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#1 internationally bestselling author
MARY HIGGINS CLARK
THE QUEEN OF SUSPENSE
“Grabs you with the first paragraph and never lets go.”
—USA Today
“A master plotter!” —The New York Times Book Review
“The mistress of high tension.” —The New Yorker
“A flawless storyteller.” —The Washington Post Book World
“The grande dame of American thriller writing.”
—Los Angeles Times Book Review
“Once you start reading, you won’t be able to stop.”
—Cosmopolitan
“First-rate.” —Baltimore Sun
“One of a kind.” —Orange County Register
“A master craftsman who never fails to entertain.”
—Tulsa World
“Gets better with every book.” —Pioneer Press (St. Paul)
Contents
August 17th
July 15th
Chapter 1
July 28th
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
July 31st
Chapter 4
August 1st
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
August 5th
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
August 6th
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
August 7th
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
August 8th
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 36
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 45
Chapter 45
August 10th
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
August 12th
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
August 13th
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
August 14th
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
August 15th
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
August 16th
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Acknowledgments
Twenty years ago I came across a book called The Narrow Land by Elizabeth Reynard. The myths and legends and folk chronicles I found in there are the reason this book exists. My gratitude for background material also belongs to these writers of the past: Henry C. Kittredge for his Cape Codders: People and Their History and Mooncussers of Cape Cod; Doris Doane for A Book of Cape Cod Houses with drawings by Howard L. Rich; Frederick Freeman for The History of Cape Cod; and William C. Smith for his History of Chatham.
Profound and heartfelt thanks to Michael V. Korda, my longtime editor, and his associate, senior editor Chuck Adams. As always, guys, sine qua non.
Garlands to Frank and Eve Metz for consistently terrific jacket design and interior design. Sainthood to Gypsy da Silva for her magnificent copy supervision.
Blessings on Eugene H. Winick, my agent, and Lisl Cade, my publicist, valued companions of this journey called writing a book.
Kudos to Ina Winick for the professional guidance to understanding post-traumatic stress disorder. Special thanks to the Eldredge Library, Sam Pinkus, Dr. Marina Stajic, the Coast Guard Group at Woods Hole, the Chatham Police Department, the Barnstable County District Attorney’s office, Ron Aires of Aires Jewelers. If I didn’t get any of the technicalities straight, it certainly wasn’t your fault.
A tip of the hat to my daughter Carol Higgins Clark for her insight and suggestions.
And now, dear family and friends. If you Remember Me, give me a call. I’m available for dinner.
IN JOYFUL MEMORY OF
MAUREEN HIGGINS DOWLING, “MO,”
SISTER-IN-LAW AND FRIEND
WITH LOVE
August 17th
By 9 P.M. the storm had broken with full force, and a stiff wind was sending powerful waves crashing against the eastern shore of Cape Cod. We’re going to get more than a touch of the nor’easter, Menley thought as she reached over the sink to close the window. It might actually be fun, she thought, in an effort to reassure herself. The Cape airports were closed, so Adam had rented a car to drive from Boston. He should be home soon. There was plenty of food on hand. She had stocked up on candles, just in case the electricity went out, although if she was right about what she was beginning to suspect, the thought of being in this house with only candlelight was frightening.
She switched on the radio, twisted the dial and found the Chatham station that played forties music. She raised an eyebrow in surprise as the Benny Goodman orchestra went into the opening notes of “Remember.”
A particularly appropriate song when you’re living in a place called Remember House, she thought. Pushing aside the inclination to flip the dial again, she picked up a serrated knife and began to slice tomatoes for a salad. When he phoned, Adam told her he hadn’t had time to eat. “But you forgot to remember,” the vocalist warbled.
The unique sound that the wind made when it rushed past the house was starting again. Perched high on the embankment over the churning water, the house became a kind of bellows in a wind storm, and the whooshing sound it emitted had the effect of a distant voice calling out “Remember, Remember . . .” The legend was
that over the decades that peculiarity had given the house its name.
Menley shivered as she reached for the celery. Adam will be here soon, she promised herself. He’d have a glass of wine while she made some pasta.
There was a sudden noise. What was that? Had a door blown open? Or a window? Something was wrong.
She snapped off the radio. The baby! Was she crying? Was that a cry or a muffled, gagging sound? Menley hurried to the counter, grabbed the monitor and held it to her ear. Another choking gasp and then nothing. The baby was choking!
