The Secret Hour (8 page)

 
When Bonnie started barking in the other room, she quickly turned off the faucets and heard knocking at the door. Any calming effect of the shower drained away faster than the water. Her heart began to race. She wasn’t expecting any visitors.

 
“Just a minute,” she called, quickly pulling on the terry-cloth robe hanging behind the bathroom door.

 
Bonnie, Willa’s Scottie, patrolled the door, seriously barking. The inn was small, with just six cozy rooms. Kate had chosen it for its location—by the sea, within range of most of the breakwaters—and because it took pets. Willa had stayed here six months ago, and had sent a postcard saying how nice the place was for Bonnie. The Scottie ran a circuit from bed to chair to window to door to Kate, covering all bases.

 
“Okay, Bon,” Kate said. “Calm down.”

 
The knock sounded again.

 
Kate stood against the door; the problem with these old inns was that they lacked certain modern amenities, like peepholes. The owners, Barkley and Felicity Jenkins, had named each room after famous paintings by the local artist Hugh Renwick: “High Tide,” “Day Lilies,” “Red Barn,” “Country Fair,” “Lighthouse,” and, Kate’s room, “White Sails.”

 
“Who is it?” she asked.

 
“John O’Rourke,” he said.

 
Kate leaned against the doorjamb, relief turning her bones to jelly. When had a knock on the door started making her feel terrified?

 
“Ms. Harris, are you there?” he asked.

 
“Yes,” she said, grabbing a fresh towel. “Just let me get dressed, and I’ll be right out. Meet you in the parlor downstairs in a few minutes, okay?”

 
“Okay,” he said.

 
And as she heard the echo of his footsteps going down the hall, she took a deep breath.
This meeting was what I came here for
, she thought. Maybe it would be the answer to her prayers. Toweling her hair with one hand, pulling on her jeans with the other, she hurried as fast as she could while Bonnie, mistaking the excitement for walk time, came running over, dragging her red leash the way Willa had taught her.

 
The East Wind Inn stood at the end of a long driveway, on a tall bluff looking out over the Sound, midway between the O’Rourkes’ house and Silver Bay Light. The white house had wide porches and a sharply peaked roof, black shutters with cut-out crescent moons. Built over a hundred and fifty years ago, it had once stood beside the lighthouse where, before automation, Barkley Jenkins’s father had been the light keeper.

 
When technology took over, the government sold Barkley the old house and permitted him to move it off the bluff. Barkley had named it the East Wind—the house’s name a homage to the constant wind that blew in from the sea. He made his money by operating it as an inn, by serving as the light’s caretaker, and by being a jack-of-all-trades around town. John and Theresa had hired him to fix their roof, and that’s how the affair had started.

 
John sat in the front parlor drinking a cup of Earl Grey tea. Felicity Jenkins had brought it to him, barely able to hide her curiosity. Did she know the whole story about her husband and John’s wife, or had Barkley managed to keep his secret safe?

 
“Here, John,” Felicity said, proffering a plate of cookies decorated to look like jack-o’-lanterns. “Have one, and take a few home for the kids. Caleb used to love when I made these—it’s my Halloween tradition.”

 
“Okay, thanks,” John said, taking one just so he didn’t hurt her feelings. They had known each other forever, since she and Barkley and he and Theresa double-dated in high school, but now he felt a secret kinship with her that she might not ever understand: Their spouses had had an affair, meeting in secret up and down the shoreline. John’s pride made him sit up taller, even though he was burning to be inside Barkley Jenkins’s home.

 
“Go on,” she said, rattling the plate lightly. “Take some more for Teddy and Maggie. I saw her on her bike the other day—adorable.”

 
John glanced at his watch. Against Teddy’s protests, he had asked Mrs. Wilcox to come over to stay with the kids for an hour. Teddy thought he was old enough to watch out for his sister, but after this morning, John wasn’t taking any chances. He had locked the doors behind him—Brainer slipping out for the car ride—and headed over to see Kate Harris.

 
Felicity stood there, watching John chew. He could feel her eyes on him, sense her wanting to say something more. Perhaps she
did
know. She had the strong body of someone who did lots of physical work, blond hair swept up in a messy bun, and a sharp, direct gaze.

 
“How’s Caleb doing?” John asked, to head her off.

 
“He’s great,” Felicity said, and the words began spilling out. “Never been better. He’s working on his father’s crew—Barkley’s got him doing some plasterwork on the lighthouse. Those storms take their toll, and with winter coming on…”

 
“Great,” John said, muscles tensing at the name. “I’m glad to hear it.”

 
“There’s never been another problem—not a one—since…”

 
“That’s terrific.”

 
“Not that we thought there would be.” Felicity laughed. “Boys will be boys, and just because some people can’t take a prank…I’m so glad that wonderful psychiatrist convinced the jury about his ADD…”

 
But just then, they heard a door close in the hall upstairs. Felicity patted John’s arm and smiled. “She’s a mysterious one,” she said. “Never even been here before, but seems to know everything about the place. Her sister apparently stayed with us. Client of yours?”

 
John shook his head, brushing the cookie crumbs from his fingers, and rose from his seat.

 
“I’ll leave you your privacy,” Felicity said in a stage whisper, backing out of the room.

 
Kate Harris came down the front staircase. Very slender, she wore a black wool turtleneck and jeans—somehow managing to make faded jeans look incredibly elegant. She had a small black Scottie dog on a leash, and the dog jumped all over John’s legs, tongue hanging out in a friendly smile, as if he were a long-lost friend.

 
“Great watchdog, Bonnie,” Kate said wryly.

 
“She barked a good game when I knocked on your door.”

