noise. He knew where he lived; he’d come home soon, I told myself, as I climbed my home beach and walked up the lawn to the back door of the guesthouse.
I paused on the back stoop, reconnoitering and finishing calming myself. No one was in the kitchen. Cleanup had been finished, thanks to all my lovely relatives and friends. I smelled something delicious, and saw that the oven was on again: the pies were warming.
I took a moment in the quiet of the night to clear away the last of my mental panic and consider what I’d seen. I’d seen a woman on the deck of a boat that belonged to a man who had apparently died of natural causes the day before, when he was interrupted in the middle of a common household burglary. It wasn’t unusual that I’d panicked and chameleoned at the sight of her—she was prowling around where I’d seen a murder not long ago. But, I reminded myself, she was just prowling around. For all I knew, she lived on that boat with Ephraim, or at least knew him. I was guilty of overreaction in the extreme.
There was nothing wrong. I needed to relax, and let the sounds of family lead me back inside.
I followed the sound of voices to the front room, where I found everyone flopped in various states of exhausted stuffed-ness around a crackling fire. “Hey,” I said to the room in general, keeping my voice as casual as I could.
“Oh, there you are,” Jen said, from the couch where she was sitting by my brother. “We were wondering.”
She didn’t sound too concerned, though. Which was explained a moment later by my mother’s adding, “Yeah, Cam vanishes from time to time.”
Kevin gave me a confused look. I turned my head away . . . catching sight of Colin, who looked adorable, and slightly confused. He had chosen a seat as far across the small room from Kevin as he could get, I noticed. “Yeah,” I agreed with my mom. Keeping it vague. “Hey, so the pies smell really good!”
Cliff laughed. “We were going to eat them all ourselves, as payment for doing all the dishes, but your new best friend here pointed out that we shouldn’t do that to the hostess.”
“Aw, thanks,” I said, smiling at Jen. It felt so good, so normal, to be here in this comfy room with all these nice people.
Well, most of them. Kevin was still sort of scowling. Then again, who had invited him anyway? If we weren’t on a remote island in the Straits of San Juan de Fuca, he could have just driven his stupid Intruder right back home again, couldn’t he?
Anyway, the normalcy of the moment stood in stark relief against what had just happened to me. Had I really just seen anything to worry about? A woman poking around on a dead man’s boat?
No, don’t think that. Don’t go there. You’re safe now.
“I was looking for the cat, and then I went next door,” I said, even though nobody had really asked, exactly.
“To my folks?” JoJo asked. “Why?”
“No,” I said, turning to him. “To Lisa’s. To see how she was doing.”
JoJo was well into his cups—or his bottles—but he blanched a little at this. Clearly, he’d forgotten about Lisa altogether. And about her intruder. “Oh.”
“She’s doing all right,” I said to him, and turned to the rest of the room. “My neighbor on that side,”—I pointed—“Lisa Cannon. She had a break-in, and it kind of freaked her out.”
“A break-in?” My father sat up, looking all concerned and fatherly. “When?”
“Yesterday,” I said. So much for trying to distract everyone from what I’d just seen down at Lisa’s dock. “That’s why the cop came by earlier, to talk to me.”
“Kidnappings and break-ins? I thought this was a quiet, remote island!” my mom said, also looking nearly panicked. “Camille, I think you should move back to Seattle, where it’s safe.”
I shot a warning look to Kevin, who had brightened at this. He caught sight of my expression and kept his mouth shut. “Mom, it’s just a fluke. A big city is way more dangerous than Orcas Island. Besides, Lisa’s really rich, and has a spectacular house, and she’s been in the news lately, because of—all that. Anyway, the cops know who broke in. He was . . . he’s a kind of homeless guy.” Yeah, it really wouldn’t do to mention that he’d been found dead on her floor yesterday as well. “We have a super strong sense of community here.” I gestured toward Jen and Colin. “I’ve already made such really good friends, and I’ve only been here a few weeks. It took me forever to meet anyone in Seattle, and then they were all snobs and hipsters.”
I heard the small sound of Kevin sucking in his breath. Clearly, what I’d said had struck a nerve. Well, did he think his snooty foodie friends were friendly to me? Always trying to one-up each other with who had been to what place and which emulsion married with what other flavor and on and on and on about each little detail of what was on the plate. It had made eating out the least fun thing I could imagine.
He gave me a pained look, which I ignored.
“Well, your neighbors do seem friendly,” Mom allowed. “In fact, someone came by and left a bag of the world’s largest carrots.”
“What?” Both Jen and I leaned forward, mouths agape. “Who brought it?” I asked.
