She didn't wait for an answer.
Zoe glanced at J.B., then Bruce. "You two want to come with me?"
Bruce rubbed a big palm over the top of his head and heaved another sigh. "Nah. I want to see about my boat. Geez, it was an eyesore on a good day." He turned and gazed out at the harbor, the horizon all gray now, sky and sea indistinguishable. "Weather sucks. Hey, if I learn anything, I'll let you know, okay?"
J.B. nodded. "I'm sorry about the boat."
"So long as it wasn't some scumbag who followed you to town. If that's the case, we won't be letting any more vacationing cops in town, fed or otherwise." But his stab at humor didn't last. "I bet it's that dumbass Teddy Shelton. I gave the guy a break, and this is what I get. A torched boat. What if a spark'd touched off a fire? The boats in close like this, you'd get a chain reaction, they'd all go up in flames. It'd be my boat that started it, a guy I helped. I'd have to leave town."
Zoe put out a hand toward him. "Bruce—"
He gave a curt wave. "Forget it. Go talk to Christina."
They found her behind her counter. A half-dozen
lobstermen had gathered at the tables by the harbor-front windows to drink coffee and watch the show. There was no teasing this morning.
Without a word, Christina filled three mugs with coffee, set them on a tray and carried them to a table away from the lobstermen. She pulled out a chair and sat down, then J.B. and Zoe did likewise.
Christina looked drawn and tired, but her hands were steady as she held her mug and stared at her steaming coffee. "Do you ever feel like bad things start happening and they just keep happening, and there's nothing you can do to stop them? You don't want to be along for the ride, but there you are. And there's just nothing you can do."
Zoe nodded. "I've felt that way a lot this past year."
Her sister bit off an angry sigh. "I hate being a whiner."
"What happened this morning?" J.B. asked.
"I was in here working. I heard Kyle go out, and then I looked up and there was this awful explosion and the harbor was on fire. That's what it looked like. It was still dark, that gray light you get just before dawn. I didn't even know it was your boat." She paused, but neither
J.B. nor Zoe interrupted her. "I ran out—I don't know why. I wasn't thinking." She stopped again, blinking back tears, and she had to set her mug down. "Kyle's BMW careered right at me. I thought it was going to run me over."
Zoe said nothing, but J.B. was becoming more aware of her reactions, her defenses. She was shaken by what her sister had said. He added sugar into his coffee. Normally he drank it black, but having a stun grenade explode in front of her must have made Christina heavy-handed with the coffee measure. It was almost too strong to drink.
When she didn't go on, J.B. prodded her. "Did you see the driver?"
She shook her head. She was still very pale, her stark expression a contrast to her pretty, ruffly clothes. "I think I was a little blinded by the explosion. I—I couldn't see much of anything except that car coming at me."
"What about Kyle?" Zoe asked quietly.
"I don't—" She turned away, still fighting her tears. "I didn't see him. It must have been him behind the wheel, but I can't say for sure. I don't know what happened to him. The police—the police want to talk to him." She sucked in an audible breath, let it out in a whoosh, as if she were trying to stave off a panic attack, keep fear and hysteria from overwhelming her. "We had a fight last night. Otherwise he'd have been down here helping me out. Most mornings he helps early on, so I don't have to hire a waitress or run myself ragged."
Zoe touched her sister's shoulder. "Chris, it's not your fault—"
She sniffled, nodded. Her hand was shaking now as she picked up her mug. She took the smallest of sips.
J.B. could feel the strong coffee, even with the sugar, burning in his stomach. He thought about Kyle Castel-lane and Teddy Shelton. Luke. Stick Monroe. These women's dead father. A police officer killed in the line of duty. "You and Kyle argued about him sneaking into your great-aunt's attic?"
"And other things. We covered a lot of ground." She seemed embarrassed, her emotional reserve as natural and intractable as her sister's. "He was such a jerk. He said he never asked for Zoe to rescue him."
Zoe hadn't touched her own coffee, and J.B. thought she looked ragged, cold, so different from last night. But she'd buttoned down her emotions. She was in control. "Did you two talk about Luke's fear that Kyle was involved in Dad's murder?"
