Part 77 (1/2)

CHAPTER Twenty

TWICE DURING THE NIGHT ELI ROSE TO PROWL THE HOUSE, the dog padding faithfully by his side. He checked doors, windows, the alarm, even slipped out to the main terrace to scan the beach for movement.

Everyone he cared about was sleeping in Bluff House, so he'd take no chances.

What his grandmother remembered changed things. Not the intruder-he'd already believed there was one on the night she fell. But the location. She'd described seeing someone upstairs, then running down, or trying to. Not someone on the main floor, someone who had come up from the bas.e.m.e.nt.

That left three options.

His grandmother's mind was confused. Possible, of course, given the trauma she'd suffered. But he didn't think so.

It was also possible they were dealing with two different intruders, either connected or completely separate. He couldn't and wouldn't discount that avenue.

Last, a single intruder, the same one who had broken in and a.s.saulted Abra, the same person who had excavated the old bas.e.m.e.nt. Which posed the question: What had he been looking for upstairs? What had been the purpose?

Once the family left for Boston, he'd go through the house again, room by room, s.p.a.ce by s.p.a.ce looking for answers from that angle.

Until then, he and Barbie were on guard duty.

He lay wakeful beside Abra, trying to piece it together. An unnamed intruder partnered with Duncan? Move to the ”No honor among thieves” theory, and the unnamed kills Duncan, then removes all records a.s.sociated with him from Duncan's office.

Possible.

Duncan's client, the intruder, hired him. Duncan learns the client's breaking and entering, attacking women. Confronts the client, either threatening to report him to the police or attempting blackmail. And the client kills him and removes the records.

Equally possible.

The intruder or intruders weren't related to Duncan in any way. In doing his job, he discovered them, and was killed.

Possible, too, but unlikely, at least it seemed so at four in the morning.

He tried to s.h.i.+ft his mind to his work. At least there were channels and possibilities in his plot he could solve before dawn.

He'd boxed in his main character-with the antagonist, with a woman, with the authorities. With his life in turmoil, he faced conflict and consequences on every level. It all came down to choices. Would he turn left or right? Would he stand still and wait?

Eli considered all three as his mind finally started to fuzz with sleep.

And somewhere in the maze of his subconscious, fiction and reality merged. Eli opened the front door of the house in the Back Bay.

He knew every step, every sound, every thought, but still couldn't make himself change any of it. Just turn around, walk back out into the rain. Just drive away. Instead, he repeated the loop he'd taken the night of Lindsay's murder and revisited in dreams ever since.

He couldn't change it, and yet it changed. He opened a door in the Back Bay and walked into the bas.e.m.e.nt at Whiskey Beach.

He held a flashlight as he maneuvered in the dark. Some part of his mind thought, Power's off. The power's off again. He needed to kick-start the generator.

He walked by a wall of shelves filled with gleaming jars, all carefully labeled. Strawberry preserves, grape jam, peaches, green beans, stewed tomatoes.

Someone's been busy, he thought, circling around a mound of potatoes. A lot of mouths to feed in Bluff House. His family slept in their beds; Abra slept in his. A lot of mouths to feed, a lot of people to protect.