said the fourth week was unavailable.
“And you’ll think about what I said? That selling houses shouldn’t come between us and the things we want to do?”
Tina nodded contritely. She touched his arm with a red-painted fingernail. “I’m glad we’ve survived our first fight.” She scrunched up her nose. “Do you have time to kiss and make up?”
Donny blushed to the roots of what remained of his hair. “Lord, girl, you are something. I’ll make an honest woman out of you yet.”
She laughed. “I know. But until then … ”
He put down the blueberry muffin and followed his bride from the kitchen to his bedroom.
SIX
A WRINKLED COPY OF the Manatuck Gazette lay next to Darby. She was seated on the ferry, on her way back to Hurricane Harbor, and had decided to come out of her car and into the ferry’s warm cabin for the half-hour voyage. Holding a cardboard cup of coffee more for warmth than sustenance, she scanned the front page. Sure enough, a long story about Lorraine Delvecchio’s death dominated the news.
Ms. Delvecchio was employed by the Hurricane Harbor Police Department before leaving to join the Manatuck Police Department, where colleagues say she was dedicated to her job. “She was well suited to our department,” said Manatuck Chief of Police Lawrence Eisner. “Attention to detail and confidentiality were the hallmarks of Lorraine’s demeanor.”
Darby continued reading. The article described how the avid walker had apparently slipped at the end of the Manatuck Breakwater and plunged to her death. It quoted the state medical examiner as saying she’d died from drowning, although hypothermia had also been a factor. “It’s almost impossible to survive in water this cold,” the doctor was quoted as saying.
Darby refolded the paper and frowned. The story did not mention anyone else on the Breakwater, nor did it ask for information to identify the unknown walker. Perhaps the police were still working out the details of Alison Dyer’s account? She glanced out the window, streaked with sea spray. The island loomed before her, its seaweed-choked rocks gray and forbidding. Time to head back to the Jeep.
The ferry docked and Darby started her engine. It chugged a little in the cold and Darby shivered as she blasted the heat. Perhaps Chief Dupont knows the status of the investigation, she thought. I’ll stop by the police department and see what he can tell me.
Darby resisted the temptation to bring the Chief a pastry from the Hurricane Harbor Café, remembering his love of sweets and his newly trim waistline. If I give him anything, it should be a Tarte Aux Pommes, she thought, smiling at his fondness for the apple pie. Instead, she drove by the restaurant, bar, and The Hurricane Harbor Inn. After heading up the hill, she followed the winding island road to the town’s municipal building.
A tall, reed-thin man with a toothy smile introduced himself when she entered. “I’m Deputy Tom Allen,” he said. “Chief Dupont’s here, but he’s not alone.” He grinned and rapped loudly on the Chief’s office door.
“Chief Dupont? Someone here to see you.”
“Come in.”
A compact woman with frosted blonde hair stood by the Chief’s cluttered desk. She turned an expectant face their way, and Darby felt a stab of recognition. The traveler with the zebra suitcases . Could this be Bitsy Carmichael?
As if reading her mind, Charles Dupont waved his hand in the blonde’s direction. “Hi Darby, this is Bitsy, my, er, wife.” He blushed and looked down at his desk.
Darby felt for the guy. He was obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation. She smiled at Bitsy and shook her small hand. “Welcome back to Maine.”
“Why, thank you,” Bitsy said, seeming genuinely pleased by the welcome. She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “I understand you’re the island’s other famous runaway.” She waggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“I suppose so,” Darby said,
“And you’ll think about what I said? That selling houses shouldn’t come between us and the things we want to do?”
Tina nodded contritely. She touched his arm with a red-painted fingernail. “I’m glad we’ve survived our first fight.” She scrunched up her nose. “Do you have time to kiss and make up?”
Donny blushed to the roots of what remained of his hair. “Lord, girl, you are something. I’ll make an honest woman out of you yet.”
She laughed. “I know. But until then … ”
He put down the blueberry muffin and followed his bride from the kitchen to his bedroom.
SIX
A WRINKLED COPY OF the Manatuck Gazette lay next to Darby. She was seated on the ferry, on her way back to Hurricane Harbor, and had decided to come out of her car and into the ferry’s warm cabin for the half-hour voyage. Holding a cardboard cup of coffee more for warmth than sustenance, she scanned the front page. Sure enough, a long story about Lorraine Delvecchio’s death dominated the news.
Ms. Delvecchio was employed by the Hurricane Harbor Police Department before leaving to join the Manatuck Police Department, where colleagues say she was dedicated to her job. “She was well suited to our department,” said Manatuck Chief of Police Lawrence Eisner. “Attention to detail and confidentiality were the hallmarks of Lorraine’s demeanor.”
Darby continued reading. The article described how the avid walker had apparently slipped at the end of the Manatuck Breakwater and plunged to her death. It quoted the state medical examiner as saying she’d died from drowning, although hypothermia had also been a factor. “It’s almost impossible to survive in water this cold,” the doctor was quoted as saying.
Darby refolded the paper and frowned. The story did not mention anyone else on the Breakwater, nor did it ask for information to identify the unknown walker. Perhaps the police were still working out the details of Alison Dyer’s account? She glanced out the window, streaked with sea spray. The island loomed before her, its seaweed-choked rocks gray and forbidding. Time to head back to the Jeep.
The ferry docked and Darby started her engine. It chugged a little in the cold and Darby shivered as she blasted the heat. Perhaps Chief Dupont knows the status of the investigation, she thought. I’ll stop by the police department and see what he can tell me.
Darby resisted the temptation to bring the Chief a pastry from the Hurricane Harbor Café, remembering his love of sweets and his newly trim waistline. If I give him anything, it should be a Tarte Aux Pommes, she thought, smiling at his fondness for the apple pie. Instead, she drove by the restaurant, bar, and The Hurricane Harbor Inn. After heading up the hill, she followed the winding island road to the town’s municipal building.
A tall, reed-thin man with a toothy smile introduced himself when she entered. “I’m Deputy Tom Allen,” he said. “Chief Dupont’s here, but he’s not alone.” He grinned and rapped loudly on the Chief’s office door.
“Chief Dupont? Someone here to see you.”
“Come in.”
A compact woman with frosted blonde hair stood by the Chief’s cluttered desk. She turned an expectant face their way, and Darby felt a stab of recognition. The traveler with the zebra suitcases . Could this be Bitsy Carmichael?
As if reading her mind, Charles Dupont waved his hand in the blonde’s direction. “Hi Darby, this is Bitsy, my, er, wife.” He blushed and looked down at his desk.
Darby felt for the guy. He was obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation. She smiled at Bitsy and shook her small hand. “Welcome back to Maine.”
“Why, thank you,” Bitsy said, seeming genuinely pleased by the welcome. She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “I understand you’re the island’s other famous runaway.” She waggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“I suppose so,” Darby said,
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