Devlin's Light (25 page)

He’d be thinking about me.

Smiling, knowing for certain it was true, she kicked off her shoes and padded into the living room. The evening’s workload suddenly seemed a little lighter.

Chapter 15

The intricacies of the human mind never failed to captivate India’s imagination, and it was with total fascination that on Monday morning she watched Alvin as he studied his fingernails and awaited the court’s ruling on yet another motion. Here, she thought, was a perfect example of nature gone wrong for no apparent reason. No childhood trauma, a la Ted Bundy, to use as an excuse. From all reports, even his own, Alvin’s parents had been loving, caring individuals, totally involved with all their children, an older daughter, a daughter younger than Alvin, then yet another younger brother. Even now they sat together, in the back of the courtroom, a tightly knit unit, as still and emotionless as mannequins, as if stunned to find themselves where they were, not really comprehending the circumstances that had caused them to gather there.

One of Alvin’s sisters sat next to their mother, holding her hand motionlessly. Just a few more victims of Alvin’s twisted mind, India thought, watching them, huddled along the last row. She studied them one by one, feeling their pain from across the length of the room. It was then that the younger sister, a pretty girl of maybe nineteen or so, entered the courtroom and made her way to her seat at the end of the row, next to her father. As India began to shift her gaze
back to the front of the room, she became aware that Alvin too had turned his eyes to his family, and for the first time since being led into the courtroom, a blush of something— could it have been fear?—crossed his face. India turned back once again, seeking the source of his alarm.

There, she thought, her eyes pausing on the face of the younger sister.

She is not surprised. She knows.
India’s breath caught in her throat.

The girl’s face wore a harder veneer than the other members of her family, but beneath it, India recognized the look of triumph, of justice. Of having watched the beast caged and secretly rejoicing in its capture. Wondering what the girl might have suffered at the hands of her older brother, India’s eyes shifted from brother to sister, then back again, watching the silent interplay between them.

And in that instant, India knew that she had him.

At the earliest opportunity, India caught Alvin’s gaze and, with total deliberation, looked down the rows of spectators to the last row, then back at Alvin. India then crossed her arms over her chest, sat down, leaned back in her chair and smiled broadly. Alvin blanched, nervous eyes darting from his sister, who was whispering something to her father, and back to India, who continued to smile knowingly. When the judge called her and Andres to the bench to discuss a ruling, India strode to the front of the courtroom with all the confidence of a sure winner. Alvin shifted uneasily in his seat and fiddled with his cufflinks.

Damn, I should have been an actress
, India mused.

Call Kosieki and tell him I want him to come into court and sit in the back row next to the youngest Fletcher girl. I want him to talk to her, even if it’s only about the weather
, India wrote on a notepad, adding
and make sure Alvin sees him.
She passed the pad to the young policewoman who sat behind her in the front row, waiting her turn to testify as to her findings at the crime scene. She nodded, then grinned at India and went off in search of a telephone to call the detective India had requested.

Dave Kosieki was big, blond and handsome, very Ivy League. Just the type of guy, India guessed, that the younger
Fletcher woman was accustomed to, the type she’d smile at when he sat next to her in the back of the courtroom. The type she’d engage in conversation. Alvin would have no way of knowing it was all small talk. Chances were his guilty conscience would assume it was something more. Especially after a day or two of watching Kosieki with his sister. And especially after India added the girl’s name to the list of witnesses she’d be calling. It was unlikely that the girl would, in fact, tell them anything; the family unit looked too tight, too close. But Alvin wouldn’t know that for sure.

I’m going to smoke you out, brother.
She smiled at him again as she prepared to leave as court was dismissed for the day. She made a point of walking briskly to the back of the court, of giving the impression of pausing at the end of the back row on the end where the sister sat. Alvin stretched his neck to watch her as he was being led through the door.

There’s a little something to think about while you’re laying in your cell tonight, bucko.

