“Yeah.”

“Raoul? It’s Micky.”

Micky Glenn, his foreman. “Micky. Listen, I know what happened. I’ll be out there as soon as I can. I have a situation here with my family.”

“You’ve seen the paper?”

“What paper?”

“The Cape Cod Times. About the missing woman? Kayla’s name is in it, and yours. And Ting’s. It sounds pretty incriminating, Raoul.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

“No, we have delivery. I’ll read it myself.”

“Okay, whatever. You’ll be here soon?”

“Soon as I can.”

Raoul flew out the front door. It was hot already, and the air smelled of grass and dirt and the nearby ocean. Raoul walked barefoot through the front yard to the end of the driveway where the fat Sunday edition of the Cape Cod Times lay in a plastic bag. Raoul looked around at his neighbors’ houses- quiet. Raoul slid the newspaper out of its plastic and scanned the front page. At the bottom in the right-hand corner was the headline: WOMAN MISSING OFF NANTUCKET’S GREAT POINT. Raoul moved slowly up the driveway, reading.

NANTUCKET, MASS.

A woman disappeared off the coast of Nantucket Island early Saturday morning, Nantucket police officials said. Antoinette Riley, 44, longtime island resident, was swimming with two friends: island attorney Valerie Gluckstern and Kayla Montero, wife of construction baron Raoul Montero, builder of the Ting home in Monomoy. Mrs. Montero alerted police at 1:40 A.M. that Riley was missing. She told police that Riley danced into the water after consuming a significant amount of alcohol, and was apparently swept away by the riptide.

Detective Dean Simpson of the Nantucket Police Department said no body had been found, although the coast guard and Nantucket Fire Department had dispatched search parties based on information given to officials by Montero.

“We haven’t ruled out the existence of foul play,” Detective Simpson said. “These women call themselves the “Night Swimmers’ and they’ve been practicing dangerous and unorthodox rituals for years-skinny-dipping in tricky waters, drinking champagne. Suspicious circumstances surround Ms. Riley’s disappearance, although we haven’t brought formal charges against Mrs. Montero or anyone else yet.”

The detective went on to say that according to the coast guard’s mathematical formulas, had Riley swum with her full strength, her body would most likely have been recovered. Thus officials feared she was hurt or poisoned before entering the water.

“There is an extensive and complicated past between these three women,” Detective Simpson said. “And especially between Mrs. Montero and the missing woman. Some questionable factors have come to our attention, and we feel Ms. Riley’s disappearance requires further investigating.”

Citizens with information about the disappearance should contact the Nantucket Police Department.

Raoul threw the paper into the front seat of his truck. He had to keep the article out of Kayla’s hands for as long as he could. He wondered what exactly had happened at the police station. It sounded like they were trying to pin this on Kayla, and Val, too, though Raoul couldn’t imagine Val tolerating that. He would have to get the whole story later. As soon as he made his excuses inside, he was off to the Tings’.

Somehow Kayla had finished making both the waffles and the bacon, and three out of four kids were sitting at the table eating. Jennifer had joined Luke and Cass; she was chewing a dry waffle one square at a time. Kayla, who was always so concerned about Jennifer’s eating habits, didn’t even seem to notice. She sat at the breakfast bar, watching the kids eat, but it was obvious to Raoul that her mind was somewhere else.

“Where’s Theo?” Raoul said.

“Upstairs in his room,” Luke reported. “He said he’s not hungry.”

“What’s going on, Dad?” Jennifer said. “Did they find Aunt Antoinette?”

“No,” Raoul said.

The phone rang. Jennifer stood to answer it.

“Don’t you dare,” Raoul said. “This morning nobody answers the phone. Not even Mommy.”

“What if it’s Amy?” Jennifer said. “We’re supposed to go to the beach today.”

“If it’s Amy, she can leave a message and you can call her back,” Raoul said. He looked at Kayla. “Okay, Kayla? Don’t deal with anybody until I get back.”

“Get back from where?”

“I have to go to Monomoy.”

“For God’s sake, Raoul…”

“This isn’t optional. I have to go check on a problem that’s come up, and after I’ve dealt with it, I’ll come home. Okay? In an hour or two?”

Kayla said nothing, though Raoul could tell she was pissed. Her day was only going to get worse, but she didn’t have to know that yet.

“Home soon,” he said, grabbing his truck keys. “Don’t answer the phone.”

Raoul was hungry, starving, and he wished he’d eaten one of those waffles. He pulled up in front of Island Bakery. He’d get a couple of doughnuts and a cup of good coffee.

