The Widow

by Carla Neggers

  “And justice. Don’t you think she also wants justice?”

  Ellis seemed untroubled by her sharp tone. “Right now, I would say justice isn’t on the top of her list of concerns. I’ve no doubt she tells herself it is. Do you believe it’s any coincidence this drama with Mattie is going on this week? It’s the seventh anniversary-”

  “I know what week it is.”

  “Yes,” he said, without inflection. “I know you do. Grace, Abigail is stirring up people, and she’s doing it on purpose. You saw her last night at the house, when she realized Mattie had been in my garden shed. She has no boundaries.”

  “She’s a detective, for heaven’s sake.”

  “And that makes what difference?” This time, he didn’t wait for an answer. “I like Abigail. We all do. That doesn’t mean I can’t see the dangers her obsession poses.”

  “What if she finds Chris’s killer?” Grace turned into a sudden gust of wind that burst up the sound and hoped Ellis would blame it if he saw any tears. “As far as I’m concerned, then all her pushing will have been worth the aggravation.”

  “Even if you suffer needlessly?”

  “I don’t think any suffering of mine matters-or is needless.”

  “Grace,” her uncle said, and now she could feel his eyes on her, probing, knowing. His style was different than his much older half brother’s, but he could be as ruthless when he wanted to be. “It’s time to get over Chris.”

  She gulped in a breath. “Don’t.”

  “Someone has to say to you what you already know in your heart. Chris was never real to you. He was always a fantasy. It’s time to break free of him.”

  “He’s dead. Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Intellectually, yes. Emotionally…I don’t know, Grace.” He didn’t relent. “Do you? In a way, his death makes it easier for you to hold on to him.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides and spun around at him, the wind blowing at the back of her head, sending her hair every which way. “Ellis. Stop. I’m not some weak-kneed, lovesick nitwit. I refuse-”

  “You refuse what, Grace? To face the reality that you’re thirty-eight years old-seven years older than Chris was when he died-and unmarried? To face the reality that with him gone, you don’t have to deal with the fact that he was in love with another woman?”

  “He married that other woman.”

  “You can pretend he didn’t, or that it wouldn’t have worked. You don’t have to see him and Abigail have children. You don’t have to watch their children grow up, learn to drop lobster buoys, climb on the rocks, hike-”

  “I was over Chris before he was married.” She tried to sound convincing, mature, not as if she was churning inside. “I was well over him before he was killed.”

  “No, Grace, you weren’t. You aren’t over him now.”

  She couldn’t stand Ellis’s scrutiny any longer and took off down a narrow path between the roses, their prickly branches slapping at her hips and thighs, soaking them with dew. A thorn scratched the top of one hand. The bank was short, fairly steep, but that didn’t deter her; she’d walked this path since she was a child. She and Doe Garrison would play dolls on the shore and wave to Chris and his grandfather as they puttered by in their lobster boat.

  She’d loved Chris then, even as a girl.

  To her relief, her uncle didn’t follow her down to the water. She looked up the hill and saw him heading back to the house, and she wondered if he regretted his bluntness. He was wise and understanding, in part, she thought, because he’d never married and had children of his own. She’d come to rely on his advice, his keen observations of other people. His patience. Who else could watch his own brother sell his beloved Maine house out from under him and not complain?

  Yet Ellis had always lived in his brother’s shadow-just as Linc was living in her shadow. And as much as she adored her uncle, Grace didn’t want her brother to end up like him.

  Owen walked up a sandy path through the junipers and low-lying blueberry bushes below the remains of his family’s original Mt. Desert house, pine and spruce saplings popping up here and there in the thin soil. He’d caught a movement up at the foundation and was off to check it out. He wasn’t practicing any measure of stealth. He was just tramping up the path.

  Linc Cooper stood up from the spot where Mattie Young had drunk beer and smoked cigarettes, unwittingly terrorizing two young boys.

  When he saw Owen, Linc gasped audibly and bolted, climbing over the chunk of foundation and scrambling for the woods behind it.

