Chapter 26
“You can’t come in.”
“Please,” Maddie begged as respectfully as she could manage. “He just flew home last night.” She stood outside the door where Taylor disappeared only hours earlier.
“I’m sorry, but he’s sleeping,” the man on the inside said, one hand on the door handle, prepared in case the visitor became unpleasantly insistent.
She shook her head. “No. He texted me a few minutes ago and begged me to come.” She fumbled for her purse, ready to grab her phone to prove it.
“It doesn’t matter. Visiting hours start at eleven, more than seven hours from now. I suggest you come back then.”
In spite of her determination to not take no for an answer, Maddie’s lower lip started to tremble. Maybe if she cried, he would change his mind.
“Please.” She lowered her voice. “He was almost killed in an accident in California. He was in the hospital out there for three months.”
Pause.
“He lives here, right?”
Maddie nodded. “In Edgartown. He was born here. And now he owns the Lord James restaurant.”
The man sighed and paused again.
Then he asked, “Are you a family member?”
There it was: the glancing blow. Maddie felt her hope evaporate.
“I’m as close as family can get.”
The majordomo shook his head. “Sorry,” he said and began to shut the door.
“But …” Tears formed in her eyes though she hadn’t even tried. She wondered if she should tell him she was pregnant, then shamelessly open her cape so he could see her rounded belly.
But she couldn’t do it, because he might tell Rex.
He shook his head again and said, “We’ll see you at eleven.” He gave her a semi-sympathetic smile.
And then he closed the door, practically in her face.
As Maddie steered Orson through Five Corners and back onto State Road, the darkness was becoming wrapped in fog again, thicker than before.
She remembered when she’d been four or five and Grandma told her a Wampanoag legend that the giant Moshup, Creator of the island, gave them the gift of fog, a soft blanket to protect his people from harm.
The thought made Maddie smile now, even as she eased her foot up off the accelerator in case the gift turned into a nightmare.
With no cars in the area and, thanks to Moshup, only quiet, Maddie decided to enjoy the drive. To her, fog felt peaceful, much like the stillness of a heavy snowfall in Green Hills; both acted as cushions for the earth, nature’s sound barriers that silenced humans, their voices and their vehicles.
She drove up the hill and passed Cronig’s Market, where she’d made a U-turn the night before, and realized she felt calmer than when she’d left the hospital—now that she knew Rex would be well cared for in the last leg of his rehab.
As for her, she knew she needed to practice patience, which would also be a good exercise for after the baby came.
Not far past the market, she noticed the Black Dog Café up ahead.
Its lights were on but murky, clouded by the fog; inside, the café workers must be getting ready to open.
She wished they were open so she could get a breakfast sandwich or a muffin.
But then her thoughts had to refocus as a blur of headlights approached her from behind.
Another damn fool on the road in the wee hours, she thought.
Beyond the Black Dog, State Road dipped and curved; to the right was the overlook of Tashmoo Pond, where it became more difficult to see and more menacing to drive.
She thought about turning into the parking lot and waiting out the worst of the visibility, but it might take a long time, and she’d most likely get cold, in spite of Orson’s new heating system.
Besides, she realized the gas gauge looked precariously low.
So Maddie kept driving, the headlights behind her creeping closer, glaring into her mirror like halogen ones did. That, and the fact that she was not alone on a desolate road in the pea soup, did not feel comforting but foreboding.
With maybe ten more miles to go if she veered off State at North Road, Maddie knew it would take longer if she stayed on State to South Road and turned onto Menemsha Road. But because the South Road route was more populated, she thought it might be safer if the fog became so thick she couldn’t see.
After making that decision, she flicked her eyes to the rearview mirror and was nearly blinded; the headlights were now on high beams and drawing closer to Orson.
An ominous feeling, a warning, a harbinger suddenly gripped her.
And Maddie knew she had to stay the course—in case her stalker was the author of the notes.
