The Shadow Box
Page 30
“There’s someone else,” I said. “Evans Coffin—Max’s wife. You’ve got to get to her, protect her. She gave me this.” I reached into my pocket, handed Conor the letter. “You’ll understand when you read it. Her husband and his brother were in on this too.”
Conor nodded. “We’ll pick them up,” he said.
“Just make sure Evans and Spencer are safe. Griffin and his friends are after everyone who knows.”
“I will,” he said. “Spencer is coming to the barracks, and I’m going to take her statement. And I’ll read the letter and go see Evans.” He gazed at me for a long moment. “You’d better call Jackie.”
“I will,” I said, smiling.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve got a team rooting for you, that’s for sure. No one was going to let up.”
“Thanks, Conor,” I said.
Then I saw him lift his gaze, looking past me toward the beach. It was only then that I realized the sound of the boat engine had stopped. And when I turned around, I saw the skiff’s owner hurrying toward me, huffing and puffing like any other self-respecting scientist with a big belly.
“Nate,” I said.
“You’re alive, you’re alive,” he said, grabbing me hard, rocking me back and forth in a massive hug. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking? The world went so dark for a while because there was no Claire. I thought I’d never see you again.”
I leaned into him, letting him hold me, my heart pounding as I tried to make sense of what I had believed when I saw those books and what I felt now.
“What was that email about?” he asked, holding me at arm’s length. “What did you think I was part of?”
“I saw your books at Ravenscrag,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a house. Owned by Maxwell Coffin.”
He squinted his blue eyes tight, as if trying to remember the name. When he opened them, I saw his big smile and the burst of sun lines around his eyes. “Evans’s husband,” he said.
“You know Evans?”
“Yes,” he said. “She’s a great environmentalist. Came to one of my lectures and gave me a big donation to help fund that last expedition to the Bering Sea.”
“Then why did you sign the books to Max instead of her?” I asked.
“Because he’s a die-hard industrialist who’d like to develop every protected place on the planet. She thought that if I signed the books in a positive way, he might have a change of heart.”
“I’m guessing that’s not likely,” I said.
“I wasn’t holding my breath,” he said. “Come on, let me drive you to the hospital.” He touched my neck, the raw spot where the rope had chafed and burned, and then he leaned forward to kiss it.
Conor heard what Nate had said, and he nodded.
“I’ll check in with you a little later,” he said. “I’ll get your statement then.”
“Thank you,” I said. Officer Peggy McCabe had handcuffed Emily Coffin and Alexander Chase; other officers had cuffed Ford, Wade, and Leonora.
Conor opened the back door of his Ford police car, letting Gwen and Charlie climb inside, then buckling the seat belts around the kids. I watched them drive away from Catamount Bluff.
I looked at Nate. “We’re stuck here,” I said.
“No, we’re not,” he said.
“It’s a long walk out of Catamount Bluff.”
“I thought we’d go by boat,” he said. “It’s a beautiful day.”
I loved that idea. We held hands, my ex-husband and I, and walked through afternoon shadows past the house and barn and studio, across the lawn. Halfway to the weather-beaten beach stairs, I stopped still, listening.
“Did you hear that?” I asked. I swore I heard the big cat cry, way off in the distance.
Nate looked at me with an expression in his eyes that might have been skepticism. But his smile grew wide, letting me know it was wonder.
“I did,” he said.
“I didn’t imagine it?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “You’ve got a mountain lion in those woods.”
“I always knew it,” I said. And I whispered, “Thank you, I love you forever.”
Whether to the cat or my father or the ghost of Ellen Fielding, I wasn’t sure, but I knew that the kids and I were safe, that Griffin and the others had been arrested, and I could hear the music of the sea, of the beach, of the woods that had saved my life.
And when Nate squeezed my hand and said to me, “I heard that,” I realized he might have thought that I’d been whispering to him. And that was fine with me. Because in the deepest way possible and every way that counted, it was true.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am so grateful to Liz Pearsons, my amazing editor at Thomas & Mercer. Much gratitude to Charlotte Herscher, my developmental editor, Shasti O’Leary Soudant, my cover designer, and my entire T&M team, including Sarah Shaw, Laura Barrett, Alicia Lea, Susan Stokes, Brittany Russell, and Lindsey Bragg. And epic thanks to Gracie Doyle.
Boundless gratitude to my agent and close friend, Andrea Cirillo. A big thank-you to everyone at the Jane Rotrosen Agency: Jane Berkey, Meg Ruley, Chris Prestia, Annelise Robey, Christina Hogrebe, Rebecca Scherer, Amy Tannenbaum, Jessica Errera, Kathy Schneider, Sabrina Prestia, Hannah Rody-Wright, Julianne Tinari, Donald Cleary, Michael Conroy, Ellen Tischler, Hannah Strouth, and of course, the legend himself, Don Cleary.
Many thanks to my dear friend and film agent, Ron Bernstein.
Cynthia McFadden is a brilliant journalist. When I wrote about abuse of people and abuse of power in this novel, I thought of how Cynthia goes after the story and brings the truth to light. I’m thankful for her inspiring work.
I am thankful to Colette Harron for her wonderful heart. And she knows all the magical houses . . .
Andrew Griswold, director of EcoTravel for the Connecticut Audubon Society, is a great friend and one of the best birders and naturalists I know. Although it is claimed that Connecticut’s last mountain lions went extinct in the late 1800s, there have been many reported sightings since then; in 2011, one was killed by a car on the Wilbur Cross Parkway. I thank Andy for discussing my fictional cat’s habitat with me.
My thanks to Teri Lewis for her countless kindnesses as a friend and assistant and for her sweetness to the cats when I can’t be with them.
I am grateful to Sergeant Robert Derry of the Connecticut State Police for his stories and accounts of law enforcement on the highways and byways of Connecticut.
Thank you to my exuberant and creative social media manager, Patrick Carson.
Lifelong thanks to William Twigg Crawford for keeping an eye on the sky and always letting me know the wind speed at Ledge Light.
Gratitude to Katherine Verano and Melissa Zaitchik of Safe Futures. Their support has been invaluable. Safe Futures serves those impacted by domestic violence, sexual assault, stalking, and trafficking in southeastern Connecticut. Please reach out to them or the National Domestic Violence Hotline if you or someone you know needs help.
I adore and am forever grateful to my sister Maureen Rice Onorato and brother-in-law, Olivier Onorato. We speak every night, no matter what. They take me sailing on Merci, lead me through Saint-André-de-Cubzac and Saint-Émilion, share tales of their cat, Georgie, and the white-breasted nuthatches nesting in the bluebird house, and make me laugh nearly every time we talk. There’s nothing better than going through life with the people you love, and for me, that list begins with Maureen and Olivier.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © by Kristina Loggia
Luanne Rice is the New York Times bestselling author of thirty-five novels that have been translated into twenty-five languages. In 2002, Connecticut College awarded Rice an honorary degree, and she also received an honorary doctorate from the University of Saint Joseph. In June 2014, she received the 2014 Connecticut Governor’s Arts Award for excellence as a literary artist.
Several of Rice’s novels have been adapted for television, inc
luding Crazy in Love, for TNT; Blue Moon, for CBS; Follow the Stars Home and Silver Bells, for the Hallmark Hall of Fame; and Beach Girls, for Lifetime.
Rice is a creative affiliate of the Safina Center, an organization that brings together scientists, artists, and writers to inspire a deeper connection with nature—especially the sea. Rice is an avid environmentalist and advocate for families affected by domestic violence. She lives on the Connecticut Shoreline.