Tanner Whitcomb, owner of the bakery, saw Raoul as soon as he walked in. Tanner was Raoul’s age, skinny, a former cocaine user who was still constantly nervous and antsy. He wore a Red Sox hat and a long white apron smeared with lipstick-pink icing. Raoul had remodeled the bakery for Tanner fifteen years earlier during the height of Tanner’s drug habit; it was one of Raoul’s first big jobs, and so he didn’t mind when Tanner was late paying him. Behind the counters were built-in baker’s racks. Raoul had sanded each shelf of those racks by hand while Tanner and his buddies hung out in the back, sniffing lines off of cookie sheets.

Raoul smiled. “Tanner.”

Tanner looked past Raoul out the door. “Is the murder suspect out there in your truck?”

Raoul paused. Tanner’s voice was good-natured, playful-so maybe that was how folks on the island would treat this, as a joke. A silly assumption made by the overzealous police, who had nothing to do in the summertime but write parking tickets and break up high school beer parties.

“No, she’s at home,” Raoul said. “Sharpening knives.” He gazed down into the glass cases. There was a whole section of doughnuts iced with the garish pink. “Three bear claws,” he told the flame-haired Irish girl behind the register. “Three of those cream horn things, and a chocolate éclair.” He turned back to Tanner, who gawked at him.

“I was kidding, Tanner,” Raoul said.

Tanner stuffed his hands in the large front pocket of his apron. “I don’t know, Raoul,” he said. “It sounds like Kayla got herself in a heap of trouble with the law.”

Raoul paid the girl, dropped his change and an extra dollar into the tip jar, and took his bag. Then he squeezed Tanner’s arm hard enough to show him that it would be easy to break.

“You, my friend, shouldn’t pass judgment on anyone,” Raoul whispered. He let go of Tanner’s arm and strode out to the truck. He pulled away as quickly as he could, and then he realized that he’d spaced the coffee.

At the Ting house, there were three trucks in the driveway: Micky’s Durango, Carter’s sorry-looking Toyota pickup, and Jacob’s Bronco. Technically, his crew had the day off. Holiday weekend. Carter had tiling to do, and Micky was there to check out the vandalism, but Jacob? Why was Jacob around? The person they needed was Colin Freed, the plaster guy. Not Jacob.

As Raoul walked into the house, he stuffed a cream horn into his mouth. “Hello!” he cried out with a mouthful of icing. “Micky?”

“In here.” Micky, Carter, and Jacob stood in the living room gaping at the damage. The walls of the living room were gouged open so that the joists were exposed. The drywall lay in ragged sheets and crumbling piles. It would all have to be torn out and redone.

“What I can’t figure out,” Micky said, “is why anyone would want to do this. Do you think it was somebody from another crew?”

Raoul looked at Jacob. The night before as they drank the vodka, Raoul had sworn Jacob to secrecy about Theo and Antoinette. He wondered if Jacob suspected this vandalism was Theo’s. Raoul felt guilt clog his throat. He needed something to drink. “Listen, guys. I know who did it.”

Carter sucked in his breath. He looked like such a goof, wearing his safety goggles over his glasses. Raoul tried to remember why he had ever hired Carter in the first place. His work was good, but he was very slow. ““Who?” Carter said.

‘Theo,” Raoul said. “My son.”

“Well, shit,” Micky said. “In that case, I wish I hadn’t called the police.”

“You called the police?” Suddenly it felt like Raoul had eaten a pastry filled with cement. “Does anybody have any water? Or coffee?”

Jacob held out a Coke. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Raoul said. He swilled some down. “I can’t believe you called the police. Why the fuck did you do that? You should have waited until I got here.”

“I think a better question is, Why did Theo knock the walls in?” Micky said.

Again, Raoul looked at Jacob. Jacob had his arms crossed in front of him and was staring at the floor. “Have you called Colin?” Raoul asked. “He’s going to have to come in and fix it.”

“Colin?” Micky said. His freckled face reddened. “You’ll excuse me for saying so, Raoul, but you should be the one to fix the walls. You or Theo, but I’d say you, since you’re the one who knows how.”

Raoul glared at Micky. The guy was Irish, and Catholic, and he went to Mass every Wednesday before work. He had a conscience, and that was why Raoul made him foreman so many years ago. Now Raoul wanted to punch him. Except that he was right.

“Fine,” Raoul said. “I’ll fix the walls myself. But it’s not going to happen today, and it’s not going to happen tomorrow. I have to get home to my family. So, Micky, you take a couple of days off, and Carter, you get your ass in gear and don’t leave until bathroom number three is finished. Do you hear me? Finished!” Raoul’s anger was mounting-the vandalism, the newspaper article, Micky-and his head hurt. Suddenly, Raoul was left alone in the room with Jacob. Jacob, who thought it was okay to get high with Kayla.