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  “Yes, ma’am,” said the man, diving back into the downpour to carry out his assignment.

  I stiffened. “I’m a suspect?”

  She straightened her shoulders and gave me a cold, official stare. Pulling her jacket aside, she revealed the butt of a gun.

  * * *

  Officer Jami questioned me for at least an hour, going over the same things, getting the same answers. She really wasn’t very good at it. Walt, a hairy thug with a big, sweet smile, had a little battery-operated tape recorder that could have come out of an antique shop or someone’s attic and was dutifully recording the conversation. Quincy, who looked young enough to be my grandson, fell asleep in the corner propped up against the kitchen counter with an angelic look on his baby face. I had no idea where Jami had got these guys, or in what capacity they now served. I just wanted it over. I was feeling lightheaded and heavy-‌handed all at the same time, and if I didn’t get some rest soon, I’d be dozing next to babyface Quincy.

  The storm had escalated, wind howling so loudly we had to shout to be heard. There was lightning and thunder too, a real Nor’wester. The cabin shook on its foundations, and a few times I thought it might blow away. Would we find ourselves in Oz, like dear unsuspecting Dorothy? Or would we end up in the strait with the fishes?

  The lightning was coming more often now, and in the flares, I could see people still milling around in the courtyard. What were they waiting for? The thunder crashed, nearly synchronous with the lightning, meaning the eye of the storm was close upon us. If I were them, I’d seek shelter before I got crisped by a stray bolt.

  An exceptionally hefty gust hit broadside, and the little cabin quaked. Everybody paused and held onto their seats. A burst of white light illumined the sky, followed by a huge, rolling explosion. There was another boom and another flash, this one lower to the ground and accompanied by a show of sparks. The lights went out. The fridge sighed to a stop. The red light on the phone went dead.

  For a moment we sat in darkness, then a piercing beam hit me full in the eyes. It slipped aside, revealing itself as Jami’s police-issue flashlight. She set it on the table, aimed into a corner, and pulled out her cell phone. Punching at the flat black surface, her face lit eerily by the neon glow, she groaned.

  “Too much interference.”

  “But you did call this in to the mainland, didn’t you, Tee?” Quincy crowed, fully awake now.

  “Sure I did, Quin. But they can’t do anything as long as the storm’s still at it. Probably die down by morning. They’ll come over then.”

  “I just don’t like the idea of a murderer on the island,” he murmured.

  “Neither do I. None of us do.”

  Suddenly all three were looking at me. “I don’t like it either,” I said defensively. “But he’s not in here, no matter what you might think. Crystal and I made peace. She was a very troubled woman.”

  Someone banged hard on the cabin door. Jami reached over and opened it a crack, something only possible in a house that small. “Careful, there’s a cat in here,” she told the outsider. Emilio, curled on the bed next to me, didn’t twitch a muscle. He knew a good thing when he found it.

  “Has she confessed?” came a voice I barely recognized without its usual lightness.

  “No, I haven’t confessed, Tulsa,” I projected through the door. “I didn’t do anything to confess to. I would think you’d know that.”

  Tulsa squeezed inside the cabin, sardining in with the rest of us. She was wearing a borrowed yellow rain slicker that was too big for her, and water puddled on the floor where she stood. “I’m sorry, Lynley. I don’t know what to think. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  “That’s okay,” I shrugged, though it really wasn’t.

  “Simon wants to move this up to the office. The electricity is out all over the island and the backup generator isn’t working right.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “It may take a while to get the lights back on. Very probably sometime tomorrow. He wants everyone together in Wolf Hall. But you, Lynley, he wants in the office.”

  Jami considered. “Yeah, okay, good idea. Come on, boys, let’s move the suspect.”

  “Please quit calling me the suspect. And I’m perfectly capable of moving myself,” I said shaking Walt’s beefy grip off my biceps.

  I stepped around the end of my bed to my suitcase.

  “Hold it,” Jami ordered. “Stop right there.”

