Her words lifted the hair on my neck and instantly I was on my feet. I dashed into the bedroom and grabbed my pistol off the nightstand. Lucy was on my heels.
“What is it?” she exclaimed.
“He doesn’t have a flashlight,” I said as I ran.
Chapter Four
In the kitchen, I flung open the door leading to the porch and ran into Marino. We almost knocked each other down.
“What the shit … ?” he yelled behind a load of wood.
“There’s a prowler,” I spoke with quiet urgency.
Kindling thudded loudly to the floor and he ran back out into the yard, his pistol drawn. By now, Lucy had fetched her gun and was outside, too, and we were ready to handle a riot.
“Check the perimeter of the house,” Marino ordered.
“I’m going over here.”
I went back in for flashlights, and for a while Lucy and I circled the cottage, straining eyes and ears, but the only sight and sound was our shoes crunching as we left impressions in the snow. I heard Marino decock his pistol as we reconvened in deep shadows near the porch.
“There are footprints by the wall,” he said, and his breath was white. “It’s real strange.
They lead down to the beach and then just disappear near the water.” He looked around. “You got any neighbors who might have been out for a stroll?”
“I don’t know Dr. Mant’s neighbors,” I replied. “But they should not have been in his yard. And who in his right mind would walk on the beach in weather like this?”
“Where on this property do the footprints go?” Lucy asked.
“Looks like he came over the wall and went about six feet inside the yard before backtracking,” Marino answered.
I thought of Lucy standing before the window, backlit by the fire and lamps. Maybe the prowler had spotted her and had been scared off.
Then I thought of something else. “How do we know this person was a he?”
“If it ain’t, I feel sorry for a woman with boats that big,” Marino said. “The shoes are about the same size as mine.”
“Shoes or boots?” I asked, heading toward the wall.
“I don’t know. They got some sort of cross-hatch tread pattern.” He followed me.
The footprints I saw gave me cause for more alarm. They were not from typical boots or athletic shoes.
“My God,” I said. “I think this person was wearing dive boots or something with a moccasin shape like dive boots.
Look.”
I pointed out the pattern to Lucy and Marino. They had gotten down next to me, footprints obliquely illuminated by my flashlight.
“No arch,” Lucy noted. “They sure look like dive boots or aqua shoes to me. Now that’s bizarre.”
I got up and stared out over the wall at dark, heaving water. It seemed inconceivable that someone could have come up from the sea.
“Can you get photos of these?” I asked Marino.
“Sure. But I got nothing to make casts.”
Then we returned to the house. He gathered the wood and carried it into the living room while Lucy and I returned our attention to dinner, which I was no longer certain I could eat because I was so tense. I poured another glass of wine and tried to dismiss the prowler as a coincidence, a harmless peregrination on the part of someone who enjoyed the snow or perhaps diving at night.
But I knew better, and kept my gun nearby and frequently glanced out the window.
My spirit was heavy as I slid the lasagne into the oven. I found the Parmesan reggiano in the refrigerator and began grating it, then I arranged figs and melon on plates, adding plenty of prosciutto for Marino’s share. Lucy made salad, and for a while we worked in silence.
When she finally spoke, she was not happy. “You’ve really gotten into something, Aunt Kay. Why does this always happen to you?”
“Let’s not allow our imaginations to run wild,” I said.
“You’re out here alone in the middle of nowhere with no burglar alarm and locks as flimsy as flip-top aluminum cans-”
“Have you chilled the champagne yet?” I interrupted.