The Edge of the Shadows by Elizabeth George

hear. She waved gaily, however, called out, “Will do,” and led the way back to the front of the building. Hayley saw that the house itself was on the opposite side of the property. It was afflicted with the same amount of debris that appeared to be everywhere else, but there were finished wood carvings nearby, attempting to decorate something that looked like a garden in extremis.
    Aidan came out of the house. He’d put on running shoes, but that was the extent of his changing his clothes for a run. While he came toward them, Isis led Hayley into the open garage where two bikes were leaning against a wooden trailer. She said to Hayley, “Grab one of these. We ride, he runs.” And to Aidan, “Go on, then. We’ll catch up.”
    He shrugged and jogged off down the driveway as Isis rolled her bike out of the garage. It was an ancient thing with wheels like doughnuts, and Hayley’s bike turned out to be the same. These belonged to Nancy and Linda-the-lesbian-lover, Isis told her. They possessed only one gear, but they were the only things on offer.
    The two girls set off, and they soon caught up to Aidan, who was cooperatively jogging along the side of the road. But within two hundred yards of Nancy Howard’s driveway, Aidan leaped off the road and disappeared along a trail into the forest. Isis saw him go but made no protest. She merely continued heading toward the beach, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
    Hayley came up alongside her. “Shouldn’t we follow him or something?”
    Isis cast a look over her shoulder in the direction her brother had taken. “No way is he about to put up with that. And anyway, he’ll just go in there and smoke if he managed to steal some matches from Grandam. We’ll meet up with him on the road later. Far as Grandam knows, we’ll be glued to him like a second skin. Come on. Race you to the beach, okay?”
    The girls made quick work of getting down to Maxwelton Beach, a community comprising the large homes of people made wealthy by the Northwest’s tech industry and old beach cottages that had long been the summer places of generations of families from over town who came to the island only when the weather was fair. A ball park and tiny playground gave the community a place to gather, and a boat launch offered them the opportunity to set a course into Useless Bay if the tide was high enough.
    It was to this boat launch that Isis rode with Hayley following. There at its edge, she dropped her bike to the ground. She waited for Hayley to do likewise, and together they walked onto the beach.
    It was mostly very wet sand, some driftwood, a lot of mud, and half a dozen tidepools. Here, there were walkers with dogs, moving along the vast expanse of Useless Bay, which horseshoed from tree-rich Indian Point in the south all the way north to Double Bluff Light. This was marked by the great tan bluffs of sandy earth that gave that spot its name.
    Isis said to Hayley, “I want to show you something. I got the best idea . . .” and she set off down the beach in the direction of Indian Point. Not one hundred yards along, however, a large sign told potential beach walkers that the property beyond it was private and they were to keep off.
    Hayley pointed this out to Isis. Isis pooh-poohed the warning, continuing on her way. She said, “No beach c’n be private. No
way
does that happen in California. You c’n be a movie star or something and you can’t keep people off a beach in front of your place in Malibu.”
    â€œIsis!”
    The other girl stopped walking. She said, “What?”
    Hayley stumbled for words. “It’s . . . Things’re different here. The beach is private.”
    â€œThat sucks. I want to
show
you something.”
    â€œSomeone’s going to come out and yell and—”
    â€œGood grief. Like we’re scared to get yelled at?” Isis continued on