Boar Island by Nevada Barr Page B

was mostly owned by an absentee landlord. The NPS had only the stony tip where it thrust into the sea.
    With fewer tourist amenities, the peninsula received only a fraction of the park’s visitors. On Schoodic, Anna could occasionally feel a hint of how it must have been when it was wilderness.
    Peter was humming “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as he fed the child from a bottle.
    He looked up and saw Anna watching. “Formula’s not the best, I know, but sometimes, well, the magic doesn’t work. Lily has no milk,” he said as if Anna had asked, as if she cared, which she hadn’t and didn’t.
    “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, yes you are, yes you are,” Pete crooned, bobbing his big square head back and forth.
    “You do know you look like an idiot,” Anna said kindly.
    “I feel like an idiot! I’m a prisoner of love,” he said with an exaggerated sigh and a hand to his heart. “Who knew? Your own kid is different.”
    Anna would have to take his word on that. She’d never wanted kids, never had kids, and never regretted the choice. Kids were great; watching them was fun, talking to them edifying, and working with them occasionally revelatory. Anna liked kids. Then, too, she liked Irish wolfhounds. She just never much wanted one in the house.
    The first few notes of Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” sounded from the other room. Peter groaned. “Here, you hold her.”
    “I can,” Anna said defensively as she took Olivia into her arms. Peter went to answer his phone.
    “Hello, little citizen,” Anna said. Round blue-gray eyes stared unblinkingly into hers. The infant interrogation technique. Anna always felt she was being asked, “Are you worthy? Can you keep me safe?”
    “No,” she said, and, “I’ll give it my best shot.”
    Olivia stared at her in the unfathomable way of infants. Then her eyes squeezed shut. Her pretty little mouth formed an ugly square. She started to cry. Anna sighed. Babies almost always cried when she held them. It hurt her feelings. Was it that she smelled funny? Or was it that she was so paranoid about dropping the squirmy little beggars that her muscles tensed up until the creatures felt more as if they’d been nailed into a peach crate than enfolded in loving arms?
    Peter appeared in the kitchen doorway, cell phone in hand. “That was Artie, the district ranger for Mount Desert. Courtesy call. They got an e-mail tip that your pal on Boar is receiving contraband.” The look he gave her reminded Anna of how long it had been since they’d spent any time together, as if he was thinking that if he could turn into Father of the Year, maybe she could have turned into a person who consorted with underworld types.
    “I told him we’d meet them at the jetty on Boar,” Peter said. “Lily!” he roared, sounding like the old Peter. “We’ve got to go.”
    Anna’s cell phone buzzed. She pulled it from its case. A text from Heath: Weird shit getting weirder. Come when you can.
    “Ready when you are,” she said to Peter. He led the way to the white Crown Vic, an older model. The NPS was a frugal organization. Anna slid into the passenger side, buckled her seat belt, and prepared to enjoy the view.
    Visitors often asked her which park was her favorite. She’d never come up with a satisfactory answer. Today, a body of water encompassing a universe of light and life, a thousand blues in waves that rose and broke in sun-silver celebrations, the surf whispering secrets just out of hearing, it was Acadia.
    The fancy houses infesting the multitude of islands scattered in the ocean should have made the coast feel cozier, more inviting of human habitation. Instead, on the rugged coast of the Atlantic, the grandest homes man could devise seemed mere shacks. They hugged the rocky shore as if afraid to venture from sight of land. Those on the tiny islands were like orphans lost at sea.
    Anna loved it when nature made humanity seemed trivial. It was a comfort to