'What about Glory?'

'What about her?' Reich asked.

'I hear she had problems. Stealing, drugs, s.e.x. Sounds like she ran pretty fast for a nice country girl.'

Reich shrugged. 'Around here, there's not a lot to do in the quiet season. Kids get into trouble. Glory had her share. People aren't going to take it too well if you start dragging a nice girl's name through the mud. She's the victim here. Don't you forget that.'

'I won't.' 'Delia Fischer is a good woman. She doesn't deserve to see her kids treated like this.'

'You know her well?' Cab asked.

'We're both natives. Those of us who have been around here our whole lives know everybody else, Detective.'

Cab got off the bar stool. 'I've taken up enough of your time, Sheriff. I've got a ferry to catch. I just didn't want to start nosing around your jurisdiction without introducing myself.'

'That was a smart plan,' Reich agreed. 'If my deputies or I can help you nail Bradley, you tell me, OK? There's bad blood for me on this one.'

'I understand.' Cab nodded at the shot gla.s.s, which contained a residue of bitters. 'Thanks for the drink. I'm not likely to forget it.'

'I bet not.'

'Tell me something, Sheriff,' Cab added. 'You know pretty much everything that happens around here. Is there anything else I should know about Glory Fischer? Anything that could have led to her death?'

Reich finished his coffee and wiped his mouth. 'Not a d.a.m.n thing, Detective. You just keep your eyes on Mark Bradley.'

Chapter Eighteen.

Hilary spotted the purple Corvette in the boarding line for the last ferry of the day and saw a lanky man in a business suit atop a bench in the park by the harbor. She recognized his gelled blond hair and movie star looks, and her hands tightened around the steering wheel with anxiety. She pulled sharply off the road.

Cab Bolton nodded to her as she climbed out of her car. He held a cell phone high over his head, aimed at the sky. 'h.e.l.lo, Mrs Bradley,' he said. 'This is a beautiful island, but the cell signal sucks. It's driving me crazy.'

Hilary didn't waste time with small talk. 'I hope you weren't hara.s.sing my husband, Detective.'

'G.o.d forbid,' Cab replied pleasantly. He climbed off the bench and stood up to his full height. Hilary, who wasn't small, wasn't used to anyone towering over her the way Cab did. He gave her a disarming smile and tugged at the sleeves of his suit coat. 'Is it always so cold here in late March'

'If it's too cold for you, go back to Florida.'

'Oh, I just like complaining.' He glanced around the island at the rocky water beyond the harbor and the thick barrier of evergreens hugging the sh.o.r.eline. 'This is a barren place to live. Why did you and your husband move up here?'

'Not everyone loves the suburbs,' Hilary replied.

'Were you running away from something?'

'Yes, we were. Smog. Crowds. Traffic. Concrete. Sameness.'

Cab took off his sungla.s.ses and dangled them on his fingers. His eyes were irresistibly blue. 'I did my homework on you, Mrs Bradley.

People in the Chicago schools told me you were one of the best teachers they'd ever had. They hated to lose you.'

'So?'

'So I wonder why you'd give it up to work in a small school in the middle of nowhere.'

'I love teaching. It doesn't matter whether the school is big or small.' She added, 'Mark loved it too, until he got crucified.'

'That must be hard, going to work every morning, knowing people think your husband cheated on you with a student.'

'I don't need your sympathy, Detective.'

'I'm still curious about why the two of you moved out here. Did Mark have a problem with girls in the Chicago schools? You may as well tell me. I'll find out anyway.'

'There's nothing to find,' Hilary snapped. She was tired of having her motives questioned by people who didn't understand them. Cab Bolton wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last. Her family. Her colleagues. Her neighbors. They were all the same. They looked at her and Mark and wanted a vote in how they chose to lead their lives.

'You know what my mother said to me, Detective?' she went on. 'When I told her that Mark and I were moving to Door County? She asked me how I could be such an independent woman for so many years and then give up everything in my life for a man.'

'What did you say?' Cab asked.

'I told her the truth. I wasn't giving up anything at all. Mark and I were making a choice about what we wanted. That's it. That's the big secret. I don't care if you understand it.'

'The two of you were just crazy in love,' Cab said, and she heard cynicism in his voice.