“Oh, I didn’t see who it was,” Mom said. “But when I went to take the recycling to the porch, there it was, leaning against the door.” She smiled. “I assumed it was the same person who brought the zucchini. We can have carrot cake muffins in the morning!”
“That is too weird,” I said. Dead women don’t drop by with carrots, do they? Jen shook her head, staring back at me. “Who could be doing this?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” Mom asked.
“Sounds like Paige Berry,” Colin said. “She’s always one for the strange gifts, right? Has quite a garden. Cold frame and all.”
“I’ve never met Paige Berry,” I said. “I hear a lot about her, though. She must live really close by?”
Colin grinned. “Not far.”
I was about to interrogate him further when the timer went off in the kitchen.
“Pie!” Jen leaped to her feet, followed closely by Cliff. My, those two seemed to be hitting it off nicely . . . Leave it to Jen to become interested in someone who lived on the other side of the world.
“Pie!” JoJo echoed a moment later, then got languidly to his feet and followed them to the kitchen.
“I guess it’s dessert time,” I said to my parents.
Kevin was still sitting there, looking hurt and defeated. “I don’t suppose anybody wants to hear about letting the pies rest and cool off before cutting them. In fruit pies, it gives the pectin a chance to bind—”
“No,” I said. “No, we do not.”
<<>>
I don’t even know what time it was when we all made it to bed. I just knew that, yet again, it was far too late for me, with how early I’d be waking up, and how little sleep I’d gotten last night.
I was sleeping alone in my bed, which was what I wanted, no matter that Kevin—and maybe even Colin—had other ideas. I had finally taken a look inside that monstrous RV: it was, honest to god, bigger than our Seattle apartment had been. It had two queen-sized beds and twin bunk beds, plus a serious full-on couch, like you’d put in a real house. And armchairs. Several of them. It was the most ridiculous vehicle I’d ever seen. How did all that furniture not just fall all over the place when the thing was being driven?
Anyway, it was kind of a no-brainer that our several unexpected overnight guests would bunk in there. “Seriously?” I’d asked, when I’d helped Cliff carry his stuff into the monstrosity. “People take these things to the wilderness and pretend they’re camping?”
“Lap of luxury,” Kevin said. “Listen, I have plans for this. I’m ready to live the van life. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” He looked both embarrassed and proud. He was probably getting all sorts of hipster-fodder points out of doing this. Honestly, after a while I’d lost track of the folds of irony required to maintain the hipster lifestyle. It had seemed so important to me once upon a time.
Or maybe I’d been in love.
So I was happy to be sleeping alone. Tonight. Yes, maybe some day again I’d want to share my bed with someone. Maybe some day I’d meet a man who would understand me . . . in all my eccentricities. My spookiness, my need for sudden alone time. The way I literally vanished when things got challenging.
But for now, this was good.
Although . . .
And before I could even finish thinking of him, I heard a tiny, interrogative Prrr-ow? James leapt up onto my bed.
“You rascal!” I whisper-hissed at him, scratching his ears and rubbing his back. His fur was very cold: he had just come from outside. “How did you even get in here?” My parents weren’t still up, were they? Had someone left a door or window open? Or were cats just magical, somehow occupying interstitial spaces in the normal continuum in order to slip through solid walls?
I didn’t care. James purred ferociously as I petted him, then pulled him under the covers with me. He liked it under there; he gave only a token protest before settling down in preparation to sleep.
“You’re my best buddy ever,” I told him, curling around his fuzzy little body. After a few minutes, he started warming up a little. I could use the body heat, even from such a slight little guy. “You saved my life this evening, you know?”
He purred in answer.
“You’re the best little bodyguard-cat ever,” I murmured, pulling the covers more tightly over both of us. “You saw that spooky lady and distracted her, so I could escape.” Not that she was such a threat. It’s just, coming from where I did, so many things felt like threats.
His purring slowed and his breathing became slow and regular. In another minute, he was asleep.
Crazy Sheila had given me this cat. She’d appeared at my doorstep one day—before I knew just how crazy she was—and pulled a skinny orange kitten with a white face out of her jacket. Hey, she’d said, thrusting the animal at me. I think you need protection.
How absurd was that? And yet . . . little James had done it. He’d kept me safe.
I would need to let Kip know what I’d seen. Probably I should have called him at once; but there was no sense doing it now. The woman, whoever she was, was hours gone, and probably no threat at all. But I would call Kip in the morning. I committed what I had been able to make out of her features to memory, rehearsing what I’d seen to myself, like when you wake up from a vivid dream and want to remember it. It was already seeming less and less real to me. Like a dream.
Speaking of dreams . . . “Sweet dreams,” I whispered to my zonked-out cat, and fell asleep myself.