The Ice Cradle by Mary Ann Winkowski, Maureen Foley Page B

did.”
    “He’s famous for it. Anyway, Aitana wasn’t actually up and running yet; it’s too early in the season. So she really had to scramble. She took the ferry over to the mainland yesterday and did all the shopping and came back last night. She has a commercial kitchen over on the other side of the island, and she was there until the middle of the night, trying to get a lot of the preliminary cooking done. On her way home, this couple in a station wagon practically ran her off the road.”
    “When was this?”
    “About three this morning. She was driving back to her house.”
    “Were they drunk?”
    “She didn’t think so. But they were driving really fast. They forced her over onto the shoulder, passed her, and sped off.”
    “Did she get a license plate number?”
    “She tried, but it was too dark. She thinks it began with
L
or
E
, but that was all she could see.”
    “How far from here did this happen?”
    “Just down past the National, three, four blocks.”
    “How’d you hear about it?”
    “Bert came by a little while ago. Aitana’s over at the police station in New Shoreham now.”
    “Did she see what kind of a car it was?”
    “It looked like an old Legacy, light green or maybe gray.”
    “The island’s not that big,” I said. “They ought to be able to find it.”
    “Yeah, but even if they do, it could have nothing to do withthe fire.” Lauren paused and then said, “You should really get some sleep. Want me or Mark to pick up Henry?”
    “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll set the alarm on my cell phone.”
    “You sure? It’s really no problem.”
    I shook my head. “Thanks, though.”
    “Thank
you
. I still can’t believe you managed to get all that stuff out of the barn.”
    “Just in time to sell it!” I joked.
    “In his dreams,” said Lauren.

    My cell phone rang at about four thirty. I was sleeping so heavily I felt practically drugged, but I hauled myself up to a sitting position and peered at the caller ID. It wasn’t my alarm. It was my brother. I struggled to catch the call before it went to voice mail.
    “Jay!” I said. “How
are
you?
Where
are you?”
    “I’m at work.” My brother likes to refer to himself, only slightly tongue in cheek, as a “civil servant.” He works for the city of Chicago in a program called Green Alleys, the purpose of which I don’t fully understand; it has something to do with making sidewalk and road construction more environmentally friendly. I tease him by calling it “Green Acres” and “Guys with Trucks” and regularly give him grief about finding a profession that pays him to muck around with steam shovels and excavators, his childhood obsessions.
    “Where are
you
?” he asked.
    “We’re on Block Island.”
    “That
must be nice.” As payback, he always ribs me about my not having a normal nine-to-five job.
    “I’m working,” I said.
    “No!”
    “Yes.”
    “Hold on, I feel faint. And speaking of feeling faint, are you sitting down?”
    I would have handed my brother lots of ammunition if I told him I was actually in bed, so I just said, “Yeeesssss.”
    “We’re having a baby!” he announced. “In fact, we’re having two!”
    “Oh my God! Jay!
Tell
me!”
    Jay laughed. “I just told you!”
    “You’re having twins?”
    “Well,
I’m
not. Louise is.”
    Louise and Jay have been married for almost four years, but since I’d already moved east by the time they met, I don’t really know her that well. We only see each other once or twice a year, on holidays. She’s a corporate litigator on the partner track at her law firm, and I’ve always suspected that she thinks I’m kind of a slacker, if not a bona fide black sheep. She, on the other hand, works such long hours that I was surprised she even agreed to get a dog, which they did last year.
    “This is wonderful!” I said as tears began to prickle the backs of my eyes. “I’m so happy for you!”
    “Thanks. We’re—well, we’re a little shocked, to