  I raised my hands in mock—‌or maybe not so mock—‌compliance. “Just getting a jacket,” I explained. “No weapons, I promise.”

  “Yeah, alright.”

  “Can you shine that light over here?”

  Begrudgingly she swung the flashlight toward my case while I picked out a Columbia Sportswear fleece coat and a pair of boots. Donning the outerwear, still clumsy from fatigue, I straightened my shoulders, then turned back to Emilio who was looking at me with questioning eyes.

  “What about him? He needs to be fed and his box cleaned out.”

  “I’ll take care of Emilio,” Quincy offered. “I’m also a cattery volunteer,” he added proudly.

  “Not a deputy sheriff?” I couldn’t resist joking. Then I sobered. “Will you leave him here or be taking him back to the colony?”

  He looked at the cat, then at Jami. “He seems comfortable. I think we can leave him here, for now.”

  So Emilio would stay. Maybe that meant they weren’t planning to hold me much longer. Or maybe they just didn’t want to transport the big cat in the storm. I hoped it was the first one; between the emotional trauma and the creeping bone-weariness, I was feeling flimsy as a wisp of catfuzz.

  I bent over and buried my face in Emilio’s silken fur. “I know, sweetheart,” I whispered. “I should be fast asleep right along with you. But I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

  Jami held the door open for me. I turned and bounced down the steps in slow motion, feeling like a wayward balloon, then proceeded across the courtyard, a ghost in her flashlight beam. I peered around the circle, now dark on all sides. Most of the lookie-loos had found somewhere better to be but a few still huddled in the soggy grass like lost dogs.

  “Go home.” I told them with a cackle of laughter. “Nothing to see here.”

  Chapter 15

  “Many people know how calming it can be to have a cat around. In fact, playing with, and caring for a cat has recognized medical benefits. An increasing number of professionals now use cats as part of patient care. Cats have well-defined boundaries—‌they are emotionally stable and remain stable even when their humans are stressed. They may find a stressed human unpleasant and avoid him—‌giving the human a reason to tone down his behaviour.” —knowyourcat.info

  Crystal Holt was dead.

  Someone had bopped her over the head with her own vodka bottle, just as I had threatened to do in front of a dozen witnesses.

  I was the last person to see her alive. Except for the killer, as they always claim in the cop shows. I now knew the desperation buried in that simple cliché.

  I also had openly quarreled with her. I had yelled at her. I had disparaged her in public. In the end, we had worked it out, but that had been privately and behind closed doors.

  It was little wonder the general consensus was that I had committed the act.

  If it hadn’t been for the storm, which had accelerated into an all-out gale, the San Juan County Sheriff’s boat would have come from the mainland and taken charge. I would have been questioned, maybe even taken into custody if they thought there was enough evidence against me. But instead of hearsay and circumstance, the police would base their conclusions on forensic reports and statements from crime scene investigators. My innocence would be easily established, since I didn’t do it.

  That was another black mark against me. I’d been observed fleeing the scene screaming those very words: “I didn’t do it!” Everyone knows that too much protestation presumes guilt.

  It hadn’t taken long for the fun and friendly Clov
erleaf Art Retreat to morph into Lord of the Flies. When the lights went out, Officer Jami and her sidekicks, Walt and Quin, had brought me to Simon’s office at his request. There was an awkward, stilted conversation, then Simon and a small group of men and women representing the Cloverleaf board of directors handed down their sentence. They tried, judged, and voted me off the island, except that off wasn’t an option, so with many excuses, apologies, and evasive eyes, they’d settled on the basement as the next best thing. I pleaded; I raged: Simon soothed and cajoled. Taking me aside, he promised he’d straighten things out. He told me he didn’t for a moment share their belief that I was guilty of murder, then turned his other face and asked would I please just go with the flow. I begged him to let me return to my cabin but that wasn’t the deal. So down I went—‌beat, humiliated, and scared.