After two days of watching his younger sister getting cozy with the lead detective, Alvin tried to plea bargain. India smiled and gave the appearance of considering his offer before refusing to make a deal. She had him rattled now, she knew it. If he took the stand to testify, he would crack. She could see it in his face. She knew the look of a coward. And Alvin Fletcher was, above all else, a coward. India could smell his fear, and she knew she had him.

He broke two days before Thanksgiving. Against the advice of his counsel—Andres made it perfectly clear to Judge Swain that he had vehemently opposed his client’s action—Fletcher entered a guilty plea. It was all over but the sentencing, which would come weeks later.

India stood at the side of the prosecutor’s table and held hands with the victim and her family while they offered their thanks and asked a special blessing for India, who had helped them take the first step toward making things right again.

“You taking off this weekend?” India asked Roxie as she returned from court, her cheeks still flush with exuberance.

“Going to Tom’s parents in Harrisburg,” she said, rolling her eyes, “where there will be a cast of thousands gathered,
each of them waiting to grill me on when we’ll be adding to the population. Great going, India. I heard you had Fletcher peeing himself. What did you do to him, anyway?”

“Fed him his worst fear.” India grinned, accepting a congratulatory hug from Herbie, who himself was on his way to court on a DUI. “Then I watched him choke on it.”

The roadside stands that had in the summer months sold wooden baskets of Corri and tomatoes and squash were all boarded up as India drove the last country mile to Devlin’s Light. She was grateful for the good timing on Alvin’s part, entering his plea when he did, which served to extend the long Thanksgiving weekend, thus giving everyone a little something extra to be thankful for. This year India would have time to help Aunt August prepare for the traditional Thanksgiving feast, which would bring Devlins from far and wide back to the family homestead. For the second time that year, they would all gather, August’s elderly cousins and their spouses and children and their children’s children. They would count heads and count their blessings, pausing to remember those who had passed on during the year. This year Ry’s name, along with that of an elderly greataunt, would be entered in the Devlin family Bible. It would be a hard moment for Aunt August, India knew, when the time came for her on Thursday to write his name there, below their father’s.

India drove past the edge of the marsh where red-winged blackbirds perched territorially on cattails that slumped at varying angles above the tidal pools. She opened her car windows to drink in the scent of it, her nostrils seeking the smell of salt and bay. Pleased when she was able to fill her lungs with the brisk sea air, she relaxed against the car seat. She was home.

Passing by the lane leading to Nick’s she paused a split second, then fought off the urge to take that left up the drive of stone and crushed shell to the cabin. Later, she decided.
I’ll stop in later.
In her mind’s eye, she could see the look on his face as he would watch her climb the stairs leading to his back door. He’d be looking out the kitchen window toward the bay. Or maybe he’d be sitting on the deck, watching the
mallards land feet first out past his floating dock. Maybe when he saw her, he’d—

“Hey, stranger, you’re home early!”

The blast from the horn of the small red car that had pulled next to her at the one stoplight in the center of town shook India abruptly from her fantasy.

“Darla, hi! I was going to call you tonight.”

“I heard this incredible rumor.” Darla leaned over the seat, her eyes dancing. “I heard on good authority that you are coming home for a while. Could that be possible?”

“It could.” India nodded.

“When?”

“Well, I still have to talk to my boss, but I’d like to do it as soon as possible.”

“Strictly for Corri’s sake, of course.” Darla’s eyes glistened with mischief.

“Of course, for Corri.” India frowned.

“And the presence of a certain handsome man having taken up residence in Devlin’s Light would have nothing to do with your decision.”

“Darla, how do you know?”

“Corri told us at dinner the other night that she and Nick spent the weekend with you in Paloma a few weeks back. In your house. Both of them.”

“Anything else she piped into the neighborhood hotline?”

“Only that Nick made you breakfast on Sunday morning.” Darla laughed.

“Well, I’d say she didn’t miss much,” India grumbled. “I think Miss Corri and I are going to have to have a talk.”

“Too late,” Darla told her cheerfully. “Everyone in Devlin’s Light has already heard about it.”

“I don’t suppose she bothered to tell anyone that Nick slept on the sofa and that she slept with me.”

