Elizabeth parked the car by the side of the rutted road, next to a hedge of wild roses. “Domingo said they took down the crime-scene tape the day after it happened.”
“So we don't need to worry about destroying evidence,” Victoria said. “Tire tracks or whatever.”
“I don't think so.” Elizabeth got out of the car. “We can walk from here.”
When Victoria opened her door, it pushed aside a branch of wild roses, dropping pink petals onto the ground.
“There've been all kinds of vehicles in here.” Elizabeth pointed at the ground. “That night, there were two police cruisers, the ambulance, and Toby's hearse.” She reached into the backseat and lifted out the lilac branch she had carved into a walking stick for Victoria.
“We may find something that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else,” Victoria said. “Sometimes it's just as well if you don't know what you're looking for.”
Victoria walked around the front of the car, bracing herself on the hood, brushing between the rose hedge and the convertible. Elizabeth handed her the stick.
They walked up the beach toward the yacht club. Victoria flicked over pebbles and bits of seaweed with her stick, shells, driftwood, a piece of glass, a plastic bottle. Elizabeth walked next to her, watching the objects her grandmother uncovered.
They'd gone a couple of hundred feet toward the yacht club when Victoria stopped.
“A boat pulled in here,” she said. “It's not a fresh mark, and it's not where you landed with the body the other night. That was closer to the dock.” She examined the long, straight mark in the sand. “It's well above the high-tide line.” Elizabeth saw the distinctive trace of a keel, footprints that were mere indentations in the sand, leading from the keel mark into the tall grass and wild roses on a slight bluff above the beach.
“No one ever uses this beach,” Elizabeth said. “The yacht club people swim on the Sound side, where the water is deeper.
“I suppose we should look through the shrubbery and see if we find anything. You go.” Victoria sat on a driftwood log and handed her stick to Elizabeth. “You can use this to go through the brambles.”
“Thanks. You're as bad as Domingo.” Elizabeth took her grandmother's stick and stepped up onto the two-foot-high bluff. Pebbles and sand slid down the face. Black roots showed at the top, holding clumps of dark soil onto the top of the sandy bank. “There's a sort of beaten-down way here,” she called down to Victoria. “As if someone has been through here recently.”
“Do you see anything on either side?” Victoria called back.
“No. The rosebushes and grass are thick. It's hard to see through them. I'll look down low, under the tops.”
“I suppose they might have thrown something off to one side,” Victoria said.
“If there's anything here. What am I supposed to find, a knife or something?”
Victoria heard her brush through the growth of wild rose, stiff bayberry, huckleberry, muttering an occasional “Ouch!” as the branches slapped her bare legs.
“Something like that.” Victoria could see Elizabeth moving brush aside with the lilac stick.
“Why wouldn't they have tossed it overboard, instead of dropping it here?” Elizabeth was making slow progress. Branches snapped; dry leaves rustled.
“It's too shallow,” Victoria called back to her. “At the end of the dock, it's only four feet deep, and the water is quite clear.”
“Found something.” Victoria heard her scrabbling through the rosebushes. “Never mind. It's a broken bottle.”
“Bring it out,” Victoria said. “Do you have a paper in your pocket you can handle it with?”
“A paper towel. I'll lay it in the path and keep looking.”
“What does it look like?” Victoria said.
“The bottom is broken off,” Elizabeth said. “It's wicked-looking. Jagged.”
“A whiskey bottle?”
“Rum. Strange brand. Coulibri?”
“Never heard of it,” Victoria called back.
“Me,
“So we don't need to worry about destroying evidence,” Victoria said. “Tire tracks or whatever.”
“I don't think so.” Elizabeth got out of the car. “We can walk from here.”
When Victoria opened her door, it pushed aside a branch of wild roses, dropping pink petals onto the ground.
“There've been all kinds of vehicles in here.” Elizabeth pointed at the ground. “That night, there were two police cruisers, the ambulance, and Toby's hearse.” She reached into the backseat and lifted out the lilac branch she had carved into a walking stick for Victoria.
“We may find something that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else,” Victoria said. “Sometimes it's just as well if you don't know what you're looking for.”
Victoria walked around the front of the car, bracing herself on the hood, brushing between the rose hedge and the convertible. Elizabeth handed her the stick.
They walked up the beach toward the yacht club. Victoria flicked over pebbles and bits of seaweed with her stick, shells, driftwood, a piece of glass, a plastic bottle. Elizabeth walked next to her, watching the objects her grandmother uncovered.
They'd gone a couple of hundred feet toward the yacht club when Victoria stopped.
“A boat pulled in here,” she said. “It's not a fresh mark, and it's not where you landed with the body the other night. That was closer to the dock.” She examined the long, straight mark in the sand. “It's well above the high-tide line.” Elizabeth saw the distinctive trace of a keel, footprints that were mere indentations in the sand, leading from the keel mark into the tall grass and wild roses on a slight bluff above the beach.
“No one ever uses this beach,” Elizabeth said. “The yacht club people swim on the Sound side, where the water is deeper.
“I suppose we should look through the shrubbery and see if we find anything. You go.” Victoria sat on a driftwood log and handed her stick to Elizabeth. “You can use this to go through the brambles.”
“Thanks. You're as bad as Domingo.” Elizabeth took her grandmother's stick and stepped up onto the two-foot-high bluff. Pebbles and sand slid down the face. Black roots showed at the top, holding clumps of dark soil onto the top of the sandy bank. “There's a sort of beaten-down way here,” she called down to Victoria. “As if someone has been through here recently.”
“Do you see anything on either side?” Victoria called back.
“No. The rosebushes and grass are thick. It's hard to see through them. I'll look down low, under the tops.”
“I suppose they might have thrown something off to one side,” Victoria said.
“If there's anything here. What am I supposed to find, a knife or something?”
Victoria heard her brush through the growth of wild rose, stiff bayberry, huckleberry, muttering an occasional “Ouch!” as the branches slapped her bare legs.
“Something like that.” Victoria could see Elizabeth moving brush aside with the lilac stick.
“Why wouldn't they have tossed it overboard, instead of dropping it here?” Elizabeth was making slow progress. Branches snapped; dry leaves rustled.
“It's too shallow,” Victoria called back to her. “At the end of the dock, it's only four feet deep, and the water is quite clear.”
“Found something.” Victoria heard her scrabbling through the rosebushes. “Never mind. It's a broken bottle.”
“Bring it out,” Victoria said. “Do you have a paper in your pocket you can handle it with?”
“A paper towel. I'll lay it in the path and keep looking.”
“What does it look like?” Victoria said.
“The bottom is broken off,” Elizabeth said. “It's wicked-looking. Jagged.”
“A whiskey bottle?”
“Rum. Strange brand. Coulibri?”
“Never heard of it,” Victoria called back.
“Me,
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