The toughest part was restraining herself from stepping on the gas in order to escape the eerie headlights nearly hugging Orson’s rear bumper now. And though her pulse was racing, Maddie was getting tired.
Without closing her eyes (though she really, really wanted to), Maddie prayed to Moshup and to God and to her ancestors and her mother, and to anyone else who might be listening, that what she was feeling was not akin to Grandma’s portentous sense of someone walking over her grave.
Especially since the needle for the gas gauge had dropped another mark.
Carefully navigating the curve at the West Tisbury Village Cemetery, with now surprising precision, Maddie shifted again—grinding the gear that time—as, thankfully, Orson carried her safely down the small hill, then up the next one that led to Alley’s and the library.
But before she reached the top, something instantly changed.
The blur of lights in the rearview mirror shifted—the vehicle took a sharp left turn onto Edgartown Road and disappeared into the fog.
Maddie needed to catch her breath. Pulling into an empty lot beyond Alley’s, she brought Orson to a stop.
Her arm muscles ached; her head hurt now, too.
As for her brain, she berated herself for having been paranoid, because, realistically, no one would have known she was out before dawn, let alone someone who’d want to risk driving in the dangerous early hours without a better reason than to try to intimidate her.
The one good thing was that the danger seemed to have passed; she decided it was now safe to keep driving to Menemsha.
As if in agreement, the baby gave her a swift kick.
Thanks to another miracle, there had been more than enough gas to get her to the cottage.
Yet Maddie remained restless for what was left of the night, though by the time she was back in her bedroom it was almost five thirty, which hardly could be called night, despite that the sun didn’t rise until nearly seven.
She went to bed, but at six fifteen, she pushed the covers off and gave up the struggle. Getting up, she showered and dressed—again—in the same clothes. If she did not see Rex today, she’d need to find another camouflaging outfit to put on.
Once she was mildly ready to face the day, she sat at the table, drinking caffeine-free tea, which did not help make her more alert. At least the baby had no trouble going back to sleep.
Inside the cottage, it was as quiet as it had been in the fog. Joe had an appointment down-island this morning, so Grandma had announced last night that she’d be “sleeping in.” It was a good chance for Maddie to go back to reading: Maybe she’d be capable of tackling a few of the children’s books.
But something else had to come first, if for nothing else than her peace of mind.
She left the cottage at eight o’clock, too early to visit Rex, but not too early to gas up Orson, then visit the Chilmark Police Station, which she knew covered Menemsha.
Once the tank was full, she pulled into the police station parking lot. Then, armed with the notes and a new resolve to stop being stressed by envelopes left under a rock, a breather phone call, or mystery cars creeping up on her at night, she marched into the building, holding her head up high.
“I think I’m being threatened,” she said to a young officer at the front desk. She recognized him from … somewhere, but had no idea from where.
He stood up and raised his eyebrows. “Threatened by whom?”
Maddie smiled at his excellent grammar, then wondered if she’d ever be able to shed her college professor-ness.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never done anything to harm anyone. But I have proof …” She took the notes out from her purse.
“The chief’s in today,” the young man said. “He’s the one you need to talk to.”
Maddie thanked him and waited at the counter while he vanished down a hall. Then she remembered why she’d recognized him: He’d been the young officer at “the scene” of her accident. Hopefully, he would not hold that against her. Or mention that she’d come close to harming someone then.
In less than a minute, the officer returned and asked her to follow him.
The police chief stood and introduced himself as Ken Lawrence. He was tall and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair and broad shoulders. He looked nothing like the only police chief she’d ever met: Alan Delaney of Green Hills, who was old and had a rounded belly larger than hers was now.
After their introductions, Chief Lawrence sat behind his desk, and Maddie, across from him. The young man, whose name she learned was Officer Lindstrom, sat next to her. The men appeared to be the only two officers in the station at the time.
