“Yes, like that. Like Christmas trees. But taller and thin at the bottom…”
Bill and Lucy’s last name was Pratt. She did not know anything about where they were from and she never met any friends or relatives. They sometimes spoke of a mother or father but never a sister or brother. She did not know what they did for money or work. They tended to the island, to their garden and the house. She did not know where they went when they left the island on the boat with Rick. Lucy did not leave more than once a month. Bill left a few times a week, but only for half a day, at most.
They were in their early forties, she thought, but as she said, “I’m not a good judge of age.” Lucy was “sort of round at the center” and had long gray hair down to her waist, which she wore hanging all around her face, never in a ponytail or bun. Cass said she could tell Lucy thought it was special, having such long hair, even though it was “gray and frizzy and not something you would ever want to touch.” She had a lot of wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, and a slight gray mustache above her upper lip.
“All of these things are disgusting to me now, so maybe I’m exaggerating them. When I first met her, I found them endearing.”
Bill was very tall and he had brown hair but he used dye. Grecian Formula. She’d seen the boxes in the groceries when they came from the mainland, so she thought he was probably gray on his head.
“What about the groceries? Any receipts, store names on the bags?”
“No. Not that I can recall.”
“And what about brands of food? Anything different, local farms, fresh baked goods, things like that?”
“Yes, there was fresh bread but no names. They came in brown paper bags. The milk brand was Horizon. We had all kinds of brands. Land O Lakes butter. Thomas’ English muffins…”
“How about fruit, fish?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember any names. Just green boxes with berries, blueberries in the summer. Small ones. And lots of fish. Wrapped in white paper. Emma hates fish. Even lobster and shrimp. But there was a lot of fish.”
“White fish?”
“Yes. It was white. Like in fish and chips. Only they didn’t like to fry things, Bill and Lucy. They said it wasn’t healthy.”
Abby sat in a chair, her hands clasped together tightly. This was all useful to locating the island, but it was moving them away from the story, from the answer she’d been waiting for, to the question that had tortured her.
They asked Cass about bills, mail, boats that went past. Did she remember any of their names? “No,” she answered. Boats never got that close to them, because of the rocks and the current, and many of them were small fishing boats. The boat that came to the island was calledLucky Lady.They ran the name. There was aLucky Ladyin nearly every harbor. But the fishing boats…
“What did they look like, these fishing boats?” They showed her pictures from the Internet.
She identified lobster boats, which supported her belief that the island was in Maine.
She told them, too, how the island smelled of gasoline sometimes because of the generator, and they told her this was helpful.
Judy Martin kept interrupting and asking the same questions. “But how did you make it there three years ago and then make it home now without knowing where you were? It doesn’t make sense, Cass! How did you not leave for three years? You’re all asking the wrong questions! Trees and goddamn blueberries!”
One of the forensics pulled out her phone. “Did any of them sound like this?”
She played a recording. She said it was a Maine accent. She explained about the addedrand the longaande,which sounded like “ah” and “eh.” And Cass told them the boatman talked like that.
“Emma used to say he sounded like a hick, which was not very nice, but Rick was not very nice. That’s part of the story. Rick is how I escaped.”
“Yes, yes! The escape. Let’s talk about that.” Mrs. Martin threw her hands into air.
Cass told them that she escaped in theLucky Lady.
“It wasn’t easy. Rick depended on the Pratts for everything, and they did not want us to leave.…”
“Go back to the boat… how far did it take you before you reached land?” they asked.
She told them how the boatman brought her to a dock inside a harbor. She didn’t keep track of the time it took to get there, but it felt like a while. It was pitch-black and hard to tell which way they were going. Then a friend of his let her ride in the back of his truck.
“How long did you ride in the truck? Did you notice the time, the roads, the direction? Street signs, highway names, anything?”
She told them that she stayed under a blanket until they got to Portland so no one would see her. They stopped for gas and she saw a sign. It said Rockland. They stopped one other time for gas and another time on the side of the highway so she could go to the bathroom in the woods.
“It took three hours and fifteen minutes to get to Portland. The roads were slow and curving. We were going south. I saw that sign! Isn’t that enough?” Cass’s voice was shaky again.
