The Horseman
     By Gail MacMillan

CHAPTER ONE

The moment Danielle Burgess saw Gull Harbor she knew Elaine Dickens hadn’t exaggerated when she’d called it the far end of nowhere. She could have also added a footnote about its ambiance of utter desolation and still remained well within the realm of truth. Huddled beside the pot holed secondary road, which followed the bay shore’s ins and outs, the little cluster of buildings lay vulnerable to the caprices of the elements for so long it appeared only a shadow of its former self. Neglected and alone the area resembled a dim ghost of a surely once bustling little fishing village.

As Danielle drove closer, she saw that the abject little community consisted of several down-at-the-heels houses, a small Catholic Church surrounded by canted, moss encrusted grave markers and a false fronted general store with a pair of vintage gas pumps in its dooryard. At the far end of the village, she recognized the sharply pitched roof and long, narrow windows of a single-roomed schoolhouse. Boarded up, its yard overgrown with tall, scraggly weeds, it bore bitter testimony to a lack of faith in any resurgence of Gull Harbor’s population.

Just beyond the church and store, a lane cut off from the road that doubled as the village’s main street and led out to a crumbling wharf. There, in a ferry slip, a rusted tugboat clung to a decrepit-looking wooden barge. Beside it an ancient lobster boat, its white paint so tattered and peeling it appeared more derelict than seaworthy, was moored. Not a single human being was in sight.

In fact, as Danielle drove into Gull Harbor, the entire village appeared deserted. Probably the cold, overcast October day keeping the residents indoors she tried to reassure herself.  

As she drove past the general store, her breath caught in her throat. Partly hidden behind the abandoned schoolhouse a small white building bore the label Gull Harbor Detachment of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Elaine failed to mention the Mounties had an office in the village.

She shuddered. She wasn’t cut out to be a fugitive. As the page-three headline in the Monday edition of the Montreal Gazette flashed back across her mind, her stomach knotted.

“Archivist Sought in Disappearance of Faberge Eggs.”

Her stomach knotted further as the rest of the article flashed through her mind. “Danielle Burgess, a twenty-nine year old archivist at the Canada East Museum in Halifax, Nova Scotia, is being sought in connection with the disappearance of several Faberge Eggs. Burgess disappeared last Friday while on a business trip to Montreal. The theft was discovered late last evening when the curator Dr. Gervais Harrison returned from a weekend camping trip and decided to make a check of the facility...”

Her thoughts came back to the moment as she saw a tall, broad shouldered RCMP officer emerge from the building and get into his cruiser. Her heart hammered, her hands gripping the wheel broke out in cold sweat as he started the engine and swung out onto the road. Had he somehow learned she was in the vicinity and was heading out to arrest her? When the officer turned his vehicle in the opposite direction, Danielle was left feeling drained and nauseous.  

How could she have been so foolish? There was really no need to worry about the village lawman. There was no possible way he could know about her. And anyway, she wouldn’t be staying in Gull Harbor. She’d be hiding out on Phantom Island. Feeling slightly better, she snapped on her signal light and turned into the dirt road leading to the wharf.

As she eased her rented Taurus into the rutted lane, she scanned the bay for her new home. It wasn’t difficult to locate. The dark, ragged lump of land sitting alone far out on the iron gray water looked as inviting as Alcatraz. It appeared to be miles away, but Danielle, a lifelong resident of sea front communities in Nova Scotia, knew how deceptive distances over water could be. Scraggly trees bent by the prevailing winds stood scattered raggedly along its zenith. She couldn’t see any buildings. They had to be on the far side of the island, facing out into the bay toward the North Atlantic. 

She stopped the car at the decrepit ferry ramp and got out. Where was this Jimmy Waters person who was supposed to take her out to that dismal place?

The thought had no sooner cleared her mind than a little man appeared out of the cabin of the tugboat. He had to be a cross between a gnome and a leprechaun Danielle instantly decided. Barely five feet tall, he was bent and appeared as old and weathered as the buildings in Gull Harbor. In a ragged plaid Mackinaw, faded overalls, and patched rubber boots, he had a face as brown as leather and as wrinkled as a prune. The sharp, sapphire blue eyes that looked out at Danielle from beneath the peak of his water stained baseball cap, however, were anything but dull or time worn.

