Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

the creak of the porch swing, its seat frosted with windblown snow.
    “Just break in,” said Elaine. “This is an emergency.”
    Doug turned the knob, and the door swung open. He glanced back at the others. “Let’s hope no one’s waiting in there with a shotgun.”
    Inside the house, it was no warmer. They stood shivering in the gloom, exhaling steam like five fire-breathing dragons. The last gray light of day was fading in the window.
    “Does anyone happen to have a flashlight?” asked Doug.
    “I think I do,” said Maura, hunting in her purse for the mini Maglite she always carried while on the job. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I just remembered I left it at home. I didn’t think I’d need it at a conference.”
    “Is there a light switch somewhere?”
    “Nothing on this wall,” said Elaine.
    “I can’t find any outlets at all,” said Arlo. “There’s nothing plugged in anywhere.” He paused. “You know what? I don’t think this place has any electricity.”
    For a moment they stood without speaking, too demoralized to say a word. They heard no clocks ticking, no refrigerators humming. Just the vacuum of dead space.
    The sudden clang of metal made Maura jump.
    “Sorry,” said Arlo, standing near the hearth. “I knocked over one of the fireplace tools.” He paused. “Hey, there are matches here.”
    They heard the
whick
of a match head being struck. In the flickering light of the flame they saw firewood stacked by the stone hearth. Then the match went out.
    “Let’s get a fire going,” said Doug.
    Maura remembered the newspaper she’d bought at the gas station and pulled it out of her purse. “You need some paper to get it started?”
    “No, there’s a pile right here.”
    In the darkness, they heard Doug rummage for kindling, crumpling newspapers. He struck another match and the paper caught fire.
    “Let there be light,” said Arlo.
    And there was. And heat, too, blessed waves of it as the kindling lit. Doug added two logs to the fire and they all moved close, savoring the heat and the cheery glow.
    They could see more of the room now. The furnishings were wood, plain and simply made. A large braided rug covered the wood floor near the hearth. The walls were bare, except for a framed poster of a man with coal-black eyes and a thick mane of dark hair, his gaze turned reverently toward the heavens.
    “There’s an oil lamp here,” said Doug. He lit the wick and smiled as the room brightened. “We’ve got light and we’ve got a nicepile of wood. If we just keep that fire going, it should start to get warm in here.”
    Maura suddenly frowned at the hearth, which was still littered with old ashes. The fire was burning cleanly, the flames leaping up like jagged teeth. “We didn’t open the flue,” she said.
    “It seems to be burning okay,” said Doug. “There’s no smoke.”
    “That’s my point.” Maura crouched down and looked up at the chimney. “The flue was already open. That’s weird.”
    “Why?”
    “When you close down your house for the winter, wouldn’t you normally clean up the old ashes and close the flue?” She paused. “Wouldn’t you lock your door?”
    They were silent for a moment as the fire burned, consuming wood that hissed and popped. Maura saw the others glance nervously around at the shadows and knew that the same thought must be going through their heads.
Did the occupants ever leave?
    Doug rose to his feet and picked up the oil lamp. “I think I’ll check out the rest of the house.”
    “I’m coming with you, Daddy,” said Grace.
    “Me, too,” said Elaine.
    Now they were all on their feet. No one wanted to be left behind.
    Doug led the way down a hallway, and the oil lamp cast moving shadows on the walls. They entered a kitchen with pine floors and cabinets and a wood-burning cookstove. Over the soapstone sink was a hand pump for drawing well water. But what drew everyone’s attention was the dining table.
    On that table were four plates, four forks, and four glasses of frozen milk. Food had congealed on the plates—something dark and lumpy alongside concrete mounds of mashed potatoes, all of it coated in a fine layer of frost.
    Arlo poked a fork at one of the dark lumps. “Looks like meatballs. So which plate do you suppose was Baby Bear’s?”
    No one laughed.
    “They just left their dinner here,” said Elaine. “They pouredmilk, set food on the table. And then …” Her voice faded and she looked at Doug.
    In the