Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

town, judging by the rusting trucks in the driveways. The only late-model vehicles she saw were in the parking lot of the Bayview Motel, cars with license plates from New York and Massachusetts and Connecticut. Urban refugees who’d fled hot cities for lobster and a glimpse of paradise.
    She pulled up in front of the motel registration office. First things first, she thought; I need a bed for the night, and this looked like the only place in town. She got out of her car and stretched stiff muscles, inhaled damp and briny air. Though Boston was a harbor town, she seldom smelled the sea at home; the urban smells of diesel and car exhaust and hot pavement contaminated every breeze that blew in from the harbor. Here, though, she could actually taste the salt, could feel it cling like a fine mist to her skin. Standing in that motel parking lot, the wind in her face, she felt as if she’d suddenly emerged from a deep sleep, and was awake again. Alive again.
    The motel’s decor was exactly as she’d expected it would be: sixties wood paneling, tired green carpet, a wall clock mounted in a ship’s wheel. No one was manning the counter.
    She leaned forward. “Hello?”
    A door creaked open and a man appeared, fat and balding, delicate spectacles perched like a dragonfly on his nose.
    “Do you have any rooms for the night?” Maura asked.
    Her question was met with dead silence. The man stared at her, jaw sagging open, his gaze riveted on her face.
    “Excuse me,” she said, thinking that he had not heard her. “Do you have any vacancies?”
    “You . . . want a room?”
    Didn’t I just say that?
    He looked down at his registration book, then back at her. “I’m, uh, sorry. We’re full up for the night.”
    “I’ve just driven all the way up from Boston. Is there some place in town I might find a room?”
    He swallowed. “It’s a busy weekend. There was a couple came in just an hour ago, asking for a room. I called around, had to send them all the way up to Ellsworth.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “About thirty miles.”
    Maura looked up at the clock mounted in the ship’s wheel. It was already four forty-five; the search for a motel room would have to wait.
    She said, “I need to find the office for Land and Sea Realty.”
    “Main Street. It’s two blocks down, on the left.”
    Stepping through the door into Land and Sea Realty, Maura found yet another deserted reception room. Was no one in this town manning his post? The office smelled like cigarettes, and on the desk, an ashtray overflowed with butts. Displayed on the wall were the firm’s property listings, some of the photos badly yellowed. Clearly this was not a hot real estate market. Scanning the offerings, Maura saw a tumble-down barn ( PERFECT FOR A HORSE FARM ! ), a house with a sagging porch ( PERFECT HANDYMAN SPECIAL ! ), and a photo of trees—that was it, just trees ( QUIET AND PRIVATE ! PERFECT HOUSE LOT ! ). Was there anything in this town, she wondered, that wasn’t
perfec
t
?
    She heard a back door open and turned to see a man emerge, carrying a dripping coffee carafe, which he set on the desk. He was shorter than Maura, with a square head and close-cropped gray hair. His clothes were far too large for him, the shirtsleeves and trouser cuffs rolled up as though he was wearing a giant’s hand-me-downs. Keys rattling on his belt, he swaggered over to greet Maura.
    “Sorry, I was out back washing the coffee pot. You must be Dr. Isles.”
    The voice took Maura aback. Though it was husky, no doubt from all those cigarettes in the ashtray, it was clearly a woman’s. Only then did Maura notice the swell of breasts under that baggy shirt.
    “You’re . . . the person I spoke to this morning?” Maura asked.
    “Britta Clausen.” She gave Maura a brisk, no-nonsense handshake. “Harvey told me you’d gotten into town.”
    “Harvey?”
    “Down the road, Bayview Motel. He called to let me know you were on the way.” The woman paused, giving Maura the once-over. “Well, I guess you don’t need to show me any ID. No doubt, looking at you, whose sister you are. You wanna drive up to the house together?”
    “I’ll follow you in my car.”
    Miss Clausen sorted through the key ring on her belt and gave a satisfied grunt. “Here it is, Skyline Drive. Police are all finished going through it, so I guess I can walk you through.”
    Maura followed Miss Clausen’s pickup truck up a road that suddenly curved away from the coast and wound up a