Whiskey Beach Page 12

  She intended to pour herself some wine, build up the fire and snuggle in with a book. The sound of rain plopping on her deck made her smile. A rainy night, a fire, a glass of wine—

  Rain. Damn it, had she closed all the windows in Bluff House?

  Of course she did. She wouldn’t have forgotten to . . .

  Did she? Absolutely every one? Like the one in Hester’s home gym?

  Squeezing her eyes tight, she tried to visualize, tried to see herself walking through, securing the windows.

  But she just couldn’t remember, just couldn’t be sure.

  “Hell, hell, hell!”

  She wouldn’t relax until she’d checked, and it would take only a few minutes. In any case, she’d made that turkey stew earlier. She’d take the container she’d culled out for Eli down with her.

  She pulled it out of the refrigerator, then took off her cozy socks to stick her feet in her ancient Uggs. She pulled her coat over her pj’s, grabbed a hat and, dragging it over her head, jogged out to her car.

  “Five minutes, ten tops, then I’m back home with that glass of wine.”

  She zipped down to Bluff House, unsurprised by a rumble of thunder. Late March equaled crazy in the weather department. Thunder tonight, snow or sixty and sunny tomorrow. Who knew?

  She made the dash through the rain, heading straight for the front entrance, keys in one hand, turkey stew in the other.

  She booted the door closed with her hip, reached out to flip the light switch so she could key in the alarm code.

  “Great. Perfect,” she muttered when the foyer remained dark. She knew all too well the iffy power in Bluff House during a storm, or in Whiskey Beach altogether. She flicked on the little penlight on her key ring and followed the tiny beam to the kitchen.

  She’d check the windows, then she’d report the power outage—and the fact that the backup generator had failed. Again. She wished Hester would update that old monster. She worried how Hester would get by in a serious power outage, no matter how the woman pointed out she’d been through plenty of them and knew how to hunker down.

  In the kitchen, she retrieved a full-size flashlight out of the drawer. Maybe she should go down into the basement, check the generator. Of course she didn’t know what to check, but maybe.

  She started for the door, stopped. Dark, cold, potentially damp. Spiders.

  Maybe not.

  She’d just leave a note for Eli. If he came home in the middle of the night to no power, no heat, no light, he could bunk on her sofa. But first she’d check the windows.

  She hurried upstairs. Naturally, the window she’d worried about was secured, and naturally now she could clearly remember pulling it shut, flipping the latch.

  She went back down, turned toward the kitchen. She wasn’t easily spooked, but she wanted to get home, wanted out of the big, dark, empty house and into her own cozy cottage.

  Thunder rolled again, made her jump this time, made her laugh at herself.

  The flashlight flew out of her hand when he grabbed her from behind. For an instant, just an instant, full, mindless panic struck. She struggled helplessly, clawing at the arm hooked tight around her neck.

  She thought of a knife held to her throat, of the blade skipping down her ribs, slicing flesh on the way. Terror shoved the scream from her guts to her throat where the arm chained it down to a choked wheeze.

  It cut off her air, had her fighting to draw a breath until the room started to spin.

  Then survival kicked in.

  Solar plexus—hard elbow jab. Instep. Full-force stomp. Nose—a hard turn as the grip loosened, then a slam with the heel of her hand where instinct told her the face would be. Groin, fast, furious upward jerk of the knee.

  Then she ran. Instinct again driving her blindly toward the door. Her hands struck it with enough force to shoot pain up her arms, but she didn’t stop. She dragged the door open, ran to her car, dragging her keys out of her pocket with a shaking hand.

  “Just go, just go, just go.”

  She hurled herself into the car, jabbed the key in the ignition. Her tires squealed as she threw the car in reverse. Then she whipped the wheel, shot it into drive, floored it.

  Without conscious thought she drove past her own house, slammed the brakes in front of Maureen’s.

  Light. People. Safety.

  She ran to the door, shoved it open, stopping only when she saw her friends snuggled up in front of the TV.

  Both of them lunged to their feet.

  “Abra!”

  “Police.” The room spun again. “Call the police.”

  “You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!” Even as Maureen rushed to her, Mike grabbed his phone.

  “I am? No.” Swaying, she looked down at herself as Maureen grabbed her. She saw the blood on her hoodie, on the pajama top beneath.

  Not from the knife, no. Not this time. Not her blood.

  “No, it’s not mine. It’s his.”

  “God. Was there an accident? Come sit down.”