“Ya must be the woman what wants ta go out ta Phantom Island ta try ta get a pitcher of the Phantom Ship,” he said looking her over critically. “Well, it’s good ya ain’t lookin’ for anything else ‘cause there ain’t much else out there ‘sides ghosts. Since the cannery closed not even the herrin’ gulls go there anymore.”

“I’m Dani Breckenridge, a friend of Hester Matthews’ niece, Elaine Dickens.” Danielle forced aside her misgivings, smiled, extended her hand and used her alias. “I’ll be staying at Ms. Matthews’ cottage. Elaine inherited it, as you’re probably aware. You’re Mr. Waters, I presume?”

“That’s me.” He took her hand in a strong, firm grip that surprised her. “Only I don’t much like bein’ called mister. Jimmy’s the ticket. Are ya ready ta go? They’re predictin’ heavy fog for ta’night and I’d like ta get back here ‘fore it rolls in.”

“Of course. You mentioned ghosts. I thought the island was named Phantom Island simply because it’s a vantage point for spotting the Fire Ship.”

“Well, sure, that’s part of it.” Jimmy Waters squinted up at her. “The main reason, though, is ‘cause of the Horseman.”

“Horseman?” Danielle’s eyes widened. “What Horseman?”

“Legend has it, he’s the ghost of one of them there Cavalier fellas what stuck up fer King Charles a while back. When the King got hisself beheaded, this fella took his black horse and lit out for America on the next ship. That ship got wrecked off the north end of Phantom Island in a big October storm. Him and his horse were the only survivors. They managed ta swim ta shore but died of exposure and exhaustion at the base of the cliff ya’ll see just beyond the farmhouse. Some fishermen found ‘em there and buried ‘em as best they could. Not long after, they started seein’ a fella ridin’ up and down the beach at night on a big black horse, his cape streamin’ out in the wind, a big brimmed hat with a plume on his head. That’s when they named the place Phantom Island.”

“Does this ghostly Cavalier still haunt its beaches?” Danielle tried to sound casual.

“Naw!” Jimmy flapped his hand disparagingly and scoffed. “He ain’t been seen in over fifty years. Maybe he went back to England to help this here new Charles what’s goin’ ta be King someday.” He squeaked out a chuckle. “Now get aboard. Don’t look like much, but I guarantee it’ll hold yer vehicle. Used to carry some good sized trucks when the cannery was open and this wharf was home to a big fleet of fishin’ boats.”

“What happened?” Danielle indicated the rotting, deserted wharf.

“Big new fish processing plant opened thirty miles down shore. Little operation like the one on Phantom Island couldn’t compete. Folks and boats had to move away. It’s as simple as that.” He paused and heaved a deep sigh. “Now all that’s left is a bunch of us old folks and the Mountie.” He jerked a finger toward the small, white building.

“That’s too bad,” Danielle was anxious to direct the conversation away from Gull Harbor’s lawman. “I suppose it comes under the heading of progress. I do appreciate your coming out to ferry me to Phantom Island, Mr. Waters,” she continued. “It’s an inhospitable day and I’m sure there’s a lot of things you’d rather do.”

“I took Hetty and her cat out there last spring on a day like this,” he said pausing to look out over the water. “But she didn’t get no picture of the Fire Ship that I know of.”

“Maybe I’ll have better luck,” she replied. “I understand late October is more frequently the time it usually puts in an appearance.”

“Yeah, if it ever does.” Jimmy Waters scratched his head under his battered cap. “It ain’t on any schedule, ya know. People has come here and waited and waited and waited for nothin’. Look at Hetty. She come here for years and never got so much as a glimpse of the thing. Finally had a heart attack out there. Lucky she was able to radio for help. I ferried her back ta the mainland only ta see her die in the ambulance minutes later. Shame she had ta pass on without gettin’ even one shot at the thing. Odds are agen seein’ it at all, ya know.”         