She rushed from the kitchen into the foyer, toward the staircase. The delicate fan-shaped window over the front door sent gray and purple shadows along the wide-plank floor.
Her feet barely touched the stairs as she raced to the second floor and down the hall. An instant later she was at the door of the nursery. There was no sound coming from the crib. “Hannah, Hannah,” she cried.
Hannah was lying on her stomach, her arms outstretched, her body motionless. Frantically, Menley leaned down, turning the baby as she picked her up. Then her eyes widened in horror.
The china head of an antique doll rested against her hand. A painted face stared back at her.
Menley tried to scream, but no sound came from her lips. And then from behind her a voice whispered. “I’m sorry, Menley. It’s all over.”
July 15th
1
Afterwards, steadfastly through the questioning, Scott Covey tried to make everyone understand just how it had happened.
He and Vivian had been napping on a quilt spread on the boat’s deck, the hazy sun and gentle lapping of the water lulling them into sleepy contentment.
He had opened one eye and yawned. “I’m hot,” he said. “Want to check out the ocean floor?”
Vivian had brushed her lips against his chin. “I don’t think I’m in the mood.” Her soft voice was lazy, a contented murmur.
“I am.” He sprang up decisively and looked over the side. “It’s perfect down there. Water’s clear as a bell.”
It was nearly four o’clock. They were about a mile off Monomoy Island. The haze of humidity lay like shimmering chiffon, but a faint breeze had begun to stir.
“I’ll get my gear,” Scott told her. He crossed the deck and reached down into the small cabin they used as a storage area.
Vivian had gotten up, shaking off her drowsiness. “Get my stuff too.”
He had turned. “Are you sure, honey? I’m just going in for a few minutes. Why don’t you just nap?”
“No way.” She’d rushed to him and put her arms around his neck. “When we go to Hawaii next month I want to be able to explore those coral reefs with you. Might as well get some practice.”
Later he tearfully pleaded that he hadn’t noticed all the other boats had disappeared while they napped. No, he hadn’t turned on the radio to check the weather.
They had been down twenty minutes when the squall hit. The water became violent. They struggled to reach the anchored boat. Just as they surfaced, a five-foot wave hit them. Vivian disappeared. He had searched and searched, diving into the water again and again, until his own air was running out.
They knew the rest. The emergency call was received by the Coast Guard as the full force of the fast-moving squall was at its peak. “My wife is missing!” Scott Covey had shouted. “My wife is missing!”
July 28th
2
Elaine Atkins sat across the table from Adam Nichols. They were at Chillingsworth, the restaurant in Brewster where Elaine took all her important real estate clients. Now, at the peak of the Cape Cod season, every table was filled.
“I don’t think you have to eavesdrop to know what they’re talking about,” she said quietly. Her hand moved slightly in a gesture that encompassed the room. “A young woman, Vivian Carpenter, disappeared scuba diving a couple of weeks ago. She bought her house in Chatham from me, and we became very friendly. While you were on the phone I was told that her body was washed ashore an hour ago.”
“I was on a fishing boat once when someone hooked a body that had been in the water for a couple of weeks,” Adam said quietly. “It wasn’t a pretty sight. How did it happen?”
“Vivian was a good swimmer but not an experienced diver. Scott was teaching her. They hadn’t listened to the warning on the radio about the storm. The poor guy is devastated. They’d only been married three months.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds as though it was pretty careless, to go diving just before a storm.”
“Pretty tragic,” Elaine said firmly. “Viv and Scott were very happy. She’s the one who knew these waters. Like you, growing up she spent every summer on the Cape. It’s such a damn shame. Till she met Scott, Viv was kind of a lost soul. She’s one of the Carpenters from Boston. Youngest in a family of achievers. Dropped out of college. Pretty much on the outs with the family. Worked at a variety of jobs. Then three years ago, when she turned twenty-one, she came into the trust her grandmother left her. That’s when she bought the house. She worshipped Scott, wanted to do everything with him.”
“Including scuba diving in bad weather? What does this guy do?”
“Scott? He was assistant business manager for the Cape Playhouse last year. That’s when he met Viv. I guess she visited him over the winter. Then he came back for good in May, and the next thing anyone knew they were married.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Covey. Scott Covey. He’s from the Midwest somewhere.”
