Nell stood very still, listening to the wind whistle through the upper copper ventilator ball.
She looked down at the low iron door that led out to the exterior walkway: the gallery. It was fastened on the inside by a heavy brass drop-latch. She looked out through the salt-streaked glass at the narrow stone ledge circling the top of the tower. From the beach, fifty feet below, the stone parapet hid the lower half of the door completely.
She climbed back down the sixty-four steps. At the bottom she flipped the toggle down, and the tower went dark behind her.
In the kitchen, Deputy Amari was zipping her parka, while Curtis was pouring himself a glass of tap water with a shaking hand.
“The prism is gone,” Nell said, setting the ledger back on the table.
Curtis nearly dropped the glass. “What prism?”
“Item 404. An eleven-inch bullseye prism from the original first-order lens. Worth roughly five thousand dollars. It was kept in the blue biscuit tin in the lantern room. The chamois cloth is still there, and the dust inside the rim of the lid is fresh. It was taken recently.”
Deputy Amari’s hand stopped on her zipper. Her skeptical dark eyes shifted from Nell to Curtis. “You told me nothing was missing from the house, Mr. Pell.”
“I didn’t know about any damn piece of glass!” Curtis’s voice cracked. “I went up there Thursday for two minutes, saw a rusty tin and a stool, and came back down! Why would I steal something that already belongs to me?”
“Because an estate in probate takes six months to clear against creditor claims,” Nell said coolly, “and a piece of historic glass sold for cash in Boston takes an afternoon. I heard you on the phone, Mr. Pell. You owe twenty thousand dollars by Monday.”
Curtis went chalk-white. “You were listening to my private…” He lunged a step toward the table, then caught himself as Amari’s hand dropped to her belt. “I didn’t take it! Look through my bags! Search my car on the mainland! I wasn’t even on this rock when my uncle died! I was in Haverhill until Wednesday morning, and I have toll receipts and three witnesses to prove it!”
“I know you do,” Amari said slowly. “I checked your alibi Wednesday before I closed the file.” She looked back at Nell, her brow furrowing. “Wait. If Curtis was in Haverhill on Tuesday, and Amos was here alone...”
The kitchen door rattled, and Dell Haskins pushed his way inside, stamping wet boots on the braided rug. His yellow oilskins were slick with rain now, his cheeks bright red from the cold.
“Bad news, folks,” Dell said, wiping his nose with the back of a wool mitten. “Just got the call on the VHF from the Portland slip. Gale warning went up twenty minutes ago. Swell’s already eight feet at the ledge. The four o’clock ferry is canceled, and the mail skiff already ran back for shelter at Cliff Island.”
Amari cursed under her breath. “The boys on the skiff didn’t radio me?”
“Tried your handheld, Ruth, said it was breaking up,” Dell said apologetically. “Looks like we’re all stuck on the rock till tomorrow noon. Though...” He looked at Nell and Curtis, ever the helpful neighbor. “My thirty-footer’s got a deep hull and a new diesel. If you really gotta get those papers to Boston tonight, Curt, or if Ms. Okafor needs to get home, I can run you into Casco Bay before full dark. It’ll be a wet ride, mind you, before the worst of the front hits.”
Nell looked at Dell. She looked at his warm, crinkled eyes, his broad hands in their wet wool mittens, the gentle stoop of a man who had brought her hot cider at the dock.
“That’s very kind, Mr. Haskins,” Nell said slowly. “Especially after the week you’ve had. Finding your friend like that.”
“Hardest day of my life,” Dell said softly, looking down at the linoleum. “Known Amos since my hair was black. Came up the path Tuesday with the mail, saw the kitchen lamp burning, called out, and found him right there at the foot of the stairs. Just breaks your heart. Everything up in that lantern room was still neat as a pin when Ruth and I checked it Wednesday. Stool in its place, gallery door latched tight against the wind. And poor Amos lying at the bottom.”
In the parlor, the ship’s bell clock ticked. Two minutes fast per week.
Nell looked at the ledger under her hand. Every object in this house told the truth. It was only the voices in the room that didn’t match the graphite.
“Wait a minute,” Nell said quietly. “Deputy Amari, did you go up into the lantern room on Wednesday?”
Amari shook her head. “No. The body was at the bottom of the stairs, and the dust on the lower treads showed he’d slid from near the top. My knee was acting up from the boat ride, so I photographed the stairs from the bottom landing and closed the tower door.”
Nell looked back at Dell.
Dell’s genial smile didn’t flicker. “Well, I didn’t go all the way up Wednesday either, now that I think on it. Must’ve just seen the gallery door wasn’t banging from outside on the path.”
From the path fifty feet below, the stone parapet hides the latch, Nell thought. And you said ‘latched tight,’ not ‘closed.’
And Dell had said Amos climbed the stairs at dusk like always, when a thirty-year neighbor would have known better than anyone that Amos Pell’s knees had kept him on the ground floor for two full years. Unless Dell needed everyone to believe Amos had gone up there on his own two feet in the dark.
“Actually, Mr. Haskins,” Nell said, keeping her voice brisk and professional, the impatient city appraiser with an eye on her fee, “I think I’ll stay on the island tonight rather than risk a lobster boat in an eight-foot swell. In fact, I’m glad the ferry is canceled. It gives me time to search the tower properly before daylight fails.”
“Search it?” Dell asked. “For what?”
“The missing Fresnel prism,” Nell said, tapping the ledger. “Curtis says he didn’t take it. Which means Amos must have hidden it somewhere else in the tower before he fell. Maybe under the floor plates in the watch room, or inside the old counterweight shaft. I didn’t have a flashlight earlier, and the light’s going fast. I’ll go back up after supper once I’ve finished pricing the kitchenware.”
She saw the tiny hitch in Dell’s breathing. Just a fraction of a second before he nodded.
“Well, if Amos tucked it away, I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Dell said easily. “Tell you what, Ruth, Curt, why don’t you two come down to my place for some chowder? I’ve got a pot on the oil stove, and my spare bunk’s made up for you, Curt. Ms. Okafor can join us when she’s done with her numbers.”
“I’ll come down in an hour,” Nell said.
As soon as the door shut behind the three of them, Nell moved fast. She slipped out the back pantry door, staying behind the stone wall where the dead raspberry canes rattled in the wind, and intercepted Deputy Amari fifty yards down the track while Dell and Curtis were ahead by the boat shed.
Five minutes later, Amari was back inside the keeper’s house through the cellar bulkhead, her boots silent on the kitchen floorboards, while Nell turned on every lamp in the kitchen and sat at the table in full view of the uncurtained window.