“I’ll take my chances.” Danielle struggled to exude a confidence she didn’t feel.

“Suit yourself but don’t count on gettin’ any help spottin’ it from that fella who lives in the farmhouse. He’s blind as a bat.”

“Someone is living in the farm house?” Elaine had said that in addition to the cottage the island had a farm and fish cannery, both deserted for many years. “I thought I’d be alone out there.”

“He just moved in last week.” Jimmy Waters’ tone softened and he shook his head sadly. “Lost his sight in a bad car crash, poor young lad. Still limps a bit, too. Good lookin’ fella, though, I’d guess behind those dark glasses he seems dead set on wearin’ day and night.”

“Why would a blind man chose to live alone on a deserted island?” The thought astonished Danielle.

“Beats me.” The old man shrugged. “His buddy is the constable at the RCMP detachment in the village. He could ‘a gone ta live with him but, no, he was bound and determined ta move out there alone.” He swung an arm to indicate the island. “Him and his wolf.”

“Wolf!” The plot of this real-life nightmare was thickening away too fast.

“Well, he claims it’s a dog but I never saw no dog with eyes like that...pure gold, probably glow like embers in the dark.”  

“Does this blind hermit have a name?”

“Yeah. Andrew Drack, pronounced like in Dracula...you know, the Count.” He chuckled wickedly.

“Who brings his supplies?” Danielle fought back the shiver his attempt at dark humor had showered over her.

“I usually ferry Constable James out with groceries and the like once a week. By the by, if ya want ta get in touch with me ta ferry ya back ta the mainland or anything ya might need, ya’ll have ta call the Mountie on the CB ya’ll find in the cottage. He’ll get in touch with me and I’ll come out directly, weather permittin’. There are no telephone lines out there and they tell me them new-fangled cellular ones don’t work from the island. Maybe the Phantom messes up the transmissions.”

“There’s no other way?” The thought of contacting the RCMP even as a means of relaying a message made Danielle’s stomach lurch.

“Not unless ya got homin’ pigeons on ya.” Again the squeaky chuckle. “Now we’d better get started for the island. That fog bank off to the nor’east looks like its headin’ this way pretty quick. Drive your car onto the ferry slow and easy while I crank up the engine.”

He limped out along the ferry slip and across the barge to the rusted little tugboat. With a grunt, he dropped down onto the deck.

Danielle paused to assess the barge’s makeshift vehicle ramp. It made the approaches Evil Kenevil used for his death defying stunts look like cake walks.

“Are ya comin’?” Jimmy Waters stuck his head out of the cabin as smoke from the diesel engine belched from the boat’s rusting stack.

“Right away,” she replied and climbed back into her car. She drew a deep breath as she started the engine. She shifted into drive and began to ease the rented Taurus gingerly down the ramp.

Her mouth went dry as her hands clamped the steering wheel like vices. Coming to a stop on the old barge’s plank deck, she heaved an immense sigh of relief.  

As the improvised ferry headed out into the bay, she pulled on the emergency brake and got out of her vehicle. She’d have a better chance of survival outside her car if the old boat and barge decided to sink. It would definitely make her feel far less confined.

Danielle hated being a severe claustrophobic. In fact, this debilitating condition was largely responsible for her present predicament. If it weren’t for the intensity of her phobia, she wouldn’t have panicked at the thought of being incarcerated in a jail cell and, without giving a lot of thought to the consequences, fled to this remote corner of northern New Brunswick, a fugitive.

She shivered and turned up her jacket collar against a chill half physical, half-emotional. Any second now she’d wake up and find herself back in her nice, safe cubicle at the museum busily cataloguing artifacts. She’d be wondering if her mother would be serving chicken or roast beef for dinner on the first Sunday after her parents arrived home from Europe. She’d wonder if Barret would be able to join them or if he’d be off piloting yet another Air Canada flight to England or France. She never did get to see enough of her brother. Maybe she never would again. The possibility left her feeling ill as her thoughts went back to how the whole, incredibly terrible mess had started only five days ago.

