The Bone House (17 page)

    She
worried what would happen next, now that they all knew about Glory. How far do
your neighbours go to tell you they don't want you?

    Mark
saw it too. There was a deadly expression on the face of the man in front of
the pub.

    'Welcome
home,' Mark said to Hilary with a weary smile.

    He
continued up the north coast of the island and turned down the harbor road at
the cemetery, which was scattered with gray headstones among the pines and
snow. The gravel road led from the graveyard into the trees, ending at
Schoolhouse Beach, one of the most popular gathering spots for tourists during
the summer season. During the off season, though, the cove was deserted on most
days. The back porch of their house was a hundred yards from the shore, and
during the winter, when the trees were bare, they could glimpse the water.

    Rather
than turn right on the road that led home. Mark continued to the dead end at
the beach. He parked and got out and walked down to the shore, which was made
up not of sand but of millions of polished rocks. The sheltered harbor created
by the half-moon inlet was calmer than the violent lake just beyond the edge of
land, but calmness was relative here. He shoved his hands in his pockets and
stared at the whitecaps blowing across the water like tiny icebergs.

    Hilary
joined him. They stood next to each other, not talking. The brutal wind tossed
her hair around her face and made her lips white with cold. The entire curving
stretch of beach was empty. In the desolation, they could have been the only
two people on the island. That was what they'd wanted - seclusion in the midst
of nature, the deserted roads, the silence unbroken except for birds and wind.
It had never felt ominous before, but for the first time, she felt threatened
by their very remoteness.

    'You
know what's hard?' Mark said. 'I still love it here. This is like the most
beautiful place in the world.'

    'I
feel that way too.'

    He
turned for her and cupped her neck in his palms and kissed her softly but intensely.
There were so many kisses you could have as a married couple, the goodbye kiss,
the after-a-fight kiss, the love kiss, the bedroom kiss. His cool lips on hers
this time felt new, like a kiss that acknowledged they were both in need of
rescue and had to save each other. It was a kiss that said:
Hang on to me,
because this crossing is going to be rough.

    They
got back in the car. Their house was half a mile to the north. It was small - a
three-bedroom house with matchbox rooms and a screened-in rear wood porch
growing soft with age. The pale blue paint needed a fresh coat. The windows let
in the drafts. For its size and age, it had been absurdly expensive, but out
here, you paid for the land and the view. They'd scraped together a down
payment from Hilary's investments and a nest egg left over from Mark's golfing
days, but that still left them with a mortgage that was barely within their
reach. Their budget had been based on two jobs. Now there was only one.

    Even
so, when they turned into the dirt driveway, Hilary felt home. She'd never had
that sensation anywhere else. That was why she never wanted to leave, no matter
how bad it got, no matter what it took to keep it. When she climbed out and
smelled the coming of snow, and felt the mushy, molding leaves under her feet,
she felt a sudden surge of contentment. When she glanced at Mark's face, she
knew he felt the same way. This was their refuge.

    Their
escape from reality didn't last.

    They
left their luggage in the trunk and went to the front door, and Hilary stopped
on the porch when she saw the door hanging open. Mark peered into the darkness
inside. Mud and leaves had drifted into the foyer. A fetid aroma wafted like a
toxic cloud into the sweet, cold air.

    'Wait
here,' he said under his breath.

    She
watched him go inside. He was tense, his body coiled like a spring. Seconds
later, she heard something come from his throat, an exhalation of rage unlike
anything she'd heard from her husband before. It was as if his life had been
sucked away by whatever he'd found.

    'Mark?'
she called.

    He
didn't answer her.

    'Is
everything OK?' she asked, more urgently.

    When
he was still silent, she went inside herself. Beyond the hardwood floor of the
foyer, she turned into the living room, with its musty carpet and fireplace and
furniture gathered from their separate lives before they were married. Mark
stood in the center of the room, his face grim with violence. In the gloom of
near darkness, she could see the damage. She understood now what was next. She
recognized the message that their neighbors were sending.

    The
house had been violated. That was the only word she could use. Holes had been
punched in the Sheetrock with what must have been a baseball bat. Figurines she
had collected since childhood lay shattered into shards on the floor. Lamps
were overturned and broken. Animal feces had been thrown at the wall and left
to sink into vile brown streaks. The cushions of the furniture had been slashed
with knives, foam stripped out, littering the floor like cottonwood.

    A
single word had been spray-painted everywhere. On the walls. On the glass of
the windows. On the ceiling. On the floor. It must have been fifty times.

    A
single word over and over in blood-red paint.

    
KILLER.

    'I've
lived here for twenty years,' Terri Duecker told Hilary, as she took the
cigarette out of her mouth and watched the smoke dissipate in the cold air. 'It
never ends. You weren't born here, so you'll never be a local. If you have
kids, they'll be accepted from day one, but not you.'

    The
two women sat in the bleachers outside the Fish Creek School. Both of them wore
heavy coats, and Hilary had her hands shoved in the fleece pockets. The grass
of the football field was white with frost. The sky overhead was a mottled
blanket of charcoal. A row of spruce trees lined the far side of the field like
spectators, blocking the view of the Green Bay water past the bluff. Behind
them, the school parking lot was wet, thanks to the intermittent sleet that had
fallen overnight.