Without hesitation, Maddie gave a quick synopsis, then handed the chief the notes, one at a time, in chronological order.
GET OFF THE ISLAND. AND DON’T COME BACK.
WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?
WHAT PART OF GET OFF THE ISLAND DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?
And finally: LAST CHANCE.
“After the second note,” she said, “there was a strange phone call that was only someone breathing. Maybe it wasn’t related, but it was upsetting.
” Then she told them about the car following her vehicle too closely in the fog earlier that morning.
“I come from a small town where the roads are dark at night, but up-island it’s more remote, and, with fog …
well, I guess I’m not used to that yet.”
The chief opened a desk drawer, took out a pair of thin vinyl gloves, the kind people had worn in supermarkets during the first weeks and months of COVID. He examined the notes carefully.
“Has anyone touched these other than you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Well, except for the third envelope. My father found that one. He handed it to me. But he didn’t open it.”
He slipped each note into a separate plastic baggie, sealed it, and labeled it with the date Maddie said she’d received it.
Then he grilled her about who might have sent them or if she’d had an altercation, no matter how trivial—in a shop, on the street, anywhere with a stranger who might have found out who she was.
“Not that I can think of,” Maddie replied. “But after the last note—and, even scarier, the vehicle following me last night—I’m afraid for my family’s safety. And that whoever is doing this will try and sabotage my new business.”
The chief nodded, as did Officer Lindstrom.
“Are you new to the island?” the chief asked.
Maddie gave him the rundown of when and why she’d come and that she now was there to stay.
“Wait,” he said, his face breaking into a smile, “you’re Nancy Clieg’s granddaughter?”
“Yes.”
“You’re opening the bookshop on the harbor?”
She nodded, not surprised that the grapevine was so efficient.
“You stayed in Aquinnah after the fire, right? At Rex Winsted’s place?”
Her hand flew to her stomach, thanks to a weird instinct. “Yes. I actually found the first note there. The rest came to Menemsha once we moved back to the cottage. Whoever delivered them clearly knew where I was.”
He gestured to the notes. “Does Rex know about these?”
“I didn’t tell him yet. He just got back from California …”
“Good. Yeah, I heard about his accident. Horrible. How’s he doing?”
“He was well enough to fly home,” Maddie said, then added that she planned to see him after she left the station. “I guess he’ll be at Windemere a little while.”
The chief glanced at his watch. “Visiting hours there don’t start until eleven.”
She wanted to roll her eyes, but held the impulse back.
“Right. I learned that the hard way. Rex texted me during the night. I immediately went to see him, but they wouldn’t let me in.
He must not have known what time it was.
Anyway, that’s why I was out at that ungodly hour when the fog rolled in and the strange vehicle bizarrely followed me up State Road to the cut-off to Edgartown.
” There, she thought. Now the police have the whole story. And maybe I can get some sleep.
The chief nodded, as if putting the pieces together. “We’ll do some digging around,” he said. “Do you mind if we keep these?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But will you make copies for me? In case I decide to show them to Rex? It might give him something to think about while he’s in rehab.”
“Good idea. He knows a lot about the Vineyard and the people.”
Maddie nodded and the men stood up.
The chief handed the notes to Officer Lindstrom again. “Copy these, please. As for you, Ms. Clarke, I’m glad you brought this to our attention. But try not to worry. They’ve been so sporadic, after, what is it now, five months? Which suggests the sender probably isn’t violent.”
The word violent hadn’t crossed her mind, and she wished he hadn’t said it. But Maddie thanked him.
“Be sure to tell your grandmother that her favorite constable says hello,” Chief Lawrence added with a smile. “She still thinks I’m twenty-one.”
“Some days she still thinks she’s twenty-one,” Maddie replied and returned the smile. Then she left his office with the junior officer and waited while he made the copies.
In a few more minutes, she was back in Orson, heading toward Vineyard Haven, and wondering how she’d kill two more hours before she could see Rex.