It began last Saturday morning when she’d arrived in Montreal to inspect a collection of Inuit sculptures at the Museum of First Nations. David McGuire, the museum representative who was supposed to meet her in the lobby of the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, failed to show. She decided she would contact him once she was settled in her room only to discover he hadn’t made the reservations he’d promised to arrange for her and the hotel, due to a convention, was full to the rafters.

A phone call to the facility where he worked produced only an answering machine. It had informed her the place, due to minor renovations, was closed until Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. Further calls to David’s home number and to Dr. Gervais Harrison her supervisor in Halifax who’d given her the assignment, only yielded more automated replies.

When she’d finally turned away from the pay phone Danielle felt thoroughly confused. She went into the coffee shop to think, and there she met Elaine who had been a fellow student at Dalhousie University in Halifax eight years earlier.

After learning of Danielle’s quandary, Elaine quickly invited her to spend the weekend at her apartment and use her place as a base for tracking down David McGuire. Elaine told Danielle she became a private investigator and offered her professional assistance in finding David.

“Hey, listen, maybe that old fellow who was supposed to make the arrangements with this David what’s-his-name got bobbled up, gave the guy the wrong date or something. It could be as simple as that,” she said.

“Dr. Harrison is absent-minded and not always completely reliable when he’s absorbed in several projects like he is right now,” Danielle admitted.

“That’s probably it. So let’s just make the best of it. You said your return ticket is dated Monday. Tell you what. I’ve just finished up a long, tedious job. I could do with a little R and R. Let’s make a Thelma and Louise weekend of it. You look as if you could use some fun and games yourself. Cataloguing old stuff must get pretty dull.”

It had been a while since she had a vacation, she admitted to herself. And apparently, there was nothing she could do professionally, at least not at the moment. Still, she’d been reticent to accept Elaine’s offer. After what happened at Dal all those years ago, she found it difficult to believe Elaine Dickens would even speak to her, let alone befriend her. 

“I know what’s bothering you,” the detective said when she hesitated. “Believe me, that’s all water under the bridge. I’ve grown up since then, totally reformed, and I owe it all to you. Consider my offer to help partial payment for your setting me up for a career in law enforcement, not law breaking.”

Elaine seemed sincere, and a weekend on the town in exciting Montreal was definitely tempting. Danielle knew she could have used her credit cards, gone to another hotel, and gotten through the next couple of days on her own but that didn’t seemed very appealing when compared with Elaine’s offer.

At university Elaine Dickens had a reputation for making the good times roll. Looking at her now with her highlighted red hair and designer chic, silver gray suit, Danielle guessed that ability had only taken on polish and sophistication in the years they were apart. Why not forget the past and have some fun. Elaine seemed ready and willing to do just that.  

“Okay,” she agreed. She hadn’t been disappointed.

Elaine had gone out of her way to make her feel at home in her elegant apartment overlooking the St. Lawrence River in the converted Expo ‘67 complex. She’d shown Danielle into a pale gold and white guestroom with full matching bath. Later she'd insisted on taking her shopping, then to a wonderful dinner at one of the city’s leading restaurants that evening. They'd rounded off the night at one of Montreal’s hottest new nightspot where Elaine seemed to know all the great looking guys.

“Feel free to take one home,” she whispered in Danielle’s ear. “I can make myself very scarce.”

Danielle shook her head.

“Still waiting for some guy on a horse? Hey, I hate to tell you, but there aren’t any of those left,” Elaine had scoffed. “Better latch on to what’s available.”

On Sunday, after a fabulous brunch at a downtown hotel, they’d returned to the apartment and Elaine had begun making phone calls in an effort to find David McGuire. She had no success. Dr. Harrison couldn’t be reached either.

“No use wasting more time on what will likely turn out to be nothing more than a date faux pas,” the detective said finally as she hung up the phone at 6 p.m. “I’m ordering us some take-out.”

They’d finished the weekend sharing pizza in front of Elaine’s fireplace, reminiscing and updating.

