The Wall #976318

It is odd, how one’s ideas can change. A month ago I never wanted to see the island again, or this old house. But it is quiet now. When the sheriff drops in his visits are purely social. He inspects me with a critical eye and scowls.
“Still looking kind of peaked, young woman,” he says disapprovingly.
“What would you expect?” I inquire. “If you enjoyed this summer, I certainly did not.”
He is likely to grin and, taking out his old pipe, gaze out over the bay.
“Always did say this was the best view anywhere about,” he observes, and smokes contentedly.
It was he who finally solved our mystery for us, although toward the end a small army of deputies, detectives, constables and even two New York detectives were working on it.
He worked practically alone, rattling about in his disreputable old car, and once even rather nervously taking to the air.
“Never knew I had a stomach until then,” he said.