“A stranger who marries a rich girl and the rich girl dies three months later. If I were the cops I’d want to read her will fast.”
“Oh, stop,” Elaine protested. “You’re supposed to be a defense attorney, not a prosecutor. I saw a lot of those two. I was showing them houses. They were looking for something bigger. They were planning to start a family and wanted more room. Trust me. It was a horrible accident.”
“Probably.” Adam shrugged. “Maybe I’m getting to be too much of a skeptic.”
They were sipping wine. Elaine sighed. “Let’s change the subject,” she said. “This is supposed to be a festive occasion. You look great, Adam. More than that—you look happy, content, pleased with life. Everything really is okay, isn’t it? With Menley, I mean. I’m so eager to meet her.”
“Menley’s a trooper. She’ll be fine. Incidentally, when she gets up here, don’t mention that I told you about those anxiety attacks. She doesn’t like to talk about them.”
“I can understand that.” Elaine studied him. Adam’s dark brown hair was beginning to show flecks of gray. Like her, he’d be thirty-nine on his next birthday. Long and lean, he’d always had a quicksilver quality. She’d known him from the time they were both sixteen, when his family hired a summer housekeeper from the employment service her mother managed.
Nothing ever changes, Elaine thought. She’d noticed the glances other women had given him when he joined her at the table.
The waiter brought over menus. Adam studied his. “Steak tartare, well done,” he suggested with a laugh.
She made a face at him. “Don’t be mean. I was a kid when I pulled that.”
“I’ll never let you forget it. ‘Laine, I’m awfully glad you made me come up to see Remember House. When the other place fell through I didn’t think we’d hit on a desirable rental for August.”
She shrugged. “These things happen. I’m just glad it worked out. I can’t believe that rental I found for you in Eastham turned out to have all those plumbing problems. But this one is a real gem. As I told you, it wasn’t occupied for thirty-five years. The Paleys saw the place, realized it had possibilities and picked it up for a song a couple of years ago. They’d finished the worst of the renovating when Tom had the heart attack. He’d put in twelve hours on a hot day when it happened. Jan Paley finally decided it was too much house for one person, and that’s why it’s on the market. There aren’t that many authentic captain’s houses available, so it won’t last long, you know. I’m hoping you two will
decide to buy it.”
“We’ll see. I’d like to have a place up here again. If we’re going to continue to live in the city, it makes sense. Those old sailors knew how to build a home.”
“This one even has a story attached to it. It seems that Captain Andrew Freeman built it for his bride in 1703 and ended up deserting her when he found she’d been engaged in hanky-panky with some guy from town while he was at sea.”
Adam grinned. “My grandmother told me the early settlers were Puritans. Anyhow I won’t be doing any renovating. This is vacation for us, although it’s inevitable that I’ll be going back and forth to the city for a few days at a time. I’ve got to do some work on the retrial of the Potter case. Maybe you read about it. The wife got a bum rap. I wish I’d defended her in the first place.”
“I’d like to see you in action in court someday.”
“Come to New York. Tell John to bring you down. When are you getting married?”
“We haven’t quite set the date, but sometime in the fall. Predictably, John’s daughter is less than thrilled about the engagement. She’s had John to herself for a long time. Amy starts college in September, so we figure around Thanksgiving would be about right.”
“You look happy, ’Laine. And you also look great. Very attractive and very successful. You’re skinnier than I’ve ever seen you. Also your hair’s blonder, which I like.”
“Compliments from you? Don’t ruin our relationship.” Elaine laughed. “But I thank you. I am very happy indeed. John’s the Mr. Right I’ve been waiting for. And I thank the gods that you look like yourself again. Believe me, Adam, last year when you came up after you and Menley separated, I was worried about you.”
“It was a pretty rough period.”
Elaine studied the menu. “This one is on Atkins Real Estate. No arguments, please. Remember House is for sale, and if you decide after renting it that it would be a great buy I get the commission.”
After they’d ordered, Adam said, “The phone was busy when I tried Menley before. I’ll give a quick call now.”
He returned a minute later, looking troubled. “Still busy.”
“Don’t you have Call Waiting?”
“Menley hates it. She says it’s so rude to keep telling people ‘wait a minute’ and going off the line.”