"I thought you were on vacation."

J.B. heard the slight surprise in Sally Meintz's voice.

He was in his Jeep on his cell phone. Sally was at her desk at FBI headquarters. Her surprise was very slight. There was a note of sarcasm in her voice, too. Not much got to her anymore. She was one of the thousands of support staff that kept the FBI and the rest of the federal government running. She was sixty, the mother of four, the wife of a retired marine officer and a by-the-book type. She didn't like doing favors on the sly. But she would if she got talked into it, and she wasn't a tattletale. "I am on vacation. I just want you to run a plate for me."

"State?"

" Maine."

"Right. You're there on vacation." She'd let a little more sarcasm slip into her tone. "Give me the number."

He gave her the license plate number of the rusting truck whose driver J.B. had known wasn't having a heart attack. He'd spotted the truck last night outside Christina West's house and then again this morning passing Olivia West's house, not long after Zoe had turned up the driveway. The third strike was outside Christina's Café at lunch.

"What do I get for doing you a favor?" Sally asked.

"My undying respect and affection."

"I already have that. You coming back to Washington for good after this vacation of yours?"

"I don't know yet."

"They want to keep you from going off the deep end. God knows why. I'd let you jump."

She disconnected. J.B. tossed his cell phone onto the seat next to him. Maybe it was a stretch to call Sally Meintz a friend. He climbed back out of his Jeep and stood in the sunlight. He could see his rented lobster boat bobbing in the water. At least no one had set fire to it overnight.

Zoe was still at the small table overlooking the water in her sister's café, working on a massive piece of chocolate cream pie. J.B. had had a bowl of haddock chowder with her and watched the reactions of the people who knew her when they realized she was back in town. Alert, awkward, even nervous-or maybe it was seeing her with him. People probably wouldn't mind if they both went away.

He spotted BruceYoung on the docks and walked down to join him. He had on his Carhartt and a black turtleneck as he untied his lobster boat, a fairly new vessel with all the bells and whistles-radar, GPS, a good radio, plastic-coated wire traps, lighter in weight than the old wooden traps. The knowledge and instincts of guys like Bruce still mattered, but maybe not as much as they used to.

"Been out today?" Bruce asked, not looking up from his work.

"Not yet."

"Heard you had lunch with Zoe."

"Fish chowder. She put butter in hers."

"Best way to eat it. A pat of butter, a little pepper. People think she's here to kick your ass and teach you not to toy with the good people of Goose Harbor."

J.B. smiled. "Can she play darts?"Zoe? No way. She can shoot, though." "I camped out at her aunt's house last night."

Bruce grinned at him. "She catch you?" "In the attic." "Good thing she doesn't go armed anymore. What'd you want with Teddy?"

J.B. frowned. "Who?" "Teddy Shelton. The guy in the truck. You were just talking to him-" "Oh, him. I thought he was having a heart attack. You know him?"

Bruce lifted a thick rope into his callused hand. "I'm renting him a cottage down by the lobster pound. He does odd jobs around town."

"He's not from Goose Harbor?"

"I don't know where he's from. He showed up last summer. He keeps to himself. He tried working at the pound, but he didn't like it." Bruce shook his head. "Hates the smell of the ocean."

"Why not move on?"

"Don't know. Teddy's not your big talker." Bruce tossed the rope into his boat and climbed aboard. "What'd Zoe do when she found you in the attic?"

"Came after me with a drapery rod." "You backed down?" "Amen." "Yeah. You wouldn't want to lose a fight with a fired cop over a drapery rod."

Words to live by. J.B. watched Bruce's boat ease slowly out of the busy dock area and head south toward his lobster pound for another few hours' work.

When Sally Meintz rang him back, J.B. didn't tell her he already knew Teddy Shelton's name. She said, "The plates are registered to a Teddy Shelton in Goose Harbor, Maine. Guess what else?" She paused, waiting for an answer.

J.B. sighed. "What else, Sally?"

"I did a little more checking while I was at it. He's an ex-con. Served seven years in federal prison after he was convicted on charges of transfering and possessing semiautomatic assault weapons. ATF nailed him."

"When did he get out?"

"Last July."

He must have come straight to Goose Harbor. Three months later Patrick West was murdered. "Find out what you can about his case, okay? Thanks, Sally."

"I like it when you say thank-you. It gives me hope for the rest of the world. What do I get for my trouble?"

"A cop-killer, maybe."

She sighed, serious now. "That'd be worth it."

The state and local cops had to know all about Teddy Shelton. It was a stretch to think he had anything to do with Chief West's death, but J.B. didn't like spotting an ex-con three times in less than twenty-four hours. Not at all.

Zoe dipped her fork into the last of the real whipped cream atop her pie and pretended she didn't notice J. B. McGrath down on the docks. Lunch with him had been more unsettling than she'd expected. At times he seemed to be so on edge, she thought he might jump through the window-other times, she thought it impossible to ruffle him about anything. He was intense, focused, not even close to relaxed after almost a week on vacation.

But now she had to deal with Stick Monroe. Her old friend sat across from her and eyed her over his mug of black coffee. "I thought I might find you here."

Zoe ignored his knowing tone and smiled, glancing around the crowded, charming café. "It's great, isn't it? I used to think someone ought to bulldoze this place into the harbor. I didn't see the potential Christina did. She works hard, but I think she loves it."

Stick nodded in agreement. He had on his usual outfit of corduroy shorts and rugby shirt-he wouldn't switch to long pants until it was bitter cold. He was sev-enty-two but looked at least ten years younger, a fit, healthy, white-haired retired federal district court judge. His family had summered in Goose Harbor for as long as Zoe could remember. He was the last of them-he'd never married, never had kids. Everyone was surprised when he gave up his lifetime appointment and retired. But he seemed content to take long walks along the water, work in his garden and read books. He'd never been much on boating. His friends included everyone from statesmen and corporate executives to lobstermen and cops. He was brilliant, but he wasn't a snob.

"You came back because of the break-in?" he asked.

"It was the catalyst. I was ready. I'm unemployed."

"So I hear."

Zoe couldn't detect any disappointment in his tone, but it had to be there. He'd been her mentor since she was a little girl, encouraging her, opening up a broader world to her. Despite her great-aunt's fame, she was content to stay in Goose Harbor. So were her father and sister. But Zoe had the feeling Stick had hoped for more from her than going into the FBI-following in his footsteps, maybe. Law school, U.S. attorney, federal judge. He'd never made it to the appeals court-maybe he thought she would.

Now she was a fired cop. A Quantico no-show. Jobless.

"I've learned to knit," she told him, then smiled. "Sort of."

"Zoe-"

She could see the concern in his warm brown eyes. "I'm not here to make trouble, Stick."