librarian’s office, then added another eight minutes, so there was no danger of running into him again. I was never going to kiss another boy, that was for sure.
As I walked back into the main room, people looked up. I might have been stomping a little, I guess, or maybe they could feel the humiliation radiating off me. I sat down at terminal 3 and logged in with a few quick clicks.One thing I couldn’t understand was how Charlie, with his journalist’s instincts, could have lost interest in Bess’s story. Losing interest in me, fine. But I knew he’d been just as consumed as I was with wanting to know what really happened on the beach that night. I knew he itched to find out why our mothers no longer spoke.
The
Providence Journal
had covered the investigation the most closely of all the newspapers, at least as far as they could follow it. I found an account from a few days past the murder that reported three surfers had gone to the police after coming across the dead girls’ things. One had been Bess’s uncle, Paul Guthy. He was Grant’s younger brother. The paper listed his age as twenty-eight and said he’d been surfing on East Beach at the time of the discovery. The two boys who had actually found Bess’s clothes had ducked into the lighthouse, looking for a place to change into their wet suits. One was Billy Landron, a boy from a summer family who had owned a big house on the bluffs. I knew his daughters from sailing camp, but the family had sold the house when they moved to London a few years ago.
The other was Jimmy Pender.
I had to read that twice to be sure I wasn’t imagining it. Charlie’s dad. I couldn’t believe he’d actually found Bess’s bloody clothes, taken Bess to dances and Charlie had never heard a thing about her. I wondered if that was Cat’s mandate, or Jimmy’s, or something they decided together. I wanted to run back to the librarian’s office, grab Charlie and show him the article. Of course I couldn’t do that. I also couldn’t talk to Jimmy, who was not going to tell me anything about this when he’d never even mentioned it tohis own children. His friend Billy Landron was long gone. But I did know where to find Paul Guthy.
I SHOULD HAVE CHECKED in at home before heading all the way out to the marina. I knew I would make my mom worried. But I didn’t. Instead I stopped by just long enough to grab my bike without going inside. It had cooled off a lot since the strange, humid, warm weather we’d had earlier in the week, and it was suddenly getting dark a lot earlier. Winter was coming. I tried not to think about what would happen to all of us if it arrived before the island had gotten the basic necessities back in place.
By the time I was on the road, I had warmed up from the exertion of biking. Only my fingers were really cold. It was quiet on the road. I saw only one car, heading the other way, into town. The power was out on this side of the island, and the streetlights were dark. I felt that strange vertigo you sometimes get, watching my single bike headlamp peer into the blank darkness. If you looked a certain way, up started to feel like down and down like up. I kept imagining sounds coming from behind me: the crush of dry leaves, rustling in the trees. When I looked, no one was there. I shook it off.
Deer
, I thought,
or raccoons
. Just past sunset was a busy time of day in the animal world, when the night hunters came out to look for prey and the day timers looked for a safe spot to sleep.
The marina was lit with the dim, brownish light I’d come to recognize as generator produced. No one had bothered to put their boats back in the water after the storm here, though the slips were much less damaged than inthe harbor. It was too close to the end of the season. I wondered what there was for Paul Guthy to do out here at this time of year. He worked as the caretaker of the marina. Grant had owned the business, but now the town ran it.
Paul was there tonight, I
As I walked back into the main room, people looked up. I might have been stomping a little, I guess, or maybe they could feel the humiliation radiating off me. I sat down at terminal 3 and logged in with a few quick clicks.One thing I couldn’t understand was how Charlie, with his journalist’s instincts, could have lost interest in Bess’s story. Losing interest in me, fine. But I knew he’d been just as consumed as I was with wanting to know what really happened on the beach that night. I knew he itched to find out why our mothers no longer spoke.
The
Providence Journal
had covered the investigation the most closely of all the newspapers, at least as far as they could follow it. I found an account from a few days past the murder that reported three surfers had gone to the police after coming across the dead girls’ things. One had been Bess’s uncle, Paul Guthy. He was Grant’s younger brother. The paper listed his age as twenty-eight and said he’d been surfing on East Beach at the time of the discovery. The two boys who had actually found Bess’s clothes had ducked into the lighthouse, looking for a place to change into their wet suits. One was Billy Landron, a boy from a summer family who had owned a big house on the bluffs. I knew his daughters from sailing camp, but the family had sold the house when they moved to London a few years ago.
The other was Jimmy Pender.
I had to read that twice to be sure I wasn’t imagining it. Charlie’s dad. I couldn’t believe he’d actually found Bess’s bloody clothes, taken Bess to dances and Charlie had never heard a thing about her. I wondered if that was Cat’s mandate, or Jimmy’s, or something they decided together. I wanted to run back to the librarian’s office, grab Charlie and show him the article. Of course I couldn’t do that. I also couldn’t talk to Jimmy, who was not going to tell me anything about this when he’d never even mentioned it tohis own children. His friend Billy Landron was long gone. But I did know where to find Paul Guthy.
I SHOULD HAVE CHECKED in at home before heading all the way out to the marina. I knew I would make my mom worried. But I didn’t. Instead I stopped by just long enough to grab my bike without going inside. It had cooled off a lot since the strange, humid, warm weather we’d had earlier in the week, and it was suddenly getting dark a lot earlier. Winter was coming. I tried not to think about what would happen to all of us if it arrived before the island had gotten the basic necessities back in place.
By the time I was on the road, I had warmed up from the exertion of biking. Only my fingers were really cold. It was quiet on the road. I saw only one car, heading the other way, into town. The power was out on this side of the island, and the streetlights were dark. I felt that strange vertigo you sometimes get, watching my single bike headlamp peer into the blank darkness. If you looked a certain way, up started to feel like down and down like up. I kept imagining sounds coming from behind me: the crush of dry leaves, rustling in the trees. When I looked, no one was there. I shook it off.
Deer
, I thought,
or raccoons
. Just past sunset was a busy time of day in the animal world, when the night hunters came out to look for prey and the day timers looked for a safe spot to sleep.
The marina was lit with the dim, brownish light I’d come to recognize as generator produced. No one had bothered to put their boats back in the water after the storm here, though the slips were much less damaged than inthe harbor. It was too close to the end of the season. I wondered what there was for Paul Guthy to do out here at this time of year. He worked as the caretaker of the marina. Grant had owned the business, but now the town ran it.
Paul was there tonight, I
Similar Books
