Stranger on the Shore

by Josh Lanyon

  Griff tried and failed to imagine the rules of etiquette for that particular social occasion. What fork did you use for skewering your ex-boyfriend?

  “And that’s the story of how my brother came out to our parents and most of the people we grew up with. Pierce has never gotten involved, really involved, with anyone since. That’s what I mean by he has trust issues.”

  “I guess that would do it.”

  “But in just a few days he’s managed to get more involved with you than anyone in the last ten years.”

  “I...”

  “I think you’re really good for him.”

  Griff recovered enough to say, “I think you’re going to be late meeting your client.”

  “I think you’re right.” She made a face and grabbed her purse. “Don’t tell Pierce I told you any of that. He’ll slay me.”

  “Uh, I’m not sure keeping things from Pierce is the right way to help him work through his trust issues.”

  Diana laughed. “See. I knew you were the right man for him!”

  * * *

  Overnight Jarrett Arlington had grown old. Old and frail.

  Griff, uncomfortably aware of Michaela listening to every word from her chair in her father’s private hospital room, stood beside the old man’s bed watching him struggle for breath.

  “I want you to find out who did this.” Jarrett’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. It wasn’t the heart attack that was going to kill him, it was grief. Would knowing the truth be better or worse? All the life was bleeding out of him. He was gray-faced and the hand feebly gripping Griff’s wrist was ice cold.

  “Mr. Arlington, I’m not a detective.” Griff was being as gentle as he could, but that was the truth. He wasn’t equipped to solve a murder. He covered crime stories, he didn’t solve crimes. The fact that he held the solution to the mystery that had haunted the Arlingtons for two decades was partly luck and partly his own grotesque involvement. “I want to help, but we’ve got to let the police handle this.”

  Jarrett’s fingers tightened and Griff shut up. Jarrett’s colorless lips moved. “I want the truth. I don’t care how painful. I have to know.”

  “I know. I’ll help any way I can.” But Griff couldn’t help seeing that even part of the truth was liable to be too much of a shock.

  Beneath half-closed eyes, Jarrett was watching him. There was a fierce spark in his drugged gaze. “You were willing to find out what happened at the beginning. There’s a reason you’re here at the end.”

  Griff nodded mechanically.

  Jarrett coughed and wet his lips. “It’s full circle. You wanted the story. It’s yours.”

  “I didn’t want...” He stopped again at the fierce press of Jarrett’s clammy fingers.

  “It’s yours. It’s your story. Find out for me what really happened.”

  Griff compromised, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Good. You’re a good boy.” Jarrett closed his eyes. “You remind me...”

  He was sleeping again. Griff carefully freed himself and went out into the hall. He felt shaken. That had been much harder than he expected.

  The door to the private room opened and Michaela followed him into the antiseptic-smelling hall. She looked nearly as ill as her father. Her eyes were red-rimmed and there were lines carved into her face.

  She said, keeping her voice low, “If you really want to be of use, tell Pierce to make sure the police don’t arrest Chloe. He’s not answering my calls.”

  “Are they really looking at Chloe as a suspect?”

  “Thanks to my sister, yes. Last night I thought they would arrest Marcus, but after Muriel told them Chloe threatened Brian, they seem to be focusing on Chloe.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s being questioned by Nassau P.D. Ring is with her. I can’t leave Daddy. Muriel is...” She didn’t finish the thought.

  Griff watched her expression. “What do you think happened last night?”

  Despite her exhaustion, anger blazed in Michaela’s eyes. “How should I know?”

  “If the only thing the police have on Chloe is an argument before the party, that’s not much.”

  “Of course that’s all they have! There isn’t anything else. She didn’t do it.”

  Griff suggested, “Maybe the police were on the right track with Marcus?”

  “Are you crazy? Marcus? What would the motive be?”

  “Money?”

  “Money?” She sounded like it was a foreign concept, something abstruse and absurd.

  “Brian was killed for some reason,” Griff said. “There had to be some motive. Some reason.”

  She stared at him as though she had only realized who she was speaking to. “I’ll tell you the reason,” she said. “This family is cursed.”

  She turned and went back inside Jarrett’s room. The door closed silently behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Griff had to wait for the elevator. When the door finally slid open, Marcus stood before him. The harsh light was not kind. His face was puffy and he looked drawn with weariness. His expression, as he recognized Griff, was not pleased.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your father asked to see me.” Griff waited for Marcus to exit the elevator, but Marcus made no move to step out.

  “Why would he? About what?”

  “I’m supposed to leave today. He just wanted a final word.”

  “Leave?”

  Griff nodded. “Were you getting out?” he suggested.

  “I’ll ride down with you.”

  Griff stepped into the elevator and the doors closed. Griff pressed the ground floor button. He remembered that he had not yet interviewed Marcus. He had fully intended to. He had intended to speak to all the Arlingtons. But the week had flown past and somehow there was always someone more important, more in the forefront of his investigation to interview.