"He thinks we're out to blame it on an outsider. Why not his family? Why not him?" Chris took in a sharp breath, her lingering distress over their argument evident. "They're not from Goose Harbor, so we locals will turn anything we can on its head and use it against them. He says that's why his father said what he did. He's worried we'll all somehow find a way to pin everything on Kyle. And Kyle says if not him, his father."
Zoe took a sip of coffee, set it down and dumped in both sugar and milk. "Chris, you know the police will follow the facts and the evidence. No one's out to pin the blame on anyone. I'm sorry Kyle and Luke feel—"
Her sister snorted. "They're both so selfish. This isn't about them! They're just worried about their own skins. They don't care that Dad's dead. They don't care that his murderer is still out there—he could kill again, he could get away with what he did!" She was furious now, shocked and frightened, but J.B. could feel her determination. "I know—oh, Zoe, now I know what you felt like last fall. I was in such a state of denial. I just wanted all this to go away. It won't."
"Chris, we don't know that any of this is connected to Dad."
"It is."
Zoe didn't argue with her. "Luke made his deal with the devil when he hired Teddy Shelton. The police will talk to him and get to the bottom of it. He could be covering up nothing, or he could have real information."
"I know. We have to be patient." Christina smiled, self-conscious. "I seem to recall people telling you that a lot last year."
"We'll get through it, Chris," Zoe said.
"Yep. We will."
"It's possible Kyle saw something," J.B. said. "That could be why he ran out."
Christina looked at him, her eyes as gray now as the horizon. "Then where is he now?"
Good question. J.B. didn't have an answer for her, so he left it hanging.
"Bruce got here before anyone else—I was already calling the police, although I think they heard the explosion." She breathed out, a hint of color high in her cheeks. "Bruce is a rock, I'll say that for him." She looked around suddenly, as if she were just now tuning into her surroundings. "Do you two want anything to eat? I didn't have a chance to make muffins, but I can whip up some eggs."
"Coffee's fine, Chris, thanks," Zoe said.
"Damn, Zoe, I'm sorry for going off on you yesterday. Don't think I don't want the truth to come out about
what happened to Dad, because I do."
"I know that."
"Whatever it is, I can take it. It's one thing to live with not knowing who shot him because his killer's in Colombia or New Jersey or someplace and there's just no realistic chance we'll ever know. But if he's here in Goose Harbor, if we can find him, or her, or them—" She trailed off, leaving it at that. "I need to get back to work."
She took her coffee with her and swung off, more energetic and focused if not calmer.
"Hey, Agent McGrath," one of the lobstermen, a wiry guy somewhere between fifty and a million, called to him. "You going to find the bastard who tossed a grenade into your boat? We can't have some asshole running around town torching boats."
It was one thing to tease him—they knew they'd never act on their threats, that they were all in good fun. It was another to have someone come damn close to destroying all their livelihoods.
"The police are on it." He got to his feet and glanced down at Zoe. "I should go back down there. You?"
She rose, handing him his coffee. "Take it with you. I have an in with the owner. We can bring our mugs back when we'
re done. I don't know about you, but this stuff's burning a hole in my stomach, although I could use about a gallon of coffee this morning."
"Not much sleep last night?"
"As much as you got, Agent McGrath."
The drizzle had picked up, now a fine, bone-chilling, misting rain, but the cops didn't seem to notice. The firefighters were heading out, which meant they were satisfied there were no other explosive devices in the vicinity and the fire danger was over. Although he had an urge to hold Zoe close, keep her warm, J.B. just walked beside her down to the water.
Stick Monroe was hovering on the edge of the taped-off crime scene in his corduroy shorts and sweatshirt. "I heard what happened," he told Zoe. "What an asinine thing to do. What the hell was the point? It must have been Teddy Shelton. He's an idiot. I warned Luke."
Zoe stared at him. "You knew Luke'd hired him?"
"Not immediately. I thought about telling you but decided it would only upset you unnecessarily." He glared down at the lobster boat. "It was a judgment call."
"Not a very good one! Stick, what were you thinking?"
He settled his dark eyes on her. "I was thinking about you. So was Luke. He was concerned, not irrationally, I might add, that McGrath here would stir up trouble and you and Christina would get caught in the crossfire."
