Owen touched a corner of the old photograph. “Would you buy it, if you knew the circumstances of when it was taken?”

“No. I wouldn’t. But you never know what some people will do. Besides, most tourists wouldn’t have a clue.”

“I suppose so.” He kept staring at the scene of the cliffs. “I convinced myself I wasn’t alone out there that day. I thought someone followed Doe and me to the cliffs, or was there already, hiding in the trees.”

“Someone who could have helped her,” Abigail said.

He shrugged. “At least someone who could have screamed for help. I couldn’t-I tried, and no sound came out.”

“What an awful memory to live with.”

“I know now it wouldn’t have made a difference. Doe hit her head on a rock, and had early-stage hypothermia. She fell in a tough place to get to by land or by boat. Help wouldn’t have arrived in time.” He pulled his gaze from the picture, his gray eyes taking on the color of the gloomy afternoon. “Doe was a gentle soul. She never liked difficult, scary hikes. The cliffs terrified her. She never meant to fall.”

“But she was upset that day, wasn’t she?”

“Grace Cooper had teased her about backing out of a hike up the Precipice Trail.”

“It’s not my favorite trail, either,” Abigail said. “If I have to use rungs, it’s too vertical for me.”

“Not going to turn you into a rock-climber, are we?”

“No way.” She saw that her humor had broken through his darkening mood. “Did your sister go down to the cliffs to prove herself somehow? Or just because she was upset and wanted to get away from everyone?”

“I don’t know why she went down there. She was used to Grace teasing her. Doe would tease her back.” He shook his head. “It’s been twenty-five years. Hard to believe. The truth is, what happened wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“Grace must feel guilty, even if she knows your sister’s death was an accident.”

“She’s never said one way or the other, at least not to me. The Coopers aren’t ones for big emotional displays.”

“I suppose not.” Abigail remembered how she’d clawed at Owen, trying to get to Chris’s body. She’d never been repressed, but she’d learned self-control. “Mattie was just a teenager himself.”

“Seventeen.”

She glanced at the picture once more, imagining Chris and Mattie and Owen as boys, all of them trying to make sense of what had happened to pretty, gentle Doe Garrison.

“These other pictures are amazing, too,” she said, pulling out a stack of prints.

Although she wasn’t an expert in photography, Abigail could see that Mattie’s later pictures were better, technically and artistically. Presumably, he’d kept all the negatives. She flipped through the prints, seeing Mattie Young in a different light, understanding better why Chris had been so reluctant to give up on his friend.

“Look,” someone in the outer gallery said. “Sunlight!”

Abigail turned away from the photographs. Owen said, “We should dry off an outdoor table somewhere and have a drink.”

“That sounds wonderful. Then you’ll show me your new field academy?”

“It’s just a big empty building right now.” He angled a look at her, as if trying to figure out if she had an ulterior motive for wanting to see the training facility. “But I’d be happy to give you the grand tour.”

On their way out, Abigail bought a small, carved black duck, noticing Walt carefully returning Mattie’s photographs to the cabinet drawer, on top of the one he’d taken the day Doe Garrison drowned.

Linc watched Mattie lift a fat, squirming worm out of the wet dirt of a hole he’d dug in a small garden near the back gate of Ellis’s house. “Your uncle doesn’t like working in the rain.” He tossed the worm aside. He had on a half-shredded denim jacket, not warm enough for the chilly temperatures. “But he doesn’t mind me working in the rain.”

“It’s not raining now. What are you doing?”

“I’m dividing perennials. How’s that for a day’s work?”

“At least it’s an honest day’s work,” Linc said, sarcastic. He didn’t care.

Mattie rolled back onto his heels. “You’re an arrogant little fuck, Lincoln Cooper. I’m enjoying making you sweat. It’s about damn time someone did.”

“I don’t care what you think of me. I know what I’ve done and what I haven’t done.”

“You care what your family thinks of you. Those FBI agents sneaking around town, checking into your family’s business so they can give your sister the stamp of approval she needs. The local cops. Who’s that skinny guy from the state police? Lou Beeler. He’d like to know what I know about you. Get your nuts into the wringer. Find out what you were up to the day Chris Browning was murdered.”

Linc felt himself flush but refused to let Mattie see he was getting to him. “Having fun, aren’t you?”

“Oh, sure. I like cutting worms in half in the mud.”

Linc felt his stomach roll over at the thought of cut-up worms. “You’re lucky I’m not a killer. If I were, I wouldn’t be paying you to keep your mouth shut. I’d have you buried in a deep, dark hole where no one would ever find you.”

Mattie wasn’t the least bit rattled. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a killer or not. You’re a snot-nosed kid who stole from your family’s friends. Even if you didn’t break into Chris’s house and hit his wife over the head, steal her necklace, you gave whoever did the idea.”

“A copycat,” Linc said. “Except that doesn’t make sense. With all the rich people on this island in the summer, why target the Brownings?”

“Wedding money, maybe.”

“There was none.”

“Doesn’t mean the thief knew that or-” Mattie rolled onto his knees, digging with his bare hands into a tangle of greenery and roots. Linc wasn’t good with his flora and fauna. He had no idea what kind of plant it was. Without looking up, Mattie said, “Do you have my money?”

“It’s under a flowerpot next to your bicycle.”

“All of it?”

Linc hesitated. He’d done a cash advance on his credit card, cleaned out his bank accounts, hauled a bunch of stuff no one would miss to Ellsworth, the closest real town, and pawned it. He’d debated swiping a watch from his father, getting into his or Grace’s cash. But he hadn’t gone that far.

“Damn it, Linc-”

“No. I don’t have all of it. Two thousand. It’s all I could manage without drawing attention to myself. I can get more in a few days.”

Mattie sat on his butt in the wet grass and leaned back, spots of blood where he’d nicked his mud-encrusted hands. He’d worked in the rain. He wouldn’t care. “I don’t have a lot of patience left.”

“It won’t do either of us any good if I’m caught. My father’s not stupid. He’ll ask questions-he’ll see through me-”

“All right, all right. We don’t want Daddy getting all suspicious and pissy. Just get it done. I want my money. I deserve it.”

Linc could feel his blood roaring into his face, pounding in his ears. He noticed a scratcher lying in the grass and pictured it embedded in Mattie’s head, silencing him forever. But he couldn’t picture himself doing the embedding.

It had to be easier just to shoot someone, he thought. The coward’s way out. Just close your eyes and pull the trigger. If the target wasn’t moving, it wasn’t that hard to do.

He couldn’t picture himself shooting someone, either.

“I’ll do what I can to get you the rest as soon as possible.” Linc straightened, aware of Mattie’s amusement, and realized how frightened and sickened he must look. “Then it’s over. You can threaten me until you choke. There’ll be no more money, not from me.”

“I just want the ten grand. I’ll keep my word. Your secrets will be safe with me.”

His secrets. What did a creep like MattieYoung know about his secrets?

Linc saw the sun breaking through the clouds, felt a cold breeze against his back. Why did he want to hear Mattie say he didn’t believe he’d killed Chris? Why did it matter?