The Widow (17 page)

Ah, Pa.

“I’m trying,” Mattie whispered. “I’m trying hard.”

At least Pa Browning hadn’t lived to see his grandson murdered. A small blessing, at least.

Mattie didn’t know if he fell asleep, or if he’d simply gone into some kind of trance, but he became aware of the shed door creaking open. He went very still, silently reassured himself that he couldn’t be seen from the door. If it was Ellis, returned from paying homage to his brother, he’d never come this far into the shed.

The door shut—Mattie could hear it, feel more than see the change in light.

“It’s me,” Linc Cooper said. “I’m alone.”

Mattie got to his feet, but stayed close to the little chicken door. “Ellis isn’t back yet, is he?”

Linc shook his head, making his way to the rear of the shed. “The cops have gone out to talk to him and my father. They’re looking for you. They think you attacked Abigail Browning.”

“I didn’t attack her—that’s not what happened.”

“Then tell that to Chief Alden. He knows you. He won’t want to believe you’d deliberately hurt anyone. Running just makes you look guilty. What about your bike? Mattie, they’ll find you—”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He’d hid his bike in the woods, where no one would find it, but he had no intention of giving Linc that information—that much power over him.

Linc sneered at him. “Always innocent, aren’t you?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Mattie felt a surge of impatience. “You’d better hope our Detective Browning doesn’t think you attacked her.”

“Me? Why would I?” The kid squared his shoulders and gave Mattie an icy, superior look. “I’m not playing your game.”

“This isn’t a fucking game.”

“Whatever.” Linc stepped closer to him, holding out an envelope to him. “Here’s another two thousand. That’s four thousand, total. Take it, Mattie, and get out of here. Before you go too far. What if you’d killed Abigail today? She’s the daughter of the director of the FBI. She’s a cop—”

“You’re a bastard, Linc, you know that?” Mattie kept his voice calm, never mind the lousy situation he was in. He hadn’t meant for things to go this way. “You’re just like your father. Don’t think you’re different, because you’re not. You’re a cutthroat son of a bitch just like he is. A chip off the old block.”

Linc’s cheeks flamed red. “Better than being a foul-smelling drunk who betrays his own friends.”

Mattie snatched the envelope from him and inspected the contents, the mix of green bills. A new beginning. But his eyes welled up with tears. He coughed, covering for himself. “I want the rest.”

“I can’t—”

“I have Abigail’s necklace.”

He relished watching the shock seize Linc, turn him ashen, force him to take a step back, stumble on a bag of cow manure. “Mattie…
Christ…”

“You remember her necklace. It was her grandmother’s. Abigail wore it on her wedding day. The ‘something borrowed.’ Pearls, with a cameo pendant. You grabbed it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You thought no one was at the house. I’ll give you that. But she was there, and you hit her on the head—”

“Show it to me.” Linc had recovered slightly, his cockiness, his natural arrogance, rising to the challenge. “If you’ve got the necklace, show it to me.”

Mattie shook his head. “I don’t trust you not to hit me over the head.”

“If I stole it, how did you end up with it?”

“I know where you stashed it.”

Linc looked as if he’d throw up any second. “I don’t know how you can sleep at night. A six-pack of cheap beer makes all the difference, though, doesn’t it?”

“You’re not helping yourself.”

“I don’t care. I’m not paying you another dime. If you’ve got evidence that ties me to Chris’s murder, take it to the police. I don’t care anymore.”

He cared. Mattie could see the fear—the self-loathing—in the kid’s eyes. “I’m not greedy.”

Linc snorted. “You’re such a creep, Mattie.”

“You should have thrown the necklace in the ocean. That’s what you’re thinking now, isn’t it? But you panicked.”

“I’m leaving.” Linc straightened, looking less green. “I’m not going to turn you in. Sink in your own slime. But I’m through, Mattie. Do what you want to do with the necklace. I didn’t steal it. I didn’t kill Chris. I don’t know who did.”

He spun on his heels and marched out of the shed, latching the door behind him.

