Dead Level by Sarah Graves

Author:Sarah Graves
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: mystery
ISBN: 9780345534569
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-05-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Late on an autumn evening in a cottage in the Maine woods, the floor is ice cold, while the stove is so hot that accidentally brushing up against it raises blisters. And don’t get me started again on the bathroom, located in another building entirely. Ours was large, airy, freshly painted, and pine paneled, its door traditionally pierced by a half-moon shape. With two windows and a stainless-steel washstand like the one in an airplane restroom, it had a faucet that ran gravity-fed cold water from a roof tank, or you could pour hot water from a kettle into the sink.

In fact, except for the no-flush portion of the program, it was as nice as our bathroom at home: curtains on the windows, bright rag rugs on the floor. Decades-old Reader’s Digests in the magazine rack harkened back to a time when “Humor in Uniform” wasn’t yet an oxymoron.

But the place had one drawback: after sunset, a visit meant a brisk walk uphill in the dark via a path known for (a) its variety of tripping hazards, and (b) have I mentioned that it was cold and dark outside?

The walk back downhill, though, was enlivened by the cheery sight of the cabin itself, with yellow lamplight shining from its windows and the tang of woodsmoke hanging in the damp air. The starless sky suggested more rain to come, but right now we were between showers; a breeze sent pine-scented drops pattering down from the sodden branches as I made my way from the path to the clearing where the truck sat parked, and finally to the cottage door.

Ellie was at the table near the stove with her glasses on, frowning at her cellphone. “Dead battery,” she reported.

I dug in the satchel where I kept necessities: ChapStick, a tube of hand cream, nail clippers, hair comb, Swiss Army knife … “Try this one,” I said, and while she left a message on her home phone to say she was staying another night, I got out my to-do list, noting unhappily that fewer things were crossed off it than I had hoped.

Still, we had accomplished a lot: measuring, check, I noted mentally; digging, likewise. We’d gotten the concrete-block foundations lugged over and squared up in the holes, too, and filled them in with the gravel we’d hauled.

And finally, we’d enclosed the space underneath the deck by nailing up sheets of wooden lattice. The job was much easier when one person held the sheet in place while the other did the hammering, so I’d been eager to complete it while Ellie was still here to help.

But the road-repair guys had never arrived, and as a result, it seemed the lattice could’ve waited. “I could still drive you out to your car, though,” I offered. “By now the road must’ve dried up a lot. We could get over the washed-out place if we were careful, and you could go home tonight.”

“Forget it,” Ellie replied, not even looking up.

That thumping we’d heard in the

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