She nodded. "I think that cut on his eye could have used a stitch, but it might have been too late by the time you found him, I don't know. I encouraged him to see a doctor."

"A lot of stubborn people around here."

She gave a small laugh, her melancholy lifting. The cool air helped, the smell of the ocean. She'd lived in Goose Harbor her whole life, and the thought of taking the yacht south with Luke, flying to Utah for part of the winter, both thrilled and terrified her. He'd have no patience if she got homesick, if she ended up needing any emotional support at all from him. She was on her own, but she'd always been on her own.

She zipped up her windbreaker. "I invited you and Zoe to dinner tonight. Did she tell you?"

He smiled, and Betsy relaxed even more. But she thought that was why he'd smiled, to get her to relax. Everything he did was probably calculated, deliberate. "I'm doing all right with my meals," he said. "How to stretch a federal employee's vacation dollar. Mind if I stop by your boat after lunch? I'd like to talk to you and Luke."

Her heart jumped. She hadn't expected this. "Well, I don't know, I-"

"Just have to eat my burger, and that apple pie you were having looked pretty good." He turned, starting back to the café, unhurried, but not a man Betsy wanted to counter. "I'll pop over in about forty-five minutes."

She didn't know what to say. She'd never argued with an FBI agent before, and she didn't know if it mattered that he was on vacation. Could she tell him he couldn't come over? Was that forbidden? Would she get her and Luke into trouble?

She was having chest pains, knew it was stress, fear at what she'd done, how easily she'd let J. B. McGrath manipulate her. Did he know about Luke and Teddy? But that was ridiculous. Only she and Stick knew anything at all, and she doubted that was everything. Luke just wouldn't tell them. Talk about someone who kept secrets. She guessed his biggest secret was that his parents had abused him as a child-yet it was one everyone knew. And he'd benefit from talking about it.

Betsy walked slowly back to the yacht. She could hear the tourists up on the street. If she were on vacation, would she pick Goose Harbor? On her last vaca-tion-three days off-she'd taken the bus to Boston for a Red Sox game.

The pie sat heavily in her stomach. Maybe Luke was right and she should eat lighter foods. More fruits and vegetable, more fiber.

"Oh, Lord."

She sank onto a chair on the afterdeck and felt the water undulating beneath the boat. Usually she didn't notice.

How long before J. B. McGrath arrived?

She prayed Luke and Stick would stay on their walk long enough for her to get rid of him.

Twenty-Three

Teddy sat in his truck in front of the Goose Harbor Public Library and decided he'd dodged enough bullets for one day. The police had talked to him. He told them he'd thought Kyle was stealing his truck and regretted hitting him. It was a misunderstanding, just like Kyle'd said. No hard feelings.

They pointed out if Kyle had died of exposure out there in the mud, Teddy'd be up shit creek. He agreed. No idea Kyle got lost in the dark. Poor kid.

Then they asked him about Stick Monroe.

Coincidence, Teddy said. He was shocked to his toes when he found out Monroe lived in Goose Harbor.

Bullshit, of course, but nothing they could do about it. He could live where he wanted to live. It was a free country.

He went back for his truck after the FBI agent and Bruce Young had checked it out. He'd hidden in the woods like a sniper, saw them and knew he'd been right to hop-to and stash his weapons and ammo. He'd tucked them in the marsh grasses while he figured out what to do.

How was he supposed to keep an eye on McGrath and Zoe West now that they were on his case? How was he supposed to make sure they didn't get everyone stirred up about Patrick West's murder? Maintain the status quo. Hell of a vague assignment.

He'd picked up food for lunch and drove out to the Olivia West Nature Preserve for a picnic. He walked down to Stewart's Cove and watched the tide roll in where Patrick West was murdered.

As he ate a couple of ham sandwiches and chips, Teddy collected his wits and came up with a plan, step one of which was to reclaim his arsenal before the ducks crapped on it. He drove back to the marsh and loaded his apple crate back into the jump seat. By the time he finished, he was sweating. He needed a shower, a decent night's sleep. He should just show up on Luke's multimillion-dollar yacht.

Luke'd have a stroke on the spot.

He needed a place to stay. He figured he was as good as evicted from Bruce's cottage. The motels and inns were packed with leaf-peepers. They were clogging the streets, on foot, on bicycles and Rollerblades, in cars and buses.

He started up his truck and waited a hundred years before he could pull out onto Main Street. Then he got behind a carload of rubber-necking old people. If they'd turned onto Ocean Drive, he'd have run them off the road. They didn't, and he scooted right on up to Olivia West's house.

He turned left, away from the water, and parked on a side street under a diseased elm tree. He walked down to Ocean Drive and as he crossed in front of Olivia West's house, he was damn near blown over by a cold gust off the water.

Zoe's yellow car was parked in her aunt's driveway. He knew she wasn't there-he'd seen her down on the docks with the G-man. If she had doubled back in the meantime, Teddy would tell her he'd heard she'd found Kyle Castel-lane last night and ask how the kid was doing. Friendly.

Otherwise he'd take a look around the place. He didn't know what he was looking for or what he'd find, but he wanted more information on what she and Agent McGrath were up to. What if the two of them had been working together all along? What if they knew each other from her state police work or her year in Connecticut?

Lots of questions. Now it was time for answers.

Teddy strolled up the driveway as if he had nothing more nefarious on his mind than a knock on the door. He could hear the wind howling down on the water, but once he was up on the bluff, it didn't reach him. The air was cold, colder than it had been yet that fall.

The side door was locked. He'd hoped old Olivia wasn't the door-locking type. Probably the cop nephew and grand-niece's influence.

He really didn't want to break in. He walked around to the front porch and looked out at the Atlantic Ocean, a straight shot to Spain. He saw a couple of lobster boats and some birds but didn't get that excited about the view. The ocean didn't do much for him.

He tried the front door on the porch. Bingo. Opened right up.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

The front room was cool and quiet, a big old sofa covered in blue canvas, a dining room table with eight chairs. It had an old-fashioned feel to it but was homey, not as fussy and claustrophobic as what he'd expect of a spinster born at the turn of the twentieth century.

He didn't waste time and headed back to the kitchen. He grabbed a cider doughnut off the counter and ate it while he checked out the rest of the first floor. He called a few more times, just in case Zoe was taking a nap. McGrath wasn't around. Teddy figured he'd have a gun at his ear by now. He wondered what Special Agent McGrath carried. A Glock? Teddy wasn't worried about Zoe coming after him with a gun-she was out of practice. People said she'd mellowed since she'd taken up knitting and goat-herding.

Licking cinnamon sugar off his fingers, Teddy trotted up the steep stairs to the second floor. If he got caught, he'd think of some excuse for being here.

FBI had one room. Ex-cop had another room. That was interesting. No bed-sharing yet.