On Fire

by Carla Neggers

  He smiled back, a gleam of wry humor in his very gray eyes. This was a man, Riley realized, who didn’t take himself too seriously. “And you must be Caroline Granger.”

  “The widow,” she added with a light note of self-deprecation. “I heard all sorts of stories about you this summer in Maine. You were a topic of much speculation. Were you a hero or a wounded lion raging on his own private island? No one quite knew whether to lock up their daughters.”

  Riley tried not to squirm. Straker laughed. “Nothing like a little drama to perk up a summer afternoon.”

  “Well, you’ve become quite the legend. Don’t deny it. I came to invite Riley here to lunch. Won’t you join us, Special Agent Straker?”

  If Caroline Granger could charm Straker, she could charm anyone. Riley, who had no such ability, watched in fascination. “I was just on my way to see Sig—”

  “I won’t keep you long. We can have lunch right here at the hotel.” One of Boston’s finer hotels was a short walk from the plaza. “To be honest, Riley, I need to talk to you.”

  “Then lunch it is. Thank you.”

  Whether because he was charmed or simply determined to keep watch on her, Straker joined them. Caroline had a table waiting at the waterfront luxury hotel, its menu nothing like the one at the shack of a restaurant where his father and fellow lobstermen ate.

  “You must try the clam chowder,” Caroline told him when they were seated. “It won’t compare to sitting down to a bowl of steaming haddock chowder in a good Maine fog, but it’s really a wonderful recipe.”

  Straker agreed to try it. Riley could see he was taken with Caroline. Who wouldn’t be? Caroline asked about Sig, shared Riley’s concern about her sister staying on Beacon Hill alone. As their table filled up with warm bread, salads, chowders and drinks, she said, “I’m going to tell you both something. A secret.”

  Riley glanced at Straker, but his expression was unreadable.

  Caroline continued, “I don’t eat, sleep and breathe oceanography.”

  “Horrors,” Riley said with a laugh.

  But Caroline was serious. “I took an interest in the center because it meant so much to Ben. It was like having a third partner in our marriage. I knew that going in, of course. I accepted it. I loved his passion for oceanographic research, his love of the ocean. That kind of intense commitment, I find, is rare.” She turned to Straker. “Did you ever meet my husband?”

  “A few times during the summer when I was growing up in Maine. He’d take his yacht up to see Emile when he wasn’t off on some grand research expedition.”

  Her eyes moistened, but no tears spilled out. “Oh, he loved Emile. He truly did. This past year has been devastating. Losing Ben, losing Emile. I thought I’d never recover.”

  Riley picked up her tall glass of cold sparkling cider. She hadn’t followed Caroline’s lead and had wine; neither had Straker, who stuck to water. In contrast to the sudden somber tone of the lunch, the restaurant’s atmosphere was cheerful and elegant. “It seemed like having everyone to Maine last week helped—it felt like a kind of transition to me,” Riley said. “I mean, before Sam…”

  Caroline lifted her slender shoulders, let them drop. “I loved being around all of you, all that dedication and intelligence, all your wonderful energy and enthusiasm. You’ve helped me stay connected to Ben. I wanted that. I needed it.”

  “I think I understand,” Riley said. “You’ve helped us stay connected to Bennett, too. We all miss him.”

  She nodded. “I know. He’s hard not to miss. But now…” She paused, sipped her wine. She seemed to be talking to herself as much as to her lunch partners. “All that’s happened this past week has made me realize, or acknowledge, what I already knew—that I need to move on with my life. Perhaps if Ben and I had had children it would be different. But we didn’t, and now I have to make a decision.”

  “Caroline—”

  She shook off Riley’s interruption. “Ben has two children. Abigail will carry on her father’s work. Matthew will carry on his father’s commitment to his family’s businesses.”

  If he didn’t get himself arrested or killed, Riley thought. But she could detect no such concerns, nor any bitterness, in Caroline Granger. “Caroline, you’ve been amazing this past year. We would all miss you. I hope you know that. Do you have any plans yet?”