  Owen shot out after him. He knew the kid’s capabilities-he wasn’t worried about catching up with him.

  A few yards into the woods, on a rough path, Linc tripped on an exposed tree root and fell onto one knee, crying out in pain as he picked himself up and continued running.

  Owen thought he heard the twenty-year-old sob.

  “Linc-hold up,” he called.

  But he ran faster, unimpeded by his bruised knee, grunting as he gasped for air.

  Since he had to know who was after him and still didn’t slow down, Owen decided he was through with niceties. He barreled in behind Linc and knocked his feet out from under him, buckling him with one well-placed kick.

  Owen pounced, pinning his wannabe protégé facedown on the ground, so that he couldn’t kick, thrash, bite or otherwise move. “Be still. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to calm down. Understood?”

  “Let me go. I’ll press charges.”

  “Fine. The police are at Abigail’s house right now. I’ll take you to them.”

  Linc’s body went slack, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out the corners. “Just leave me alone,” he said.

  Owen eased up on his hold. “Don’t bolt. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” He didn’t explain why. “I don’t want to chase you.”

  “You ran like a maniac.” Linc sniffled, sitting up, pine needles in his fair hair. “I thought you were going to kill me. I forgot you were in the military.”

  “Why did you take off?”

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I’m walking out here on my land. How did that scare you?”

  He picked a bit of bark off his lip, his natural arrogance returning fast. “I don’t know. I’m jumpy.”

  “You were looking for Mattie, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “You saw him out here Sunday night, didn’t you? Did you meet him, or did you just follow him here?”

  It was like all the air went out of him. His shoulders slumped. Snot and tears ran into his mouth. “Shit. Owen.”

  “You’re in over your head, Linc. The only way out is to tell the truth.”

  “You don’t know what my life is like. My father. My sister. Even my uncle. I’m the low man on the totem pole around here. If I screw things up for them, I’m screwed.”

  “You have to do what you believe is right and let the rest of it fall into place.”

  “Or not.”

  For the past couple of hours, since Abigail had spotted that dusty, lint-looking pearl on her back room floor, Owen had been trying to let the new pieces of what had happened seven years ago fall into place.

  And one of them was right here, torturing himself.

  “Linc, you were the burglar seven years ago, weren’t you?”

  He sobbed, crying openly now.

  “Chris knew,” Owen said, making it a statement.

  He snorted in a lungful of air and coughed, pulling himself together. “He found me the night before he was killed-before Abigail was attacked.” As he spoke, Linc stared at the trees, as if he were seeing himself at thirteen, Chris Browning at thirty-one, confronting him. “He read me the riot act. And I quit. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

  “He believed in you.”

  “Yeah.” Linc shut his eyes. “I’m so ashamed. But I didn’t steal Abigail’s necklace. I didn’t hit her. I swear. But who’ll believe
me?”

  “That’s why you never told anyone?”

  He nodded. “I thought no one else knew. I thought whoever did it was long gone. That’s what I told myself, I guess.” Linc tucked his knees under his chin. “I never lied outright to the police.”

  “Mattie knew you were the burglar?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “He’s blackmailing me. He wants ten grand.”

  “How much have you given him?”

  “Four.”

  “Who knows?”

  Linc took a breath. “No one.”

  “You’re twenty years old, and you’re carrying this thing by yourself.” Owen put out a hand, and Linc took it, getting up onto his feet. “That’s not necessary.”

  “I know. I’m stupid-”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Owen, I’m sorry. I opened my mouth a dozen times on our hikes to tell you, but I didn’t. My sister’s appointment-the house going on the market-” He swallowed, his panic rising again. “I was scared.”

  “Linc,” Owen said quietly, “if I could figure this out, the cops can, too.”

  Abigail ducked under a low branch that hung over the path. Owen knew she’d been there a while. “Did Mattie threaten you?” she asked.

