Final Settlement Read Online Free PDF Page B

holding his work in progress. To the untrained eye, it was a jumble of blocks, painted various hues of gray. Upon closer inspection, one could see that the blocks composed a pier with an aging lighthouse at the end. The Manatuck Breakwater . Alcott Bridges gazed at it and gave a small nod. It wasn’t quite finished, but he knew already it was one of his finest works.
    He pulled his attention from the painting and shuffled out of the studio, continuing through the kitchen and toward the bathroom. Once there, he turned off the water, slid out of his clothes, and eased into the tub. When his tea cooled a little he would sip it, and while the warm water soaked the harbor chill from his bones, the whiskey would help him forget.
    _____
    Darby watched Chief Dupont climb into his police car and back slowly out of the driveway. She checked her watch, wondering if the Hurricane Harbor Library’s hours were the same as when she’d lived here as a child. If that were true, she had a half hour until closing time. A half-hour to research on the Internet until I get my own connection, she thought. She grabbed her laptop, a pad of paper and pen, and headed out the door.
    Once at the library, she accessed the city of Manatuck’s website, quickly finding a map showing both the Manatuck Breakwater and its nearby neighbors. Along the shore facing the jetty were a number of homes, as well as a small condominium development
with several oceanfront units. Within minutes Darby had jotted down the property owners’ names and addresses. In the local phone book, she found all but one number, and that property was a piece of vacant land.
    Back at the farmhouse, she began calling the numbers. She’d decided to say she was putting together some data on the lighthouse, and ask people whether they favored its restoration or not. She figured that once they began talking about the lighthouse, the question of whether or not each owner could see the end of the Breakwater could naturally be raised.
    Darby hoped to find someone with a clear view, someone who had seen something strange happen at noon the day before.
    Her first call was to a pleasant woman with a Boston-accented voice who said that she greatly supported the lighthouse restoration, and had sent in a generous check only two weeks prior. Darby quickly thanked her and then inquired innocently whether she had a nice view of the lighthouse from her antique Cape.
    “No,” the woman said, a hint of regret in her voice. “Years ago, I suppose whomever lived here had an excellent view, but now those tall cedars block it, even in the winter.” She paused. “My one consolation is that those same cedars give me privacy, and they’re so pretty when they’re snow-covered.” A long sigh. “That’s something, I guess.”
    Darby called another number. A man with a gruff tone said yes indeed, he could see the Breakwater and the lighthouse just perfectly. Darby felt her pulse quicken. “Did you happen to see anyone walking the Breakwater yesterday at noon?”
    “Noon? No. I meet some of the fellows at the coffee shop on Main Street for lunch every day.” He paused. “Damn shame about the Delvecchio girl. Must’ve slipped on the ice is what I figure.”
    Darby thanked him for his time and hung up. She’d called everyone on the list, except one number, and no one had been looking out their windows when Lorraine Delvecchio had taken her fateful walk.
    She sighed and pondered her next move. Maybe actually going to the Breakwater would help, she thought. She glanced outside at the gray afternoon, slowly becoming dusk. It would be cold on the ferry …
    Stop it , she chided herself. You’re becoming one of those wimpy Californians who’re afraid of a little chill in the air . She reached in her suitcase and pulled a warm sweater out and over her head. I’ll make this last call and then head to the harbor.
    _____
    Blonde Bitsy Carmichael rolled her mascara-accented eyes, drumming her pudgy fingers on