"I know the electricity makes it so much easier, especially for the islanders who live here year-round," Mother said. "But I do wish they'd find a way to bury the wires, instead of having all those blue pipes and orange extension cords all over the place. So… untidy, really."
I opened my mouth to explain the impossibility of burying pipes and wires in the island's rocky terrain, then closed it again.
Mother was right. An orange extension cord.
I flipped through the rest of the photos. The extension cord appeared in several, snaking down toward the tidal pool. No wonder all the birders thought Resnick had been killing puffins. They had seen some kind of electrical gadget near the tidal pool.
I closed my eyes and thought back to how the pool had looked when Michael and I had found the body. No, I thought. I'd have seen an orange extension cord. It hadn't been there.
Who had moved it? And when? And for that matter, exactly where had the extension cord come from? Hard to tell from this angle. For all I knew, it came from out in the ocean.
I had to go back to Resnick's house and see.
Chapter 30
The Scene of the Puffin
I grabbed two flashlights, snagged one of Dad's hiking knapsacks, stuffed the digital cameras inside, and went in search of Michael.
I found him backed into a corner, enduring a lecture from two birders.
"--vital for every educated citizen to take action!" one of them was exclaiming as I walked up. He shook his finger in Michael's face. "We cannot afford to sit idly by and watch these large corporations--"
"Sorry," I said, coming up and taking Michael's arm. "Hate to interrupt you, but we have to be somewhere, remember?"
Michael started and looked at his watch.
"Oh, sorry… yes… have to run," he said as we backed away. From their expressions, I could tell the birders wanted to ask what kind of urgent appointment we could possibly have elsewhere on the island at this time of night.
"Hurry!" I stage-whispered to Michael.
We made it to the front door, grabbed two ponchos from the pile of several dozen identical drab, damp ones, and slipped out onto the front deck. Michael looked surprised when I turned on my flashlight, pulled up my hood, and headed for the driveway.
"We're not really going anywhere, are we?" he asked.
"Oh, would you rather stay here and talk to the bird-watchers? I got the distinct impression you didn't mind being rescued."
"I would rather be with you any day, even if it means circumnavigating the island again," he said with an exaggerated bow. "Only it's night, not day; and it's still rather cold and wet out here. Couldn't you have found some way to rescue me that didn't involve going outdoors?"
"We need to go back to Resnick's house," I said. "Something's bothering me."
"What?"
"I'll show you when we get there."
We hiked along in silence. I concentrated on not tripping and falling down, or at least not landing in any large puddles when I did so.
Maybe I shouldn't have dragged Michael out on this wild-goose chase, I thought. For all I knew, he might be getting tired of my amateur attempts to solve the murder and protect my family. But I felt better with his tall form striding along beside me. Not safer, really--I wasn't expecting any danger--just more natural. The idea of going back to Resnick's house, or anywhere else on the island, for that matter, and not having Michael along seemed unthinkable. Quite a remarkable change in attitude for me; stubborn independence and the need for a certain amount of solitude had always been my hallmarks. How odd, I thought, then put the subject away for further consideration after the present crisis. We'd arrived at Resnick's house.
It definitely hadn't fared well. Rain had ruined the finish on the polished wood floor of the entry, and the wood itself had buckled in several places. When we entered the living room, we startled several birds roosting on the exposed high beams of the cathedral ceiling.
"We should chase the damn things out," I said.
"They'd only get back in again," Michael said. "Besides, I thought you hated this place. Wanted it torn down."
"Yes, but I feel bad just seeing it fall apart hike this. Even if it is a pretentious eyesore."
"Is that what we came back for? To make sure Resnick's place isn't falling apart? Or something about the biography?"
"No, it's about the murder."
"I thought we found out it was an accident, not murder."
"We found out it was electrocution instead of a blow to the head," I said. "The accident or murder question is still open. Very open."
"Okay," he said. "So what are we looking for?"
I pulled out the digital camera and showed him the best shot of the tidal pool.