"This is it?" April was surprised. The house was hardly more than a cottage.
"The main house is down the road. It was sold off years ago. The barn here, along with a few acres and about a hundred feet of waterfront, was kept, built at the same time. I think Wendy owns it. The water's brackish, so she can't rent."
So what Wendy had told her in the interview room was half truth. Sea grass was high in front of the house. A badly rusting van and a moped were parked there. April's heart spiked as they got out of the cruiser and hiked along a narrow path through the wet grass.
Bert went first and knocked on the door. Wet wind slapped at their clothes and faces as they waited. April shivered in her cotton jacket. It was downright cold up here.
"Open up, police," Bert said.
They waited some more. Bert turned the handle and the door opened. "Anybody home?"
A girl wearing a long flowered skirt and a sweatshirt opened the door. Her hair was messy and her face didn't know it was morning.
"Who is it?" A male voice called from the other room.
"Lori Wilson?" April asked.
"Yes." Lori squinted out at them in sleepy surprise. "Hello. It's the police," over her shoulder. A warning.
"Sheriff Whitmore," Bert said.
April went next. "Sergeant Woo, Lieutenant Sanchez, NYPD."
"Jesus. What's going on?" Lori glanced around the small living room that was as folksy and American-country as Wendy's city apartment was urban-spare. At the moment it was in murky light and a mess. The faded, flowered sofas were littered with take-out food bags, empty beer bottles, and large soda cups. On the wood floor, the multicolored braided rugs were covered with sand. The fireplace was full of charred wood from many fires, and the room had a stale, smoky smell.
"You haven't heard?" Whitmore said, looking around.
"Heard what? We don't have a TV. She hasn't turned the phone on yet." She looked embarrassed when a young man in army fatigues emerged from one of two doors. One side of his face had a row of piercing on the eyebrow and another ringing the ear. Symmetry. A stud in his nose. The other side of his face was randomly pierced. His light hair was a huge nest of dreds. He appeared to be a young person trying to look as messed up as possible and succeeding very well. April guessed he had not reached legal drinking age, and Lori was a few years older.
"Hey, what's going on?" The kid raised his fingers in a peace sign at the sheriff.
"What are you doing here, Rod?"
"Just hanging with, uh, Lori." The kid shook spider webs out of a brain he didn't know how to use. "I was just on my way to work," he added, edging toward the door.
"I don't think so, Rod. It's Sunday."
"Already?" Rod seemed surprised by that and got defensive right away. "Whatever your problem is, I didn't do anything. We just hung out for a couple of days, okay? That's it." He gave the wash sign with his hands. Done. Could he go now?
"I'd like to talk to Lori," April said.
"Okay. You can tell me your life history, Rod." The sheriff moved him out the front door.
Mike moved inside. "Anyone else here?" he asked Lori.
"Uh-uh." She stuck a finger in her mouth.
Mike snorted and moved through the house, checking it for himself. April took out her notebook.
"Is Wendy all right?" Lori brushed the hair from her face and sank down on a sofa.
"How long have you been here, Lori?" April asked.
"About a week, I guess. Can't you tell me what's going on?"
April ignored the question. "Don't guess. Tell me exactly"
"I guess I came last Sunday."
"You guess? How did you get here?" April picked up a greasy Subway sack, then put it down.
"I took the bus to Woods Hole and then the ferry."
"Before or after the Schoenfeld wedding?" April turned on a light.
Lori squinted. "I didn't have to go. Wendy was doing it herself."
"I thought it takes a lot of people to pull off a wedding like that." April turned on some more lights.
"Not when it's only one site. That always keeps the glitches down, and sometimes Wendy likes to do them herself. She's very efficient. Why are you asking?" Lori twisted around to look at her.
April spun around, startling her. "She gave you these two weekends off, why?"
Lori recoiled. April noticed the hickey on her neck. A big one. She saw April looking at her and shifted uneasily; clearly she hadn't seen herself in the mirror.
"Why the two weekends off? Did you have another job Wendy wanted you to do?"
"Like what?" Lori was surprised by the question.
"Did you know Tovah Schoenfeld was murdered at her wedding last Sunday?"
Lori looked down at her hands. "Yes."
"How do you know if you don't have a phone?"
Her voice got very low. "I have a cell phone."
"And what else made you know?"
"She came up on Tuesday night."
Good. That was true. "Did she tell you she was coming?"
"Yes. I had to clean up for her. She would have killed me."
"Wendy's very particular, isn't she?"
Lori put her lips together and nodded.
"She wouldn't like to see her house like this. Why did she come, Lori?"
"She brought some things for the summer."
"In the middle of a busy week? What things?"
"I don't know." "Where did she put them?"
"I don't know. I was asleep when she got here." Lori's eyes traveled up the wall to the ceiling.
"In the attic?" April said.
Silence. The thin girl got smaller, younger-looking. "I said I don't know."
"How old are you, Lori?"
"Twenty-four," she said softly.
'Twenty-four. Where were you yesterday?"
"Here." She frowned. "Why?"
"Lori, have you ever been in any kind of trouble before? Tell me the truth, because I can check it out."
"No," she said in a faint voice.
"You're in a lot of trouble now."
"I didn't know about Tovah until Wendy told me," she said, a plea in her voice.
"What about Prudence, did you know Prudence?"
"Prudence?"
"Prudence Hay. Another one of the weddings you didn't work. Prudence is dead, too."
"What?" Lori looked confused. "I didn't know about that. What happened?"
"Someone shot her on the way into St. Patrick's."
"God, I didn't know that." Her mouth fell open in amazement. "Is Wendy all right?"
"She's fine."
Mike came back into the hving room. "Nothing in the bedrooms or the closets," he said. "There's a deck out back and an outbuilding of some kind, like a tool-shed. What about the kitchen cupboards? Let's do inside first."
"They're in the attic," April told him quietly. "Lori, get your things together. You're going back to New York."
Forty-eight
"Hey, Mike, take some gloves' April said. "Just in case."
She pulled some thin rubber gloves out of the bottom of her purse and handed them over. Mike stuffed them in his jacket pocket. This wasn't a crime scene. He cocked his head at the ceiling panel in the hall over his head. It had a handle at one end just out of his reach. A pole with a hook on the end rested in the corner, and Mike used that to lower the panel. Attached to the panel on the inside was a crude ladder on springs. He turned to the girl in the living room, twisting a handful of skirt in her hands.
"Anybody up there?" he asked.
She shook her tangled hair. "No, of course not."
"You sure?"
"Who'd be hiding? No one expected you. Can I pee?"
"Yeah, you can pee. I'll come with you," April said.
"Jesus," she muttered. "What do you think I'm going to do?"
"Hush the dope."
Mike changed his mind about the gloves. He pulled them on, then climbed the ladder. Upstairs, he pulled the string on the single bare lightbulb. It gave off just enough weak illumination for him to make out a surprisingly large and murky space. First thing he noticed was that it had been swept recently, so there were no footprints for him to disturb.