'Spare me the sarcasm, Detective. I'm not in the mood to play games with you.'

'I'm not trying to play games. I like you, Mrs Bradley. Really. I think you're smart, and I respect that you're ferociously protective of your husband.'

'But you think I'm a fool.'

'I think people aren't always who we think they are,' Cab told her. 'While you're protecting your husband, you might start protecting yourself, too.'

'If you're trying to make me doubt Mark, you can stop.'

'I think you have doubts, but you won't admit them to yourself.'

'Then you don't understand what it means to have faith in someone,' Hilary said.

'You're right. I don't.'

'If that's true, I feel sorry for you.'

'Don't worry about me.' Cab shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his body against the cold. 'Look, let's a.s.sume your husband told you he was out on the beach with Glory. I'm not asking you to say yes or no, but if he was there with her, there's a good chance he killed her. You're smart enough to realize that. Maybe he didn't mean to do it. Maybe things got out of control. It doesn't matter.'

'I can see I'm wasting my breath,' Hilary said. 'You're like everyone else around here, a.s.suming Mark is guilty. You've appointed yourself judge and jury.'

'I don't a.s.sume he's guilty, but I don't a.s.sume he's innocent, either.'

'Good night, Detective.' Hilary pointed at the boat, where one of the deck workers waved to attract Cab's attention. 'You don't want to miss your ferry. I'd hate to think of you trapped overnight in a barren place like this.'

Cab smiled and slid his car keys from his pocket. 'I talked to Sheriff Reich. He's not a fan of your husband.'

'I'm not a fan of the sheriff, either,' Hilary replied. 'He hasn't lifted a finger to stop the locals hara.s.sing us.'

'He says Delia Fischer was right. Your husband was having s.e.x with Tresa.'

'Tresa was a sweet, misguided kid. That's all there was.'

'Men are awfully easy to seduce,' Cab reminded her. 'Women usually find a way to get what they want.'

Hilary was good at reading people, and she thought she could see past the armor in the detective's blue eyes. His cynicism wasn't just professional. 'Is this about me or you, Detective?'

'Excuse me?'

'It sounds like there was a woman who messed with you. You loved her, and she hurt you.'

Cab's face darkened. 'Now who's playing games?'

'I'm sorry,' Hilary said, 'but don't take out your past on me and Mark.'

'I'm not doing that.'

'No?'

'No. I already told you I'm not a.s.suming your husband is guilty. If the evidence points to someone else, so be it.'

'If that's true, then tell me something. Did Sheriff Reich mention Glory and the fire?'

'What fire?'

'Glory lived next door to a man who burned down his house with his family in it,' Hilary told him. 'She was there when it happened. She almost died.'

Cab's mouth puckered into a frown. 'I didn't know that.'

'Neither did I until today. Don't you find that interesting? This girl was a witness to a murder six years ago, and now she gets murdered herself. That's a big coincidence.'

She watched Cab working through the implications of this information in his mind. Weighing its significance. Deciding if she was blowing smoke at him.

'Why do you think there's a connection?' he asked. 'I'm not sure how a six-year-old crime, even a horrific one, has any relevance to what happened to Glory in Florida.'

'Only that the killer escaped,' Hilary said. 'He's still on the run.'

'The man who started the fire is at large? Is that true?'

'It's true. His name was Harris Bone. Look it up.' Hilary returned to her Camry and stood outside the driver's door. She was pleased with herself. Looking at Cab Bolton and studying his face, she decided that the man might never be an ally, but he might not be an enemy, either.

'If you can get past your obsession with my husband,' she called to him, 'you should ask yourself the question that I've been asking myself all day, Detective. What if Harris Bone was in Florida? Think about that. What if Glory recognized him? What do you think he would do to her?'

Night fell on the island two hours later. Without daylight, the temperature dropped like a stone, dipping below the freezing mark. Gusts off the bay blasted the land and made the dark trees sway. No one came or went through the canyon-like waves of Death's Door. The ferries were done until early morning, and the private boats that traversed the pa.s.sage stayed in the shelter of the harbors. The stone outpost of Washington Island was cut off from civilization, isolated and empty.