 
“How did you find me, anyway?”

 
“Well, you left your card. I called both numbers, and when Felicity Jenkins answered the second, she said you were staying here.”

 
“So much for high security,” Kate said.

 
“Hello, Kate,” said Felicity Jenkins, bearing another china cup. “I thought perhaps you and John would like to have tea here in the parlor. I didn’t know you two knew each other! I thought you said you didn’t have any friends in town…”

 
John glimpsed annoyance in Kate’s eyes, but he felt sad for Felicity. She was threatened by the other woman—perhaps she was worried that Barkley would notice her.

 
“We’ll have tea another time,” John said, rising, setting his cup and saucer down on the doily on the small mahogany table beside his chair, bending down to pet the Scottie. “Looks like this beast is ready for a walk.”

 
“How right you are,” Kate said. “Would you like to join us?”

 
“Sure,” John said. “Brainer came along—he loves the car. Think your dog would mind some company?”

 
“Not at all,” Kate said. She took a heavy dark-green wool jacket down from the brass coatrack and, pulling it on, opened the front door. A gust of cold air swirled up the bluff, into the house. John ran over to his car, opened the door, and let Brainer out. Grateful, the big golden retriever ran in circles, stopping to say hello to Kate and the Scottie.

 
“Brainer, meet Bonnie, Bonnie, meet Brainer,” Kate said.

 
“Brainer’s shiny and clean tonight, thanks to you,” John said, watching her.

 
“Thanks to Teddy,” she said, correcting him. “He has a very fine-tuned sense of responsibility. You have a nice son.

 
”I do,“ John said.

 
Cold air swept up the bluff, making John pull his jacket closer. October stars blazed in the clear sky overhead, reflected in the dark waves and Kate’s eyes. He stopped, stood still, and held her gaze.

 
”Who are you?“ he asked.

 
”I told you: Kate Harris. I’m a staff scientist for the National Academy of Science—in Washington. I’m a marine biologist.“

 
”I went to law school in Washington. That’s a long way from here.“

 
John listened to the white pines rustling overhead. Waves crashed on the rocks below, dragging loose stones over the moraine as they swept out to sea. The line of breakers glowed, one long white thread stretching along the coast in the darkness, interrupted by breakwaters jutting out from shore, illuminated by the lighthouse beam. There was clearly plenty here for a marine biologist to be interested in.

 
“Why did you lie?”

 
“I didn’t lie,” she said, chin tilted up as she stared into his face.

 
“You don’t work for the Sea and Shore Employment Agency.”

 
“I never said I did.”

 
“You told me to send your check there—”

 
“No,” she said firmly. “You said you would, and I decided not to correct you. You’d been making assumptions all over the place—all of them wrong. Since you wouldn’t give me a chance to explain myself, I figured I should let you run with it.”

 
“You said you were there for the job!”

“No,” Kate said, shaking her head vehemently. “I said I would stay with your kids, that’s all. When I got to your house, the police were there, you were bleeding from the head, Teddy and Maggie were frantic. You needed help.”

 
“You should have told me you weren’t a baby-sitter.”

 
“I realize that now,” she said. “But everything was crazy—I really did just want to help. And since
I
know I’m trustworthy, I figured I’d just explain later.”

 
The East Wind and abutting lighthouse property were on about fifteen acres, so Kate dropped Bonnie’s leash. The two dogs ran together, sniffing along hedges and circling granite boulders. John heard them scuffling through fallen leaves; he had a memory of autumn Brainer-walks with Theresa, and his heart tightened. “You still haven’t told me what you were doing at our house at eight this morning.”

 
“I know,” she said, drawing in a sharp breath.

 
“So?”

 
Kate crouched down, calling Bonnie by clapping her hands. Brainer responded too, and she rewarded them with treats from the pocket of her wool jacket. Standing above, John saw her face in shadow. Her cheekbones were high and fine, her eyes bright.

 
“You still haven’t told me how you happened to walk straight up to my room and knock on the door,” she said.

 
“I represented the Jenkinses’ son last year,” he said carefully. “He’d ‘borrowed’ a neighbor’s motorboat, and the neighbor pressed charges. Felicity’s grateful; when I called the number on your card and asked if you were there, she told me you were staying in White Sails. I just walked up.”

 
“She must think you’re a good lawyer,” Kate said.

 
“I told her she shouldn’t be giving your room out to anyone else who calls,” John said, ignoring her statement, thinking of how vulnerable women—people, really—were in this world. He leaned toward her, feeling unexpectedly protective and attracted, both at the same time.

 
“So, are you?” Kate asked. “A good lawyer?”

 
Standing on the bluff, bundled up against the cold wind, John felt his stomach clench. His heart sank a bit. Was that it? Did Kate need a good defense lawyer? John looked at her small frame, her wide eyes, her freckled nose, and knew that anyone could be guilty of anything.

 
“I am,” he said, his back straighter, his voice harder. “I’m a good lawyer.”

 
“You went to law school in Washington?”

 
“Georgetown.”

 
She nodded, seeming to take that in.

 
“Do you want me to represent you?” he asked. “Is that why you came to my house? To ask me?”

 
Kate didn’t reply right away. John watched her carefully. Sometimes people who needed defense lawyers weren’t completely forthcoming right away. They were wrongly accused, or they hadn’t meant to commit the crime. Or they had meant to, but they hadn’t expected to get caught.

 
Very few people thought of themselves as criminals, even when they’d been caught red-handed. The label never quite fit. No matter what their crime, the end usually justified the means—someone had betrayed, cheated, tricked, or maligned them. It was always something. So John waited, staring at Kate, wondering what her story would be.