Once she was mildly ready to face the day, she sat at the table, drinking caffeine-free tea, which did not help make her more alert. At least the baby had no trouble going back to sleep.
Inside the cottage, it was as quiet as it had been in the fog. Joe had an appointment down-island this morning, so Grandma had announced last night that she’d be “sleeping in.” It was a good chance for Maddie to go back to reading: Maybe she’d be capable of tackling a few of the children’s books.
But something else had to come first, if for nothing else than her peace of mind.
She left the cottage at eight o’clock, too early to visit Rex, but not too early to gas up Orson, then visit the Chilmark Police Station, which she knew covered Menemsha.
Once the tank was full, she pulled into the police station parking lot. Then, armed with the notes and a new resolve to stop being stressed by envelopes left under a rock, a breather phone call, or mystery cars creeping up on her at night, she marched into the building, holding her head up high.
“I think I’m being threatened,” she said to a young officer at the front desk. She recognized him from … somewhere, but had no idea from where.
He stood up and raised his eyebrows. “Threatened by whom?”
Maddie smiled at his excellent grammar, then wondered if she’d ever be able to shed her college professor-ness.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never done anything to harm anyone. But I have proof …” She took the notes out from her purse.
“The chief’s in today,” the young man said. “He’s the one you need to talk to.”
Maddie thanked him and waited at the counter while he vanished down a hall. Then she remembered why she’d recognized him: He’d been the young officer at “the scene” of her accident. Hopefully, he would not hold that against her. Or mention that she’d come close to harming someone then.
In less than a minute, the officer returned and asked her to follow him.
The police chief stood and introduced himself as Ken Lawrence. He was tall and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair and broad shoulders. He looked nothing like the only police chief she’d ever met: Alan Delaney of Green Hills, who was old and had a rounded belly larger than hers was now.
After their introductions, Chief Lawrence sat behind his desk, and Maddie, across from him. The young man, whose name she learned was Officer Lindstrom, sat next to her. The men appeared to be the only two officers in the station at the time.
Without hesitation, Maddie gave a quick synopsis, then handed the chief the notes, one at a time, in chronological order.
GET OFF THE ISLAND. AND DON’T COME BACK.
WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?
WHAT PART OF GET OFF THE ISLAND DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?
And finally:LAST CHANCE.
“After the second note,” she said, “there was a strange phonecall that was only someone breathing. Maybe it wasn’t related, but it was upsetting.” Then she told them about the car following her vehicle too closely in the fog earlier that morning. “I come from a small town where the roads are dark at night, but up-island it’s more remote, and, with fog … well, I guess I’m not used to that yet.”
The chief opened a desk drawer, took out a pair of thin vinyl gloves, the kind people had worn in supermarkets during the first weeks and months of COVID. He examined the notes carefully.
“Has anyone touched these other than you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Well, except for the third envelope. My father found that one. He handed it to me. But he didn’t open it.”
He slipped each note into a separate plastic baggie, sealed it, and labeled it with the date Maddie said she’d received it. Then he grilled her about who might have sent them or if she’d had an altercation, no matter how trivial—in a shop, on the street, anywhere with a stranger who might have found out who she was.
“Not that I can think of,” Maddie replied. “But after the last note—and, even scarier, the vehicle following me last night—I’m afraid for my family’s safety. And that whoever is doing this will try and sabotage my new business.”
The chief nodded, as did Officer Lindstrom.
“Are you new to the island?” the chief asked.
Maddie gave him the rundown of when and why she’d come and that she now was there to stay.
“Wait,” he said, his face breaking into a smile, “you’re Nancy Clieg’s granddaughter?”
“Yes.”
