Matthew stared at the headstone, the coffee, then back at her. “Sure. We can sit for a while.”
They sat and watched the five ducks on the pond, the breeze occasionally fluttering its surface. Shannon became lost in thought, and he chose not to interrupt her. The date and the purpose they were here was obvious. Shannon hoped Flynn would visit his wife and son on the anniversary of their deaths. After all, didn’t he visit Jessica’s grave on the anniversary of her death every year, regardless of his health or the weather or what travel arrangements he had to make to be back in town? Still, this was a very long-shot hope on Shannon’s part.
Matthew took off his ball cap and put it on Shannon. She smiled and angled it best for her eyes. “Thanks.”
They drank their coffee and continued watching the ducks. He figured eventually he might be able to talk her into a walk around the cemetery rather than just sitting here.
He’d put together what he hoped would be a decent Fourth of July plan, but he wanted to wait and introduce the idea over dinner tonight when he could talk some about Becky, why he would be in Boston, and why he didn’t want Shannon anywhere near a fireworks display. He was anticipating some strong pushback—insisting she could handle hearing fireworks without suffering some kind of bad reaction. He could hear her arguments already. Maybe she could or maybe she couldn’t, but he didn’t want to take the chance.
They’d likely have their first version of a fight over the topic, and he wondered what that would look like with Shannon. He doubted it would mean tears, probably just the collision of stubborn wills. He wasn’t going to give her a choice. Being out of the range of fireworks was a safety matter for her emotional health, and he’d secure cooperation from her however he needed to do so. Yet he wasn’t looking forward to the disagreement he expected to arise.
Shannon reached over and put her hand on his arm, interrupting his thoughts. Matthew looked up, didn’t see anything out of the ordinary around them but could feel the change in Shannon.
The man who’d stopped at the graves looked like he was in his late thirties. A good-looking man, wearing casual slacks and a golf shirt, a neat haircut and close shave. He picked up the coffee and walked straight over to them.
Shannon beside him quivered but stayed seated. Her smile literally beamed from her face. “Hello, Flynn. I’m so glad you came. It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise, Annie.” His voice was a surprisingly mild baritone.
“Which message reached you?”
“Let’s see, the one with you yelling ‘Where are you?’ in my voicemail was pretty loud. And you swiped my favorite baseballs. I was somewhat surprised you didn’t acquire my car, just to leave me a message I couldn’t miss, since you liked to drive it so much,” he commented, looking amused. “Did you pick up your journals from the cabin?”
“Yes.”
“Calling you back would have just . . . complicated what I needed to do. I’ve got company. The blue van at the east side of the lot. Leah wants to say hi.”
Shannon bolted to her feet. “She’s alive?”
“Peter’s boat sank. It rather messed up his plans to dock in San Diego. I took Leah with me.” He held out a fist, and she bumped hers against his.
“You didn’t . . .”
He shook his head. “He didn’t get what he deserved, much as I regret not delivering it. I just pumped the ballast tanks the wrong direction and crippled the boat, let the Coast Guard pay him a visit. He decided he’d rather scuttle her. He’s probably still in their system, being processed through, if someone should want to find him.”
“Thank you!” She headed toward the parking lot, but then paused to ask, “George?”
“Angrier than a hornet. I’d rather not let him find me at the moment. Go say hi to Leah. She’s been chatting my ear off since California about your exit plans that got interrupted.”
“Where did she decide she wants to go?”
“Nella’s. Don’t ask me why a monastery appeals, but that’s her choice. We’ll be there this afternoon, I’m thinking. She’s expected.”
“I’d hug you, but you’d get the wrong idea.”
Flynn chuckled. “Then go hug her, Annie. And for pity’s sake, talk her out of singing another road song. She doesn’t have your voice.”
Shannon ran over to the van.
Matthew studied the man, got a searching look in return. Flynn gave a sigh and took a seat on the bench. “You’re Dane?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she’d head to you. She always had a thing for Boston.” He took a tentative sip of the coffee. “How’s your daughter?”
“Doing fine. Annie?”
“Her middle name. A very old story.”
Matthew nodded toward Shannon, obviously having a joyous reunion with a lady at the van. He made a strategic leap in logic. “You got Shannon out without anyone else dying.”
Flynn shrugged.
“You had someone in the water to make sure she would make it.”
“Turns out she didn’t need help,” Flynn replied. “I owed her for Karen and my son, Taylor. She wouldn’t go as long as someone else would pay the price. It was necessary, the way it played out.” Flynn took another sip of the coffee, grimaced. “Coffee’s lukewarm. Has she recovered her photographs?”
“The ones with your baseballs.”
“Tell her to look up Wilma Poet for the others. She’ll recognize the name.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes against the sunlight. “Leah is not a good driver, so it’s been a lot of long hours behind the wheel the last few days.” He sighed. “They really were my own trophy baseballs, bought for my son for when he would be old enough to appreciate them.”
“I’m not a baseball guy, but they look old and interesting.”
