For Tom? And for Jack. Clearly.
Did Libby have any say in the matter? But Ellery didn’t voice that thought. The evening had been problematic enough. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Jack was apparently walking him to his car.
He said at random, “Do you think there will be more burglaries?”
“I’m sure there will.” Then Jack made a sound of amusement. “Is that association of ideas at work?”
“I’m not sure I—” Ellery glanced at Jack’s steely profile. “You mean you suspect Ned Shandy of burglarizing the Bloodworths?”
“He’s on my list of suspects.”
“Yikes. How long is your list of suspects?”
“Not that long. Like I said, he’s not a bad kid, but unfortunately he doesn’t seem to have any direction in life.”
That was a problem. There was a genuine lack of opportunity for young people on the island. Most of them ended up moving away to the mainland.
“He’s still pretty young. Nineteen? Twenty?”
“Twenty-three.” Jack glanced at him. “In answer to your question, we had another burglary last night.” Jack corrected, “Attempted burglary.”
“You’re kidding. I didn’t hear anything about it.”
“Not something I want to advertise. Last night they hit the Maples’ house.”
“The Maples’ house? I didn’t realize there was anything left to steal. I thought a distant cousin of Trevor’s packed everything up and shipped it West.”
“Your intelligence is better than our burglar’s.”
“How many houses have been hit?”
“Three attempts so far. Only two have been successful.”
“I really do need to get that security system installed at Captain’s Seat.” Ellery was thinking aloud.
Jack said, “Yes. You really do. So far, though, our burglars seem to strike at night, which could mean they have day jobs. And, with the exception of the Maples’ place, the focus has been on vacation homes. Vacation homes without surveillance cameras.”
Which was most of the vacation homes on the island.
“Burglars,” Ellery repeated. “So you do think more than one person is involved?”
“Too soon to say for sure. So far everything has been small and portable: jewelry, money, silver, small appliances. No safes have been broken into. Nothing larger than a small television has been stolen.”
“Maybe they’re just getting started,” Ellery said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
They turned the corner onto the narrow brick street where the Crow’s Nest cuddled between the Toy Chest and Sandy Morita’s art gallery. The tall retrofitted gas lamps cast triangles of golden light on the empty street.
They fell silent, their feet sounding hollowly on the cobblestones as they strolled in and out of the deep shade of the tall Victorian buildings. Most of the shops were closed now, the storefronts shuttered or illuminated only by the ghostly glow of emergency lights.
Pirate’s Cove was probably the safest place Ellery had ever lived, but late at night there was something otherworldly about the village. Maybe it was the ever-present, even looming, shadow of the island’s occasionally sinister history.
They finally reached the Crow’s Nest.
“I’ll just pop next door and grab Watson,” Ellery said. “Thanks for dinner, Jack.”
“You’re very welcome.” Jack seemed to hesitate.
It had been such a weird night. First the surprise invitation from Jack, then Jack seeming to close down mid-dinner, and now this awkward moment of delay.
What the heck, Ellery thought, and he reached for Jack, hands landing on Jack’s wide shoulders, drawing him forward till their mouths touched.
Jack’s mouth was cool and firm, tasting of beer and steak spice, tasting of Jack.
Ellery tried to deepen the kiss.
Jack remained motionless, lips parting, then pressing closed. He covered Ellery’s hands with his own, holding them warmly—and moving Ellery back.
It wasn’t ungentle, but it was a definite no.
Thanks, but no thanks.
Which…hurt.
Gentle or not, the rejection hurt and embarrassed Ellery. Not that it wasn’t his own fault. Jack had made it abundantly clear he did not want anything more than friendship. But after all, it was just a kiss. Jack had kissed him not so long ago. Ellery hadn’t turned it into a federal case. Friends kissed each other sometimes.
Hopefully Jack did not see everything Ellery was feeling, but being observant and attentive to details, he probably did.
“Drive safe,” Jack said.
“You too,” Ellery said, which made no sense given that Jack lived in Pirate’s Cove and was in walking distance of home.
Aggravated with himself as well as Jack, Ellery turned and sprinted up the stairs to Sandy Morita’s apartment above the gallery next door.
When he reached the top landing, he couldn’t resist glancing down.
The sidewalk below was empty.
Chapter Four
Ellery didn’t realize he was talking to himself on the drive home until Watson, curled on the seat beside him, suddenly moaned as though he couldn’t take it anymore.
Ellery gave a half laugh. “Sorry, buddy.” He spared the pup a quick look. He could just make out the whites of Watson’s eyes in the light from the dashboard.
“It’s my own fault. I need to not…”
But there he ran out of ideas.
He really did like Jack a lot. He wanted to stay friends. The problem was his attraction to Jack made it difficult. But it wasn’t fair to blame Jack for what Ellery was feeling. It wasn’t Jack’s fault Ellery had been more attracted to Jack than Jack had been to him. After all, it was a common problem for Jack.
He sighed, switched on the VW’s CD player. Harry Styles singing “I’m So Lonely” came on.
“Uh, no. No way.” Ellery punched the button for the next CD.
Clare Wyndham’s ghostly voice wafted from the speakers. “Every Ending is a Chance.”
Really? The universe—or at least his CD player—seemed to be trying to tell him something. His gaze moved briefly from the dark and mysterious road ahead to the countryside sliding past like scenes from a spooky music video. Twisted silhouettes and gleaming eyes. A razor-sharp scythe of moon that cast little light drifted aimlessly across the purple sky. Through the tangle of trees and hedges, a few random twinkles indicated where “summer folks” were in residence.
As the VW bounced over one of the inevitable potholes, Ellery did a double take. That was funny. It looked like lights were on at the Barby place.
The Barbys were good customers when they were on the island. They’d even attended a couple of book signings at the Crow’s Nest. Mrs. Barby was partial to “anyone like Mary Higgins Clark except her daughter,” and Mr. Barby liked military thrillers, “the more bloody, the better.” Having made his money on Wall Street, Mr. Barby was always trying to give Ellery investment advice.
“No oil, Ellery. Don’t invest in oil. It’s a slippery slope, my boy. Take it from me.” He was not being ironic.
The thing was, Ellery was pretty sure the Barbys were off-island for July. Mrs. Barby had been burbling about the joys of spending July in the Bahamas the last time they’d spoken.