Mattie sank back onto the cold concrete floor. He had four thousand dollars on him, in his possession. When had he ever had this much cash? Why not take it and go?

Let it be enough. Make it be enough.

He’d just attacked Abigail Browning. Chris’s wife. His friend’s true love.

“You should have been at our wedding, Mattie. It was something.”

But Mattie hadn’t been able to see beyond his outrage at his friend the FBI agent cutting him off.

“You’re drinking again. I’m through.”

Mattie got out his cigarettes, tapped one out and stuck it on his lip. He didn’t dare light it. He sank his head against the stack of lobster pots.

“Hell, Chris. I’ve done it now, haven’t I?”

And there was no going back.

O
wen stood on the rock cliffs where his sister had fallen to her death. A family of black ducks bobbed in the outgoing tide below him. Tall firs and spruces grew along the edge of the vertical rock face, their roots bulging out of the thin soil, some of them hanging over the water.

Linc stayed two paces behind him. “You’re not worried about falling?”

“No. It’s not slippery.” Owen grinned at him. “And I’ve got one hand on this tree.”

“I don’t like hanging my toes over the edges of cliffs.” Leaning forward, very tentatively, Linc peered down at the water, then pulled back, his cockiness—a cover for everything—returning. “I’ve never spent much time out here. What’s the point? There’s nothing to do. Maybe if I were into rock climbing.”

“Or bird-watching.”

“Bird-watching?”

Owen stepped back from the cliffs. “Never mind.”

“Oh.” Linc seemed slightly embarrassed. “Your sister. I remember Grace saying she was into birds. I wasn’t thinking about…” He grimaced. “I wasn’t thinking this is where she, you know, fell.”

“It was a long time ago.”

The five wooded acres of waterfront were included in the property Jason Cooper was selling, and presumably would go to the new owners. Linc, obviously, wouldn’t care. But he’d looked anxious and preoccupied since he’d arrived on Owen’s deck an hour ago. Owen had suggested walking out to the cliffs as much to burn up some of Linc’s nervous energy as to see if they could pick up the trail of Abigail’s attacker.

After dropping her off at her house, Owen had left the law enforcement officers and returned to his deck, dragging a chair close enough to the rail that he could put his feet up and stare out at the water and think. He’d gotten about two minutes of thinking done when Linc had turned up.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Mattie’s worked for my family for years. I can’t believe he’d hurt anyone. Abigail pushes his buttons, but she pushes everyone’s buttons.”

“Let’s see what Mattie says when the police catch up with him.”

“It’s not good that they can’t find him, is it?” Linc asked.

“Depends.” Owen noticed dark smudges under Linc’s eyes. “Are you sleeping okay? Did I push you too hard on our hikes?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m sleeping okay. It’s just—” He shrugged, looking out at the horizon, sky and water the same clear blue. “I guess with my sister and everything she’s got going on, and then Abigail showing up—I’m just on edge.”

“Where’s Grace today?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me what she’s doing. She’s probably at the house.” He paused, clearing his throat, then asked abruptly, “Does Abigail think that Mattie killed Chris?”

“That hasn’t come up between us.”

“In a way, it’d be easier if he did and we knew it, could prove it. Then it’d be over. The not knowing.”

“You were just thirteen when Chris died,” Owen said. “That’s a tough age to be a part of something like that.”

“He was my friend.” Link blinked rapidly, keeping any tears at bay. “I remember the morning he was found. No one wanted to tell me. My father—he just said Chris was hurt. I didn’t find out for hours what’d really happened.”

“Who told you?”

“My dad, finally. Chris…” His voice cracked. “He believed in me. After he was killed, I learned I don’t need anyone to believe in me in order to believe in myself.”

“We all want someone to believe in us—”

“Wanting’s different from needing.”

“Maybe so.”

Linc brushed the back of his hand across his cheeks. “I should get back.”

Owen eyed the younger man. “Linc, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Everything’s getting to me is all.”

They headed back along the path through the woods and out to the private drive. When they reached Owen’s house, Grace Cooper was on the deck, arms crossed on her chest as she paced, preoccupied, oblivious to her surroundings. She saw her brother and gave a small gasp of relief. “There you are. Your car’s at Ellis’s—”

“I know. I left it up there and walked down here. What difference does it make?”