  “No. No!” Not her blood, she thought again. She’d gotten away. She was safe. And the room stopped spinning. “Someone was in Bluff House. Tell the police someone was in Bluff House. He grabbed me.” Her hand went to her throat. “He was choking me.”

  “He hurt you. I can see it. You sit. You sit down. Mike.”

  “Cops are coming. Here.” He tucked a throw around Abra when Maureen led her to a chair. “You’re okay now. You’re safe now.”

  “I’m going to get you some water. Mike’s right here,” Maureen told her.

  He knelt down in front of her. Such a good face, Abra thought as her breathing labored. A caring face with dark puppy-dog eyes.

  “The power’s out,” she said, almost absently.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “At Bluff House. The power’s out. It was dark. He was in the dark. I didn’t see him.”

  “It’s all right. The police are coming, and you’re all right.”

  She nodded, staring into those puppy-dog eyes. “I’m all right.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “He . . . He had his arm tight, tight around my throat, and my waist, I think. I couldn’t breathe, and I got dizzy.”

  “Honey, there’s blood on you. Will you let me take a look?”

  “It’s his. I hit him in the face. I did SING.”

  “You what?”

  “SING,” Maureen said as she came in with a glass of water in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other. “Self-defense. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Abra, you’re a miracle.”

  “I didn’t think. I just did it. I must’ve given him a nosebleed. I don’t know. I got loose, and I ran. I ran out and came here. I feel . . . a little sick.”

  “Sip some water. Slowly.”

  “Okay. All right. I need to call Eli. He needs to know.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Mike told her. “Just give me the number, and I’ll take care of it.”

  Abra sipped, breathed, sipped again. “It’s on my phone. I didn’t take my phone. It’s at home.”

  “I’ll get it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I didn’t let him hurt me. Not this time.” Abra clamped a hand on her mouth as the tears came. “Not this time.”

  Maureen sat beside her, drew Abra into her arms and rocked.

  “Sorry. Sorry.”

  “Shh. You’re okay.”

  “I am okay.” But Abra held tight. “I should be dancing. I didn’t fall apart—until now. I did everything right. He didn’t hurt me. I didn’t let him hurt me. It just . . . it brings it back.”

  “I know.”

  “But that’s done.” She eased back, rubbed tears away. “I handled it. But for God’s sake, Maureen, somebody broke into Bluff House. I don’t know where they were or what they were doing. I didn’t notice anything out of place, but I only went up to the gym, into the kitchen. I nearly went into the basement to check the generator, but . . . He could’ve been down there. He must’ve cut the power
to get in. The power was down. I—”

  “Drink this now.” Maureen pushed the whiskey into her hand. “And just take it slow.”

  “I’m all right.” She took a slow sip of whiskey, breathed out when it ran warm down her sore throat. “It started to storm, and I couldn’t remember if I’d closed all the windows. It nagged me, so I drove down. I just thought the power had gone out. I didn’t see him, Maureen, or hear him. Not with the rain and the wind.”

  “You made him bleed.”

  Calmer now, Abra looked down. “I made him bleed. Good for me. I hope I broke his goddamn nose.”

  “I hope so, too. You’re my hero.”

  “You’re mine. Why do you think I came straight here?”

  Mike came back in. “He’s on his way,” he told them. “And the police are headed down to Bluff House. They’ll be here to talk to you after they do whatever they do.” He walked over, handed Abra a sweatshirt. “I thought you might want this.”

  “Thanks. God, Mike. Thanks. You’re the best.”

  “That’s why I keep him.” After a bolstering pat of her hand on Abra’s thigh, Maureen rose. “I’m going to make coffee.”

  As she walked out, Mike crossed over to turn off the TV. He sat, took a sip of Abra’s whiskey. Smiled at her.

  “So, how was your day?” he asked, and made her laugh.

  Eight

  ELI MADE IT FROM BOSTON TO WHISKEY BEACH IN UNDER two hours. He’d driven in then out of the teeth of the storm as it blew south. The twenty-minute hell he’d navigated in its center helped keep his mind focused.

  Just drive, he’d told himself. And don’t think outside of the car and the road.

  Little fingers of fog swirled up from the road as he barreled through the village. Streetlights threw out wavery beams to glisten on puddles, on streams snaking into gutters, then he was out of the lights, away from the storefronts and restaurants and taking the curve on the beach road.

  He yanked the wheel, swung to the shoulder in front of Laughing Gull. Even as he strode toward the narrow front porch, the door in the neighboring cottage opened.

  “Eli?”

  He didn’t know the man who stepped out, dragging on a light jacket as he crossed the short patch of lawn.

