“Is there a police officer on the island?”

“Constable,” Jimmy said. “You’re looking at him.”

“Jimmy, have you had any reports of burglaries on the island?”

“Over what period of time?”

“After Hal Rhinehart came back.”

Jimmy looked at them both carefully before replying. “What’s your interest in this?”

“Dino is a police lieutenant in New York. He and I used to be partners in the NYPD, and we arrested Rhinehart for burglary a few years back.”

“I heard about that,” Jimmy said. “I also heard from his parole officer-indirectly, through the state police-when he came back.”

“That’s what we were wondering about,” Dino said. “How Rhinehart could be here, when he’s supposed to be on parole.” As if he didn’t know.

“Apparently, he arranged things with his parole officer when his dad got sick,” Jimmy said. “He reports by phone, I’m told.”

“You never answered my question, Jimmy,” Stone said.

“Which question was that?”

“Have there been any burglaries on the island since Rhinehart came home?”

“No.” Jimmy took a long beat. “But Camden and Rockland have had a rash of them. You think it’s Hal?”

“What kind of burglaries?”

“What do you mean?”

“Big, small? Jewelry, lawnmowers, what?”

“Jewelry and cash, it said in the paper.”

Stone and Dino exchanged a glance.

“We had some burglaries here, too,” Jimmy said.

“When and how many?”

“When Hal was a teenager; a dozen or more. Come to think of it, they stopped when he went to college. I never made the connection.” Jimmy sighed. “I hope to hell this new rash is not Hal’s doing. We need a cabinet maker around here; you go to the mainland for something like that, and it’s a lot more money, and Hal’s gotten to be as good as his dad.”

“I expect the folks in Camden and Rockland wouldn’t feel the same regrets you would, if he turned out to be the guy,” Stone said.

“You want me to talk to him?” Jimmy asked.

Dino spoke up. “Let me do that,” he said.

“Okay, you’re the pro; I’m just here to call the state boys if sort of-thing happens. You want me to call them about this?”

“Not yet,” Dino said.

Chapter 21

THE CABINET SHOP was in a low building behind a neat, shingled house close to the road, and the smell of sawdust rolled over Stone in a wave of memory. All woodworking shops smelled like this, and his father’s shop had been no exception. It was a clean, fresh smell, sometimes tinged with burning when a saw cut hardwood.

There was a lot of machinery, some of it not new. A huge band-saw appeared to be at least fifty years old, but it was clean, rust-free and well oiled. Three men were working on different machines, each with hearing protection and goggles. Half a dozen newly completed kitchen cabinets hung on a wall, awaiting painting and hardware.

Stone let Dino take the lead into the Shop. He could do most of the talking, too, and it was just as well, given the size of the lump in Stone’s throat brought on by the scent of sawed wood.

A tall man near the front of the shop switched off his machine when he saw them enter. He pulled off his earmuffs and let the goggles fall to his neck as he walked slowly toward them. “This way,” he said, beckoning. He led the way into a spacious office containing an old rolltop desk and a large drawing table. Rolls of plans protruded from pigeonholes next to the desk. He pointed to a pair of nicely built chairs, and they sat down.

“Remember us?” Dino asked.

Rhinehart nodded but didn’t speak.

“Wonder why we’re here?”

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly. His voice was deep. “I didn’t think we had any further business.”

“Looks like we do,” Dino said. “There’ve been a bunch of burglaries.”

“In Camden and Rockland? I knew the state cops would get around to me sooner or later, but why is the NYPD interested?”

“Your parole officer wants to know if you’re involved, Hal,” Stone said.

Rhinehart shook his head. “I haven’t been off the island since I got back here. I’m confined to it, according to my agreement with my parole officer. I can’t get on the ferry, unless I have his permission, and I’ve made a point of not leaving.”

“Do you own a boat?” Dino asked.

“Yes, my father’s, but it’s been laid up in a shed since he died.”

“Do you own a gun?”

“My father had a deer rifle. It’s locked in a case over at the house, and it hasn’t been fired since he got sick.”

“You know Dick Stone’s house?” Stone asked.

“Sure, I do; my dad and I built the study, the kitchen and the dressing rooms. Why?”

“I recall that you once did some other work, besides burglary,” Dino said. “Something more specialized.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhinehart said.

“Vito Thomasini, shot in his bed,” Dino said. “Edgar Bromfield, shot on his front doorstep from a roof across the street.”

“I’ve heard of Thomasini. Who hasn’t? Never heard of Bromfield, and I was nowhere near either of them when they were killed.”

“If you’ve never heard of Bromfield, why do you know you were nowhere near him when he was shot?” Stone asked.

“I mean, I heard of him, when I saw it in the papers, but I never laid eyes on the guy.”

“Not even through a scope?” Dino asked.

“listen, if there’d been the slightest evidence against me for those killings, you guys would have been all over me at the time. Why are you asking about Dick Stone? You think I killed him, too?”

“Did you?” Stone asked.

“Of course not. I liked the guy, and he paid us well for our work, I had no motive to kill him.”

“Sometimes, all the motive you need is a phone call and some cash,” Dino pointed out. “It’s not as though you have a conscience about these things.”

“Look, I stole a lot of jewelry, cash and other stuff, but I’ve never killed anybody.”

“Funny how you have this reputation, then,” Dino said.

“I don’t believe I do. Anyway, the only people who know I’m even on this island are those who live here, the state cops and my parole officer. Nobody I ever knew in that old life has ever even heard of Islesboro.”

“You’re in the phone book,” Stone said.

“The cabinet shop is; I’m not. I’m dug in here. I’ve got a wife and a kid and a fine business; I don’t need to steal from people or kill them for money. Go talk to my banker.”

“I believe you,” Stone said.

Dino looked at him as if he were crazy.

“I don’t think anybody who built that study for Dick Stone, who knew him, could kill him.”

“Thank you,” Rhinehart said.

“Let’s go, Dino,” Stone said, standing up.

“You really think we’re done here?” Dino asked. They were all on their feet now.

“What’s your interest in Dick Stone?” Rhinehart asked, as they moved back into the shop and toward the front door.

“He was my first cousin.”

“I see.”

Stone looked around the shop. “My father was a cabinet and furniture maker in New York.”

Rhinehart looked thoughtful. “Not Malon Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen some of his work. He was as good as they come.”

Stone wondered if he’d seen that work in people’s homes, after breaking in. “You said you liked Dick?”

“I did. He was easy to work with, and he paid on time. He understood what we were doing for him and how good the work was.”

“Would you like to do something for Dick?” Stone asked.

“What could I do for him now?” Rhinehart asked, as they reached the front door.

“You could break into his house,” Stone said.

“What?”

“I want to know how hard it is. You know the place.”

“I know he has an elaborate security system,” Rhinehart said. “A bunch of guys from out of the state were just beginning to install it when we were finishing the study.”

“Will you come and take a look?” Stone said. “I’d really like your opinion; it might help me learn who killed Dick.”