The Harbor

скачать книгу бесплатно


“I just wanted answers. At first people understood, but when the investigation stalled—” She broke off, dropping her hands to her sides. “It wasn’t an easy time. In CID’s place, I’d have done the same thing. I’d resigned. I was on my way to Quantico.”

“Losing your father and aunt the way you did must have pulled the rug out from under your life. I’m sorry.” He shifted away from her, and for the first time she noticed the three-inch scar on his jaw, just below his left ear. He’d been a split second from becoming the subject of a murder investigation himself. But he glanced back at her and asked, “Teddy Shelton—you know him?”

His question caught her by surprise. “Not really. He worked at the lobster pound last summer—I think he’s renting a cottage from Bruce. Why?”

“He popped up on my radar screen today. It’s probably nothing. You must want some time here on your own. I’ll see you around.”

Zoe didn’t stop him. She’d get his Teddy Shelton story out of him later. He walked back up to the trail, falling in with a trio of seniors, and she didn’t move until they were out of sight. Then, shivering in the chilly ocean air, she sat on a three-foot boulder and watched the tide slowly roll in, the two smallest islands visible offshore, just the northern tip of the largest, Sutherland Island, visible. They were mostly rock and evergreens, but their rugged look was deceptive. Their thin soil actually made them very fragile, easily damaged by careless hikers and kayakers. Luke Castellane’s father, Hollywood director Victor Castellane, had bought Sutherland Island years ago—the nature preserve wanted to add it to its onshore acreage.

Zoe stared at the short stretch of beach, not breathing, seeing herself a year ago when she realized there was no hope, her father was dead. She hadn’t known if the shooter was still nearby, if she was in danger, but she hadn’t been able to make herself respond like a law enforcement officer—it was her father dead before her.

She could still feel the water seeping into her running shoes as she ran out into the cove, screaming at a lobster boat down toward Sutherland Island. It turned out to be Bruce Young’s.

It occurred to her then and had stuck with her for the past year that her father’s murder had something to do with her. Was she supposed to find his body? It was no secret she ran in the preserve. Had she told him something in the weeks before that ultimately got him killed? Had a case she worked on when she was with the state police come back to haunt not her, but her father?

In the first weeks of the investigation, the state detectives had looked into all those possibilities. But there was nothing—no lead, no potential lead—that connected back to her.

So, what about Teddy Shelton?

She doubted it took much to pop up on McGrath’s radar screen, but still.

She leaped suddenly up off the boulder, as if she’d been bitten by a spider, but it was just nervous energy, restlessness. She’d spent the last two months milking goats and knitting. Why hadn’t she come back here sooner? She was convinced now, just as she was a year ago, that the answers to her father’s murder didn’t lie outside of Goose Harbor. They were here, in her hometown.

I know who did it....

Then again, maybe she was letting herself be misled by a dying old woman’s ramblings.

“Damn.”

She took a breath and walked back up to the trail. The three-hundred-acre preserve was her aunt’s legacy, as much as her Jen Periwinkle novels were. Olivia had had a long, good life. It was some consolation. Her father’s was cut short, in midlife. He hadn’t even had a chance to fight back. For him, Zoe’s only consolation was that he hadn’t suffered—the coroner said he’d most likely died almost instantly.

The first murder in Goose Harbor in thirty years.

She glanced back at the cove, the afternoon light waning as the tide washed over the sand and rock. There were worse places to die.

Eight (#ulink_7e47b6d4-b6c2-5641-b983-700929eb821e)

J.B. wasn’t in the mood for darts. He sat at a round table with a good view of Perry’s ancient bristle dartboard and wood-shaft darts and drank his iced tea. He was staying away from alcohol. His judgment was off enough as it was. What the hell was he doing, getting involved with these people? He should leave and check into the Kennebunkport inn that Lottie Martin had recommended. Finish his vacation somewhere else.

