"See that?" I asked, pointing to the orange cord.
"So what?" he said. "They're underfoot all over the island, as the state of my poor mistreated shins can testify. Along with those pestilential pipes."
"Yes, but there wasn't one there when we found the body," I said. "And I don't remember seeing one when we searched the house before. I want to make sure."
"We came up here in the middle of the night to search the house for orange extension cords?"
"Humor me," I said. "Please."
Was my idea so off-the-wall that even Michael wouldn't take it seriously? To my relief, he smiled, shrugged, and began rummaging through the hall closet.
Searching the house didn't take that long. I took the kitchen, while Michael did the rest of the house. Sooner than I expected, we met again in the living room, empty-handed.
"Nothing here," I said.
"The shed!" Michael said, snapping his fingers. "We forgot the shed."
"I hadn't forgotten it," I said. "I'm working up my nerve."
"Strikes you as a little creepy, does it?" Michael said.
I nodded as I pulled my hood over my head and turned for the entrance.
"No reason to feel that way," he said, following me. "Just because Resnick's body was there for--what, half an hour? No reason to get squeamish about the place."
"You're right," I said. "Then I assume you'll have no problem dining at the Anchor Inn if we come back to Monhegan next summer? It's probably the best restaurant on the island."
"On the other hand," Michael said, "who am I to criticize a perfectly normal human reaction?"
"I thought so," I said, throwing open the shed door.
It took us only five minutes to make sure the shed concealed no orange extension cords. Stumbling around the yard with our flashlights took more like half an hour, but still no extension cords.
"Tide's still fairly low," I said. "Let's go down to the shore."
It was still a little wet, but we reached the tidal pool, and after a great deal of peering back and forth between the photo and the landscape, I identified the place where I'd seen the orange electric cord in the picture. I wasn't surprised to see that instead of running along the shore toward Resnick's house, it would have climbed up the cliff toward the center of the island.
"That's odd," Michael said.
"Very odd," I said. "For one thing, it was on the inner side of the pool, so how could it have washed away before his body?"
"And for another, what was it connected to?" Michael said. "Do you suppose the old skinflint ran the extension cord up there and tapped into the power line before it hit his meter?"
"I don't think he ran that extension cord anywhere," I said, craning to look up. We were out of sight of the village, and Resnick's house was dark. The only light I could see was a thin ray shining down from high above us. Probably from the ridge at the top of the island. It reminded me of the glint of light I'd seen when we'd found the body; the glint I'd thought was the reflection from a birder's binoculars.
"Of course," I said. "It's obvious who did it; I'm an idiot not to have seen it sooner."
"I still don't see it, whatever it is," Michael said. "Care to give me a clue?"
"Jim Dickerman," I said. "He's the only one who could have done it. When we thought someone had whacked Resnick on the head, we had too many suspects. Anyone on the island could have done that In fact, Aunt Phoebe did. But now that we know he was electrocuted, there's only one possibility. Jim. No one else could possibly have arranged for the power to come on just when Resnick reached into the tidal pool. He could wait until Resnick touched the water and then flip the switch to turn the generator on. He may have boarded his windows up, but I bet he left enough chinks to see through."
"And his motive?" Michael asked quietly.
"He was afraid of losing the power plant, of course. He didn't know about Binkie negotiating restoration of bail. All he knew was that Resnick was going to take away his precious power plant, and all his mechanical toys. He could easily have rigged the extension cords going down; no one would pay any attention to Jim doing something electrical. Maybe he was the imposter the birders kept talking about, if he slung his binoculars around his neck when he came down here to do it. He probably planned to wait until Resnick picked up the cord. Aunt Phoebe throwing in the sign was just another fantastic bit of luck. Remember how at least one time that day the power came on for only a few seconds? I bet that was him, throwing the switch that killed Resnick."
We stood there for a few moments, watching as the receding waves uncovered more and more of the rocky ledge.