Flynn chuckled. “You just quoted my wife, who about had a heart attack when I told her how much I’d paid for the pair of them.” Flynn looked toward the parking lot when the laughter of the women drifted over to them. “I’m glad she’s with you. You strike me as a man who can handle bad news and figure out what to do with it.”
“Yeah. I can.”
Flynn pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “Her mother arranged for her to be taken. The uncle helped. He used a lawyer named Steven Harris to make the arrangements. I’m thinking the lawyer had the initial idea. He’s a divorce attorney who qualified as a snake, even in my world. The middleman in the deal on our side was a guy by the name of Lou Barks. The family would keep proof and blackmail clients years later. Shannon doesn’t know, doesn’t need to know, any of the envelope’s contents.”
“You’ve known all along.”
“Yeah. I never could figure out how to approach the problem. Without knowing why it had originally been arranged, returning her to her parents just left her sitting vulnerable to something else happening. Not that I could have gotten her clear—it was Shannon or my son, and that made it no decision. You can decide what to do with it. Tell her. Don’t tell her. Whatever seems best. I’ll make sure no one in the family thinks it’s in their interest to mention the information about Shannon’s mom to work a better deal.”
“Is there still a threat?”
“Who knows with women, and the lawyer is still around. I wouldn’t leave Shannon in Chicago. But if you mean from the Jacobys—George is the only one you need to worry about in regards to Shannon. The rest might wish her out of the picture, but they won’t add murder to their existing problems. The Parkview in Alabama on Sunday. Shannon knows the town. George will be there after sundown, I’ll make sure of that. Tell the cops to assume he’ll be heavily armed.”
“Thanks.”
Flynn stood, stepped over to a nearby trash bin to dispose of the cup. “Do me a favor. Don’t let her come to my funeral.”
“You don’t need to walk into that collision, Flynn. Stay put, let it play out without you.”
“George and I have some things to settle. I hope, actually intend, to walk out of it in one piece. But at
this point my luck running out isn’t going to bother me much. Leah has Nella. Shannon’s got her brother. It’s not a bad final chapter.”
“Shannon doesn’t need one more thing to grieve.”
“Hopefully she won’t have to, but she’s stronger than she looks.” Flynn started toward the van.
“Flynn . . .”
He paused and looked back.
“Shannon said you used to be a thief, a good one,” Matthew said.
Flynn smiled. “Art, mostly private collections, a couple of small museums. I did love the Impressionists, but I could go for a nice abstract now and again.”
“The cops could use those East and West Coast ledgers.”
“I imagine they could.” He thought a moment, nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. One last theft, and taking it from the family . . . there’s poetic justice for you. And it would annoy George.” He headed to the parking lot.
As Shannon and Flynn passed each other, Shannon reached out to hug him.
Matthew suspected that when he read the full course of the diaries, Flynn’s early decision to keep Shannon alive would undergird most of the last eleven years. A complex man, caught in the middle of a violent family, but a good enough man that Shannon had latched on to him with an eye toward her own survival, and Flynn had kept her alive. For that reason, more than any other, Matthew let him walk away.
26
Thank you for not arresting him.” Shannon was on a high, joy spilling out in her expression and voice. The fact Leah was alive and Flynn still okay had lifted huge weights off her, and now she was practically floating.
“Not a cop anymore,” Matthew replied with a little shrug as they walked back to the car, glad of that fact today.
Shannon impulsively hugged him. “No citizen’s arrest, then, or something. It was so good to see him. What did you and Flynn talk about?”
Still enjoying the hug, Matthew chose to ignore part of her question. There was no way he was going to tell her what Flynn had said about her mother until he had a chance to review the contents of the envelope and talk to Paul, get Theo working on the names Flynn had provided. He picked an easier reply. “Flynn may be able to get his hands on the East and West Coast ledgers for Paul.”
Shannon considered that, smiled. “He will probably clear out the most interesting location or two before he hands those ledgers over, but yeah, he’s the one person in the family who could probably get his hands on the bulk of them.”
“He also said you would know a place called The Parkview in Alabama.”
“It’s a motel off Highway 84 east of a small town called Juno. Why?”
“George may be there Sunday evening.”
Shannon’s eyes went wide, and then she looked visibly relieved. “That would be a really good arrest to get off the list.”
“What did Leah have to say?” Matthew asked, hoping to divert her from further questions.
Shannon lit up with a smile. “She’s doing really well. Nella’s this really nice nun we both know—another story. She’s got a place for Leah, along with contacts who can reach Leah’s family in Brazil. I wish I’d seen that confrontation with Peter on the boat—oh, it would have been something. I almost capsized it once when I didn’t move the ballast in the tanks properly. So that was an elegant choice on Flynn’s part for how to cripple the boat. Leah said the farm being raided is what tipped off the family. Everyone scattered. They haven’t heard from anyone out on the drive, no check-in places are active, and every contact is giving out nothing here. They’ve become ghosts. The thinking is that people are probably okay. If there had been some murders, the news would have filtered out.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“If Flynn can pin down George, I’d sleep a lot easier. For all their sakes, as well as mine.”
Matthew unlocked the car door for Shannon. “I need to call Paul.”