  “I have a condominium in Florida. I think I’ll go there for the winter. Then I’ll reexamine my options in the spring.” She smiled at Riley, every hair and careful smudge of makeup perfect, in place. “I’m grateful for the seven years I had with Ben and his family and friends.”

  “As they—we—all are for you.”

  Caroline seemed relieved simply to have stated her intentions out loud. She turned to Straker, gave him a clear-eyed, businesslike look. “I should tell you, and Riley, that Emile came to see me last night at my apartment here on the waterfront. He’s back in Boston. I haven’t mentioned his visit to the police.”

  Straker had no visible reaction. “What did he want?”

  She stared at her wineglass as if transfixed. “He asked me if I was the one who encouraged Ben to go aboard the Encounter on its last voyage. You know he went aboard at the last minute.”

  “And?”

  She didn’t lift her gaze from her wineglass.

  “I was.”

  Riley didn’t move. Straker’s eyes met hers briefly, shifted back to Caroline. “Why?”

  “Oh, he was champing at the bit to go. It was so obvious. I wanted us to do a few things together, spend some time on Mount Desert, go sailing with friends, just take a long drive in the country.” She sighed, wistful. “But I knew he wanted to go. So I told him I’d prefer to wait until fall, when the leaves had changed and the crowds had eased. I said I’d go to a spa while he was away, visit old friends. I said—I said, ‘That’s where your heart is, Ben. Go.’”

  “And you told this to Emile?” Straker asked.

  She nodded. “He thought it was Matt who’d urged Ben to go. It would explain why he’s had such a difficult time accepting what happened. But it wasn’t Matt. It was me. I’ve lived with that guilt….”

  Riley reached over and touched Caroline’s hand. “Unless you blew up the Encounter yourself, it’s not your fault.”

  “Reason and guilt often don’t go hand in hand. But thank you.”

  “What about Emile?” Straker asked.

  “He simply nodded and left. I urged him to go to the police before anything else terrible happens, but he ignored me completely. He’s always had that way about him when he’s on a mission—you can’t divert him.” She sipped more wine; she’d hardly touched her food. “I haven’t told the police about his visit. I suppose I should.”

  Riley was ready to tell her not to bother, just to spare her the trauma, but Straker went all-FBI and said, “Yes. You should.”

  “I’ll do so at once,” Caroline said, and smiled. “Thank you both. I hope—I know this will all work out. It has to. None of us can take any more tragedy.”

  She stayed to pay the bill, shooed Riley and Straker out. When they reached the brick plaza in front of the hotel, the sun was breaking through clouds that had floated in off the water.

  Straker said, “I wonder what Emile’s up to.”

  “From what Caroline said, I’d say he has the bit in his teeth about something. Well, that’s nothing new. But if he sticks his face into the wrong hornet’s nest and gets himself killed—”

  “Don’t jump ahead, Riley. We just had lunch. Where to now?”

  She thought a moment, knew what she had to do. “I want to see my sister.”

  Sixteen

  Riley was struck by how happy, even relieved, she was to see her sister when Sig opened the door to her Chestnut Street house. “Where’s Straker?” Sig asked, peering out at the street.

  “What makes you think he’s with me?”

  “Because he is.”

  Riley scoffed. “I’m lucky I can breathe without him.”


  “The question is, would you want to?”

  “Sig…”

  She smiled, motioning Riley inside. “So is he here or isn’t he?”

  “He’s parking the car.”

  Sig led her into the living room, where Riley flopped onto a chair and tried to ease the tension in her neck and shoulder muscles. Sig’s house was tidy and spotless, not that she was tidy and spotless by nature—she and Matt had help. Her sister’s artistic touch was everywhere, in the placement of furniture, the choice of fabrics and artwork. Riley had no such knack. She just piled up stuff where she had room and bought what caught her fancy, and what she could afford.

  Her sister smiled knowingly. “I think you’ve finally met a man who knows your bark is bigger than your bite.”

  “Now, don’t be jumping to conclusions. And never mind my bark. His bark’s just as big as his bite. He—” Riley frowned, sat forward as she listened. “Did you hear that?”

  Sig frowned. “What?”

  “Shh.”

