"Teddy Shelton was around then."

She nodded, picking at her eggs. She seemed exhausted, physically and emotionally wrung out. She lowered her voice, as if someone might hear. "Luke sold him a gun."

Zoe tried not to react. "When?"

"In September. I don't know what kind, but I know- it wasn't a legal sale."

"Has Teddy been blackmailing him?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. At least not in as many words."

"But Luke's afraid of him," Zoe said.

Betsy lifted her shoulders. "I don't know that, either. I overheard them talking-Luke didn't sound afraid. He was totally in charge."

"Teddy probably realizes he doesn't have enough leverage on Luke. It'd be a first offense for Luke, but not for Teddy. If Teddy goes to the police, he's cooked, too." She sank against the back of her chair and looked out at the harbor, picturesque even on such a gray day. "But Luke suspects Kyle of stealing the Colt Python, not Teddy? Why?"

"Zoe-Zoe, Luke would just die if it turns out a gun he owned was the weapon in your father's murder. I don't know why Luke collects guns. He's difficult, impossible at times, but he's not violent."

Zoe nodded. "A gun collector isn't necessarily violent, but Luke behaved irresponsibly, even criminally. He sold a firearm to a convicted felon and didn't bother to report the theft of another firearm that he had reason to suspect was used to commit murder."

Betsy took a shallow breath. "It's like collecting guns is his secret passion or something. I don't understand it."

Zoe sat forward, Christina's strong coffee churning in her stomach, and she had to fight the effects of caffeine, lack of sleep and adrenaline. "Luke didn't tell the state detective this morning any of this?"

"He says it can't possibly make any difference."

"Then I'll tell them."

"He'll know it was me! Zoe!"

"Betsy, you knew when you started this story that I'd have to tell the police."

She set down her fork. "You'd never look the other way, would you, Zoe? No matter who it was who'd done wrong. Your father was like that."

"If you mean professionally, you're right. He wouldn't look the other way, and neither would I. That would be unethical, corrupt. On a personal level-" She sighed. "I try to be a forgiving person. I know life isn't black and white."

"Olivia would look the other way. She would see the whole picture, how complicated people are, what their motives are, and decide-" Betsy swallowed visibly. "I wonder if that's why she couldn't come up with the name of the murderer. She knew who it was, or at least guessed, but she'd looked the other way. Maybe she thought it cost your father his life."

"How much of all this does Kyle know?" Zoe asked abruptly. She had no intention of discussing Olivia's last hours with Betsy-not now.

"I have no idea."

"His documentary-what if it's a ruse for him to get more information about my father's death, his father's involvement?"

Betsy considered the question. She seemed calmer, more in control of herself now that she'd told someone her story, or at least most of it. Zoe suspected there was more.

"It's possible," Betsy said. "Sometimes I had the feeling Kyle was trying to satisfy himself that his father wasn't Chief West's killer."

"Did you tell him what Olivia said?"

She shook her head.

"Betsy, are you afraid? If you are, I can make sure you're protected."

"I'm afraid, Zoe, but not in the way you think." She blinked rapidly, but there were still no tears in her eyes. "I want him back. Luke. I can't help it. I've spent my whole life in Goose Harbor. I've worked hard. Two years with your aunt alone. I've never had much of a life."

"I hope you didn't feel unappreciated for what you did for Aunt Olivia. She adored you, relied on you, and we all-Betsy, I've always respected you and what you do."

"Thank you." She picked up her fork again, tried the eggs, chewed as if they had no taste. "I'm being selfish."

"That wasn't what I was thinking."

Betsy stared out at the harbor, the yellow police tape, the police cars. Zoe recognized the lead detective on her father's case. The fire trucks had left. "Luke threatened to charge me with harassment and trespassing if I tried to see him again," Betsy said quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too." She turned back to her food, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Tell the police, Zoe. You're right. I told you my sad story so you'd tell them."

"They'll want to talk to you."

She nodded. "I'll be here."

Teddy didn't like the looks of the kid. A scared shitless golden boy. "Are you going to puke? Do it out the window. I don't want you stinking up the car."

Kyle Castellane's big brown eyes widened. "Don't shoot me."

"Jesus Christ, relax, will you? The gun's to keep you in line. I won't shoot you unless you do something stupid. If you're smart, you'll be fine. Okay? Just do what I say."

"You have grenades."

"Mostly flash-bangs. They're mainly for show. The frag grenades are the ones that do the real damage."

The kid was close to hyperventilating. "I should have stayed in my apartment and called the police. I never should have run after you-"

"Water over the dam, pal. Stop thinking about it. You thought your old man was a killer."

"I didn't!"

"I wouldn't want to admit it, either."

When Kyle came flying out of the café and tried to stop a moving BMW, Teddy had considered running the kid over. The show on the docks was intended to put the fear of God into Luke Castellane and make him reconsider the bonus. Now he had Luke's kid. Funny how things worked out.

You have the plan. Things happen.You revise the plan.

Luke had already called. Teddy was worried about the police tracing his cell phone signal, but decided they hadn't gotten that far yet-the phone was in Luke's name. Luke had loaned it to him when he hired him last week. He wanted Teddy to drive to the Olivia West Nature Preserve and await further instructions-like he was still the one in charge, never mind Teddy had his kid. At least Luke's voice had sounded more strangled than usual.

The lousy weather was keeping the leaf-peepers away, and it was still very early. A month ago, Teddy would have been burrowed in his lumpy bed at Bruce's cottage.

He pulled into the gravel lot. No one, not even any staff, was around yet. But he didn't like it-there was only that one dirt road in and out of the place.

"If the cops bother us, you're going to tell them we're cool, right?" Teddy fingered the grip of his Llama. A damn fine gun, except it was unregistered and as a convicted felon, he wasn't supposed to have guns. "I picked you up on the docks this morning. You wanted to interview me for your documentary. We heard the flash-bang go off and decided the harbor was under attack and got the hell out of there. Didn't see anything."

Kyle stopped hyperventilating long enough to give Teddy a sour look. The kid's face looked like hell, the bruises all blue and yellow and purple now, very ugly. "Why would I want to interview you? So you could tell me how you killed Patrick West and Olivia West?"

"Nobody killed Olivia West. She died of old age. She was a hundred and one, for Christ's sake. You tell that shit to the cops, you'll find out how fast a bullet travels two feet right into your stupid head. Actually," he added, as a point of interest, "I should aim for center mass. Bigger target. Still deadly."

"I've got my own money," Kyle said. "I can pay you."

"Not as much as your daddy can."

And as if on cue, Teddy's cell phone rang.

"I'll bring your bonus in cash," Luke said, still in that weird, strangled voice. "Meet me on the beach where Patrick West was killed."