  All in all, I really couldn’t blame the board for my banishment. They were scared too; there was a murderer among them. One thing about being on an island, the guilty party couldn’t jump in a car and split. Somewhere, maybe right next door, was a cold-blooded—‌or hot-blooded—‌killer. A killer who wasn’t me. I kept telling myself all I had to do was sit tight. Soon they’d figure it out. They’d let me go, and go, I would. Far, far away from Clover Island, never to return.

  Meanwhile I was comfortable enough though the place was a bit dingy and dank. I missed my cats. I missed my freedom. I could easily have been angry—‌I could have been livid-crazy-nuts!—‌but that wouldn’t have done me any good alone in that little room. Better to wait it out, get some rest, and come at them with both barrels blazing in the morning. Good thing they’re not telepathic, I thought to myself. That particular idiom would not have helped my case.

  I stared at the flicker of the Coleman lamp thinking back to the last time I’d used one. A camping trip. Fun and frolic and ghost stories with my granddaughter who was then still a child. The white-hot flame had seemed comforting; now it was brash, hurtful, and not sympathetic at all. The only sound was the incessant pounding of the storm, and even that was muted to an annoying drone by the thick cement walls. There were no windows; there was also no clock, but had there been an electric one, it would have stopped sometime around eleven—‌useless, impotent, and wrong. I guessed it to be near three a.m. but I really didn’t have a clue. There was no way to tell how long I’d been there without counting the seconds themselves, which I suppose I could have done since I had nothing better to do.

  In spite of the tension, or maybe because of it, I’d sacked out on the couch and was asleep within minutes. If I was hoping to doze through the duration of my sentence, though, I had no such luck. I soon woke with a start, knowing exactly where I was, exactly why I was there. For a while I tried to recapture the oblivion of slumber but I was far too edgy. My mind raced. I might even say my life flashed before me as if I were about to die.

  Then finally I heard the distinctive click of a lock, the creak of a door, and heavy footsteps descending the stairs. This could only be a good thing, unless it were the killer come to bash my head in. But I doubted that. Whoever killed Crystal did it for a reason.

  I watched in anticipation as a pair of boots appeared, then a male set of legs, and finally Nathan Shore landed with arms full: a blanket, a pillow, a picnic basket and... oh yes! A cat carrier!

  “Supplies,” Nathan gasped as he dumped all but the carrier on the couch beside me. That, he carefully placed on the floor. A black nose poked through the grill.

  “You can let him out,” Nathan said. “I shut the door to the upstairs. I didn’t lock it though,” he added with a wink.

  I opened the gate and the big boy jumped up beside me, all purrs and wiggles. I grabbed him and held him close. I think I would have cried had I not been so determined to keep my ducks in a row. Instead, I whispered into his furry ear, “Emilio, get me out of here before I go crazy.” He nuzzled my face, the only answer I would get for now.

  I turned to the man. “I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me they’re letting me go?”

  He gave me a sorrowful smile. “No such luck. The security girl is standing guard in the hallway upstairs. Actually she’s sort of sleeping guard. To be honest, I walked right by her. I suppose you could escape if you wanted to. I sure wouldn’t stop you.”

  I thought about it, then shook my head. “Where would I go? I’m comfortable enough for now, and I have faith it’ll all get worked out in the morning.”

  Nathan sighed. “You’re more forgiving than I would be.”

  “Who said anything about forgiveness? It’s just that as long as I hide out here, I won’t have to deal with anyone. I bet I’m more afraid of them than they are of me.” I gave a little squeeze to my furry boy, then let him go. He instantly curled up in my lap.

  “What are they doing out there?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know. “Still banded together like vigilantes? Or have they given up and gone to bed now that the nasty killer’s safely under wraps?”

  “Oh, most everyone’s still up at the hall. There weren’t enough lanterns for each individual cabin so Simon asked everybody to stick together. Sun and Dave made coffee on a wood stove and passed out the ice cream and pie that was supposed to be tomorrow’s dessert. With the freezer down, it’ll just spoil anyway.” He gestured to the picnic basket. “I brought you some. Pie, not ice cream. And a thermos of coffee if you want it.”