  Linc kept his cool at her presence. “Not with bodily harm, if that’s what you mean. He didn’t have to-just knowing what a screwup I am, knowing I could never let my family find out was enough. I never-” He raised his chin, but his lower lip quivered. “Chris died because of me.”

  “Did you pull the trigger?”

  “No!”

  “Then he didn’t die because of you,” Abigail said. “He died because someone shot him.”

  Linc obviously wasn’t used to that kind of clarity in the life he lived. “What happens now?”

  “You tell Detective Lieutenant Beeler everything.”

  “And the FBI?”

  “They’ll be there, too.”

  “Chris-”

  Abigail nodded, as if she understood what Linc was trying to say. “He’ll be there in spirit. Think of that, okay? You can’t change what other people did. You can’t change what you did. All you can do is tell the truth and rely on it.”

  “That’s what Chris said seven years ago.”

  “I imagine it was.” She stood back, smiling unexpectedly, if a little weakly, at Owen, taking some of the tension out of the moment. “It was kind of fun seeing you in action. I got here just in time. I’m glad I didn’t miss that one.”

  Owen pictured himself chasing her through the woods and smiled back at her. “I suppose you’ll want me to talk to the law?”

  “Well, I can tell you they’ll want to talk to you.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Out on his screen porch overlooking Somes Sound, Jason Cooper was dressed for sailing and a day spent pretending he had no problems he couldn’t control. He lifted little Sis into his arms and eyed Abigail with a superciliousness she found desperate more than genuine. She wasn’t annoyed. And she certainly wasn’t cowed.

  “Where is my son now?” he asked.

  “At my house talking to Lieutenant Beeler.”

  “Without an attorney?”

  “He’s twenty. He’s not a minor.”

  “He’s my son.” Jason inhaled sharply, not easing up on the superiority. “We’ve all indulged your obsession over the years-your interference in our lives-because of your situation. Because we, too, loved your husband. But to accuse my son of hiding information from the police-”

  “I’m not accusing him of anything,” Abigail said. “If you want to talk to him, you know where my house is.”

  The little dog looked as if she wanted to lick her master’s chin-or bite him. He set her on the floor, and she stayed obediently at his feet. “Abigail, perhaps you should leave, before you say something you truly regret.”

  “Or before you do,” she said.

  Sis barked at her, as if the dog knew Abigail had been rude. Jason stared at her, but some of the raw anger visibly went out of him. “I love my son. I’m proud of him. I believe in him.”

  “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

  “Of course you would. Sometimes I’m not a very good father. I know that.” He stopped himself. “Well. I should go to Linc. I want you to know, however, that my son had nothing to do with Chris’s death.”

  “Did you know he was burglarizing homes seven years ago?”

  Jason snapped his fingers, and Sis scampered into the house through the open porch door. He turned back to Abigail. “If I did know or suspect anything of the sort-and I’m not saying I did-I wouldn’t have confronted him. That’s not how we do things in my family. I would let him sort out his own priorities.”

  “He was thirteen.”

  “Yes, I know he was thirteen. Everything stolen was returned.” Jason’s expression hardened, as if he was daring her to contradict him. “Whatever my son did, Abigail, he wasn’t the one who attacked you and stole your necklace.”

  Making that his final remark, he followed his dog’s path back into the house. Abigail was faintly surprised that he’d left her to her own devices, but he would also know she wanted to talk to his daughter and that there was very little he could do to stop her.

  She could see Grace dragging a bright orange sit-on-top kayak through the beach roses, down to the water.

  Abigail quietly shut the screen door behind her and walked down the stone steps. The landscaping was more reserved than Ellis’s extensive gardens, but nonetheless tasteful and in perfect condition, thanks to the hard work of their solo yardman-presumably, given Mattie’s behavior, soon to be ex-yardman. She hadn’t pressed Jason Cooper on what, if anything, he knew about his son’s recent cash withdrawals. She’d leave that to Lou and his teams.

