He’d have put the blazing lights down to a timer, except he’d never before noticed lights on at the Barbys’ when they weren’t home.
He couldn’t help remembering his conversation with Jack about the rash of vacation-homes burglaries. It would be kind of a coincidence to blunder onto a burglary in progress twenty minutes later. But coincidences did happen.
Even so…
He pulled a quick U-ie and doubled back toward the Barbys. Watson stuck his nose in the air and began sniffing as though smelling trouble.
“It won’t hurt to take a quick look.”
Ellery parked behind a wall of trees and cut the engine. Watson began to try and wriggle out of his car harness.
Ellery opened his car door and climbed out into the humid night air. He said firmly, “No. You’re staying here. I won’t be long. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Watson had plenty to say about that, and it was all very loud. If you’re sure it’s nothing, why are we parked down here? Why are you leaving ME? seemed to be the gist of it.
Ellery swore inwardly but kept walking. A few yards on, the pup’s voice had faded to annoying insect level. Which, given the symphony of crickets surrounding him, was still pretty loud.
He debated phoning Jack, but just because the Barbys had intended to summer in the Bahamas didn’t mean they hadn’t had a change of plans. Maybe they had returned home early. He was probably being paranoid. No need to make a fool of himself. He would just take a quick look and make sure everything was kosher. And if everything wasn’t kosher, he could phone Jack then.
Halfway up the paved drive, he heard an engine and dived into the tall privet hedge. Just in time. A white van hurtled over the crest of the hill and roared down the road past him. Ellery peered at the windows but was unable to make out the figure hunched behind the wheel. The license plate was smeared over with mud.
For a second or two he crouched there, heart thumping, as the red taillights vanished down the highway. He pushed out of the flowering branches and continued up the hill, sticking to the deep shade till he reached the top of the drive.
Every light in the house appeared to be on. So…a good sign? Maybe not.
The house had started life as a single-story beach bungalow. The Barbys had made a number of home improvements, including a gazebo and, most notably, a front deck with a firepit. Ellery couldn’t help noticing all the patio furniture had been put away for the season. Nor was there any sign of Skipper, the Barbys’ wire fox terrier and four-legged alarm system. And, ominously, the teal-colored front door stood wide open.
Ellery crouched by the hedge, watching, but saw no sign of anyone.
After a minute or two, he sprinted to the corner of the raised deck and waited again for any sign that he had been discovered.
When the only sounds that met his ears were the crickets and night birds, he moved quietly along the deck, down the side of the house—staying low to avoid the brightly lit windows—and finally across the back of the house until he came to the big kitchen windows overlooking a putting green.
He was going to feel very silly if the Barbys were sitting out back, having a glass of wine in their gazebo.
But the Barbys were not sitting out back. There was no sign of anyone, inside or out.
Cautiously, Ellery raised his head over the sill and peered through the window.
The spacious kitchen featured black granite counters, an open-island setup, and gleaming stainless-steel appliances. A small fleet of wine bottles crowded every bit of space on the counter and island. One solitary wineglass sat out on the bench, with a tipple in it.
Either the Barbys were having one heck of a wine-tasting party, or their cellar was being liquidated. Ellery was pretty sure it was the latter.
The house appeared to be empty. Were the burglars making trips back and forth with their loot? That much wine wasn’t going to be easy to safely transport. You couldn’t leave dozens of wine bottles bouncing around the back of a van.
A door led from the kitchen into a huge living room. From Ellery’s vantage point, he could see a large natural-stone fireplace, a humongous wall-mounted TV, and an elaborate stereo system with what looked to be surround sound.
Wouldn’t burglars want that TV set and stereo system? But no, Jack had said the thieves only took small, easily portable objects. That TV was the size of a small sofa.
As Ellery considered, someone moved past the living-room doorway.
He ducked down, breathing fast.
Okay. Thank God he hadn’t made the mistake of going inside. It seemed that not all the burglars had gone in the van.
He needed to phone Jack now.
Actually, he needed to have phoned Jack half an hour ago. But now was better than never.
Ellery found his phone, the screen lighting as he scrolled for Jack’s number.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel reached his ears, and his heart sprang into alarmed tempo. Someone was coming.
He thrust his phone in his jeans pocket, dousing the light. How the heck many people were on the premises? This wasn’t a gang; it was a freaking army.
He dived toward the path leading to the gazebo, wincing at the crackle of dead leaves underfoot. Once again he slipped into the shrubs—this time rosebushes and less welcoming. He smothered a yelp as a thorny branch scraped across his cheek, just missing his eye. He prayed for the branches to stop moving.
The silence seemed to reverberate. He waited, trying to hear over the rush of blood in his ears. Maybe he’d… Maybe they’d…
His heart nearly stopped at the sharp whistle from behind him. He peered cautiously through the leaves and saw a shadowy figure at the head of the path.
Oh no.
Oh hell.
Had he been seen?
Was there any chance he hadn’t been seen?
He began to push backward through the roses, trying to stay silent, trying not to move the shrubberies. Good luck with that, Natty Bumppo. The bushes were probably heaving like an ocean of leaves and thorns as he forced his way through.
He paused, trying to orient himself, trying to figure out where the others were in relation, listening tautly, every muscle strung tight, praying…
Nothing. Not a sound.
At least, not a sound not of his own making.
Even the crickets were hushed.
Cautiously, carefully, Ellery inched his head above the leaves, eyes straining the gloom.
Mistake.
Another of those piercing whistles split the night, and the figure at the head of the path pointed down the uneven trail.
He was being hunted.
Chapter Five
No point trying for stealth now. Ellery shoved through the rosebushes, protecting his bare hands and arms as much as he could, which wasn’t much. He burst out into a small clearing. A large pond surrounded by reeds gleamed in the moonlight. On the far side of the pond was a tall, weathered old building with a steeply pointed roof.
It wasn’t a barn, unless it was a barn for mountain goats. Was it a mini sawmill? He studied the double doors—one ajar—and a steep ramp leading inside and to another smaller set of doors beneath the eaves.
An icehouse. He remembered Nora talking about how back in the old days, harvesting and storing ice in these thick-walled structures had been a lucrative business. In the summer, the carefully preserved supply of ice was sold to the island’s hotels and inns for the tourist trade.
None of the commercial icehouses still existed, but a few of the grand old homes still had the ruins of those structures on their grounds. The Barbys’ bungalow was of recent, modern construction, so he must have crossed their property line. He searched the darkness for any sign of lights, any sign of another house, but saw nothing.