“We’ll go to that museum where McGuire is supposed to work,” Elaine said on Monday morning as she returned from the door with the Montreal Gazette. “If they don’t know where he is, we’ll go to the police. Forty-eight hours have elapsed since you were supposed to meet him. The authorities will accept him as a missing person today.”

Then she’d opened the paper, discovering that incredible headline. Danielle’s life had plummeted into an abyss darker and deeper than the river flooding past the apartment complex. By the time Elaine suggested assuming an alias and hiding out at her great aunt’s cottage, Danielle’s panicked mind had conjured such awful images of four-foot square prison cells she was ready to accept any alternative to incarceration.

“It’ll be an adventure, Danielle, like being in one of those plays you were always performing in at Dal,” the detective tried to reassure her. “It’ll only be for a few days. I’ll have this straightened out before next weekend. I’m a great PI. Just look around you. How could I afford a pad like this if I weren’t?”

Now it seemed incredible that she’d so quickly fallen in with Elaine Dickens’ plan, that two days later she was on this decrepit ferry headed toward a lonely island near the mouth of Chaleur Bay in northern New Brunswick. At the time, however, she’d been totally consumed by panic, vulnerable to any suggestion that seemed even remotely an answer to her predicament. In the planning and plotting that followed as rapidly as machine gun bullets, she hadn’t taken time to consider how much more culpable her running away would make her appear.   

For a brief moment she fondled the idea of telling the old man to turn his clumsy ship around and take her back to the mainland. She’d turn herself in to that policeman and hope he’d believe her story.

The moment passed as quickly as it came. Elaine Dickens’ voice came back to her, detailing the immense stack of circumstantial evidence against her. She thought about the possibility of a lengthy imprisonment while the police, convinced they already had the culprit, half-heartedly sifted through any evidence that might serve to clear her. She needed to take Elaine’s words seriously. With her parents off touring Europe and her brother wherever his piloting job took him, she had no one except the detective to discuss her problems with or to come to her defense.

Danielle drew her jacket more closely about her and tried to warm herself with the thought that Elaine was on the case. It didn’t work. The possibility that her college roommate had completely forgiven her began to seem less and less likely as the dreary day enveloped her. After all, she’d ruined Elaine’s college career when she turned the woman in to university authorities for stealing examination questions. Sending her nemesis off to this godforsaken place could be Elaine’s idea of revenge.

Then she remembered the newspaper story and decided it couldn’t be. Elaine couldn’t possibly have arranged for her to be accused of a major art theft.

With an effort she brought herself back to the moment. The fog Jimmy Waters had spotted was moving slowly, insidiously in from the sea, its gray curtain pushing a wave of bone chilling air in front of it. The cold slithered around her and started her teeth chattering. Still she could not bring herself to get back in the car.

“I’ll have ta head back as soon as ya get off.” The old man stuck his head out of the tug’s cabin and yelled at her above the drone of the engine. “Can’t risk gettin’ caught out here in that stuff.” He indicated the thickening mist. “I’ll give ya the key and instructions on gettin’ ta the cottage, first, though.”

“Thanks,” Danielle yelled back and wished she sounded more sincere.

Five minutes later she drove cautiously off the rickety craft and into two wheel tracks leading from the crude ferry landing. The trail crossed hard beach sand, then wound its way through waist-high, frost-killed marsh grass until it vanished into a dark forest of black spruce. She stopped the car, got out, and returned to where Jimmy waited on the barge’s deck.

“Here’s the key ta the cottage,” he said holding out a key ring with a design of a sailing ship in flames on its plate. “Hetty’s key.” He handed it to her carefully. “The lights, heat, and water are all set up, I saw ta that yesterday. All ya have ta do is fuel the generator in the shed behind the cottage every day or so. I left instructions on exactly how ta do that on the kitchen table. They’re easy ta follow. Hetty did it so I reckon a youngster like ya won’t have any trouble.”

“Thanks,” Danielle said again, feeling sincerer this time. The old man did his best for her and she felt truly grateful. “How much do I owe you, Mr. Waters?”