  “Did the police give you permission to leave?” Marcus asked.

  Griff said, “I’ll check back with Detective Patrick before I go, but there would be no grounds for keeping me here. I made my statement last night, and I can always answer follow-up questions by phone.”

  Marcus’s hollow gaze seemed fixed on Griff’s face. “Do you think you have enough information to write your book?”

  “I don’t know if there will be a book now. Your father asked me not to write it.”

  “Because of Brian. That doesn’t matter now. Brian’s out of your way.”

  Unease crawled down Griff’s spine. “Maybe the book isn’t as important as I thought it was.”

  Marcus asked strangely, “What is important?”

  Griff didn’t know how to answer. He wished he hadn’t got into this elevator. It was too easy to forget about Marcus, to dismiss him. The fact was, he knew Marcus the least well of any of the Arlingtons. And what he did know was not reassuring. Marcus was an alcoholic. Marcus had been in love with his brother’s wife. Marcus was on the outside of his own family. And at one point Marcus had believed he was entitled to the complete Arlington estate.

  “You’re not answering the question,” Marcus said. “What is important?”

  Griff told himself he was not afraid. He was a lot younger, stronger, fitter than Marcus, and he was on his guard. If all else he could hit the emergency button. His hand still casually rested on the panel, right next to the red button. But last night someone, most likely one of the Arlingtons, had boldly committed cold-blooded murder, and that person was still on the loose. Marcus was an unknown quantity and there was no question he was behaving oddly.

  “Maybe I just needed to prove something to myself,” Griff replied. “Maybe just coming here was the test.”

  Marcus’s mouth curved into a smile tha
t was somehow more frightening than his strained and somber expression had been. “Do you think you know who kidnapped Brian?”

  Griff remembered Pierce telling him to keep his mouth shut. But he could tell that Marcus knew he did think he had the answer. He said carefully, “I know that a deranged person took Brian that night. I know that the intent was not to harm him or kill him. I don’t know anything more than that. I don’t know if there is anything more to know.”

  “A deranged person,” Marcus said thoughtfully.

  The elevator reached the bottom floor. The door opened.

  “I don’t think it was about money.” Griff stepped out of the elevator with a feeling of relief.

  He glanced back at Marcus, but Marcus stood unmoving.

  “No,” Marcus said. “Not that time.”

  The elevator door closed.

  * * *

  He tried twice to get Pierce and then, checking his messages, realized he had probably been calling Pierce while Pierce was trying to get through to him.

  His phone rang on the drive to Winden House, and Pierce’s number flashed up. Griff answered with, “Do you have access to the Arlingtons’ financial records?”

  “Of course.”

  “Everybody’s?”

  “Well, essentially...yes. It depends on what you’re looking for. I don’t have instant access to every single account and trust fund. Obviously that’s information I can get, and information that the police have already requested. In fact, I’m going through Michaela’s financials now.”

  “Who runs Arlington Amalgamated since Jarrett retired?”

  “Howard Sand was groomed and trained by Jarrett to take his place as CEO after Matthew’s death.”

  “Not Marcus?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Pierce said patiently, “Because Marcus wasn’t interested. Marcus built and ran his own company until it went under nine years ago.”

  “What company?”

  “Whitewater Yachts. Marcus lost everything when the company went bankrupt.” Pierce’s tone changed. “Griff, never mind that for now. I have to talk to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve been instrumental in initiating DNA testing on Brian.”

  That shocked him. “Without the permission of the family?”

  “I convinced Detective Patrick that Brian’s paternity could be crucial to the investigation into his homicide.” Pierce hesitated. “That’s not the difficult part of what I need to tell you.”

  “The difficult part?”

  “Yes.”

  Griff’s heart dropped. He yanked the wheel and skidded to the side of the road, parking on the shoulder. He found his voice at last. “You better not be about to tell me what I think you’re going to tell me.”

  “I apologize,” Pierce said equally quietly. “I did it before we were involved. I told myself I was acting to protect my clients, but the fact is, I was acting to protect myself.”

  Funny how he had believed he loved Levi and yet nothing Levi had done, including walking out on him, hurt even a fraction as much as hearing this from Pierce.

  “I don’t understand you,” Griff said. “Is that why you invited me back to your house that first night? To get a sample of my DNA?”

  “Of course not. I invited you back because I wanted to be with you. But the idea did occur to me and I did act on it.”

  Griff remembered Pierce’s perfunctory attentions that night and laughed. At least the sound was intended as a laugh.

  “Griff.” Pierce sounded like he was in pain.

  “I can’t believe it. I came here to research a book. That was all. That was all I ever intended. What the fuck did you think you would discover?”

  “Have you ever looked at your birth certificate? I mean really examined it.”

  “Of course.” Not. Because who ever really examined those documents? You took them for granted. And the people in the town you grew up in took them for granted too. Because you’d been living there for twenty years and everyone knew you and knew your mother...