"Luke wasn't trying to protect me."
"You underestimate your importance to people, Zoe. You always have. You help them, you're there for them, but when they try to do the same, you question their motives."
Zoe didn't push. "Luke says he fired Shelton."
"Let's hope." Stick sighed, shifting his gaze back down to the ruined boat. "He had nothing to do with this little show. Shelton's playing his own game now. Don't for one second think he's gone away. He knows Luke's rich. He'll find a way to try to blackmail him, extort money from him."
"What about you?" J.B. asked. "Do you think Shelton will come after you?"
The old judge snorted. "I hope he does. He'll land up in prison for an even longer stretch this time."
Zoe hunched her shoulders against the rain and the cold, and J.B. could feel her focus, her determination as she beat back her concern for her friends and family. "Kyle's BMW pulled out of here a minute or two after the explosion. It almost ran Chris over. She didn't see the driver. They both could have been blinded by the explosion, but who knows."
Stick frowned. "It wasn't Kyle?"
"She doesn't know."
"If it wasn't—"
"Stick, you've dealt with Teddy Shelton. Is it possible he snatched Kyle as a way of putting pressure on Luke and extorting money from him?"
"It's possible, but money isn't what motivates Teddy. At least it's not his central motivation. He likes guns. You'd think seven years in the custody of the federal government would have had an effect, but I remember thinking when I sentenced him that he'd be back—he'd never give up illegal weapons."
J.B. could feel the drizzle collecting on his hair. "The police—"
The judge cut him off. "They have Teddy's record. They know everything I know, and then some, no doubt." He turned back to Zoe and touched a finger to the glistening drizzle on her hair just above her ear. "You'll be okay? How's your hand?"
"It's fine." She smiled at him, her lips a little purple. "You're retired. Go dig in your garden."
"It's compost day." But he seemed distracted, an old man unsettled by the goings-on in the quiet, pretty village where he'd retired. "I heard the explosion. I wonder if this is what Teddy wanted—all of us up and focused on grenades and blowing up boats while he— " He broke off, shaking his head. "Well, I don't know. That's why we have law enforcement."
After he left, Bruce rejoined Zoe and J.B. "You're the talk of the town, J.B. Look—" He pulled J.B. aside, out of Zoe's earshot. "There's a rowboat sinking in the harbor. Marine patrol's all over it. I'm guessing it was Teddy's transportation."
"From?"
"The lobster pound. If I'm right, it's the rowboat that was turned over off to the side. I was going to salvage what I could from it and get rid of it, but I never got around to it. It probably made it here and gave up the ghost."
J.B. considered the logic of taking a rowboat from the lobster pound to the harbor and the docks. It would be slow but quiet. Unexpected. Risky—Shelton had to know the police were looking for him and he'd be in big trouble if they caught him with his flash-bang.
"I'm thinking about driving down to the lobster pound and taking a look around," Bruce said. "Bruce—"
"I know. You're the freaking FBI. You've got procedures." He seemed oblivious to the weather and grinned at J.B. "You coming?"
Zoe thrust herself back in between them, apparently having been left out of the conversation for as long as she was going to stand. "What're you two plotting?"
J.B. handed her his coffee mug. "Bruce and I are going down to the lobster pound. You'll stay here with your sister?"
"I like the way you make that a question instead of an order. Maybe I should go instead of you. I've already been fired."
"What?" Bruce winked at her. "We're just going to talk lobstering. McGrath thinks he knows everything about it."
Zoe rolled her eyes. "You're both full of it. Go. Just keep me posted."
Something about her struck J.B. as vulnerable, a lightning rod for too many people's sense of personal inadequacy, a woman who had her world shattered and was still trying to fight back. An image of her last night came at him, and he decided—screw it. He leaned toward her. "Want me to kiss you goodbye, warm you up a little? You can prove to all of Goose Harbor you're not a repressed Yankee."
"You know, McGrath—" But she stopped, and without warning, kissed him lightly, boldly. She smiled cheekily. "Now who's embarrassed? I don't know if your pals in the FBI have rolled in yet."
