FOUR DAYS LATER
20
CLAIRE
That night, I saw the mountain lion. Hungry and tired of being in the cabin, I set out for the tidal pool earlier than usual. Blue hazy dusk had given way to darkness, and I had no cell phone, no communication with the world beyond the woods and beach, so I had no way of knowing where Griffin was directing the search. It occurred to me that law enforcement might bring back the dogs I had heard the first day, so I should reinforce my perimeter with the big cat/fox mixture. I spread it on the far side of my usual trail.
I traced a large circle with my cabin at the center, sprinkling the concoction as I went. Once my eyes got used to the dark, the stars shone bright enough to light my way. As long as I stepped carefully, I had no worry about walking in the woods at night. My father and I had done it so often. I kept glancing north, and guided by Polaris, I felt as if I were creating a magic circle that would protect me.
After the perimeter was set, I went swimming in the Sound to wash the smell off me and to soothe my wounds. My bruises were already turning from purple to yellow, the cuts on my hands forming scabs. When I emerged from my swim, I climbed the hill again. I stood at the edge of the burial ground and shivered. I felt as if someone were watching me. I glanced to the southwest—the direction in which the Pequots believed their spirits left their bodies—and thought I saw a glint of light.
I had made my way toward the spring to rinse off and get drinking water when the back of my neck tingled. I felt danger; that most ancient part of the brain that registers sounds and smells we would otherwise ignore lit up. I knew I was being tracked and froze, listening hard. Even on high alert, I heard nothing but normal night sounds: tree frogs peeping in the marsh, a slight breeze ruffling the new leaves.
I slowly turned. I wondered whether I would see Griffin with his knife or one of his police officers with a gun drawn. Instead, not twenty yards away, I saw glowing yellow eyes, the shimmer of a tawny coat. The cougar kept to the thicket that bordered the Pequot cemetery. He was a shadow, liquid gold in the starlight. I stood perfectly still.
“Claire, never turn your back on a big cat,” my father had said. “They’re stealthy; you’ll never hear them coming. And once they decide you’re prey, they’ll close the distance so swiftly you’ll never have time to react.”
He told me to make myself look bigger, braver than the cat itself, but for some reason that night in the woods, I forgot everything my father had said—not because I panicked but because the cougar was inside the circle I had made. He was part of my world, part of the magic. Maybe I was still delirious from the attack, but I didn’t feel scared.
I stared into the lion’s eyes. I knew that he could take me down so easily. He’d swipe me with his curved claws, clamp his fangs around my throat or my skull, kill me in an instant. Was it because I knew what humans could do, what my husband had done, that I felt no fear? Attracted by the potion, he must have smelled his own kind; perhaps he was looking for a mate, or maybe he wanted to claim his territory, fight another male to the death. All I knew was that I was in the presence of the animal that had fed my imagination for so many years.
He knew I wasn’t a threat. His gaze held mine for a long minute, then two, then three. My breathing was steady. I knew I should back away, very slowly, but I didn’t. I blinked, and in that single second, he was gone. I didn’t hear him, but I felt a whisper of air as he left, and I saw the slightest shadow of gold shimmer in the southwest, on the path of the spirits.
After that encounter, I skipped going to the spring that night. I knew he would go there to drink, and I didn’t want to test my luck. I had no food in my cabin, no smells to tempt him. I told myself he was a protector sent by my father—he wouldn’t attack me, but he might maul anyone who came to harm me. My thinking was probably skewed, but I couldn’t let myself admit to even more danger than I already was in.
I climbed into my sleeping bag, but I couldn’t close my eyes. The mountain lion had reminded me I had to be vigilant. I had to come up with a plan. I was getting stronger, and I had to get help. The only problem was, I still had no idea whom I could trust.
The constellations moved across the sky; the hours passed by. I drifted off, then heard the cries of an animal, death in the woods. Had the cougar made a kill? Or was I dreaming about the sound of my own voice, screaming for help four days earlier? Or was it a dream of the future, of what Griffin would do if he found me?
I didn’t know, and I couldn’t go back to sleep.
21
CONOR
Conor and Jen Miano decided to question Dan Benson together. Conor still wondered about a possible connection between the two cases. A word that might have been Ford had appeared twice in the note written by Sallie, and he made a note to ask Dan if the family drove one.
It occurred to Conor that he still hadn’t questioned Ford Chase. He was Claire’s stepson. If Sallie had been referring to him, and not a car, could he be the link between her and Claire?
They arrived at Easterly Hospital in separate cars, and Conor followed Jen through the revolving door. Benson was on the mend and had been moved to a different floor. They spoke to the nurse in charge and went to his room. He lay in bed, upright and watching a talk show on TV.
“Mr. Benson,” Jen said. “This is Detective Reid.”
“Hello,” Benson said. His skin was sallow. He was small and muscular with short graying brown hair. His eyes were open very wide, and Conor thought he looked scared, like a deer in the headlights. He had a gauze bandage above his left eye.
“How are you doing, Mr. Benson?” Conor asked.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You don’t look fine. I know you were badly injured.”
“Yeah. They say I’m lucky the metal didn’t hit my heart,” he said. “But it’s nothing compared to what Gwen’s been through.” He swallowed hard, looked toward the window. “And my Charlie, my boy. Where is he?”
“We don’t know,” Jen said gently.
“We’re very sorry that he’s still missing,” Conor said.
Benson nodded without looking up.
“Can you tell us what happened on Friday?” Conor asked.
“I already told her,” Benson said, gesturing at Jen and seeming to slash away tears—but his eyes were dry. He hadn’t mentioned Sallie.
“Take us through that day,” Conor said. “It was a weekday. Why weren’t the kids in school?”
“We wanted to get a jump on Memorial Day weekend,” Benson said. “Get out to Block Island before the crowds. Get a good slip at the marina.”
“So you planned this early departure?” Jen asked. “Or was it spur of the moment?”
“We planned it. We even wanted to provision the night before.”
“Provision? Tell me more,” Jen asked. “I’m not a boater.”
“You know, buy food, soda, snacks, stuff like that. Head down to the boat and load everything up first thing so we could take off, leave the marina early. Right after breakfast, we thought.”
“Who did the grocery shopping?” Conor asked.
“I did. That part I did after work Thursday.”