The house had to go.
That’s why he was here.
He crouched in the chilly darkness. It was winter, and the owner had turned down the heat because no one was there for weeks or months.
The wind from the north buffeted the two-million-dollar house, perched on one of the island’s best dunes, a prime spot at the confluence of the river and the ocean, a great spot to watch ships enter the river and to savor magnificent sunsets as they bring satisfying conclusions to happy beach days.
But tonight, the house moaned as the wind blew against it. It was a sad, low sigh of a moan, as if the house knew it was loved no more, that it was doomed, and excited voices would never be heard here again.
Jeff had come from the mainland on a fifteen-foot skiff, lights out, the sound of the small outboard motor