Zoe West had gotten to him. She wasn’t out of control like he was—she had such a tight rein on herself, it was a wonder she could breathe. It wasn’t the picture he’d formed of her based on the stories about her from last fall. He knew about post-trauma reactions. Flashbacks, sleep problems, anger, irritability, numbness. She’d pushed herself. She’d pushed everyone.

He thought of her standing in the cove where she’d found her father’s body. She still had no answers.

Bruce plopped down next to him with a beer. “I’m having a lobster roll and calling it dinner. You?”

“Sounds good.”

Bruce put in their order and settled back in his captain’s chair. He’d once insisted that the antique lobster pot on the wall had belonged to his great-grandfather. J.B. never knew when Bruce was pulling his leg and when he was playing it straight.

His expression darkened when Kyle Castellane entered the waterfront restaurant with two young women J.B. had never seen before. They all sat at a table behind Bruce and J.B., and Kyle snapped his fingers at a middle-aged waitress. She walked over and carded him. She had a broad Maine accent, and J.B. thought she was married to one of the lobstermen who wanted to throw him overboard and set fire to his boat.

The kid argued with her. “I come in here all the time. Nobody asks me for my I.D.”

“I just did,” she said.

He complied, grinned sheepishly at the two women with him. “I guess I won’t mind being carded when I’m forty.”

Bruce got up, plucked the darts off the dartboard and walked back to the table, sitting down heavily. “No Christina,” he said under his breath. “You see that?”

“She and Zoe are having dinner together.”

Without standing up, Bruce turned his chair and fired a dart at the board. It hit the wall. He fired another, hitting an outer ring. “They’ve had a tough year. Chris has a good thing going with her café. She’s scared Zoe’ll start knocking heads together, or stir up dust just because she’s here—”

“She tell you that?”

“She’s been saying it for months. ‘What if Zoe comes back and it all starts over again?’ Like that.” He turned slightly to take a sip of his beer, and his eyes shifted to Kyle, just for an instant. He made a face, muttering under his breath. “I wish I knew what she sees in him.”

“He’s smart, rich, artistic and not from Goose Harbor.”

Bruce managed a grin. “Other than that. I just want her to be happy.”

“That’s what I told myself when the congressional staffer I was dating last year gave me the heave-ho. It beat the truth.”

“The truth was you’re a jackass, McGrath.”

“Possibly. I also wasn’t around enough, and I didn’t know the right people and get invited to the right parties.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t get invited to any parties. Who’s she seeing now?”

“No idea. I’ve been busy.” J.B. left it at that. Bruce had exhibited very little curiosity about the details of J.B.’s work with the bureau, which was just as well since he wasn’t getting any of them. “That’s why I’m on vacation now.”

“Where you staying tonight?”

“My boat, the rate I’m going.”

Bruce liked that. “I can loan you a sleeping bag and a tarp if it rains. You could stay at my place, but I have three dogs—most people complain about the dogs.”

“Do they eat off the counter?”

“I don’t know. I’m not there all the time.”

“Bruce, if they’re good dogs, you know they don’t eat off the counters.”

“They’re good dogs,” he said. “They’re just not prissy, overly well-behaved dogs.”

Staying at Bruce’s was definitely out. Their lobster rolls arrived, and Bruce examined his before pulling out a small piece of tail meat. “I think I know this guy.”

J.B. laughed, feeling more relaxed. If anyone would understand how one of the West sisters could work her way under his skin, it’d be Bruce Young. J.B. started on his lobster roll, but stopped when he heard a commotion near the front door.

Christina West burst through the crowd at the bar and charged over to Kyle’s table. “Caught,” Bruce muttered, but he must have seen what J.B. did, because he got to his feet. “What the hell—”

J.B. stood next to him. Christina was white-faced, breathing rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Someone broke into my café,” she told Kyle. “They smashed in the door and took cash out of the register—there wasn’t much—”

Kyle didn’t bother to get up. “What about my apartment?”

“It’s fine. They tried jimmying the door, but the police think something scared them away before they could get in. I just left there—” She inhaled sharply, brushed at her tears with the back of her wrist. She had on a black skirt and white top, black shoes that’d be easy on the feet. Despite her obvious distress, her boyfriend still hadn’t gone to her. “Zoe’s talking to the police.”

