Crimson Shore

32

Carole Hinterwasser stepped up to the front door of her shop, A Taste of Exmouth, and peered out the window through a slit in the gauzy drapes. It was four thirty, half an hour before the regular closing time, but a CLOSED sign had already hung on the door for the past ninety minutes. She looked left, then right. Main Street was quiet, with only a few pedestrians moving purposefully along.

Soft footsteps approached from the rear of the shop, and then she became aware of the presence of Bradley Gavin behind her. She felt his body touch hers, felt his warm breath on her neck as he, too, peered through the window.

“Anything?” he asked.

“No.” She took a step back. “Careful. Somebody might see you.”

“Who’s to say I’m not just browsing?”

“In a closed store?” Even though they were alone, she found herself whispering.

“I meant to ask — where’s that girl, Flavia, been all this time?”

“Down in the basement, doing inventory. She hasn’t heard a thing — I made sure of that.”

“Do you think they suspect?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “We’ve always been discreet, but Exmouth’s a small place.” She walked over to the bank of lights, snapped them all off. Immediately, the room grew dim, illuminated only by the glow of a sunless sky.

There was a brief pause, then Gavin said, “You’re right. And all these recent events — the theft of Lake’s wine, Agent Pendergast snooping around, the murders, and the Tybane markings — it’s never been so bad. It’s like living under a microscope. My grandfather liked to say: ‘If you throw out a big enough net, there’s no telling what you might drag in.’ As you said, it’s a small town. These murders have nothing to do with us, but with all this investigation, someone might find out, anyway... by accident.”

Carole nodded. “So — we’re in agreement. Right?”

“Right. Things can’t go on like this any longer. It’s got to be done, as soon as possible. It’s for the best.”

In the half-light, she took his hand in hers.

Gavin had been looking at the ground as he spoke. Now he raised his head, held her gaze. “It’s not going to be easy for us, you know.”

“I know.”

They stood there, motionless, for a long moment. Then Carole gave his hand a squeeze.

“You go first,” she said. “I’ll wait a few minutes, then go myself. I told Flavia to lock up when she’s finished downstairs.”

He nodded, waited for her to open the door, and then — glancing quickly up and down the street — slipped out.

From behind the gauze curtains, concealed from view, Carole watched him stride down Main Street. Motionless, she let five minutes pass, then ten. And then she, too, exited the shop, closed the door behind her, and began making her way in the direction of the lighthouse.