The small mudroom was swathed in darkness. She hit the light switch and glanced quickly around the neat clutter. Rain gear, umbrellas, beach shoes, and a stack of old towels filled most of the space. Two brooms and an aged mop stood in the corner.

She studied the door. It was closed, but it was unlocked. She could not have forgotten to lock up before she left for Pamela’s earlier in the day, she thought. It simply wasn’t possible. She had lived alone in the city too long to neglect such simple precautions.

Even if she had left it unlocked, how had Winston gotten it open? He was a brilliant dog, but he had paws, not hands. It was pushing credibility much too far to believe that he had somehow managed to twist the doorknob and open the door. A specially trained dog might have accomplished the feat, but Winston had never been taught to do fancy tricks.

It was hard to believe that she had left this door not only unlocked but ajar. But she must have done just that. It was the only conceivable way that Winston could have gotten out of the house.

Despair engulfed her. Winston was somewhere outside in the darkness, possibly lost and terrified. If he reached the road, he might get hit by a car.

She whirled around, yanked open a cupboard, and grabbed a flashlight. She would need it. Although there was a moon, the fog was thickening rapidly.

She seized a faded windbreaker from a wall hook, pulled it on, and opened the mudroom door. She stepped out onto the rear porch and switched on the flashlight.

“Winston.”

A faint bark sounded in the distance. It was barely audible above the muted rumble of the light surf at the base of the cliffs, but her heart leaped in relief. Winston was in Dead Hand Cove.

She plunged down the steps and entered the ghostly tendrils of gathering fog. The beam of the flashlight infused the surrounding mist with an unearthly light. With the ease of long familiarity, she made her way toward the path that led down the rocky cliff to the beach.

“Winston. Talk to me. Where are you?”

This time she got a series of hard, sharp, excited barks. They definitely emanated from the cove, but they did not sound as if Winston was moving toward her. She wondered if he had somehow managed to trap himself inside one of the small caves at the base of the cliff.

At the top of the path she paused to shine the flashlight down on the rocky beach. The beam pierced the mist in places, revealing a wide swath of damp sand. The tide was coming in, but it had a ways to go before the water filled the cove. She could still make out the tips of the five fingers. But sprays of foam were already dampening the rocky monoliths. In another hour or so the water would cover all but the tallest of the stones.

Winston barked again, louder this time. She was definitely getting closer to him, she realized. But he was not making any headway toward her.

She started cautiously down the pebble-strewn path that led to the tiny beach. Only the fact that she had used the trail for years and knew it better than she knew the streets of Portland made it possible to navigate it at night with some confidence. The foggy darkness and the slippery rocks made for slow going. Twice she lost her footing and had to grab at a stony outcropping to save herself from a nasty fall.

She was breathing hard by the time she reached the rough beach. Immediately she shone the light along the dark voids that marked the caves.

“Winston!”

Another series of barks sounded in the mist. Behind her now. But how could that be? Fresh alarm swept through her.

She turned quickly to face the fingers. Aiming the flashlight toward the thumb, she started cautiously across the damp sand.

Spray dampened the front of her windbreaker. A wave broke at the entrance to the cove. Cold seawater swirled around her feet. Should have taken time to put on a pair of boots, she thought.

More loud, demanding barks punctuated the mist. Winston was getting impatient. Perhaps he had bounded up onto a finger before the tide returned and was now reluctant to jump down because he would get wet. But that didn’t make any sense. Winston wasn’t afraid of a few inches of water. She gasped when another swirl of cold foam lapped at her ankles.

She started toward the nearest finger and aimed the beam of the flashlight at the top. There was no dog there. Methodically she shone the light on the next monolith. The spray had thoroughly dampened her hair and face now. She would take a hot shower when she got back to the house. She definitely did not need a case of hypothermia.

It was getting harder to see through the ever-thickening fog, but she managed to make out the shape of the second finger. There was something wrong about it.

Another string of tense barks echoed in the fog. Definitely coming from the vicinity of the second finger.

She hurried forward, ignoring the cold water now swirling around her calves. The beam of the flashlight fell on a large square animal cage perched atop the monolith. Winston was inside.

“Oh, my God, Winston! What happened?” She sloshed toward him through the slowly deepening water. “Who did this to you?”

She found the door of the cage and yanked it open. Winston exploded into her arms. He was damp and trembling. She staggered backward under the impact, slipped, and barely managed to keep her footing. Winston lapped happily at her face. The flashlight beam arced wildly in the darkness as she clutched at him.

“After this little incident, I’m going to have more gray hair than you do,” she whispered into his wet fur. “What on earth happened here?”

But Winston had no answers for her.

She carried him quickly toward the beach. “I’m going to call the police. This is a small town. The chief will know which one of the local punks would pull a vicious trick like this. I’m going to press charges. I swear it.”

Winston licked her ear.

She set him down at the water’s edge. “Come on, let’s get you home and dried off. I wonder how long you were out there on that rock? I can’t wait to get my hands on whoever did this. I’ll—”

Winston interrupted her with a low, startlingly savage growl. She flashed the light down at him and saw that his whole attention was focused on the darkness that cloaked the cliff path. The tension in him was the only warning she got.

“Winston, no!” She grabbed his collar just as he leaped forward. “No. Winston, stay.”

He obeyed instantly, but she could feel him quivering with predatory urgency. There was someone in the vicinity of the cliff path. Someone Winston did not like.

Fear crashed through her. She had to assume that whoever was on the trail was the same person who had caught Winston and set him out on the monolith to drown.