Back Bay by William Martin

Author:William Martin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Suspense, Fiction / Historical, Fiction / Sagas
ISBN: 0517536021
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 1979-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Evangeline Carrington didn’t stop driving for three states. She picked up Route 95 in Massachusetts, skimmed across the southeastern corner of New Hampshire, and into Maine, where she took Route 1 up the coast. The weather 150 miles from Boston was cool and dry, and after a three-hour drive, they arrived at a village called Dory Landing.

A handful of wood-frame buildings, shingled weather-gray and trimmed in white, clustered around the town dock. A half-dozen fishing boats bobbed on the incoming tide. Dory Landing was a working community where men in slicers and woolen caps stayed out for days to fill their holds with cod, where men in rubber boots and rubber aprons chugged along the coast, baiting lobster traps, cursing shorts, and praying for a two-pounder at the end of every rope.

“Welcome to Winslow Homer country,” said Evangeline.

About a mile north of the village ten or twelve small cottages grew among the pines. Evangeline parked in front of a saltbox which looked across a meadow to the ocean. The nearest cottage was a hundred yards away and barely visible through the trees.

“Very nice,” said Fallon.

“I come up here when I need to get away from things. No one in the family knows I own it.”

“Are all these places summer cottages?”

“No. A lot of craftsmen and artists live around here, would-be Wyeths who sell their paintings to tourists during the summer and starve the rest of the year.”

“Not a bad place to be hungry. You can fish and pick wild berries, and when it gets cold, you can chop down a tree and spend the winter by the fire.”

“Sounds idyllic,” said Evangeline, “until you try it.”

The shades were drawn and the cottage was chilly and damp inside. It reminded Fallon of the beach houses that his parents had rented when he was a boy. He recalled the smell of mildew and wet sand and the gloom that burned away as soon as Evangeline raised the shades. The afternoon sun poured in, reflecting off the knotty-pine paneling and maple furniture, filling the room with an amber glow. Fallon could feel himself begin to relax. He sat at the table beside the picture window and placed the diary in front of him.

“Not yet,” said Evangeline firmly. “I need a drink and a few minutes to collect myself.”

She hasn’t said a word between the Massachusetts border and Dory Landing, thought Fallon. She should be well collected by now.

“Then,” she added, “I’m going to call my uncle.”

She produced two bottles of Miller’s beer, a small store of ripe Camembert, and a box of crackers. The beer, in clear bottles, caught the sunshine and highlighted the amber glow with gold. Fallon drank and realized that his throat had been dust-dry since he had stepped onto the widow’s walk at Searidge.

Philip Pratt stood at service line, five stories up. Behind him stretched three blocks of Back Bay. In front of him, an attractive brunette named Melissa Pike awaited his shot. She was his woman for the season.

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