The Widow

by Carla Neggers

  Doyle frowned at her. “You look like shit, Abigail.”

  “One of those days, Chief.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “I guess it is.”

  “At least we found my car keys. Mattie threw them in the grass by the driveway. He must have thought better of stealing my car.”

  “We don’t know it was Mattie.”

  “You don’t. If I were in an official capacity, I wouldn’t, either. But I’m not.” With a slight wince of pain, she moved to the glass door. “I’m the one who forgot to lock her damn door.”

  “Might not have made a difference,” Doyle said. “Easy enough to put a chair or a rock through a door or window, if someone’s determined to get in.”

  They’d evidently been over that ground already. Doyle obviously relished being able to reassure Abigail about a mistake she’d made.

  “Anything new on Mattie?” Owen asked.

  Doyle shook his head. “He knows every inch of this island. He’s got friends who’d give him a ride, pick him up in their boat-loan him a boat. If he doesn’t want to talk to us, he can make himself very hard to find.”

  “Cutting my phone line was a smart preemptive strike,” Abigail said, not going inside just yet. “It delayed getting you all out here. He knew he only had a bike.”

  “That’s what doesn’t make sense to me,” Doyle said. “How did he know you weren’t home? Did he happen up your driveway, see your car gone and seize the moment? I don’t know. None of it makes any damn sense. Maybe he just walked in to wait for you and decided he couldn’t explain himself-”

  “So he grabbed a saw and knocked me on my ass?”

  Doyle rubbed the back of his neck, the sunlight and heat-the frustration-turning his face red. “I’m just saying we don’t know until we talk to him.”

  Abigail looked at Owen and gave a small smile. “The state guys confiscated my drywall saw as evidence.”

  “Take a trip to the hardware store,” Doyle said. “Buy a new one. It’ll give you something to do.”

  “Don’t want my help searching Mattie’s house? You’ve got enough for a search warrant-”

  “Thank you for your advice, Detective Browning,” Doyle said with open sarcasm.

  She was unaffected. “I should have found a stick or something to use as a cane before you all got here. Garnered some sympathy.”

  “We’re all just glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

  “Yeah, tough one, that’d be,” Abigail said. “Chris’s widow, John March’s daughter-”

  “Just stop.” Doyle stuck a finger up at her. “Stop right now before you go too far. I try to be decent, and you-” He abandoned that thought and dropped his hand. “You try my patience, Abigail. You always have.”

  She grinned at him, unrepentant. “Sorry.”

  “I need to go pick up the boys. You want me to have a cruiser posted at your house?”

  “Doyle-”

  “Payback,” he said, with almost a chuckle. “I’ll let you know if we find Mattie.”

  “I know you two go way back,” Abigail said. “I meant what I said to Lou and his guys earlier. I don’t believe Mattie attacked me with the intention of hurting me. He just wanted to get out of there without getting caught.”

  “But he did attack you,” Doyle said. “Someone did, anyway. Hell, your leg’s still bleeding. You should have it looked at.”

  “It’s nothing. I just overdid it. I’ll borrow Owen’s first-aid kit and put on a Band-Aid. Owen? Is that okay?”

  He smiled at her. “Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  “I’ll be in your downstairs bathroom.” She smiled back at him. “And, thanks, but I won’t need you.”

  Owen kept his mouth shut as she went inside, but Doyle called to her, “Damn thing could get infected.” He didn’t wait for an answer and growled at Owen. “You understand the position I’m in? And Katie’s not here. I’ve got all this on my plate…” He bit off a sigh and shut up. “Bring the boys by here anytime.”

  “And what, let someone hack at them with a saw?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Maybe not.” Doyle didn’t meet his eye. “I wish I knew what Mattie was up to. And Abigail. Hell. I can’t get my head around what all’s going on here. I’m hoping nothing. That when it’s all done and said, it’s just a bunch of nothing.”

  Something banged inside in the bathroom. “Damn!”