“Ah!” He brushed the idea aside with a wave of a gnarled hand. “I did it for Hetty. I reckon I can do it for friends of her kin. Just don’t call me Mr. Waters no more. The name’s Jimmy.”

His face crinkled into a grin that made Danielle smile back.

“That’s generous of you, Jimmy. Now if you’ll just direct me to the cottage, I’ll let you get back to the mainland before that fog bank engulfs us.”

“Sure, sure. Just follow them tracks back into the trees about a quarter mile. The road branches three ways there. The one on the left will take ya right ta the cottage.”

“And the other two?”

“The overgrown one on the right leads ta the old cannery. The middle one,” Jimmy squinted at her, “Takes ya ta the farm where Andrew Drack and his wolf live.”

“So they’re my next door neighbors.”

“Well, yeah, I reckon. I never thought of it exactly like that.” Jimmy looked back over the water. “That fog’s movin’ in fast. I’ll be goin’. Call the Mountie if ya need anything and I’ll be out directly, weather permittin’.”

He turned and limped back onto his ferry. With a grunt he dropped down onto the deck of the tug and vanished into the cabin. Danielle watched as he fired up the engine with a great belching of smoke and backed the awkward barge out into the water. When he’d succeeded in turning it toward the mainland, she waved farewell, climbed back into her car, and started the motor.

She looked at the wheel tracks leading through the dead marsh grass and into the stand of scraggly trees. Already darkness was beginning to descend over the island. A shiver skittered over her again. For two cents she’d jump out of that car and somehow hail Jimmy to come back for her.

There was no one to make the offer, however. She’d just have to start considering this entire fiasco as an adventure, something to tell her grandchildren…if she survived to have any.

Setting her lips in a hard, determined line she shifted into drive and headed carefully across the beach, through the grass and into the dark forest. Six thirty already, she discovered as she glanced at the dashboard clock. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to get settled into the cottage before complete darkness and the approaching fog overwhelmed the place.

As she entered the forest, she pressed harder on the accelerator and, bumping uncomfortably fast over roots and ruts, sprinted the quarter mile to the fork in the road in the gloom thickening among the trees. She was about to swing sharply to the left when something silver flashed through her headlights.

Her foot slammed down on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop. From the safety of roadside bushes, the big gray animal stopped and swung back to stare at her with glowing yellow eyes.

Andrew Drack’s wolf! Good Lord, did the man let the brute roam free? If so, she’d be confined to the cottage for her entire stay. Definitely no way was she going to chance a cheek to jowl encounter with that creature.

A tap on the window of her passenger door made her start so violently she lunged against her seat belt. Swinging to her right, she saw a man, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, bending over to face in at her.

“Please don’t be afraid,” he called. “I’m Andrew Drack. My dog Aladdin is somewhere nearby. We live at the farm. Are you lost? Can we help?”

Panic congealed into a suffocating blob at the back of her throat. She was hopelessly trapped. The man and his wolf had her at their mercy in the mist and darkness.

“Please...it’s okay. Aladdin and I are harmless.” The mouth below the glasses twitched into a thin smile. “Sadly, I can assure you of that fact.”

The last sentence held just enough pathos to touch her. Slowly she pried her fingers from the steering wheel. After another moment’s hesitation, she rolled the passenger window down a couple of inches.

“Sorry if I frightened you.” His voice seemed gentle, sincere. “Aladdin and I don’t get many visitors. You startled us as much as we must have startled you.”

“I’m not here to visit you, Mr. Drack,” she found her voice to reply. “I’m,” she hesitated a moment over the lie, “Dani Breckenridge. I’ll be staying in the cottage. It belongs to a friend of mine.”

“A neighbor? Well.” His smile weakened.

“Sorry if I’ll be disturbing your solitude. I promise to stay out of your way as much as possible. Actually I’m here to attempt to get a photo of the Phantom Ship, not socialize.”

She indicated the camera equipment Elaine supplied to support her assumed profession piled into the back seat with her groceries, then flushed. She was showing them to a blind man.

