Her words lifted the hair on my neck and instantly I was on my feet. I dashed into the bedroom and grabbed my pistol off the nightstand. Lucy was on my heels.

"What is it?" she exclaimed.

"He doesn't have a flashlight," I said as I ran.

Chapter 4

IN THE KITCHEN, I FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR LEADING TO the porch and ran into Marino. We almost knocked each other down.

"What the shit…?" he yelled behind a load of wood.

"There's a prowler," I spoke with quiet urgency.

Kindling thudded loudly to the floor and he ran back out into the yard, his pistol drawn. By now, Lucy had fetched her gun and was outside, too, and we were ready to handle a riot.

"Check the perimeter of the house," Marino ordered.

"I'm going over here."

I went back in for flashlights, and for a while Lucy and I circled the cottage, straining eyes and ears, but the only sight and sound was our shoes crunching as we left impressions in the snow. I heard Marino decock his pistol as we reconvened in deep shadows near the porch.

"There are footprints by the wall," he said, and his breath was white. "It's real strange. They lead down to the beach and then just disappear near the water." He looked around. "You got any neighbors who might have been out for a stroll?"

"I don't know Dr. Mant's neighbors," I replied. "But they should not have been in his yard. And who in his right mind would walk on the beach in weather like this?"

"Where on this property do the footprints go?" Lucy asked.

"Looks like he came over the wall and went about six feet inside the yard before backtracking," Marino answered.

I thought of Lucy standing before the window, backlit by the fire and lamps. Maybe the prowler had spotted her and had been scared off.

Then I thought of something else. "How do we know this person was a he?"

"If it ain't, I feel sorry for a woman with boats that big," Marino said. "The shoes are about the same size as mine."

"Shoes or boots?" I asked, heading toward the wall.

"I don't know. They got some sort of cross-hatch tread pattern." He followed me.

The footprints I saw gave me cause for more alarm. They were not from typical boots or athletic shoes.

"My God," I said. "I think this person was wearing dive boots or something with a moccasin shape like dive boots.

Look."

I pointed out the pattern to Lucy and Marino. They had gotten down next to me, footprints obliquely illuminated by my flashlight.

"No arch," Lucy noted. "They sure look like dive boots or aqua shoes to me. Now that's bizarre."

I got up and stared out over the wall at dark, heaving water. It seemed inconceivable that someone could have come up from the sea.

"Can you get photos of these?" I asked Marino.

"Sure. But I got nothing to make casts."

Then we returned to the house. He gathered the wood and carried it into the living room while Lucy and I returned our attention to dinner, which I was no longer certain I could eat because I was so tense. I poured another glass of wine and tried to dismiss the prowler as a coincidence, a harmless peregrination on the part of someone who enjoyed the snow or perhaps diving at night.

But I knew better, and kept my gun nearby and frequently glanced out the window. My spirit was heavy as I slid the lasagne into the oven. I found the Parmesan reggiano in the refrigerator and began grating it, then I arranged figs and melon on plates, adding plenty of prosciutto for Marino's share. Lucy made salad, and for a while we worked in silence.

When she finally spoke, she was not happy. "You've really gotten into something, Aunt Kay. Why does this always happen to you?"

"Let's not allow our imaginations to run wild," I said.

"You're out here alone in the middle of nowhere with no burglar alarm and locks as flimsy as flip-top aluminum cans-"

"Have you chilled the champagne yet?" I interrupted.

"It will be midnight soon. The lasagne will only take about ten minutes, maybe fifteen, unless Dr. Mant's oven works like everything else does around here. Then it could take until this time next year. I've never understood why people cook lasagne for hours. And then they wonder why everything is leathery."

Lucy was staring at me, resting a paring knife on a side of the salad bowl. She had cut enough celery and carrots for a marching band.

"One day I will really make lasagne coi carciofi for you.

It has artichokes, only you use bechamel sauce instead of marinara-"

"Aunt Kay," she impatiently cut me off. "I hate it when you do this. And I'm not going to let you do this. I don't you give a shit about lasagne right now. What matters is that this morning you got a weird phone call. Then there was a bizarre death and people treated you suspiciously at the scene. Now tonight you had a prowler who might have been in a damn wet suit."

"It's not likely the person will be back. Whoever it was.

Not unless he wants to take on the three of us."

"Aunt Kay, you can't stay here," she said.

"I have to cover Dr. Mant's district, and I can't do that from Richmond," I told her as I again looked out the window over the sink. "Where's Marino? Is he still out taking pictures?"

"He came in a while ago." Her frustration was as palpable as a storm about to start.

I walked into the living room and found him asleep on the couch, the fire blazing. My eyes wandered to the window where Lucy had looked out, and I went to it. Beyond cold glass the snowy yard glowed faintly like a pale moon, and was pockmarked by elliptical shadows left by our feet.

The brick wall was dark, and I could not see beyond it, where coarse sand tumbled into the sea.

"Lucy's right," Marino's sleepy voice said to my back.

I turned around. "I thought you were down for the count."

"I hear and see everything, even when I'm down for the count," he said. I could not help but smile.

"Get the hell out of here. That's my vote." He worked his way up to a sitting position. "No way I'd stay in this crate out in the middle of nowhere. Something happens, ain't no one going to hear you scream." His eyes fixed on me. "By the time anyone finds you, you'll be freeze-dried.

If a hurricane don't blow you out to sea, first,"

"Enough," I said.

He retrieved his gun from the coffee table, got up and tucked it in the back of his pants. "You could get one of your other doctors to come out here and cover Tidewater

"I'm the only one without family. It's easier for me to move, especially this time of year."

"What a lot of bullshit. You don't have to apologize for being divorced and not having kids."

"I am not apologizing."

"And it's not like you're asking someone to relocate for six months. Besides, you're the friggin' chief. You should make other people relocate, family or not. You should be in your own house."

"I actually hadn't thought coming here would be all that unpleasant," I said. "Some people pay a lot of money to stay in cottages on the ocean."

He stretched. "You got anything American to drink around here?"

"Milk."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Miller."

"I want to know why you're calling Benton. I personally think it's too soon for the Bureau to be involved."

"And I personally don't think you're in a position to be objective about him."

"Don't goad me," I warned. "It's too late and I'm too tired."

"I'm just being straight with you." He knocked a Marlboro out of the pack and tucked it between his lips. "And he will come to Richmond. I got no doubt about that. He and the wife didn't go nowhere for the holidays, so my guess is he's ready for a little field trip right about now.

And this is going to be a good one."

I could not hold his gaze, and I resented that he knew why.