  Doyle glanced at Owen and smiled. “Sounds as if our detective needs some help, after all. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Chicken,” Owen said, and headed inside.

  Abigail picked herself up off the bathroom floor and got out of there, leaning against the pineboard wall in the hall just as Owen arrived, steady, not at all panicked.

  “All set,” she said. “I lost my balance and had a little spill.”

  “Going through my bathroom cupboards?”

  “Your shelves, actually. There must be five million of them in there. I checked them all for ibuprofen. I got up on the edge of the tub to see into the high ones.” She could feel her heart thumping rapidly from the near-disaster. “But no ibuprofen. And there’s none in the first-aid kit.”

  “It’s in the kitchen.”

  She noticed him glance down at her leg and was grateful that she’d had the good sense to put her pants back on before pawing through his shelves. She’d stood there, in the middle of his bathroom, pants in hand, and considered the matter-pictured herself falling, and him charging to her rescue, only to find her in her skivvies, writhing on the floor. Unfortunately, her premonition hadn’t compelled her to skip climbing onto the edge of the tub altogether.

  “My leg’s fine,” she said. “Honestly.”

  “All patched up?”

  “I found a proper bandage that I could manage on my own. All I need now are a couple of ibuprofen, a glass of wine and a hot bath.”

  Owen moved closer to her. “All can be arranged.”

  He was close enough that Abigail could see the black flecks in his fog-gray eyes. She pressed the small of her back against the wall. If she could do magic, she’d make herself melt into the pine boards. The man was messing up her head.

  He studied her with that mix of steadiness and intensity that, in him, weren’t at all contradictory. “Doyle’s gone.”

  “Arresting Mattie won’t be easy for him, if it comes to it.”

  “Would it be easy for you?”

  “No. It wouldn’t have been for Chris, either. The three of them-” She pulled herself slightly away from the wall, her heart rate adjusting to the jolt of her fall. “They grew up like brothers. I could see that when I first came to Mt. Desert. I didn’t understand the push-pull Chris felt about his life here until I met Doyle and Mattie.”

  “If Mattie has an explanation for why he was in your house, why he attacked you-”

  “He’ll have an explanation. He always does, doesn’t he?”

  “Will you press charges?”

  “It’s not that simple.” She thought of the two pictures the Alden boys had found on Owen’s deck. “Doyle wasn’t on the lobster boat the day you lost your sister, was he?”

  “No. I don’t know where he was. Abigail-”

  “He’d have been fifteen. It must have been an awful time for him, too.”

  “I’m sure it was. He, Mattie and Chris were all friends. Abigail, what do you want to do? Do you want to go look for Mattie? Because I can go with you. We can take my truck.”

  She banged her head back against the wall. “Sure. Yeah, we can go look. It beats climbing around in your bathroom and driving myself nuts trying to put all these disparate pieces together. But we won’t find him, not if he’s squirreled himself away somewhere and doesn’t want to be found.”

  Owen traced a crooked finger along her jaw. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Crazy, I know. The bastard jumps me, cuts my best pair of hiking pants-okay, so my only pair of hiking pa
nts-and humiliates me in front of a bunch of Maine cops, not to mention two very serious FBI agents-” She blinked back totally unexpected tears. “And I’m worried about him. Damn.”

  “Your father…”

  “No cell service out here on the rocks and Mattie cut my phone line.” She smiled through her tears. “There you go-maybe he cut the line just to keep me from having to talk to my father. He was doing me a favor.”

  “Is the line fixed now?”

  She nodded. “One of Lou’s guys knew what to do. I’m not good with wires.”

  Owen let his finger trail up her cheek and catch a tear, then kissed the spot where it had been. “I hate to see you cry.”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “And your leg’s fine, and your arm’s fine, and you can take anything.”

  “I’ll take anything I have to take if it means finding Chris’s killer.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Anything. I don’t care.”

  “How far will you go to find his killer? As far as you have to, regardless of the consequences?”

