"She doesn't know."

"If it wasn't-"

"Stick, you've dealt with Teddy Shelton. Is it possible he snatched Kyle as a way of putting pressure on Luke and extorting money from him?"

"It's possible, but money isn't what motivates Teddy. At least it's not his central motivation. He likes guns. You'd think seven years in the custody of the federal government would have had an effect, but I remember thinking when I sentenced him that he'd be back-he'd never give up illegal weapons."

J.B. could feel the drizzle collecting on his hair. "The police-"

The judge cut him off. "They have Teddy's record. They know everything I know, and then some, no doubt." He turned back to Zoe and touched a finger to the glistening drizzle on her hair just above her ear. "You'll be okay? How's your hand?"

"It's fine." She smiled at him, her lips a little purple. "You're retired. Go dig in your garden."

"It's compost day." But he seemed distracted, an old man unsettled by the goings-on in the quiet, pretty village where he'd retired. "I heard the explosion. I wonder if this is what Teddy wanted-all of us up and focused on grenades and blowing up boats while he- " He broke off, shaking his head. "Well, I don't know. That's why we have law enforcement."

After he left, Bruce rejoined Zoe and J.B. "You're the talk of the town, J.B. Look-" He pulled J.B. aside, out of Zoe's earshot. "There's a rowboat sinking in the harbor. Marine patrol's all over it. I'm guessing it was Teddy's transportation."

"From?"

"The lobster pound. If I'm right, it's the rowboat that was turned over off to the side. I was going to salvage what I could from it and get rid of it, but I never got around to it. It probably made it here and gave up the ghost."

J.B. considered the logic of taking a rowboat from the lobster pound to the harbor and the docks. It would be slow but quiet. Unexpected. Risky- Shelton had to know the police were looking for him and he'd be in big trouble if they caught him with his flash-bang.

"I'm thinking about driving down to the lobster pound and taking a look around," Bruce said. "Bruce-"

"I know. You're the freaking FBI. You've got procedures." He seemed oblivious to the weather and grinned at J.B. "You coming?"

Zoe thrust herself back in between them, apparently having been left out of the conversation for as long as she was going to stand. "What're you two plotting?"

J.B. handed her his coffee mug. "Bruce and I are going down to the lobster pound. You'll stay here with your sister?"

"I like the way you make that a question instead of an order. Maybe I should go instead of you. I've already been fired."

"What?" Bruce winked at her. "We're just going to talk lobstering. McGrath thinks he knows everything about it."

Zoe rolled her eyes. "You're both full of it. Go. Just keep me posted."

Something about her struck J.B. as vulnerable, a lightning rod for too many people's sense of personal inadequacy, a woman who had her world shattered and was still trying to fight back. An image of her last night came at him, and he decided-screw it. He leaned toward her. "Want me to kiss you goodbye, warm you up a little? You can prove to all of Goose Harbor you're not a repressed Yankee."

"You know, McGrath-" But she stopped, and without warning, kissed him lightly, boldly. She smiled cheekily. "Now who's embarrassed? I don't know if your pals in the FBI have rolled in yet."

"One thing about me, Detective Zoe-I don't embarrass."

Bruce grinned at him. "You work fast, don't you, McGrath? Leave it to Zoe. She gets fired, she learns to knit. Now she falls for a bad-boy FBI agent."

The repressed Yankee in her was back. "I haven't fallen for anyone."

"Yeah, right." Bruce wasn't buying it. "Come on, Agent McGrath. We'll take my truck."

Thirty

Zoe slipped behind the counter and fixed eggs and home fries with a little onion and green pepper while her sister, humming a sad tune, popped a pan of apple-cinnamon muffins into the oven. The lobstermen had all gone out to pry information out of the police, then hit their boats, late, with plenty to think about as they worked their strings of traps.

Christina hadn't put out a Closed sign, but between the lousy weather and a grenade going off on the docks, customers were few. But Betsy O'Keefe was one of them. She took a table overlooking the harbor. Zoe set the eggs and home fries in front of her and sat down. "You look like you could use a good breakfast, Betsy. Did the festivities this morning wake you up?"

"Oh, I never went to sleep." She smiled weakly, and Zoe could see the strain in her face. "Home fries? Zoe, I haven't had home fries in months and months."

"One of life's great indulgences. Look, they're not those deep-fried things, either. They're proper home fries. I even burned the edges of a few of the potatoes."

"Okay, I give in!" She tried to laugh, but it was a hollow sound and only made her look more drawn. "Where's Agent McGrath?"

"Off with Bruce Young."

Betsy stared out at the harbor. "How long will the police stay?"

"As long as necessary. A while, I would think. It'll take time to gather evidence."

"Two state detectives talked to us a little while ago. Luke and me. We didn't see anything-we were in bed." She stabbed at a few potatoes but seemed to have trouble holding on to her fork. "I can hear the innkeepers and shopkeepers screaming now. A grenade going off can't be good for business. It was a blow to have our first murder in thirty years, and the chief of police no less." Betsy gasped in horror at her own words and dropped her fork. "I'm so sorry, Zoe. I didn't mean to sound cavalier."

"Forget it. I know what you're saying. Goose Har-bor's a fishing village and a tourist town. When either gets threatened, people worry." Zoe slipped a triangle of toast from Betsy's plate. "I'm going to guess you didn't tell the police everything you know."

"Zoe-"

She bit into her toast and looked at Betsy, realized how frightened and uncertain she was. "Tell me. I can help."

"Can you? I don't think so. It's gone too far now."

"How far, Betsy?"

"Luke-he's heading south today without me. We had a dreadful argument yesterday. I thought I'd regained his trust, but-" She picked up her fork again and poked at her potatoes, her eyes lowered. "I was wrong."

"I'm sorry," Zoe said.

"Oh, it's probably for the best. I had a feeling it wasn't a forever kind of relationship." She smiled, dismissing her own feelings, her sense of hurt. "Luke's terrified."

"Because of Kyle?"

She nodded tentatively, as if she shouldn't. "But I can't-I can't tell you-"

Zoe finished her toast, hoping Betsy would want to fill in the silence. She didn't, and finally Zoe said, "Do you believe Kyle killed my father?"

"No!"

"Do you believe Luke did?"

She shook her head. "God, no. Zoe, I'd never have stayed with him if I believed that."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

She didn't answer right away. She grabbed the salt and pepper and shook them on her eggs and home fries, and Zoe could see she was, if possible, even paler. But she wasn't crying. She seemed to be past crying. "Last year," she said, her voice almost inaudible, "not long after your father was killed, Luke discovered that one of his handguns was missing. A.357 Colt Python, I believe. It was in a locked, alarmed cabinet."

"Kyle has the key and the codes?"

"Access to them, at least."

"Anyone else?"

Betsy put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth, but she didn't start chewing. She looked as if she'd spit them out, but finally she chewed, swallowed and wiped her mouth with her napkin. "I don't know. I wasn't involved with Luke then. He has a boat crew. Anyone who knows his habits would be able to calculate when he wasn't going to be around. He has his locks and alarms, but he's not meticulous about security. The lure of Goose Harbor, you know. Safe, pretty, no need to watch your back."