  They listened, silent, as a distinct rattling sounded from down the hall, toward the kitchen and the back door. A garden courtyard connected with a narrow, secret alley that led back to Mount Vernon Street, one of Beacon Hill’s many nooks and crannies.

  “Quick,” Sig whispered, moving toward the hall, “grab a vase or something.”

  Riley picked up a heavy, handblown glass vase from a gleaming side table. She moved in behind her sister, kept her voice low. “How would someone get in? You keep your doors locked, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe they broke in while you were taking a nap.”

  “I haven’t slept.”

  “Have you been out?”

  “I took a short walk this morning, but other than that, I’ve been here.” Sig placed a hand on the cream-colored woodwork and leaned forward, peering down the hall. “If someone knows the alley and had a key—unless they broke in—”

  “Matt?”

  Sig didn’t answer. She eased into the hall, Riley on her heels with the vase. “Let me go first,” Riley whispered. “I can move faster than you can.”

  “Do you think we should call the police?”

  “If it’s Matt…”

  She nodded, and Riley edged in front of her. The vase was heavy and awkward, a bit slippery, but it would do damage if she had to hit someone over the head with it.

  “I hope Straker finds a parking space and gets in here,” Sig said quietly.

  “It’s okay. We can handle—”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  It was Emile’s voice behind them. Riley was so startled that the vase slipped out of her grasp and shattered on the hardwood floor. Sig clasped her bulging stomach with one hand. They both whirled around.

  Their grandfather smiled at them. “I’m glad I taught my two granddaughters how to stand up for themselves. I was trying not to startle you.”

  “Well, you blew that,” Riley said, picking her way through the shards of glass.

  “We thought you were down the hall in the kitchen,” Sig said.

  “I was. I came through the drawing room.”

  Riley had never seen him look this tired, this worn-out. Even after the Encounter had gone down and the air was running out in their submersible, he had been numb, fatalistic. Now, she could see every second of the past year’s trauma etched in the lines in his face, in its grayish color, in the stooped way he walked. Only his dark eyes reflected any of the old fight, intensity and spirit.

  “How long have you been here?” Sig glared at him, obviously unsure of her own reaction to Emile sneaking around in her house. “Why didn’t you use the front door and knock?”

  “I had a key. I didn’t realize you were here. I thought I might catch Matthew by surprise.”

  “Obviously he’s not here. Emile…” Sig threw up her hands in frustration. Clearly at a loss. “Damn it!”

  Riley squatted down to pick up the thick pieces of the broken vase. “Straker’s on his way. He’ll make you go to the police this time, Emile. He’s ready to go FBI on us. I think he’s about had it with cutting you any slack. Me, too.”

  “Listen to me,” Emile said. His voice was ragged, exhausted. “Both of you. The police searched the Granger house on Mount Desert. They found the Encounter’s engine stashed in an outbuilding. Not the whole thing—the alarm panel, a ruptured disk, the lube oil drain valve. The evidence that proves it was sabotaged.”

  Riley nearly cut herself on a piece of glass. “Emile, good God, how do you know?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Caroline told you,” Riley said. “She knew. Straker and I just had lunch with her. Why didn’t she tell us?”

  “Because of me,” Sig said, white-faced. “She thinks Matt—she thinks he and Sam had a falling out and…Oh, God.”

  Probably true, Riley thought. Caroline knew she and Straker were on their way to see Sig, wouldn’t want to upset her further with more incriminating evidence against her husband.

  Emile’s expression softened. “We can’t jump to conclusions. Sam could have brought his evidence there for safekeeping with or without Matt’s knowledge, or Matt could have brought it there himself.”

  “Holy shit,” Sig breathed, sinking into a chair. “The stupid bastard has to come in.”

  “Does this take any heat off you?” Riley asked her grandfather.

  He shook his head. “No. The police are still very eager to talk to me.”

  Count on Emile for a straight answer. Riley got to her feet, thick pieces of glass in her palm. “Then let’s call them. Right now.”

  The front doorbell rang. It had to be Straker, Riley thought with mixed feelings. He’d back her up and Emile would finally be in safe hands, but she also expected she and Sig had seen the last of maneuvering around Boston on their own.