  “There are lines I won’t cross.”

  “What lines?”

  “Ethical lines. Legal lines. But I won’t cover up for anyone. I won’t look the other way just to avoid hurting people. Hurting myself.”

  He slipped his hand behind her neck. “You’ve thought it all through, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve had seven years.”

  “As much as I want to kiss you now,” he said, “and as much as I’ve wanted to kiss you for a lot of those seven years, if I could go back in time and stop Chris from leaving you that day, I’d do it.”

  “Owen-” Her head spun. “Chris always said you were one of the best people he knew. He wished he’d known you better. I can see why Linc Cooper and Sean and Ian Alden idolize you. You’re one of the most highly-regarded search-and-rescue specialists in the world. But to me-” she touched the scar under his eye “-you’re also a tumbleweed and just a little reckless.”

  “I’ve never fallen off the edge of a tub while sneaking through someone’s bathroom shelves.”

  When they kissed, Abigail closed her eyes, hearing the ocean, smelling the salt and pine in the air. She wrapped her arms around his hard middle and drew herself tight against him, ignoring any sting of pain in her scraped arm and cut leg. Instead of putting her on her guard, scaring her, the hunger and desire-the soul-deep yearning-that surged through her energized her.

  Owen caught her by the waist and lifted her, kissing her throat. She hooked her legs around his hips and gave herself up to the exquisite pleasure of his mouth and tongue on her flesh.

  When she threw herself back in his arms, the strain on her thigh was too much, and she gave a small cry at the tug of pain. She immediately tried to cover it with a moan of pure desire, but the man who had her aloft was an expert in pain.

  He unhooked her legs and set her back down on the floor. “Okay?’

  “A little more wild abandon than my body’s ready for.”

  “Part of your body, anyway.”

  “Well-there’s that.” She suddenly felt self-conscious. “Is the offer of driving me around in your truck still open?”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Let’s go, Detective.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Ellis Cooper guessed that Abigail was trying to picture the party at his house the day her husband was killed. She stood near the gate that opened into the woods. Although she had to be tired and in pain from that morning’s confrontation, she looked focused and alert.

  Owen was another matter. Ellis had no idea what he was thinking.

  He pointed his walking stick at an arborvitae. “This wasn’t here seven years ago. An old maple was here. It was struck by lightning, and I had to have it removed.”

  “I remember that maple,” Owen said. “Doe and I used to climb it as kids.”

  Ellis tried not to show his awkwardness at Owen’s mention of his early childhood there. Throughout the gardens, there were still Garrison touches, reminders of pretty Doe’s presence. Ellis had preserved what pleased him, what meant something to him and his own memories.

  He decided to ignore his neighbor’s remark and went on. “I’ve added more plants and trees and changed things around since the party. A garden’s always a work in progress. It’s never finished.”

  Abigail seized on his comment. “But you’re looking forward to starting fresh somewhere else?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” He refused to admit a contradiction. “I’m just tinkering here at this point.”

  “I think I’d like tinkering.” She ran her fingers over the gate latch, giving no sign that her bandaged forearm hurt. “Did many of your guests that day use the gate to come and go?”

  “None that I remember. I wasn’t paying that close attention.”

  “Maybe some were tempted to take a walk on one of the hiking trails,” she said.

  Ellis shrugged. “Perhaps.” He shifted his attention to Owen. “What’s this all about?”

  But Abigail moved on toward the garden shed, and Owen didn’t answer, instead motioning to Ellis that they might as well follow her. Their take-charge manner irritated him. They were on his property.

  Well, his brother’s property.

  They came to an old cedar-wood swing, a true treasure that hung from a massive red oak tree. Abigail gave the swing a little push. “Must be a nice spot to sit and read a book.”

  “I have very little time to read,” Ellis said stiffly.

  “I love to read. Helps keep me sane.”

  “My sister used to read here.” Owen touched the chain holding the swing to a thick branch. “She must have read Anne of Green Gables a dozen times.”