"One thing about me, Detective Zoe—I don't embarrass."
Bruce grinned at him. "You work fast, don't you, McGrath? Leave it to Zoe. She gets fired, she learns to knit. Now she falls for a bad-boy FBI agent."
The repressed Yankee in her was back. "I haven't fallen for anyone."
"Yeah, right." Bruce wasn't buying it. "Come on, Agent McGrath. We'll take my truck."
Thirty
Zoe slipped behind the counter and fixed eggs and home fries with a little onion and green pepper while her sister, humming a sad tune, popped a pan of apple-cinnamon muffins into the oven. The lobstermen had all gone out to pry information out of the police, then hit their boats, late, with plenty to think about as they worked their strings of traps.
Christina hadn't put out a Closed sign, but between the lousy weather and a grenade going off on the docks, customers were few. But Betsy O'Keefe was one of them. She took a table overlooking the harbor. Zoe set the eggs and home fries in front of her and sat down. "You look like you could use a good breakfast, Betsy. Did the festivities this morning wake you up?"
"Oh, I never went to sleep." She smiled weakly, and Zoe could see the strain in her face. "Home fries? Zoe, I haven't had home fries in months and months."
"One of life's great indulgences. Look, they're not those deep-fried things, either. They're proper home fries. I even burned the edges of a few of the potatoes."
"Okay, I give in!" She tried to laugh, but it was a hollow sound and only made her look more drawn. "Where's Agent McGrath?"
"Off with Bruce Young."
Betsy stared out at the harbor. "How long will the police stay?"
"As long as necessary. A while, I would think. It'll take time to gather evidence."
"Two state detectives talked to us a little while ago. Luke and me. We didn't see anything—we were in bed." She stabbed at a few potatoes but seemed to have trouble holding on to her fork. "I can hear the innkeepers and shopkeepers screaming now. A grenade going off can't be good for business. It was a blow to have our first murder in thirty years, and the chief of police no less." Betsy gasped in horror at her own words and dropped her fork. "I'm so sorry, Zoe. I didn't mean to sound cavalie
r."
"Forget it. I know what you're saying. Goose Har-bor's a fishing village and a tourist town. When either gets threatened, people worry." Zoe slipped a triangle of toast from Betsy's plate. "I'm going to guess you didn't tell the police everything you know."
"Zoe—"
She bit into her toast and looked at Betsy, realized how frightened and uncertain she was. "Tell me. I can help."
"Can you? I don't think so. It's gone too far now."
"How far, Betsy?"
"Luke—he's heading south today without me. We had a dreadful argument yesterday. I thought I'd regained his trust, but—" She picked up her fork again and poked at her potatoes, her eyes lowered. "I was wrong."
"I'm sorry," Zoe said.
"Oh, it's probably for the best. I had a feeling it wasn't a forever kind of relationship." She smiled, dismissing her own feelings, her sense of hurt. "Luke's terrified."
"Because of Kyle?"
She nodded tentatively, as if she shouldn't. "But I can't—I can't tell you—"
Zoe finished her toast, hoping Betsy would want to fill in the silence. She didn't, and finally Zoe said, "Do you believe Kyle killed my father?"
"No!"
"Do you believe Luke did?"
She shook her head. "God, no. Zoe, I'd never have stayed with him if I believed that."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
She didn't answer right away. She grabbed the salt and pepper and shook them on her eggs and home fries, and Zoe could see she was, if possible, even paler. But she wasn't crying. She seemed to be past crying. "Last year," she said, her voice almost inaudible, "not long after your father was killed, Luke discovered that one of his handguns was missing. A .357 Colt Python, I believe. It was in a locked, alarmed cabinet."
"Kyle has the key and the codes?"
"Access to them, at least."
"Anyone else?"
Betsy put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth, but she didn't start chewing. She looked as if she'd spit them out, but finally she chewed, swallowed and wiped her mouth with her napkin. "I don't know. I wasn't involved with Luke then. He has a boat crew. Anyone who knows his habits would be able to calculate when he wasn't going to be around. He has his locks and alarms, but he's not meticulous about security. The lure of Goose Harbor, you know. Safe, pretty, no need to watch your back."
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