He drove without headlights. At night, under low clouds, he could barely pick out the headstones of the island cemetery laid in granite rows beside the road. Where the cemetery ended, the road disappeared into the forest, and he slowed to a crawl. The tires of the stolen pickup crept over the gravel as if it was sandpaper. Ahead of him, he spotted the pale break in the trees where the road stopped at Schoolhouse Beach. He turned right on a crossroad less than a hundred yards from the water and navigated blindly round the curves that hugged the sh.o.r.e. He knew where Mark Bradley lived. It wasn't far. When he was a quarter-mile away, he saw house lights glowing out of the black forest like torches. He stopped.

He parked in the driveway of a home that was empty for the winter season. He got out, taking a heavy crowbar with him, nestled in his gloved hand. On the road, he was invisible as he hiked toward the lights. He stayed close to the shoulder, where the birch trees leaned over the gravel and waggled their fingers at him. The wind covered the crunching noise of his boots. Near the house, he veered into the woods, worming his way through spindly branches and mushy ground, until he was barely twenty yards from their windows.

He could see the Bradleys. They were both inside.

Mark Bradley stood by the gla.s.s, staring into the darkness directly at him. If it had been daytime, he would have felt exposed, but he knew the window was nothing but a mirror of reflections now. Behind Mark Bradley, he saw the man's wife, holding a near-empty gla.s.s of red wine. Hilary Bradley was still dressed for work in a shimmery silver blouse and black slacks that emphasized her long legs. She came up behind her husband and whispered in his ear, but he didn't react.

Hilary finished her wine and squeezed her husband's shoulder, but he remained where he was, a statue. She left the room, and a moment later, light illuminated the small square of the bathroom window down the hall. There were no curtains. In the privacy of the island, there was no one to spy. Except now. He could see her torso framed against the white tile and watched with detached interest as she undressed. She undid the b.u.t.tons of her blouse and slid it down her arms and hung it on a hanger on the back of the door. Her fingers, which were topped with bright red nails, picked apart the strands of her blond hair, loosening it and letting it fall over her shoulders. She took off and folded her gla.s.ses. The effect of the innocent gesture was strangely wanton. With both hands behind her back, she undid the hooks of her bra and lifted it from her chest. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were pale, full globes. She unzipped her slacks, stepped out of them, and peeled down her panties, bending over so that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s hung forward and swayed. She was naked now, but he could see her milky skin only as far as her hips. As he watched, she stepped into a running shower and disappeared.

Mark Bradley was alone.

He made his way toward the rear of the house. His footsteps were soft on the spongy earth. He felt occasional snow flurries melting on his face. He ducked under the eave and crept sideways. The living- room window, which was open two inches, was immediately on his right. He edged his face around the frame to look inside. Mark Bradley was near the fireplace, studying a painting hung on the wall. The canvas was wild with blood-red strokes and strange giant angels. Bradley's back was to him, so he crossed the path of the window with two silent steps. He was near the rear corner of the house now, where a door led inside the screened porch. All he needed to do was lure Bradley outside.

He told himself he was doing the right thing. They couldn't afford to be exposed.

The warped door opened outward from the porch, offering him cover. When Bradley pushed the door open, he could take a step and swing the forked tongue of the crowbar squarely into the back of Bradley's skull. One blow. That was all it would take. He'd done much harder things in his life.

He reached in his pocket and dug out a Fourth of July firecracker that was no bigger than a birthday candle. He lit the fuse of the firecracker with a cigarette lighter and flicked it end over end with his thumb. It flew and landed ten feet in front of the porch door, but the fuse fizzled and burned out without triggering a bang. He pawed inside his pocket for another noisemaker. He only had one left, and it was old and just as likely to blow up in his hand. He touched the fuse to the flame and again flicked it away, watching it arc with a tiny glow. It landed, and he could see the wick burning.

Crack.

It went off with a flash of white light, but the pop was oddly m.u.f.fled. I He wasn't sure if it was loud enough. There was a long, tense moment of silence, but then the old house shifted with the movement of cautious footsteps on the porch. Mark Bradley was coming closer, investigating the noise.

He c.o.c.ked the crowbar in his arm.

In front of him, the porch door opened.

Chapter Nineteen.

'Mark?'

Hilary saw her husband in the doorway of the porch. He stopped as she called to him and turned back into the house.

'Is everything OK?' she asked.

'I heard something outside.'