    'I
don't care about that,' Hilary replied. 'We knew that coming in, but it's
different now. They're trying to drive us out. Scare us away.'

    Terri
shrugged. 'Small towns,' she said. 'If they could, they'd build a wall to keep strangers
out. It's worse that you're from Chicago, too. People around here need someone
to blame because the whole county is changing, and they figure it's because of
rich people moving in from Chicago.'

    'We're
not rich.'

    Terri
shook her head. 'It doesn't matter. As long as you live here, people will look
at you and see a Land of Lincoln license plate on your car. Once a fib, always
a fib. I was lucky. Chris and I moved here from Fargo. We're still outsiders,
but at least we're not Bears fans. Even so, you won't find any of the natives
spilling their secrets to me.'

    Hilary
glanced at the school behind them. She saw two other high school teachers
chatting on the sidewalk outside the glass doors. She could follow their eyes
and the way they turned their heads toward them, and she knew that she and Mark
were the topic of conversation.

    The
school itself, two hundred yards away, was a one-story building, long and low,
made of vanilla brick. She heard the American flag snapping in the wind and the
flagpole rope banging against the metal. It was a place that could have been
any other high school in the country. She could easily have been back in
Highland Park, except that there weren't expensive suburban Audis and BMWs in
the parking lot. She'd always felt comfortable walking through school doors,
smelling the cafeteria food, listening to the thunder of shouts and basketballs
in the gymnasium. Now, however, going inside meant being watched by a hundred
spies. It was ground zero for the gulf between her and Mark and the teachers,
administrators, and parents who wanted them gone.

    'So
why do you stay here if you feel that way?' Hilary asked Terri.

    'We're
just like you two. We always wanted to live in a place like this. You go north
of Sturgeon Bay, and it's like going back in time. No chain stores. No fast
food restaurants. The views are amazing, and we've got room to breathe. If it
weren't for the tourists in the summer, it would be paradise all year. We all
know the tourists pay the bills, but don't expect anyone around here to be
happy about that.'

    'Can
I ask you something?' Hilary asked.

    'Sure.'

    'Do
people around here give you a hard time because we're friends?'

    Terri
shrugged. 'Yes.'

    'Well,
thanks for sticking by me.'

    'You
and Mark remind me of Chris and me when we moved here,' Terri said. 'We
outsiders need to have a community too.'

    Terri
was a handful of years older than Hilary, but they were good friends. She was a
slim brunette whose principal vice was her morning cigarette break on the edge
of the school grounds. Hilary often joined her. Terri had taught science at the
high school for two decades. She and her husband owned a series of guest
cottages and condominiums around the Fish Creek area that they rented during
the summer, which was their main source of income. Her husband, Chris, managed
the properties. During the winter, when most of their units were vacant, they'd
allowed Hilary and Mark to rent a cottage from them for little more than the
cost of utilities. It was a perfect arrangement. Hilary and Mark could stay
near the school and ferry back to their Washington Island home on the weekends.

    'What
are they saying about us now?' Hilary asked.

    'You
know exactly what they're saying,' Terri replied. Her eyes were sad but hard.
'It was the first thing out of everyone's mouths at school yesterday morning.
Mark killed Glory. It's not a rumor. It's not suspicion. As far as most people
are concerned, it's fact.'

    'I'm
glad I wasn't here.'

    'They
won't say it to your face, but they'll talk behind your back. You're only
innocent until proven guilty in a courtroom, Hilary. Not in real life.'

    'They're
going to boot me out, aren't they?' she asked. 'I'll never get tenure now.'

    Terri
shook her head. 'No, you will. You're a star, and everyone knows it. Plus,
you're a woman, not a man, that always helps. I think some people actually feel
sorry for you too. You'll get tenure, but they'll do everything they can to
make you so miserable that you don't want to stay.'

    'Great.'

    'I'd
understand if you and Mark chose to leave,' Terri added, 'but I hope you
won't.'

    'I
get stubborn about other people telling me what to do,' Hilary said.

    Terri
smiled. 'Me, too.'

    'I
appreciate your not asking me, by the way.'

    'Ask
you what?' Terri asked.

    'Whether
I'm sure. Whether I think Mark did it.'

    Terri
stubbed out her cigarette on the metal frame of the bleachers. She squinted at
the gray horizon. 'You sound like you want me to ask. You sound like you need
to say it.'

    'Maybe,'
Hilary admitted.

    'Are
you sure?'

    'Yes.'

    'He
didn't do it?'

    'No.'

    'That's
good enough for me,' Terri replied. 'Look, I saw Mark in the classroom. I saw him
with the kids. No way he would lift a hand against a teenage girl. He wouldn't
sleep with one either, because that man loves you. I'm not saying he wouldn't
kill someone who tried to mess with either of you, but an innocent girl? Not
Mark. Chris and I talked about it. He feels the same way.'

    'Thank
you.'

    'I
wish I spoke for the majority, Hilary, but I don't.'

    'I
know.'

    Terri
checked her watch and shivered. The two women climbed down from the bleachers,
taking care not to slip on the damp metal steps. The frost-crusted grass
crunched under their feet. They walked back toward the school beside Highway
42, the north-south road that stretched along the west coast of the peninsula.
The two-lane road was quiet.