“I’ve been teaching and writing.”
“I read your book. Liked it. I used to look at your picture on the back and say ‘Wow, I know her. Known her for a long time.’ Tessa would’ve been so proud, you know?”
“Indeed she would have. So what’s the gossip on the island?”
He laughed and said, “You’ve been gone forever and now you want the gossip.”
“What happened to the Bancrofts next door?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder.
“He died a couple of years ago. Cancer. She’s still hangin’ on but they put her away. Her kids sold the house. New owners didn’t like me; I didn’t like them.” She remembered his bluntness and efficiency with words.
“And the Hendersons across the street?”
“Dead.”
“She and I swapped letters for a few years after Tessa died, then we sort of lost interest. Things haven’t changed much around here.”
“The island doesn’t change. Some new homes here and there. All the beach lots have been built up, some fancy condos down by the Ritz. Tourism is up and I guess that’s good. Jane says you’re gonna be here for a few months.”
“That’s the plan. We’ll see. I’m between jobs and I need to finish a book.”
“You always loved books, didn’t you? I remember stacks of them all over the house, even when you were a little girl.”
“Tessa took me to the library twice a week. When I was in the fifth grade we had a summer reading contest at school. I read ninety-eight that summer and won the trophy. Michael Quon came in second with fifty-three. I really wanted to get to one hundred.”
“Tessa always said you were too competitive. Checkers, chess, Monopoly. You always had to win.”
“I guess. Seems kind of silly now.”
Larry took a drink of water and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. Gazing at the ocean, he said, “I really miss the old gal, you know. We bickered nonstop over the flower beds and the fertilizer, but she would do anything for her friends.”
Mercer nodded but said nothing. After a long silence, he said, “Sorry to bring it up. I know it’s still tough.”
“Can I ask you something, Larry? I’ve never talked to anyone about what happened to Tessa. Later, long after the funeral, I read the newspaper stories and all that, but is there something I don’t know? Is there more to the story?”
“No one knows.” He nodded at the ocean. “She and Porter were out there, three or four miles, probably within view of land, and the storm came out of nowhere. One of those late summer afternoon jobs, but a pretty nasty one.”
“Where were you?”
“At home, puttering. Before you could turn around the sky was black and the wind was screaming. The rain was thick and blowing sideways. Knocked down a bunch of trees. Power was out. They said Porter got off a Mayday but I guess it was too late.”
“I was on that boat a dozen times, but sailing was not my thing. I always thought it was too hot and too boring.”
“Porter was a good sailor, and as you know, he was crazy about Tessa. Nothing romantic. Hell, he was twenty years younger.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Larry. They were awfully friendly, and as I got older I became suspicious. I found a pair of his old deck shoes in her closet one time. I was snooping around, like a kid will do. I didn’t say anything, but just listened harder. I got the impression Porter spent a lot of time around here when I was gone.”
He was shaking his head. “No. Don’t you think I’d know it?”
“I suppose.”
“I’m here three times a week and I keep an eye on the place. Some dude hanging around? I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Okay. But she really liked Porter.”
“Everybody did. A good guy. Never found him, never found the boat.”
“And they searched?”
“Oh yes, biggest search I ever saw. Every boat on the island was out there, including me. Coast Guard, helicopters. A jogger found Tessa up at the North Pier at sunrise. As I remember, it was two or three days later.”
“She was a good swimmer but we never used life jackets.”
“It wouldn’t matter in that storm. So, no, we’ll never know what happened. I’m sorry.”
“I asked.”
“I’d better go. Anything I can do for you?” He stood slowly and stretched his arms. “You have my phone number.”
Mercer stood too and gave him a light hug. “Thanks, Larry. It’s good to see you.”
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
9.
Late in the day, Mercer kicked off her sandals and headed for the beach. The boardwalk began at the deck and rose and fell with the dunes, which were off-limits and protected by laws. She ambled along, as always looking for the gopher tortoises. They were endangered, and Tessa had been a fanatic about protecting their habitat. They lived off the sea oats and cordgrass that covered the dunes. By the time she was eight years old, Mercer could identify all the vegetation — the sandburs, beach stars, yuccas, and Spanish bayonets. Tessa had taught her about these plants and expected her to remember from summer to summer. Eleven years later, she still remembered.
Mercer closed the narrow boardwalk gate behind her, walked to the edge of the water, and headed south. She passed a few beachcombers, all of whom nodded and smiled. Most of them had dogs on leashes. Ahead, a woman walked directly toward her. With her perfectly starched khaki shorts and chambray shirt, and cotton sweater draped over her shoulders, she looked like a model straight out of a J.Crew catalog. The face was soon familiar. Elaine Shelby smiled and said hello. They shook hands and walked together, stepping barefoot in the sea foam.
“So how’s the cottage?” Elaine asked.
“It’s in good shape. Aunt Jane runs a pretty tight ship.”
“Did she ask a lot of questions?”
“Not really. She was happy that I wanted to stay here.”
“And you’re clear until early July?”
“Around July 4. Connie and her family will have it for two weeks then, so I won’t be around.”
“We’ll get you a room nearby. Any other rentals for the cottage?”
“No, not until November.”
“You’ll be done by then, one way or the other.”
“If you say so.”
“Two initial ideas,” Elaine said, quickly getting down to business. It appeared to be an innocent walk on the beach, but it was actually an important meeting. A golden retriever on a leash wanted to say hello. They rubbed his head and exchanged the usual pleasantries with his owner. Walking again, Elaine said, “First, I’d stay away from the bookstore. It’s important that Cable comes to you, not the other way around.”
“And how do I arrange that?”
“There’s a lady on the island, Myra Beckwith, a writer you might have heard of.”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t think so. She’s written a pile of books, really raunchy romance novels, and she uses a dozen pen names. She once sold well in that genre but she’s slowed down with age. She lives with her partner in one of the old homes downtown. She’s a big woman, six feet tall and broad, a real bruiser. When you meet her you won’t believe she’s ever had sex with anybody, but she has an impressive imagination. A real character, very eccentric and loud and colorful, and she’s sort of the Queen Bee of the literary crowd. Of course, she and Cable are old friends. Drop her a note, make the introduction, tell her what you’re doing here, the usual routine. Say you’d like to stop by for a drink and say hello. Cable will know about it within twenty-four hours.”
“Who’s her partner?”
“Leigh Trane, another writer you might have heard of.”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t think so. She aspires to write literary fiction, really impenetrable stuff that the stores can’t give away. Her last book sold three hundred copies and that was eight years ago. They’re an odd couple in every sense of the word, but they’ll probably be a hoot to hang out with. Once they know you, Cable will not be far behind.”