And, perhaps, spying on her or Owen, or both.

Abigail jumped in her car and took off up the driveway, rolling down the windows, hot all of a sudden. And it wasn’t because of the missed call and thinking about Mattie Young.

It was because of Owen Garrison.

Thinking about him.

She’d spotted him out on the rocks in his jeans and untucked, weathered polo and could almost feel his desire to be alone, his burnout and fatigue after a grueling year of responding to one disaster after another.

Had Doyle told him about the anonymous call?

Her reaction to Owen, Abigail knew, wasn’t just neighborly-and it had nothing whatsoever to do with her being a detective, her vow to find Chris’s killer. It was far more elemental than that.

The guy was sexy as hell, and she’d have had to be a rock not to notice.

She drove through picturesque Northeast Harbor, relatively quiet for such a beautiful summer day, and out to Somes Sound, the only fjord on the east coast. Its finger of salt water almost cut the island in two. Thirty years ago, Jason Cooper, then a young tech entrepreneur, bought a modest house on a coveted stretch of the sound. He’d added to it over the years, transformed it into one of the most stunning properties on Mt. Desert.

The security gate was open. Abigail drove down the paved driveway to the stone-and-clapboard house, secluded among tall evergreens and mature maples. Its understated landscaping soothed more than awed, and as she parked behind Grace’s silver Mercedes, she noticed bright turquoise and orange kayaks leaned up against the garage. The Coopers owned a yacht as well as a smaller sailboat and speedboat. Jason, if not his two children, loved to be out on the water.

As she got out of her car, Abigail smelled roses in the warm early afternoon air. She followed a stone path around to the front porch, a small white poodle running down the steps to greet her. “Hey, girl,” she said, bending down to pet the dog. “Cindy, right?”

“Actually, it’s Sis. We had to have Cindy put down over the winter.”

Abigail looked up at Jason Cooper as he walked down from the porch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“She was eighteen. It was time.”

He snapped his fingers at the little dog, who immediately scurried to his side and sat, panting as she watched Abigail, as if jealous of her freedom to ignore Jason Cooper. He smiled, reminding her of Grace. He looked younger than sixty-two-too young, certainly, to have a thirty-eight-year-old daughter.

“How are you, Abigail?” he asked.

“Doing just fine, thanks. And you?”

“Enjoying the beautiful day.” He nodded at her. “You look as if you’ve been painting.”

She glanced at her paint-spattered shirt. Her shoes were covered, too. Fortunately, they were the cheap ones. Jason, of course, was casually but impeccably dressed, not a thread out of place in his dark slacks and golf shirt. She grinned at him. “I did get some on the walls. I painted the entry. Now everything else looks shabby.”

“That’s often the way it is with any kind of renovation.”

“I imagine so. I just got here on Monday. How long have you been here?”

“A little over a week. Grace and Linc came up on the weekend.” He scooped up Sis, cupping her in one arm as he straightened. “Is this a social visit, or are you investigating something?”

“Not my jurisdiction.” She gestured toward the stone urns of well-behaved plants. “Everything looks so beautiful. I was up at Ellis’s yesterday. I’ve never seen his gardens this perfect. I understand you’re putting his place on the market?”

“It’s not his place any more than this is my place.”

“You’re co-owners?”

“We’re a family.” Jason gave her an indulgent smile. “Ask all the questions you want, Abigail. I know any change in our lives up here puts you on alert.”

Especially, she thought, when coupled with a weird phone call. She ignored the edge in his tone, and how he’d avoided a direct answer to her question. “Why sell now? I’m curious, that’s all.”

“It’s just a matter of timing. Would you care to come inside?”

The invitation was his way of ending the conversation. She was supposed to recognize it as such and leave, but she was tempted to call his bluff and accept. Instead, she chose not to give him a direct answer. “You all must be thrilled about Grace’s appointment. Does it make for any additional scrutiny?”

“Not really. She has to go through the background check, of course, but that’s of no concern. Abigail-”

“FBI turn up yet?”

His expression turned cool. “Not that I know of.”

“They’ll want to talk to me, Jason. Because of Chris.”

“And because of who your father is.”

Abigail said nothing.

Sis fidgeted, and Jason finally set her back on the walk, snapping his fingers again. The little dog shot up the stairs onto the porch without a backward glance at her master. He watched her, as if he thought she might do something unexpected, out of control.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been seven years,” he said finally. “Grace and Chris met when they were eight years old. His death was a terrible tragedy. The lingering questions-” He broke off, shifting back to Abigail. “I’m sorry Grace’s situation has to stir up the past for you, but it’s out of our hands.”

“Until I know who killed Chris, the past is always stirred up for me.”

“Even after seven years? Abigail.” He seemed genuinely distressed. “You have to live your life.”

“I am living my life.”

“Maybe that’s what you believe, but if you were, you’d have sold your house a long time ago. You don’t belong here.” His tone wasn’t unkind. “You only keep that house because of Chris. Because of the past.”

She wasn’t digging into her soul with Jason Cooper. She regretted having gone as far as she had with him. “You could be right, but painting’s got to be a good sign, don’t you think?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Is Mattie Young here by any chance?”

“He’s working up at Ellis’s all day. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“What’s he driving these days?” she asked, thinking of his party out in the old foundation. What had he done with his car? Had anyone seen it? Had he driven home under the influence?

“A bicycle,” Jason said. “Mattie lost his license over the winter.”

“DUI?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately. The dark winters and isolation got to him. He goes to meetings. He’s making an effort.”

Not a consistent one, Abigail thought, picturing the beer cans. Unless they weren’t Mattie’s. She had no real evidence they were. “He’s still living in the same place?”

“He rents a house around the corner from Doyle Alden. That’s how he got caught drinking and driving-Doyle saw him scream past his house. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Jason smiled, but his eyes remained cool. “Always curious, aren’t you, Abigail?”

“It’s a March family trait.”

The reminder of her father obviously didn’t sit well with Jason Cooper. “I suppose it is. If you won’t come in-”

“No, thanks. I should get back. Nice to see you.”

“Likewise.”

Before she could get out another word, he was walking onto the porch, snapping his fingers at his little dog.

When she arrived at her house, Abigail pulled on shorts, a T-shirt and her good running shoes and jogged up the private drive and out onto the main road, finding her pace, telling herself she needed stay in shape. But she could feel her restlessness building into frustration, questions and threads of conversations, new possibilities, coming at her all at once.

And memories. They jumped at her with every stride-and not just her own memories, of her short-lived marriage, of her widowhood, filled with seven years of prodding and pushing for answers to her husband’s unsolved murder. Chris’s memories came at her, too. The stories he’d told of his childhood on the island that had taken shape in her mind over the years, until they were as real to her as the images of her own past.