  Abigail’s tight control faltered. “I’m sorry to remind you-”

  “Don’t be. It’s a good memory.”

  When Owen smiled at her, Ellis was taken aback by the affection he saw. The physical attraction. He’d never anticipated a bond forming between Owen Garrison and Abigail Browning. What would Jason say? And Grace. Despite her protestations, she’d always believed Owen was there for the taking. He’d had fleeting relationships but there’d never been anyone with any threat of permanence. It was obvious to Ellis that so long as Owen was available, Grace would assume she could have him if she wanted him.

  Ellis quickly returned to the subject at hand. “Most of my guests at the party stayed over by the patio. Some used the steps to go down to the water and check out the cliffs-”

  Abigail moved away from the swing, past a mass planting of pink and white astilbes. “Did you turn over all the pictures you took that day to the police?”

  “Of course. I didn’t take many myself, but I had disposable cameras available for guests. Some snapped pictures and left the cameras. I turned them all over to the police-voluntarily. They didn’t have to ask. I’m quite sure they were of no help whatsoever in their investigation. I wish they had been.”

  “Was Mattie here taking pictures?”

  “I didn’t hire him to, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “What about on his own?”

  “He could have been. Abigail, please-what’s this all about?”

  She gave him a quick smile. “I know I’m asking a lot of questions. Something’s going on around here, and it obviously involves me.” She came to the shed. “Mind if I take a look inside?”

  “Of course not, but-”

  “Don’t let us keep you from your dinner.”

  Ellis sighed, resigned to the intrusion. “I don’t mind. You’re welcome to join us.”

  Jason, Grace and Linc were in his kitchen. They were to have dinner together and discuss what was going on with their yardman and Chris Browning’s widow-John March’s daughter. If word of the attack on Abigail that morning reached the media-and Jason was convinced it would-then all bets were off concerning Grace’s appointment. A cold murder case of a friend was a difficult enough public-relations hurdle. But a hot, immediate investigation would be impo
ssible. Ellis had counseled enough Washington types to know her appointment would get pulled at that kind of whiff of scandal. They’d find a graceful way out, but they’d be done with it. She’d worked hard and developed a solid reputation for her expertise in international affairs but none of that would matter.

  Owen stepped in front of Abigail and unlatched the shed door, but she went in first. As she moved, Ellis noticed the weapon under her lightweight jacket. He didn’t blame her. After that morning, he wouldn’t take any chances, either. He followed them inside, more bored than irritated.

  “I keep my garden supplies in here,” he said. “Mattie’s in and out all day when he’s working, but-”

  Abigail put up a hand. “Hang on.”

  She drew her weapon. Owen, right behind her, said nothing, as he followed her through the garden materials back to a stack of lobster pots.

  Ellis saw now. The pots had been moved. Someone had been back there.

  Mattie.

  “Is everything okay?” Ellis asked, hearing the note of panic in his voice.

  Using one foot, Abigail shoved one of the old wooden pots aside. A wave of fresh air blew into the stuffy, enclosed space, and he realized that the plywood covering the chicken door had been removed.

  Owen said quietly, “My grandmother kept chickens.”

  Abigail bent down and peered through the two-foot opening. “Hell, an ostrich could get through here.”

  “She wanted to have pigs. My grandfather balked.”

  “Do you have any eccentric hobbies, other than fast-roping out of helicopters?” But she didn’t look around at him, her attention focused on her task as she squatted down and peered through the opening. “Looks as if he crawled through here and made good his escape.”

  Ellis felt his heartbeat increase. “I haven’t seen him. I can’t recall hearing anything out of the ordinary.”

  She stuck her head out the small door and looked around, then pulled it back in, standing up. “I’m not going out there. I don’t want to disturb any tracks. Ellis-I need to use your phone and get the police up here.”

  “Of course.” His throat was constricted now; he hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack. “But Mattie’s in and out of here all the time…”