to be somewhere new. To be a stranger.
She got a fried clam roll at the first place she hit coming off the ferry, sitting outside at a wooden picnic table even though the air was cool. It was before the season, she knew, the calendar having just flipped from April to May, but there were lots of people about. She knew Provincetown was famous for its heavily gay population, but the residents and visitors who walked past Kate during her lunch seemed as varied as any place she had ever been to. There were heavily muscled young men in couples and groups, families of tourists, two old women still dressed in their winter coats, both pushing bicycles, a fat man in a business suit smoking a cigar, a group of twenty-year-old women in rugby jerseys. After lunch, Kate wandered, finally checking into a guesthouse up Howland Street. The Spartan room was perfect: painted wooden floors, four-poster bed, no television, and a narrow window with a view toward the water.
She stayed three days, taking long walks, reading several Barbara Pym novels that she’d found in a used bookstore in town, and eating most of her meals at the long curving bar of a Portuguese restaurant on the east side of town. The fear was still there. Walking home after dark, all the footsteps she heard were following her, and the shadows between houses were filled with murderers and rapists. During the day, Kate waited for some drunk driver to veer onto the narrow sidewalks of Commercial Street and crush the pedestrians. She watched the skies for storms that would rip the roofs off the salt-weathered houses. And she even watched for George Daniels, seeing him as she always did in the long-legged strides of distant strangers and in the haircuts of waiters. It was funny that it was still George who haunted her, now that he’d been joined by Corbin Dell and Henry Wood. She knew that Henry, or Jack, as she still thought of him, would show up in her dreams eventually with his twitchy body and his white teeth. It would be okay when he did. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
She wondered if Corbin would ever enter her nightmares. Even though she’d found out that there was strong evidence he was involved in at least two murders, the college girl in London and the woman from Hartford, Connecticut, Detective James had told her that they were now positive Corbin had not been involved in Audrey Marshall’s death.
He had come back from London to save her. Whatever he once had been, he’d changed, hadn’t he?
Packing up to leave Provincetown, a slip of paper fell out from between two sweaters that Kate hadn’t worn on her trip. It was a note from her mom:
Darling, letting you out of our sights and not bringing you back home with us has been the hardest thing I’ve had to do, but Daddy insists you’re okay, and I tend to agree. I want you to know how proud we are of you. We know that life isn’t easy for you at the best of times, and you’ve weathered the worst. Twice. I’ve always been a little fretful myself, but I’m not worried about you now. You are going to be fine. We’ll see you at home soon. Love you, darling, Mummy
Kate read the note several times, then placed it within the pages of the book she was reading.
It was early evening when she got back to Boston. It was warmer in the city than it had been on the Cape, but the skies were half filled with clouds, the air heavy with the possibility of rain. She took a taxi from the harbor to Bury Street, expecting the driver to make some comment about what had happened in the building, but he didn’t. He merely helped her with her bag and left her on the sidewalk in the approaching dusk. The apartment building looked unchanged. There was no police tape, no news vans. The only thing she noticed was a young couple slowing down as they passed the building, the woman pointing toward the windows of Corbin Dell’s apartment.
Kate entered the lobby, surprised to see the doorman named Bob at the station, since he didn’t usually work evenings. He was more surprised to see her.
“Hello, miss,” he said. “Nice to see you.”
“Hi, Bob. I’m actually here to visit Alan Cherney. Do you know if he’s in?”
“I’ll check for you.” He picked up his handset, and after a brief conversation, sent Kate up the stairs toward Alan’s wing.
She had no plans, beyond wanting to see him again. Heart beating, Kate Priddy walked to Alan Cherney’s door. It was open and he was standing there, a nervous grin on his face. She put down her luggage and stepped into the small circle of his waiting arms.