Stuart Woods - Dark Harbor

“Sounds nice.”

“Had to be; the court has to approve it for Benito’s visits.”

“When do you close?”

“Yesterday,” Dino said. “Things move fast when it’s an all-cash deal. I’ve already got a designer working on the renovations and buying me some furniture.”

“You’re going to let a designer furnish the place?”

“Jesus, Stone, you think I give a shit about furniture? I told her, make it nice for the kid so the court will sign off on it. She’s going to get it painted, put in some new stuff in the kitchen and get the floors refinished. I’ll be in it in a month.”

“Dino, it’s New York; nothing happens in a month.”

“This designer lady is a real hard-ass; she’ll get it done. She’s already got her people lined up, and she gets paid more if it’s ready on time.”

“And you’re letting her pick out everything ?”

“I picked out the TVs and the stereo and my chair for the den. The rest is up to her.”

“Good luck.”

“Listen, I’m a better judge of people than I am of furniture. Anyway, it’ll piss off Mary Ann if I’m in a really nice place, and I’ll enjoy that.”

They drove in silence until they got to the house and started unloading Dino’s bags.

“I just thought of something,” Dino said.

“What?”

“Hal Rhinehart.”

“What about him?”

“I heard a pretty good rumor one time from a guy on the organized crime task force that Rhinehart was doing some contract hit work, but they could never nail him.”

That stopped Stone in his tracks. “Why don’t you get on the phone and find out whether Rhinehart has jumped parole?”

DINO PUT THE PHONE DOWN. “Rhinehart must have a very smart lawyer; he did a deal that allows him to live up here and report in by phone every week.”

“Ankle bracelet?”

“I didn’t ask,” Dino said, “but he could be out of range up here.”

“Put your stuff in the guest house, then let’s go see Rhinehart.”

“You know where he lives?”

“No, but I know how to find out.”

THEY WENT BACK to the Dark Harbor Shop, and Stone led Dino to the rear office, where he rapped on the door. The man at the desk looked up.

“Hi,” Stone said, “I’m Stone Barrington, and this is Dino Bacchetti.”

The man stood up. “Jimmy Hotchkiss.”

“You’re Seth’s cousin, right?”

“Right, and you’re Dick’s cousin.”

“Right.”

“Take a seat.” Jimmy waved them to a pair of rickety chairs next to the desk.

“We were in here earlier and saw somebody we used to know,” Stone said.

“And who would that be?”

“His name is Harold Rhinehart.”

“Sure, I know Hal.”

“You know where he lives?”

“Yep. It’s about three miles north on the main road. You’ll see a sign: RHINEHART CABINETS.”

“He’s a cabinet maker?”

“And his father before him. Hal took over the business when his old man died a few years back.”

“He grew up on the island?”

“Yeah, then he went away to some tech college in New York State, and we didn’t see much of him after that, until he came back and took over the business. His dad was sick then, lived a few more months. Hal grew up in that shop, though, so he didn’t have any problem taking over.”

“Is there a police officer on the island?”

“Constable,” Jimmy said. “You’re looking at him.”

“Jimmy, have you had any reports of burglaries on the island?”

“Over what period of time?”

“After Hal Rhinehart came back.”

Jimmy looked at them both carefully before replying. “What’s your interest in this?”

“Dino is a police lieutenant in New York. He and I used to be partners in the NYPD, and we arrested Rhinehart for burglary a few years back.”

“I heard about that,” Jimmy said. “I also heard from his parole officer-indirectly, through the state police-when he came back.”

“That’s what we were wondering about,” Dino said. “How Rhinehart could be here, when he’s supposed to be on parole.” As if he didn’t know.

“Apparently, he arranged things with his parole officer when his dad got sick,” Jimmy said. “He reports by phone, I’m told.”

“You never answered my question, Jimmy,” Stone said.

“Which question was that?”

“Have there been any burglaries on the island since Rhinehart came home?”

“No.” Jimmy took a long beat. “But Camden and Rockland have had a rash of them. You think it’s Hal?”

“What kind of burglaries?”

“What do you mean?”

“Big, small? Jewelry, lawnmowers, what?”

“Jewelry and cash, it said in the paper.”

Stone and Dino exchanged a glance.

“We had some burglaries here, too,” Jimmy said.

“When and how many?”

“When Hal was a teenager; a dozen or more. Come to think of it, they stopped when he went to college. I never made the connection.” Jimmy sighed. “I hope to hell this new rash is not Hal’s doing. We need a cabinet maker around here; you go to the mainland for something like that, and it’s a lot more money, and Hal’s gotten to be as good as his dad.”

“I expect the folks in Camden and Rockland wouldn’t feel the same regrets you would, if he turned out to be the guy,” Stone said.

“You want me to talk to him?” Jimmy asked.

Dino spoke up. “Let me do that,” he said.

“Okay, you’re the pro; I’m just here to call the state boys if sort of-thing happens. You want me to call them about this?”

“Not yet,” Dino said.

THE CABINET SHOP was in a low building behind a neat, shingled house close to the road, and the smell of sawdust rolled over Stone in a wave of memory. All woodworking shops smelled like this, and his father’s shop had been no exception. It was a clean, fresh smell, sometimes tinged with burning when a saw cut hardwood.

There was a lot of machinery, some of it not new. A huge band-saw appeared to be at least fifty years old, but it was clean, rust-free and well oiled. Three men were working on different machines, each with hearing protection and goggles. Half a dozen newly completed kitchen cabinets hung on a wall, awaiting painting and hardware.

Stone let Dino take the lead into the Shop. He could do most of the talking, too, and it was just as well, given the size of the lump in Stone’s throat brought on by the scent of sawed wood.

A tall man near the front of the shop switched off his machine when he saw them enter. He pulled off his earmuffs and let the goggles fall to his neck as he walked slowly toward them. “This way,” he said, beckoning. He led the way into a spacious office containing an old rolltop desk and a large drawing table. Rolls of plans protruded from pigeonholes next to the desk. He pointed to a pair of nicely built chairs, and they sat down.

“Remember us?” Dino asked.

Rhinehart nodded but didn’t speak.

“Wonder why we’re here?”

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly. His voice was deep. “I didn’t think we had any further business.”

“Looks like we do,” Dino said. “There’ve been a bunch of burglaries.”

“In Camden and Rockland? I knew the state cops would get around to me sooner or later, but why is the NYPD interested?”

“Your parole officer wants to know if you’re involved, Hal,” Stone said.

Rhinehart shook his head. “I haven’t been off the island since I got back here. I’m confined to it, according to my agreement with my parole officer. I can’t get on the ferry, unless I have his permission, and I’ve made a point of not leaving.”

“Do you own a boat?” Dino asked.