  “I never had any intention of hurting you. I swear to God. It’s just...the more I learned about you, the more curious I became. Your birthday. Your middle name. The night terrors and anxiety attacks. The fact that you were home schooled until college, that your mother was afraid to take you to a doctor.”

  “We’re done,” Griff said. “Don’t call me again.” He clicked off. Then he stared at the black screen, breathing as hard as if he’d had to fight tooth and nail to sever that connection. It was one thing to suspect a thing yourself. It was something else entirely to have someone grab you by the collar and force you to look into the mirror.

  His phone rang. Pierce’s number flashed up.

  He pressed Talk but before he could say anything, Pierce said, “I don’t know the results of the test. I’m calling you before I know anything for sure. Before I have any proof. I don’t care about the results. I’m calling you because I realize that I’ve violated your trust, and I don’t want to jeopardize what’s happening between us.”

  “You should have thought of that before, Pierce.”

  “Griff, I’m trying to help you. Whatever my original motive, I care for you. I care for you.”

  Griff barely heard the words. “You had no right.”

  “Maybe not. But I thought I was doing the right thing. The more the coincidences added up, the more I believed I was maybe even doing you a favor.”

  “I don’t need...” Griff stopped. The fact was he didn’t know what he needed. Everything he’d thought he knew for a fact was sliding out from under his feet. He changed it to, “I don’t need this right now.” He disconnected.

  Once again Pierce called back, but this time Griff let it go to message. He put the Karmann Ghia in gear and continued to Winden House.

  Police stopped him at the gates, but he showed his ID and told them he was staying on the estate and needed to get his belongings from the guest house. He was waved through and he continued to the house. He parked in the star-shaped court and got out.

  He walked through the twin griffins guarding the front entrance, stopped by the fountain, and walked back. He stared at the griffins for a moment, then continued up the steps. He walked around the side of the house and went in through the mud porch.

  No one was in the kitchen. It smelled cold and stale as though it was a long time since anything nourishing or wholesome had been cooked there.

  He left the kitchen and headed for the elegant entryway with the diamond parquet floor and low ceiling he had studied for so long in photographs.

  The whole house felt empty, abandoned.

  “Hello?” he called.

  There was no answer. He didn’t expect one really.

  Slowly, feeling almost as though he were sleep-walking, he climbed the curving marble staircase and walked down the hall to the nursery.

  He hesitated outside the nursery door, and then he turned the sea glass knob and went inside.

  Above his head the armada of tiny galleons flashed and glinted as they sailed through the dazzling spring sunlight, weathering the dust motes that drifted down around them. He stared at the treasure chest toy box at the foot of the child-sized bed, stared at the rocker before the fireplace, the sailboat leaning against the window seat. If it was all true, then he should be feeling something, shouldn’t he? He should remember something more than a broken clock and a ragged teddy bear.

  He sat down on Brian’s bed and stared up at the sea mural. A rainbow of fish and smiling dolphins dived and danced on the turquoise waves, frozen forever in play. The sea monster, smiling urbanely and showing all his sharp, white teeth, seemed to wink at him.

  I know a secret.

  Griff pulled out his phone. Pierce’s mes
sage waited unopened. He ignored it, moving to photos and examining the copies he had made of pictures in the Arlington albums. One by one, he slid them past, stopping only when he came to the image of Matthew lying in a hammock, reading.

  Griff flicked the screen, zooming on the photo until he could make out Matthew’s hand, and then larger again until he could view the book he held. An unmistakable indigo cover.

  The Great Gatsby. There was no error. The cover was one of the most famous and reproduced in the world. He stared at the tiny reproduction of Cugat’s gouache painting. The world-weary eyes, the single luminous green tear, the dazzling carnival of lights twinkling in the night.

  He felt as though he was looking at his entire life through a fun house mirror. Everything he had ever known, trusted, relied on was...wrong. A lie.

  He closed the photo. Pierce’s message was still waiting. He scowled at it and pressed play.

  Pierce sounded urgent, as though they were still speaking in real time. “And the other thing is, if I’m right, if we’re both right about what that test is going to show, you need to stay away from Winden House. Don’t go back there today. You said it yourself. Alvin wasn’t killed by Brian’s kidnapper. He was killed because someone can’t afford for Brian to come home. Do not go back there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Molly the cook was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. She looked up and smiled at Griff.

  “Mrs. Truscott?” he asked.

  Molly made a sympathetic face. “The poor thing. She’s got a terrible migraine. She’s in her rooms.”

  “Can I—?”

  “Oh. I don’t know.” Molly was still hesitating over that as Griff turned and went down the hall that led to the mostly deserted servants’ quarters.

  The door to Mrs. Truscott’s room was ajar. A terrible, terrible memory flashed through Griff’s mind. He made himself push the door open and to his relief saw her sitting at a small desk writing what looked to be a letter.