“Good luck. That’s proven to be an illusive goal.” He paused a moment, then continued, “Do you need any help getting settled? Aladdin and I have nothing but time.”

The taint of bitterness in the last sentence went straight to Danielle’s heart. She’d been able to scrutinize him more closely now that her terror was ebbing and discovered that he was early thirtyish and from what she could see in the encroaching twilight and around the dark glasses, strikingly handsome. Poor man her compassionate nature murmured. What a dreadful shock the results of that accident must have been for him.

“I’ll be fine but would you like a drive back to the farm? There’s a cold fog drifting in and it’s getting...”

“Dark?” he finished abruptly as she broke off in confusion. “Hey, I do know that. I can still distinguish night and day.”

“I’m sorry. Of course there must be various degrees of being visually challenged...”

“The word is blind. I hate euphemisms.”

“I’m sorry. Again.”

“Well, don’t be.” His tone softened. “I’m the one who should apologize for snapping at you. I’d be grateful for a drive back to the farm. I left Aladdin’s harness back at the house and came out for a walk with only my cane. Now I’m tired of feeling my way. May he have a ride, too?”

“I guess.” Danielle leaned over to unlock the passenger door, then the one behind it. “He’ll have to ride in back with the groceries and camera equipment.”

“He won’t mind.” Andrew Drack straightened up and whistled to the dog. “Come on, boy, this lady is picking us up. Hustle.”

The big silver animal hesitated a moment, then looped to accept the offer. He coiled his body into the small space remaining in the back between packages of bathroom tissue, paper towels, Diet Pepsi, and an oversized camera bag, then settled down to stare at Danielle, yellow eyes glowing, tongue lolling out over gleaming white fangs.

“You mentioned a harness.” She tried to still her trepidations as the dog’s master folded his six foot height and broad shoulders into the car. “He’s a Seeing Eye dog?”

“Among other things,” he replied drawing a white cane inside and shutting the door. He collapsed the walking stick with a few quick snaps and settled back in the seat. “He’s my friend, my companion, my keeper, about all I’ve got right now.” Again she heard the bitterness in his tone.

“What about your friend, the RCMP officer?” She glanced over at him. In a white T-shirt, jeans, and denim jacket, Andrew Drack, at close range, exuded a powerful, sensual attractiveness.

“The Jimmy Waters grapevine must be as fully functional as ever,” he chuckled softly. She liked the sound. It gave a sudden warmth and humanity to the stranger who’d materialized out of the mist and shadows.

“He does seem to know a lot about people and events in Gull Harbor,” she replied.

“He sure does. Jimmy Waters is a good man to know if you need information on the area.”

“Then Elaine got me connected me with the right person.” She was relaxing in his friendly presence; the name of the detective slipped out easily.

“Elaine?” He appeared only politely interested and she almost heaved an audible sigh of relief.

“A friend.” She was equally casual in her reply.

“She knows Jimmy?” He used the same inflection again but this time Danielle felt apprehensive as she replied. Was he pursuing the subject or was she getting paranoid?

“Not really. Her great aunt Hester Matthews owned the cottage on the island. Hester left it to Elaine when she died. Apparently during Hester’s years on the island the old lady and Jimmy became friends. In her will, Hester stipulated that Jimmy be kept on as caretaker of the cottage on Phantom Island when no one was in residence.”

“I see.” He paused, then continued, “I’d like you to reconsider my offer to help you settle in. It’s pretty lonely out here. You might like some company, at least for a little while.”

“No, I’m sure...”

“Listen, Ms. Breckenridge, I thought moving to Phantom Island wouldn’t be all that difficult.” He turned to face her, the humor gone from his expression. “But it didn’t take long for me to be grateful Wade James had insisted on accompanying me. Let me pass his kindness along by helping you.”

“Well...” She hesitated.

“To still any misgivings you may have about me, I’ll call Wade on the CB...I assume you have one in the cottage...and get him to vouch for my sterling character.”

“No, really, that won’t be necessary.” The idea of his telling his RCMP friend about her presence made her break out in a cold sweat.

“I insist. I don’t want you isolated on an island with someone you think you can’t trust.”