She leaned on her arms across the open door, bit her lip. “If you do, Paul has to act on what you tell him. Could you live with waiting to call him until, say, around dinnertime tonight? Leah will be where she wants to go, and Flynn will have had time to at least not be sitting in the monastery parking lot. But I know that’s asking a lot. Please?”
Matthew was very aware that Shannon could have figured out a way to get in touch with Flynn without him knowing about the contact. There was a balancing act going on here between what he knew—the diaries’ contents, the location of Flynn’s cabin, this meeting—and what he told Paul. Right now it was so strongly tipped toward Shannon, it’d become hazardous for the investigation. Matthew thought about the envelope in his pocket. He needed time to think. He had to figure out how to act on what Flynn had given him without risking Shannon’s mother being arrested tomorrow. Bottom line, though, he needed to keep Shannon’s trust. Her welfare remained his top priority.
“Seven tonight, six Chicago time,” he said. “I’ll call Paul then.”
“Thank you!”
He smiled. “Let’s hope I don’t regret it when Paul learns the length of the delay.” He started the car and considered what made sense for the next few hours. Something to eat was high on his list, something to give him time to think about the meeting that had just occurred.
Shannon clicked her seat belt in place, said quietly, “There’s one thing that might be worth doing if you’ve got friends among the Boston police and could call in a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“George Jacoby knows Flynn comes here. It was a pattern, since his wife and son died, that Flynn would come here of an evening, sometimes bring a blanket and a bottle of wine, and he’d watch the sun go down. I’d pay my respects earlier in the day. If George really is that angry with Flynn, he could be here tonight, watching to see if Flynn shows up for his normal remembrance.”
“That’s a useful suggestion.” Matthew looked around. “You sure he’s not watching us right now?”
“I’ve been searching for even a glimpse of him, and you can bet Flynn scoped the area before he entered the cemetery. George would lie low until close to sundown, see if Flynn shows up, probably try to take him out when he leaves. George was always one for keeping family business just among family. He’d want to keep any confrontation between the two out of the public domain.”
“I’ll see what I can do, have some cops with photos of the man keep watch around this area tonight. Flynn won’t be back?”
Shannon shook her head. “There won’t be time, given where Leah’s going. But he also wouldn’t risk it—he knows George too well. If the farm raid convinced George I’m alive, he’s likely been in Chicago looking for me. But he’d want payback with Flynn for letting me live. Or if George isn’t certain about me, but the farm raid and the boat sinking convinced him that Flynn has gone rogue, George would come here hoping to catch up with him. I don’t know that George risks it now that cops are looking for him, but it’s possible. I’m sorry. I should have told you about this place earlier.”
Matthew wasn’t going to disagree with her—she should have told him—but he understood why she had not. Regardless, it was time for them to be leaving. If there was a collision with George today, he wanted Shannon far away from it. This was an easy enough place to stake out for the evening. He turned the subject away from George. “For your other photographs, Flynn said to tell you to look up Wilma Poet. Do you recognize that name?”
Shannon looked puzzled. “She was a well-known schoolteacher around the turn of the century. The public library in her hometown was named after her. I know the story because Flynn would stop and get books for me from that library. It’s not far from here—due west about twenty minutes, I think. He said that’s where he stored my camera memory cards?”
“All he said was to look up Wilma Poet. Why don’t we go check out this library?”
“Sure. Trust Flynn to make a cryptic remark like that. I would love to recover more of my photographs, and he makes it a difficult proposition.”
She sounded just enough ir
ked at Flynn that Matthew had to chuckle. “We’ll see what there is to find.”
Matthew pulled the car into the Wilma Poet Public Library parking lot and chose a spot near the entrance where posted hours had the library open until seven p.m. “Any idea where he might have stored something for you?”
“None. Flynn has a sense of gamesmanship about him. He’d make it easy to find, but put it somewhere that would require me to think.” She studied the library building. “I was always reading books from this library. He’d know that. So I think we need to look inside. It’s going to have to do with books.”
“Then inside it is.” They walked into the small-town library. She scanned the shelves neatly lining the room in a sweeping U. “Maybe the category you read from the most?” he suggested.
Shannon shook her head. “I was pretty eclectic in what I read. He’d bring me a how-to guide on electrical repairs and a biography on President Truman next to the fiction titles I’d asked him to pick up. He always said I should write a book because I read so many of them. Maybe . . .” She walked over to an old-fashioned card catalog, checked the alphabet filing, pulled out a drawer for authors, looked up Shannon Bliss, and found an index card—a different typeface than the others but the same format of information, listing a book reference. She showed him the card. “I’d say that’s Flynn.” She wrote the number on her palm, went to the shelves, located the book, and chuckled as she pulled it off the shelf.
“What?”
She turned it so he could read the title. Photographs of the Eastern Seaboard. She opened the book. On the first page was an inscription: For Shannon, from Flynn. In pen, in the upper right corner, was a series of numbers.
Matthew’s curiosity spiked. “Any idea what those numbers mean?”
“I think it’s his personal safe combination. We’d need to go back to their property to check that out. I can’t say that idea appeals much.”
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