Chapter 15: The Cove Burns

The map swung back and Stefano was standing in the opening.

His hand was wrapped in a table napkin, and it was already red through.

"They've gone down to the cove," he said. "You have maybe ten minutes."

"Stefano," Dario said.

"Take her out through the kitchen garden. The shed side has no cameras."

I stared at him.

"The shed," I said.

His face changed.

"I know," he said. "I know what's in it. There isn't another way that doesn't pass a guard."

I walked down the servants' stair with Dario at my back.

My legs were steady and my stomach was not.

The garden door was cold on my palm.

Beyond the wet lawn the shed stood at the end of the path, and its lock hung open the way it had hung that morning.

I walked past it without turning my head.

Dario matched my pace and said nothing, which was the kindest thing anyone had done for me all week.

Stefano came out behind us and pressed something into Dario's hand, a small black radio.

"Channel nine," he said. "If you need a man, I'm that man. Tell me where, and I'll come alone."

"Why would I need you?"

"You wouldn't. She might."

I did not answer, and Stefano did not ask me to.

We went over the low wall and down the rocks to the water.

The skiff was waiting where Dario had tied it.

He took the oars, and I sat in the bow in his grey coat with the brown file in my lap.

The lake was black and still.

We had gone half a mile when the first orange light came up behind us.

I turned.

On the far side of the cove, where Dario's long low boat house stood on its pilings, the roof had caught.

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