  “Thanks. Maybe later.”

  Moving the picnic basket to the table, he sank down on the other end of the couch. The storm howled outside, restless as my troubled soul.

  “I have to admit, this isn’t how I’d expected to spend my summer vacation,” I mentioned.

  “No, I’m sure it’s not.”

  “I used to paint when I was younger, you know. That’s how I met Simon, as a matter of fact. College days. Seems like a lifetime ago.” I sat back, stroking soft black fur and ruminating on the years in between. “Where does the time go?”

  Nathan shrugged and looked a bit lost.

  “But then you’re young,” I added. “Hopefully you are living your life to the fullest.”

  “I don’t know about that. I try to keep busy. To make a difference where I can.”

  “Working with animals?”

  He gazed into the shadows as if watching a scene play out there, but all he said was, “Yes.”

  “Cats?” I persisted.

  “Yes, cats. My folks had cats for as far back as I can remember. They were like members of the family. Pedigrees, mostly, but always from breeders we knew. One place I remember visiting when I was little, Mama took me to meet the new kitten, a British Shorthair we named Alfie. He was just this tiny gray ball of fluff. I was fascinated by his little blue eyes, his down-like fur. I got to watch him grow up, or I should say we grew up together. I was nearly twenty when he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. It broke my heart.”

  I don’t know whether it was because I was locked in a basement suspected of murder or the poignancy of the young man’s story—‌one I’d heard many times—‌but I began to cry. Just a tear or two, but Nathan caught it immediately.

  “I’m sorry, Lynley. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  I wiped the tear away. “It’s not you. It’s just... I feel so useless, so ineffectual here.” I touched his hand. “Don’t you worry about it, Nathan. It’s all going to be alright.”

  “This is ridiculous,” he swore suddenly. “How could anybody think you’d hurt someone?”

  “You don’t see me as the sadistic killer type? This animal lover, crazy cat lady thing could all be an act, you know.”

  “No way. You’re for real, Lynley. I’m sure of it.”

  I looked at the man, suddenly wondering why he was here. His face was intense, almost livid in his belief that I could do no harm.

  “I think it was a matter of wrong place, wrong time.” I paused. “But can I ask you a personal question, Nathan?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  I hesitated, unsure how I wanted to put it. “You se
em to be a nice young man, artistic, kind to animals. And I know our group is a bit limited. But why did you pick me?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Nathan, you’ve gone out of your way to be friendly, even before tonight. And now you’ve braved official security to bring me pie and a kitty. I’m not used to strangers being so thoughtful. I was just wondering why.”

  He sat for a moment, then rose and dug in the basket. He pulled out two restaurantware cups clearly borrowed from the dining hall and poured himself a coffee from the thermos.

  “Want some?”

  “Why not?” I answered.

  He splashed out a second cup and rummaged again in the basket. “I couldn’t get any real cream, but there’s a packet of white stuff somewhere down here. And sugar and honey.” He produced a handful of take-out packets.

  “I like it black, but thanks anyway.”

  Handing me the mug, he opened a creamer and a cube-shaped pouch of honey. He stirred them into his cup, then sat back down beside me.

  “Lynley, my mom just died—‌wait!” He held up a slim hand. “Don’t go all I’m so sorry for your loss on me. It’s fine. I’m fine. It was her time, as they say.”

  He sipped his coffee. I let him. “Don’t get me wrong—‌you don’t remind me of her or anything like that. You’re much too young.”

  I would have snickered had he not been so darned serious.

  “It’s just that she was the rock in my life. I miss that more than anything. When I first met you, I recognized a little of that ‘rock-steadiness’ in you.” He shrugged, turning himself into a little boy again. “I just wanted to share your confidence.”

  I took a deep breath. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything,” he grunted, reasserting his machismo and the emotional cover up that goes with it “You asked me, remember?”

  “Well, I am sorry about your mom, Nathan. That’s a tough one. My mother is still alive but my daddy died many years ago. Parents can’t be replaced.”