  “Mike O’Malley,” he said as he held out a hand. “I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.

  The voice on the phone, of course. “Abra.”

  “She’s with us.” He gestured toward his house. “She’s okay—mostly it just shook her up. There are a couple cops down at Bluff House. You’ll want to talk to them. I—”

  “Later. I want to see Abra.”

  “Back in the kitchen.” Mike led the way.

  “Did he hurt her?”

  “Shook her up,” Mike repeated, “scared her. He had her in a chokehold so she’s a little raw. But it looks like she hurt him a lot more than he did her. He gave her some bruises, but she made him bleed.”

  Eli registered the pride in Mike’s voice, assumed it was meant to be reassuring. But he wanted to see for himself. Needed to see.

  He heard her voice as they turned out of a cozy living room and into a wide-open kitchen/great room. She sat at a table in a baggy blue hooded sweatshirt, thick pink socks on her feet. She looked up, a combination of sympathy and apology on her face. Surprise replaced it when he knelt at her feet, took her hands.

  “Where’s the ring?”

  “Shut up.” He scanned her face, then lifted his fingers, gently, to the raw marks on her neck. “Where else are you hurt?”

  “I’m not.” Her hands squeezed his, in gratitude, in reassurance. “I’m not. He scared me.”

  Eli looked to Maureen for corroboration.

  “She’s okay. If I didn’t think that, she’d be in the ER, whether she liked it or not.” Maureen pushed up, gestured toward the coffeepot and whiskey bottle that stood side by side. “Which do you want, or a combination thereof?”

  “Coffee. Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry we had to call you, sorry we had to upset your family,” Abra began.

  “They’re not upset. I told them the power was out, and I wanted to come back and check on things. I’d decided to come back tonight anyway.”

  “Good. There’s no point in them worrying. I don’t know if anything was taken,” Abra continued. “The police said nothing looked out of place, but what do they know? These two wouldn’t let me go down and walk through. Maureen’s pretty scary when she’s in protective mode.”

  “If there was a burglary and something was taken, what would you do about it?” Maureen stopped, held up her hands to Eli. “Sorry. We’ve been in that loop for the last half hour.” She handed Eli coffee. Before she could offer milk or sugar, he downed half of it black.

  “I’ll go down, talk to the cops, take a look.”

  “I’ll go with you. First,” Abra said when Maureen started to protest, “I defended myself, didn’t I? Second, I’ll have police and Eli. Third, I know more about what’s in the house and where it goes than anybody but Hester. Who isn’t here. And last?”

  She rose, hugged Maureen fiercely. “Thanks, not only for the socks, but for looking out for me. Thanks.” She turned to hug Mike in turn.

  “Come back here and sleep in the guest room,” Maureen insisted.

  “Sweetie, the only reason that asshole was interested in me was because I came into the house when he thought he had it to himself. He’s not going to come sneaking into mine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll make sure she’s all right,” Eli said. “Thanks for the coffee . . . and everything else.”

  “She’s got Mom worry genes,” Abra told him when she stepped outside with Eli. “We all know this wasn’t about me.”

  “You were the one attacked, so it’s very much about you. I’m driving.”

  “I’ll follow you in my car, otherwise you’ll just have to drive me back.”

  “That’s right.” He took her arm, steered her to his car.

  “Fine. Everyone’s got Mom worry genes tonight.”

  “Tell me what happened. Mike didn’t give me the details.”

  “When the storm rolled in, I couldn’t remember if I’d closed all your windows. I aired out the house today, and couldn’t remember if I closed the window in Hester’s gym. It nagged at me, so I went down to check. Oh, I took a container of turkey stew—with dumplings—down while I was at it.”

  “Speaking of Mom genes.”

  “I prefer ‘helpful-neighbor genes.’ The power was out. I feel stupid now as I didn’t think twice about it, or the fact that it hadn’t been out in the area, at least not five seconds earlier. I was just annoyed. I used my little flashlight to go back to the kitchen, got a bigger one.”

  She let out a huff of breath. “I didn’t hear anything, didn’t feel anything, which pisses me off as I like to think I’ve got this little sixth sense thing going on. Major fail on that tonight. So, I went upstairs, and of course I had closed the window. Then I came down again, nixed the idea of going into the basement to see if I could get that old generator running, which even eliminating spiders, dark, spooky, I don’t know the first thing about generators. Then he had me.”

  “From behind.”

  “Yes. There was thunder, and the rain and wind, but still I hate knowing I didn’t hear or feel anything until he grabbed me. After my initial panic, kicking, clawing at his arm—”