“We were worried.”

Linc rolled his eyes. “We?”

“Yes, we. Father, Ellis.” She dropped her arms to her sides. She had on expensive-looking sailing clothes—white slacks, a navy-and-white top—that somehow made her look older than she was. “With this attack on Abigail, who knows what’s next.”

“I’m not afraid.” Linc sounded more belligerent than convincingly unafraid. “It wasn’t a random attack. Whoever went after her isn’t going to beat me over the head.”

Her brother’s confrontational tone didn’t seem to get to Grace. “That’s a good point. You don’t believe it was Mattie? The police are looking for him.”

“Doesn’t matter what I believe.”

She turned to Owen, her poise faltering slightly, but she managed a polite smile. “I don’t imagine you’re getting the rest you thought you would this week.”

“Not a problem.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be for you.” Her smile faded, offering a glimpse of the emotions she kept so tightly under wrap. “Everything’s a mess right now.”

“Her appointment,” Linc said, as if Owen couldn’t guess that was what she meant. “It’s all-important, you know.”

His sister swung around at him. “That’s not fair!”

He flushed. “I guess not. I’m sorry.” He shrugged, self-deprecating all of a sudden. “Being a jerk helps me not think about everything else.”

Grace nodded, instantly accepting her brother’s explanation. “It’s okay. Forget it. Owen—we’ll run along. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. I hope Abigail’s all right.”

As she and Linc headed off the deck and back to her car, DoyleAlden pulled into the driveway, Abigail in the front seat next to him. When they got out, they greeted the Coopers, who mumbled quick hellos before continuing on their way.

“Two of Lou’s guys are up at Ellis’s house,” Doyle said as he stepped up onto the deck. “They’ll be talking to Grace and Linc next. It’s Mattie’s day off. No reason for them to know where he is, I suppose.”

Abigail walked up to the deck, her limp less noticeable. She’d put on fresh clothes, but blood had seeped through her khaki pants where she’d been cut with the drywall saw. Not a lot, Owen noted, but enough. She paid no attention, taking in a deep breath. “We could hit eighty degrees today. Imagine that.”

Doyle frowned at her. “You look like shit, Abigail.”

“One of those days, Chief.”

“Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “I guess it is.”

“At least we found my car keys. Mattie threw them in the grass by the driveway. He must have thought better of stealing my car.”

“We don’t know it was Mattie.”

“You don’t. If I were in an official capacity, I wouldn’t, either. But I’m not.” With a slight wince of pain, she moved to the glass door. “I’m the one who forgot to lock her damn door.”

“Might not have made a difference,” Doyle said. “Easy enough to put a chair or a rock through a door or window, if someone’s determined to get in.”

They’d evidently been over that ground already. Doyle obviously relished being able to reassure Abigail about a mistake she’d made.

“Anything new on Mattie?” Owen asked.

Doyle shook his head. “He knows every inch of this island. He’s got friends who’d give him a ride, pick him up in their boat—loan him a boat. If he doesn’t want to talk to us, he can make himself very hard to find.”

“Cutting my phone line was a smart preemptive strike,” Abigail said, not going inside just yet. “It delayed getting you all out here. He knew he only had a bike.”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense to me,” Doyle said. “How did he know you weren’t home? Did he happen up your driveway, see your car gone and seize the moment? I don’t know. None of it makes any damn sense. Maybe he just walked in to wait for you and decided he couldn’t explain himself—”

“So he grabbed a saw and knocked me on my ass?”

Doyle rubbed the back of his neck, the sunlight and heat—the frustration—turning his face red. “I’m just saying we don’t know until we talk to him.”

Abigail looked at Owen and gave a small smile. “The state guys confiscated my drywall saw as evidence.”

“Take a trip to the hardware store,” Doyle said. “Buy a new one. It’ll give you something to do.”

“Don’t want my help searching Mattie’s house? You’ve got enough for a search warrant—”

“Thank you for your advice, Detective Browning,” Doyle said with open sarcasm.