“Nope. Don’t remember having heard that part. Okay, okay, I’m going,” Darla called over her shoulder to the driver of the car that had pulled behind her at the light and was now blowing the horn, anxious to proceed.

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. August invited us to join you for dessert.” Darla waved as she sped off.

India pulled all the way up the driveway to park in the
shadow of an ancient pine. The slamming of the car door startled a squirrel, which had been foraging at the base of the tree, seeking acorns that might have been previously overlooked. From a branch halfway up a jay scolded, and across the yard finches and chickadees chatted at the bird feeder Ry had given to Aunt August for her birthday three years ago. The perennial bed that ran the length of the back fence, so lush with color just months earlier, now displayed little more than dried stalks that had once held glorious day lilies. The remains of what had been tall, nodding heads of red and white phlox, even through October, now sagged toward the cushion of leaves discarded by the elm, maple and sassafras trees that lined the way leading out toward the dunes.

A lone herring gull circled overhead, its summer-white head feathers beginning to streak brown, signaling, her father would have said, a harsh and early winter. India shielded her eyes against the sun with one hand while she watched it glide and dip closer to the beach, calling to its compadres of some impending danger with a sharp
ga ga ga ga.
Stepping around the fence to the back of the dune, she walked to its crest, her feet sinking slightly into the sand, and scanned the sky. Nothing. Motion from the top of a nearby telephone pole at the back of the Kesslers’ property several hundred feet away caught her eye. Indy held her breath and watched as the bald eagle took flight across the marsh. It was a sight that had never failed to thrill her, to fill her with wonder. The massive bird soared on flat wings toward the densely wooded area beyond the marsh.

She wondered how many were nesting now in and around Devlin’s Light and thought back over the years, to Christmases when she and Ry had accompanied their father on the annual bird count, which recorded the birds seen on that one day at the Light. The first few years she had been less than a gracious participant, wanting only to play with her dolls and read her new books so early on the long awaited day, but over the years her interest had grown, until she and Ry had become rivals in their search for the largest number of recorded species. She remembered clearly the first bald eagle she had ever seen. It had soared from the top of the lighthouse the Christmas India had been nine and left
her breathless in the wake of its majestic flight. She had never forgotten the sight of that bird as it winged its way across the inlet, and never again had she complained about having to count birds on Christmas morning. Determined to keep the tradition alive, she thought perhaps she’d take Corri with her this year. And maybe Nick, if he was free.

Maybe she’d drive over to see him later, she was thinking as she walked toward the house. Less than twenty feet from the back door, the smells of holiday baking seeped out to greet her.

“Ah, Aunt August.” India sighed with pleasure, knowing the sight that awaited her on the other side of the back-porch door. “It’s good to know that some things never change.”

She stood in the doorway and inhaled, grinning broadly. That little Dorothy girl with the ruby slippers had gotten it right, all right. There was no place like home.

Mince pies and pumpkin, apple and cherry stood side by side with a row of peach cobblers across the counters.

“Now don’t stand there with that back door open,” August scolded as she wiped flour from her hands onto her apron.

“Sorry, Aunt August.” India leaned to sniff the cobbler as she passed by on her way to hug her aunt. “Ah, glorious.”

“India Devlin, I swear you have stuck your face in every peach cobbler I have baked for the past twenty-nine years.”

“A record I pride myself on.” India winked. “Oh, it’s so good to be home. What can I do to help?”

“You can keep out from underfoot,” August told her as she cut butter into a bowl for the crust of what would become yet another pie. Apple crumb, India guessed, judging from the pile of thinly sliced apples mounded in the old mixing bowl. “By the way, we saw you on the news this morning.”

“Saw me on the news?” India frowned and opened the cupboard. She needed coffee to go with the smidge of cobbler she planned to talk her aunt out of.

“They showed you coming out of the courtroom the other day after that rapist changed his plea to guilty. Such a nice-looking young man and such a lovely family.” August
tsk-tsked
as she floured her pastry board.