Indian Pipes by Cynthia Riggs Page B

help?”
    “I want to go to the base of the cliffs. I thought I could climb down, but it’s higher than I remembered.”
    “No problem,” said the patrolman. “We’ll drive down my grandmother’s road onto the beach.”
    He offered his arm and she took it. Together they walked through the crowd of gaping tourists that parted to let them pass. The patrol car was at the foot of the steps, and Officer VanDyke opened the passenger door for Victoria, waited for her to get in, slammed the door shut, and went around to his side. He nodded at the policeman who was directing pedestrians, waited until everyone had crossed, then drove slowly around the circle. Instead of turning onto South Road, he turned off onto Lighthouse Road.
    The day was sparkling bright with high puffy clouds. The sun reflected off masses of poison ivy that festooned the telephone poles,and glinted on bayberry and wild rose leaves. Gemlike crystals in the sand along the roadside glittered as they passed.
    “I suppose I’m being foolish,” Victoria said.
    “Not at all, ma’am. My chief said all of us could learn a thing or two from you.”
    Victoria sat back, a faint smile wrinkling her face. She reached into her bag, brought out her blue cap, and set it on her head again.
    They had turned off onto a sandy road that curved around low bluffs and dunes. The Gay Head light swung around over their heads, red, white, red, white. The cliffs rose up on either side. Gulls soared above them. The surf boomed louder, echoing against the cliff walls. VanDyke turned left, and suddenly they were on the beach. Victoria could see the Elizabeth Islands in the distance. The individual sailboats she had viewed from the high cliffs now seemed an almost solid line of white.
    “You want to go to the base of the cliffs, ma’am? I can drive along the beach.”
    “Let’s stop about a quarter mile short of the overlook and walk from there. That is, if you don’t mind.” She looked at him. How handsome he and his fisherman brother were, she thought. The patrolman was staring straight ahead. His nose, not quite as large as hers, was lifted slightly.
    “No, ma’am. Don’t mind at all.”
    The two walked slowly along the base of the cliffs. Victoria zigzagged from the water to the cliffs, turning over clumps of seaweed, flipping stones, prying up pieces of driftwood with her lilac-wood stick. The patrolman walked slowly in a straight line, hands behind his back.
    Occasionally she bent down, picked something up, and put it in her cloth bag.
    “Look here,” she said to the patrolman. He strode over to her. “Footprints. Bare feet.”
    “Yes, ma’am. A lot of people come here to swim.”
    “This is different from somebody coming for a dip or to sunbathe.” She pointed with her stick. “The footprints go from the cliffs to the water, then disappear. Look ahead, you can see them again where they haven’t been washed away.”
    “Yes, ma’am. A big man. Feet my size or larger.”
    Victoria scanned the cliffs. “It looks as though he came down that gully. That’s where the prints start.”
    The patrolman put both hands on his belt, and walked next to Victoria.
    They had almost reached the base of the overlook, the place where Burkhardt must have started his climb. The footprints continued ahead of them.
    “I wonder where he can be?” Victoria could see no one.
    “Could be a tribal member. We can be hard to see if we want.” He grinned and Victoria smiled back.
    She heard the rattle of falling stones, and stepped back quickly. A shower of baseball-size cobbles hit the sand and fanned out in front of them. Officer VanDyke stepped between Victoria and the cliff, put his hand on his belt, and looked up. Victoria shaded her eyes to search for the source of the rocks. The rocks seemed to have come from partway up the cliff.
    Someone laughed, and the laughter echoed against the steep cliff face.

C HAPTER 8
     
    The echo of the laugh died out, and Dojan, camouflaged by