“What for?” Kyle asked. “It’s not her café.”

Christina didn’t seem to notice his annoyance. “We had dinner at Aunt Olivia’s house, and she was driving me back. She realized the café was broken into before I did. Can you believe it? Two days in a row. I feel like I’m a target!”

Bruce stepped forward. “You okay, Chris?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She managed a faltering smile. “You should have seen Zoe go into her cop mode. She’s still got it. The local police almost choked when they saw her, but, you know, she was so good—”

“She was the best,” Bruce said softly. He touched her arm. “You want a drink?”

“That’d be great.”

Using his foot, Kyle kicked a chair out from under the table for her. “Have a seat, Chris. Goose Harbor’s serial thief strikes again. You’d think with the FBI crawling around town, they wouldn’t dare.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and stepped back, firing his last dart, but too hard. It hit the board and bounced onto the floor. He glanced at J.B. “You want to go see Zoe? You need a ride?”

“I’ve got my Jeep.”

Bruce grinned at him. “You’d think a G-man would drive something snazzier—”

“Want to meet me there?”

He shook his head. “Nah. It’s not my problem.” He glanced sideways at Christina. “Kyle can help her fix her door this time.”

He threw a few bills on the table and grabbed the last of his lobster roll, finishing it on his way out. J.B. went over to Christina’s table. “Your café’s in a well-traveled location. Maybe someone saw something.”

“That’s what the police said—there could be a witness. I don’t know, though. It’s pretty quiet on the docks. It’s so dark and cold—” She sniffled, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m this upset. It’s not as if anyone was hurt or there was any serious damage. There’s no reason to think there’s any connection—” she hesitated, then continued as if she wished she hadn’t started “—with anything.”

“I’m glad they didn’t get into my apartment,” Kyle said. “All my materials for my documentary are in the living room, right out in the open.”

Christina angled a look at him. “The police think whoever did it was after cash, not your documentary.” There was no sharpness in her tone. “Still, who knows. None of this makes sense. I suppose I could have caught the attention of some creep now that I’m running a business—oh, who knows.”

J.B. knew what she meant. Speculation only brought more speculation, but it was always a temptation to run various scenarios. He thought of Teddy Shelton and wondered if the police would be talking to him. “I’d like to run down there and see what’s what. Can I do anything for you?”

She shook her head, her smile stronger this time. “No, but thanks. Well, one thing—make sure my sister doesn’t push too hard? She’s bad enough when she has to play by the rules. Now she’s just a regular person.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

He left. He’d had only two bites of his lobster roll, but he wasn’t hungry—or all that fond of lobster, which he kept to himself.

When J.B. got to the town docks, the police had gone. Zoe was sitting on the hood of her VW Beetle staring out at the dark harbor. It was a clear night, starlit, a sliver of a moon sparkling on the quiet water. J.B. could hear the endless whoosh of the tide. It’d be just past high tide now. He was becoming accustomed to its rhythms. Western Montana and the isolated alpine meadow his father had loved seemed far away, a part of a life J.B. wasn’t even sure anymore had really been his. He’d left at eighteen and only went back for summers in college to work as a fishing and hiking guide. He landed in Washington, D.C., as a low-level state department worker, then decided on a career in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He did fieldwork out west, then ended up back in Washington.

His life wasn’t anything like Zoe West’s.

He parked a little way down from her and got out, but before he’d even shut his door, the old guy, the retired judge, was on him. “Agent McGrath? I’m Steven Monroe. My friends call me Stick. I’m a longtime friend of the West family.” He spoke clearly and precisely despite his clenched-jaw look. “You can count me among those who don’t appreciate your attitude or your presence here.”

J.B. shut his door. “Okay.”

Monroe didn’t react. “The break-in yesterday at Christina’s house and today at her café—I think they happened because of you. I checked you out. You should be in a treatment center, not in a town where good people are trying to put a terrible experience behind them.”