  Following the path through the roses, she joined Grace down at the water’s edge. “I think those rosebushes have more thorns than they used to. Just what I needed, more scratches.”

  “I do believe you relish every one of your scratches, Abigail.” Grace slapped the kayak into the water and stood up straight, her baggy sweater unbuttoned, blowing out in the stiff breeze. She squinted back at Abigail. “I’ll paddle with the wind and hope it dies down before I get back.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” She smiled without any pleasure. “Anywhere.”

  “It’s a beautiful day for kayaking.”

  “Do you kayak?”

  Abigail shrugged, walking into the soft, squishy sand. “I’m not very good at it.”

  “I love it. I wish I could get on the water more often, but my work keeps me very busy.” She pushed back her hair, strands rising up in the wind. “I’d hoped to spend more time up here, but I have to get back to Washington.”

  “Must be a busy time for you.”

  “Yes. Very.” She hugged her pilled, old sweater to her. “I’m not really dressed for kayaking. Well, I don’t care. I suppose I could paddle past Owen’s house. Then if something went wrong, he could rescue me. Although that wouldn’t look good on my FBI background report, would it?”

  “Better to be rescued than-”

  “Drown?” Grace splashed into the shallow water. The tide was coming in, rising steadily, the waves choppier out on the sound, away from the shore. She had on long pants and sports sandals, the gray sand seeping under her exposed feet, between her toes, as she sank into it. “I seldom paddle that way. Never, in fact. The water’s often rough, but that’s not the reason. I just don’t want to pass the cliffs where Doe drowned.”

  Abigail sat on a wood bench on a grassy strip up against the beach roses. She could smell their sweet fragrance as she watched Grace lift the paddle off her kayak, almost banging herself in the head with one end.

  She stabbed it onto the bow of her kayak, stopping it before it could float off. “Have you ever seen pictures of Doe?”

  Grace was being provocative, mean, even. Abigail deliberately kept her tone matter-of-fact. �
��The other day,” she said. “Someone left a picture of her after she’d drowned for Owen to find. Unfortunately, the Alden boys found it first.”

  It wasn’t the answer Grace had expected. “What?”

  She dropped the paddle and lunged after it, falling onto the kayak and landing on her knees in the water. She awkwardly tried to right herself and not lose the paddle or the kayak.

  Feeling the barest hint of guilt, Abigail ran to her, splashing into the chilly water with her own sports sandals, and offered her a hand.

  “I’m all right.” Grace stood up, the bottom half of her sweater soaked and stretched down to her knees now. She got her balance and snatched her paddle, laid it back across the kayak cockpit, then grabbed the line tied to the bow and gave Abigail a cold look. “That was intentional. To shock me. Well. Mission accomplished.”

  Abigail didn’t apologize. She jumped back out of the water, shook as much wet sand off her shoes as she could and watched Grace slide her kayak back into shallow water, where it scraped along the sand and rocks.

  “Doe was as beautiful as Owen is handsome,” she said, her back to Abigail. “Even in death. The Garrisons are a good-looking family.”

  “That they are.”

  Grace plopped down onto the grass, with her feet in the rising water, up to her ankles now. “I’m surprised you notice such things.”

  “Why?”

  “Being a detective and all. Being a woman who doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that sort of thing. Being-I don’t know. Stuck in the past, maybe?” But she didn’t wait for the barb to strike and went on. “Do you know where this picture came from?”

  “I assume Mattie took it.” Abigail could feel the rough sand rubbing at the bottom of her feet. “Where it’s been all these years and how it ended up on Owen’s doorstep-that I don’t know.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t. And neither does Linc-or my father-or my uncle. Any of us.”

  Abigail didn’t argue with her. “The day Dorothy Garrison drowned…”

  “I was at what was then the Garrison house. We all were. Doe and I had argued. Just some stupid teenage fight that should have passed with us remaining the best of friends. She’d been miserable company all day. Sullen, teary, argumentative. I don’t know if it was hormones or what. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.”