  Sig, either sharing her expectation or too tired to move, motioned for her sister to get the door. Riley looked for a place to put the shards of glass. “Never mind the damned vase,” Sig said. “I don’t think I’d even feel it if I stepped on a piece of glass.”

  Riley let the glass fall back onto the floor and pointed a warning finger at her grandfather. “Emile, you stay right here. Do not try to sneak out. I mean it. I’ll sic Straker on you.”

  She didn’t give Emile a chance to answer. Not trusting him for one minute, she quickly slipped into the hall and tore open the front door.

  Matt Granger fell in on her, his tall, rangy body slumping into her arms. “Oh, God,” she said, catching him as best she could.

  Riley saw the smears of blood on the door, on his hand as he tried to steady himself. He was too big, and all she could do was cushion their fall as they both sank to the floor.

  She screamed. “Sig! Get out here—Matt’s hurt!”

  Her brother-in-law was barely conscious, virtually a deadweight on top of her. He was a lean slab of meat, crushing her as he moaned and struggled against his own incapacity. She could feel his sweat, his blood.

  “Don’t try to move,” she said softly, holding him by the shoulders.

  He had a bloody scrape on the left side of his face; his left eye was puffy, bloodshot and bruised, his fair hair caked with blood. He moaned, and she saw that his left arm was also scraped and bruised.

  Sig dropped onto her knees beside her husband, took in his bloodied appearance. “Matt—oh, Jesus.”

  Emile was right behind her, swearing under his breath.

  “Riley, call an ambulance,” Sig ordered, taking charge. “Emile—Emile, there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. Get it for me. Hurry.”

  Matt’s good eye focused. He put more effort into sitting up. “Emile’s here?” His voice was rasping, pain racked. “Goddamn it, who do you think did this to me?”

  He pushed Sig’s hand away and, with sheer force of will, pushed himself to his feet. Riley slipped out from under him. Except for the blood and bruises, he had no color in his face. He fell against the hall wall, just mana
ging to stay upright. “Where are you, you fucking bastard?”

  Riley shot up, touched his arm. “Matt, come on. Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  He elbowed her back, not gently, and staggered down the hall. She doubled over, the wind knocked out of her. Sig grabbed her by the shoulders, her dark eyes focused, intense, in control. “Riley, listen to me. You need to get the first aid kit. It’s in the cupboard above the refrigerator.”

  “What about Emile?”

  “We can’t count on him if Matt wants to kill him.”

  After a few steps, Matt slumped against the wall. He was raging, almost incoherent. “Emile! I know you did this to me. Damn you! You killed Sam, you killed my father.”

  “Straker would be out parking the damned car,” Riley muttered, pushing past her brother-in-law as she made for the kitchen.

  Her grandfather was there, had the first aid kit out on the table. “You take these,” he said, shoving gauze bandages, a tube of antibiotic ointment, into her hands. “I will end this, Riley. I promise you. Take care of Matt and Sig.”

  “I know you didn’t do this to him—”

  He gave her a quick, fierce hug, ruffled her hair as if she were six again. “I’m counting on you.”

  “Emile, damn it, you can’t slither out of here now. We need you!”

  “I’m one old man. You can go on without me.” He sounded fatalistic, even pessimistic.

  “Straker’s on his way.”

  “Good.”

  But that didn’t stop him. He slipped out the back door into the courtyard just as Matthew kicked open the swinging door and staggered into the spotless kitchen. Blood streamed down his face. He cradled his left arm, unable to stand up straight. He glared at Riley. “You let him go?”

  “No, I didn’t let him go, damn it, he just went. It was follow him or get some bandages for your stupid head! My God, Matt, Emile’s not a murderer. You have to know that.”

  Sig slammed into the kitchen behind him. It was a warm, cozy, modern kitchen with dark wood cabinets and a collection of a half-dozen different kinds of Depression glass, which she’d said reminded her of watercolors. “Matthew, you can’t go after him. You’re seriously hurt. Let me take you to the emergency room.”