She was unaffected. “I should have found a stick or something to use as a cane before you all got here. Garnered some sympathy.”

“We’re all just glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

“Yeah, tough one, that’d be,” Abigail said. “Chris’s widow, John March’s daughter—”

“Just stop.” Doyle stuck a finger up at her. “Stop right now before you go too far. I try to be decent, and you—” He abandoned that thought and dropped his hand. “You try my patience, Abigail. You always have.”

She grinned at him, unrepentant. “Sorry.”

“I need to go pick up the boys. You want me to have a cruiser posted at your house?”

“Doyle—”

“Payback,” he said, with almost a chuckle. “I’ll let you know if we find Mattie.”

“I know you two go way back,” Abigail said. “I meant what I said to Lou and his guys earlier. I don’t believe Mattie attacked me with the intention of hurting me. He just wanted to get out of there without getting caught.”

“But he did attack you,” Doyle said. “Someone did, anyway. Hell, your leg’s still bleeding. You should have it looked at.”

“It’s nothing. I just overdid it. I’ll borrow Owen’s first-aid kit and put on a Band-Aid. Owen? Is that okay?”

He smiled at her. “Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“I’ll be in your downstairs bathroom.” She smiled back at him. “And, thanks, but I won’t need you.”

Owen kept his mouth shut as she went inside, but Doyle called to her, “Damn thing could get infected.” He didn’t wait for an answer and growled at Owen. “You understand the position I’m in? And Katie’s not here. I’ve got all this on my plate…” He bit off a sigh and shut up. “Bring the boys by here anytime.”

“And what, let someone hack at them with a saw?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Maybe not.” Doyle didn’t meet his eye. “I wish I knew what Mattie was up to. And Abigail. Hell. I can’t get my head around what all’s going on here. I’m hoping nothing. That when it’s all done and said, it’s just a bunch of nothing.”

Something banged inside in the bathroom. “
Damn!”

Doyle glanced at Owen and smiled. “Sounds as if our detective needs some help, after all. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Chicken,” Owen said, and headed inside.

Abigail picked herself up off the bathroom floor and got out of there, leaning against the pineboard wall in the hall just as Owen arrived, steady, not at all panicked.

“All set,” she said. “I lost my balance and had a little spill.”

“Going through my bathroom cupboards?”

“Your shelves, actually. There must be five million of them in there. I checked them all for ibuprofen. I got up on the edge of the tub to see into the high ones.” She could feel her heart thumping rapidly from the near-disaster. “But no ibuprofen. And there’s none in the first-aid kit.”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

She noticed him glance down at her leg and was grateful that she’d had the good sense to put her pants back on before pawing through his shelves. She’d stood there, in the middle of his bathroom, pants in hand, and considered the matter—pictured herself falling, and him charging to her rescue, only to find her in her skivvies, writhing on the floor. Unfortunately, her premonition hadn’t compelled her to skip climbing onto the edge of the tub altogether.

“My leg’s fine,” she said. “Honestly.”

“All patched up?”

“I found a proper bandage that I could manage on my own. All I need now are a couple of ibuprofen, a glass of wine and a hot bath.”

Owen moved closer to her. “All can be arranged.”

He was close enough that Abigail could see the black flecks in his fog-gray eyes. She pressed the small of her back against the wall. If she could do magic, she’d make herself melt into the pine boards. The man was messing up her head.

He studied her with that mix of steadiness and intensity that, in him, weren’t at all contradictory. “Doyle’s gone.”

“Arresting Mattie won’t be easy for him, if it comes to it.”

“Would it be easy for you?”

“No. It wouldn’t have been for Chris, either. The three of them—” She pulled herself slightly away from the wall, her heart rate adjusting to the jolt of her fall. “They grew up like brothers. I could see that when I first came to Mt. Desert. I didn’t understand the push-pull Chris felt about his life here until I met Doyle and Mattie.”

“If Mattie has an explanation for why he was in your house, why he attacked you—”

“He’ll have an explanation. He always does, doesn’t he?”