“When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” She struggled to make her words sound light hearted and bantering, but she felt trapped as she shifted into drive and headed down the left lane. Her headlights revealed a narrow trail with trees and bushes crowding in on either side. Suddenly she felt as if the whole world was closing in on her.

“’Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley’,” she murmured the line from one of her favorite books.

“Must be pretty gloomy and overgrown to inspire that quotation,” he said as branches and weeds raked the sides and bottom of the car. “It’s from du Maurier’s Rebecca, the second Mrs. de Winter’s words when she dreamed of returning to the mansion that had been a house of horrors for her, right?”

“You’ve read it?” His knowledge of her favorite author startled her and she almost drove into the trees as she took her attention from her driving to glance over at him in surprise.

“Yes, I’ve read all of her books, in fact. My favorite is Frenchman’s Creek. I especially enjoyed her depiction of Dona’s longing for romance and adventure. Have you read it?”

“Yes,” she said.

The man was fascinating in an excitingly nebulous, perhaps even dangerous, way. She felt her heartbeat quicken. Maybe this was the beginning of an adventure.

“You probably enjoyed the Frenchman. What woman wouldn’t be intrigued by a handsome outlaw who materializes nightly from the shadows to sweep a lady off her feet with his unbridled virility?” His tone softened suggestively.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught his expression and guessed he was either teasing or testing her. Maybe a little of both.

“I hope the cottage is in better repair than this road,” she said to bring an end to that line of conversation. Then she flinched as a branch slashed at the windshield in front of her.

“Wish I could tell you. I’ve probably passed it many times during on my walks along the beach.”

As he finished speaking the forest ended abruptly and the wheel tracks emerged into a field her headlights showed to be full of frost killed marsh grass and tangled nettles. The fog Jimmy Waters sought to avoid had rolled in over the clearing. In the gathering twilight the small, square cottage a few hundred yards ahead stood out in a dark, desolate silhouette against a backdrop of thickening mist.

Danielle’s breath caught in her throat. This was definitely the far end of nowhere. She couldn’t possibly live here. She’d turn the car where the trail widened into the dooryard and drive...where? Back to the empty ferry landing with no way of getting off the island? Her hands became white knuckled on the wheel, a sob of despair escaped her throat, and she braked to a jolting halt.

“What is it? Something on the road? What?” Her passenger shot bolt upright, facing rigidly forward.

“No, no.” She hated the stuttering sounds she was making. “It’s just...I didn’t expect the cottage to be...so...”

“Lonely? Must be a lot like the farm. That’s how Wade described it.” He turned to her. “He also said he could see the cottage from my house. Hey,” he continued, as she remained silent. “I’ll start putting on the lights at night. When you look down shore, you’ll see them and know you’re not alone.”

“Thanks.” She forced a smile in his direction and wished she didn’t have to stay on that dreadful island. Lights would do little to dispel the eerie bleakness of the place. Elaine Dickens, please turn out to be on my side and get me out of this mess fast! She begged silently.

She eased her foot off the brake and drove slowly toward the cottage. As thorns scraped against the car she cringed and wondered how much the rental company would charge for damages. In the sandy dooryard she stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine.

Alone on a bleak stretch of shoreline the cottage, at close range, was even less appealing. Its cedar shingles weathered a ragged variegated gray by the changing moods of wind and sea, made the place look worse than the poorest house in Gull Harbor. The white paint that had once been its trim, became cracked and peeled until only a few tattered remains clung to window and doorframes, and a few cracked corner boards. Three rickety plank steps led up to a meter square back stoop where a screen door clung crookedly to a single hinge. A ragged dishcloth hung limp and forgotten from a clothesline supported by gnarled poles that stretched across the sandy yard to the edge of the nettle-infested field.

“We’re here,” she breathed tiredly. “For what it’s worth.”

“Pretty dilapidated, is it?”

“That’s putting it nicely,” she said staring at her new home. “It’s...oh, my God!”

“What?” He shot bolt upright. “What?”

“The curtains twitched! Something is staring out at us!”