* * *
His phone rang. The sound was muffled, and he was still disoriented. He walked in circles until he found it where it had landed on impact, a few yards from the car. He picked it up and saw that the missed call was from Scott.
“Oh, God,” he moaned.
He would never forgive himself for what happened next. Billy started walking. He didn’t look back, didn’t allow himself to think about Cal. Cal was dead. And Billy was alive. He had to get away. His panic rose with each step that carried him away from the accident site. And it was an accident, he told himself. He kept to the side of the road, darting into the underbrush to hide each time he saw the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
When he was well away, he took out his phone and called the only person he knew who wouldn’t ask questions, wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t lecture. He called Wendell Griggs and told him the truth. Or a version of the truth. It didn’t really matter, because Wendell would eventually figure out his own truth.
“Where exactly are you?” Wendell’s voice was curt, businesslike.
“I don’t know,” Billy wailed. “I’d been drinking a little bit. It’s dark, and there aren’t any houses around.”
“Pull it together, goddamn it,” Wendell said. “What road are you on?”
“The county road. Maybe six, eight miles from town.”
“Did you pass the Pak-n-Sak?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s a mile or so back.”
“I’m leaving the island now. I’ll pick you up there in half an hour, but make sure you don’t let anybody see you.”
“I won’t.”
* * *
He was hiding behind a Dumpster in the Pak-n-Sak parking lot when the black Jeep pulled in. Billy jumped into the front seat and Wendell sped away.
“How much farther?” Wendell asked.
Billy’s head was throbbing, and he pressed bloody fingertips to his temples. “Not sure.”
“A mile? Two?” Wendell gave him a sideways glance. “Jesus, you’re a mess! There should be some wet wipes in the glove box there. Clean yourself up.”
Billy did as he was told. “I think it’s not too much farther. Better slow down. Wait. Yeah. Right up there. That’s the tree.”
Wendell pulled the Jeep a few yards off the shoulder of the road and cut the headlights and then the engine. Billy started to get out of the Jeep.
“Stay here,” Wendell said.
Moonlight illuminated the maroon Olds, and he could see the silhouette of the dog, still crouching by a lifeless form. Billy didn’t want to see any more. He closed his eyes and slumped down in the seat.
Ten minutes later, Wendell was back in the car. He pulled back onto the roadway and headed toward town.
“How was Heidi?” Billy asked as they pulled away.
“Heidi? Who the…”
“The dog,” Billy said quickly. “Cal’s dog. She jumped in the car with us. She was in the backseat when it happened. Is she okay?”
“What do you care?” Wendell’s eyes were trained on the road. “It’s taken care of.”
They rode in silence.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Wendell said suddenly. “Listen up, Billy, because this is important.”
“I’m listening.”
“My boat is at the marina in town. I’m taking you back to the island, and I’ll drop you at your place. You look like shit, by the way. Is anything broken?”
“My head is killing me. I might have a concussion. And maybe a cracked rib?”
“You’ll heal. Unlike your friend back there. You’re gonna stay in your house, not see anybody until the cuts and bruises are gone.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna take care of it. When the police call about the accident, you’re gonna tell them Cal must have borrowed the Olds without your permission. He knew you always hid the keys under the floor mats. How do you happen to know that guy anyway?”
“He was my AA sponsor,” Billy said.
Wendell gave him a sharp look. “I wondered why you were on the wagon.”
27
Riley tiptoed out of the darkened house on Friday morning. The sandy road was damp with dew as she walked east toward the village. The island was still slumbering, but she heard birds twittering awake in the treetops and, as she walked, sunlight began to filter through the deep green canopy overhead.
She stopped once in the middle of the road, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of pine needles, wisteria, and even the faintest tang of skunk. “Live in the moment,” she whispered. “That’s all you can do. Just live in the moment.” Today was the day she’d decided she would make the arrangements for Wendell’s memorial. His body still hadn’t been released, but what did that matter? It was a chore that she wanted to put behind her.
As she mounted the wooden stairs of the Mercantile, lights flickered on inside, and a young woman in jeans and a turquoise Mercantile T-shirt unlocked the door and gestured for Riley to come inside.
The old worn floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she passed the shelves of gourmet groceries toward the back of the store, following the irresistible smell of fresh-ground coffee and baked goods.
Riley stood in front of the display case, eyeing the temptations. There were rows and rows of cookies, frosted cupcakes, and brownies. A swinging door from the kitchen opened, and a baker in a black T-shirt and a white apron emerged with a large sheet pan balanced on one shoulder.
When he lowered the pan to the marble countertop, she realized the baker was actually Nate Milas. Without looking up, he slid the glass display case door open and began arranging muffins on flat baskets.
She gave a discreet cough. “What can I get you?—” he started, and then stopped when he realized that Riley was the customer.
“Well, hello,” he said. “Welcome to the Mercantile.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re a baker now.”
“Nah. I’m just free labor. I help my mom out here some mornings when she needs an extra set of hands. One of our college kids who works the morning shift can’t come in until eight today.”
The kitchen door swung open, and Annie Milas bustled through, carrying cartons of milk and half-and-half, which she set on the countertop coffee station.
“Hi, Riley,” she said, joining her son. She was at least a foot shorter than Nate, her silver hair pushed back from her face with a knotted blue bandana, and an easy smile.
“Did Nate tell you about today’s muffin specials? Blueberry oatmeal, apple raisin, banana maple, and strawberry cream cheese. And I’ve got orange marmalade and bacon cheddar scones that should be out in about five minutes.”
“They all sound amazing,” Riley said. “But for now I think maybe just a fruit cup—and a large coffee.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Annie teased.
Riley took her order out to the porch and found a small round table facing the water. She sipped her coffee and thought about the day ahead. As she was spooning up the last strawberry in her fruit cup, Nate appeared on the porch carrying an insulated coffee carafe and something wrapped in wax paper, which he presented to his only customer.