Darkness First by James Hayman

from Boucher. ‘Yes, I do. My wife Alma’s taught all three of the Stoddard girls each in their turn. According to her, Tabbie’s a totally different story from the other two. Terms of looks she got the short end of the stick. Kind of nerdy looking. Wears these big round glasses. Quiet. Not many friends. Always felt sorry for Tabitha marching through life behind a pair of drop-dead beauties like Terri and Tiff, knowing she was never gonna measure up to either one of them.’
    â€˜Maybe it’s a blessing,’ said Maggie.
    Boucher nodded. ‘I take your point. Long as what happened to her sisters doesn’t screw her up too much.’

12
    9:36 A.M. , Saturday, August 22, 2009
    Eastport, Maine
    M aggie had no trouble finding Pike and Donelda Stoddard’s house at 190 Perry Road. A plain, grey-shingled Cape with a red front door set off by itself on a quiet road. Blinds on the windows either side of the door were drawn. One had a couple of broken slats. Flowerbeds looked weedy and uncared for. A ‘For sale by owner’ sign on the front lawn looked like it had been there a while, a phone number magic-markered underneath. Were the Stoddards trying to sell because they needed money? Or because they wanted to get out of town?
    On the left side of a patchy lawn an American flag hung limply from a white pole. Below the stars and stripes, a bright red flag, its Marine Corps globe and anchor hidden in the folds of the fabric. A ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee Sport sat in the dirt-and-gravel driveway.
    The car had a handicap symbol on its plates and a bumper sticker Maggie had seen often enough before stuck on the rear hatch. It read ‘National Marine Fisheries Service: Destroying Fishermen and their Communities since 1976.’ A bitter but in some ways true sentiment that was shared by just about every Maine fishing family she knew.
    Before going in to face the Stoddards, Maggie called McCabe. There was bound to be press coverage, her name might be mentioned, and she didn’t want him blindsided by events. He picked up on the second ring. ‘Hiya, Mag. What’s up?’
    Maggie could hear a chatter of voices and some music playing in the background. ‘Where are you?’ she asked.
    â€˜Down at Lou’s place, having brunch.’
    Lou’s place was Tallulah’s, McCabe’s favorite Portland watering hole. A big comfortable bar and restaurant halfway down Munjoy Hill with oversized booths separated by tall dividers, great steaks, good burgers and a big enough selection of single malts for McCabe to sample a different one every day for a month, which is exactly what he did when he first started going there. McCabe always said walking into Lou’s place after arriving in Portland and seeing all those bottles was one of the first things that convinced him that he, a born and bred New Yorker, could be happy making a new life in a small city in Maine.
    â€˜A little early for you to be out and about, isn’t it?’ asked Maggie. At 9:30 on a Saturday morning, when he wasn’t working, she half expected that McCabe would be still in bed. Probably, with his girlfriend Kyra.
    â€˜Too damn hot to sleep last night,’ he said. ‘Too hot this morning. Kyra’s away so Casey and I came down here for some cheese omelets and a little cool air.’ Casey was McCabe’s drop-dead gorgeous sixteen-year-old daughter. Wanting someplace more kid-friendly than the mean streets of Manhattan to bring her up was a big part of why he’d moved to Maine in the first place. ‘Why don’t you come on down and join us?’ he asked. ‘Your apartment’s got to be even hotter than mine.’
    â€˜I’d love to. Unfortunately, I’m working. I also happen to be about four hours away.’
    â€˜Really? Where? Working on what?’
    Maggie told him about the middle-of-the-night call from her father. About Stoddard’s murder and