"What're you doing, bringing the Zodiac?" It was a small, fast, maneuverable boat that Luke had aboard his yacht for short excursions-Luke had never used it that Teddy knew. "In this weather?"

"I'll be there."

Teddy looked around. He still didn't like the location. "Let me pick out the place-"

"No. You'll get caught. Do as I say."

"All right. Deal. And just in case you want to play games, say hi to your boy."

Teddy shoved the phone at the kid, who didn't cooperate. "Dad-Dad, he's a fuck. Don't do it. He's got guns."

"Asshole," Teddy said, and put the phone back to his ear. "Nice to know the kid cares, isn't it, Luke? The FBI loves kidnapping cases, but I'd leave McGrath out of this deal. I see one cop-state, local or fed, current, ex or on vacation-and your boy's dead."

This time it was Teddy's turn to hang up.

First, money. Then Stick Monroe. Get it all done in one day.

He glanced at the kid. "Probably should have put your shoes on before you ran out. Come on, we've got to take a little hike in the rain."

"Don't hurt my dad. I know he's an asshole, but he-"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get moving. It's payday."

Thirty-One

"What a crazy bastard," Bruce said, shaking his head after he discovered his junked rowboat was, indeed, missing. "He could have sunk and drowned. Anyone could have seen him out on the water in a leaky rowboat."

J.B. nodded. The drizzle had let up, but the fog was starting to roll in, adding to his overall sense of foreboding. " Shelton doesn't necessarily think things through."

"Like that guy who stuck a knife in your throat?" "Yeah, Bruce. Like him." Bruce shrugged. "Sorry. That was tactless."

J.B. stood on the water's edge, the horizon no longer visible through the encroaching fog. The bright fall leaves-yellow-leafed birches, red-leafed maples-pen-etrated the grayness, and he could hear gulls but couldn't see them, couldn't place where they were. He'd checked his messages on his way down here. Sally Meintz had called to tell him she'd worked until 2:00 a.m. on his little mission and that Luke Castellane collected expensive weapons. She'd had to dig deep to find that one out.

"Christ, you've got your FBI face on," Bruce said. "Mind if I take a look around my cottage, see if Teddy camped out there last night?"

"Bruce, you don't need my permission." J.B. sighed. "Yeah, go ahead. Let me know if you find anything. I'll try to get hold of Chief Jacobs."

"If I find anything, you'll be the first to know. I'm a simple lobsterman. You're armed."

He headed off, looking as much a part of the landscape as the spruce trees and rocks. J.B. watched the water lap right to the edge of his shoes and felt absolutely no connection between this moment and his life two months ago. How the hell did he get here?

Posey, tell me you don't miss Maine. Tell me a part of you doesn't hate your husband for taking you away from here.

J.B. thought about his father, who could no more imagine life away from Montana than Olivia West could imagine life away from the southern coast of Maine. Zoe wasn't like that, he thought. That was what she'd bring to Jen Periwinkle-he'd seen that in the pages he'd read, however unpolished and awkward. It was what she was meant to do.

An old Taurus sedan rolled into the lobster pound lot.

Betsy O'Keefe climbed out, waving gingerly at J.B. as she walked down to the water, hugging her heavy sweater tightly around her. "Zoe said you'd be out here." She was shaking, her lower lip trembling. "She's talking to the police for me. I didn't want-she said they'd want to talk to me, too, but I can't. Not yet."

"Luke collects guns," he said.

She nodded.

"He thinks one of them was used to kill Patrick West."

"A.357 Colt Python." Her voice was calm but grim, as if she was telling someone they had cancer. "It was stolen last fall. He didn't report it."

"Tell me about Stick Monroe. He's Luke's friend and Zoe's mentor, but he knew about Shelton and did nothing. He's savvy, a retired judge. He had to know Luke's arrangement with Shelton was dangerous."

"He warned Luke-"

"When?"

"The other day, after Zoe got here."

J.B. looked out at the Atlantic. The tide was out, the low-tide smells ripe in the air. "Everyone around here says Olivia West was a great observer of people in her hometown. I think you're a lot like her, Betsy."

"I'm not," she said. "I don't have any instincts about people. I just-" She swallowed, refusing to go on. "I'm worried about Kyle. He hasn't turned up."

J.B. nodded. "I'm worried about him, too."

"Stick-" She turned away, which J.B. read as reluctance to say more than she should, not because she was contemplating outright deception. Betsy O'Keefe was accustomed to keeping confidences, by training, experience and nature. "Stick Monroe 's a powerful figure around here. People respect and admire him, but they also like him. He took Zoe under his wing. He was Olivia's friend, Patrick's friend. He's not a wealthy man."

"Luke is," J.B. said.

Betsy licked her lips, still not looking at J.B., but she said, almost inaudibly, "Luke's been making payments to Stick on and off for a year."

"How much?"

"Thirty thousand dollars. Luke's so anal, he's kept a precise record."

Which she'd found. J.B. didn't ask her about that. "Did you talk to Luke about what you know?"

She nodded. "Last night. I didn't tell Zoe. I think she guessed I didn't tell her everything."

"Why tell me?"

"Because you're objective."

In other words, she trusted him to be willing to hear something bad about Stick Monroe. "Stick knew about the missing gun."

"Luke sold a gun to Teddy Shelton, as well," Betsy said. "I told Zoe that part-about the illegal sale, I mean. Stick must have threatened to go to the police and Luke-I know him, Mr. McGrath. I know he'd offer to pay Stick for his silence. That's what Luke does. He pays people." She faltered, her face crumbling in shame. "That's what he did with me. He knew I was drawn to his lifestyle. If he didn't have money, I wouldn't have put up with him. We used each other. Maybe it was that way with Stick."

"Why would Stick take the money?"

"He wouldn't want to tell on Luke. He elicits a kind of sympathy in people-it's hard to explain. The money was a way out. Stick wants to stay in Goose Harbor. It's been his dream to retire here for as long as I can remember."

"He didn't want to know what he knew, so he took money to pretend he didn't know it?" J.B. shook his head. "Maybe, but he also wanted the thirty thousand."

Betsy looked down again and ran her toe over the wet sand. She was wearing sensible walking shoes with white gym socks. J.B. felt sorry for her.

"What else?" he asked. "Get it all out, Betsy. You've waited long enough. If people have done something wrong, the consequences are of their own making, not yours. You're just telling what you know. The police will decide if it's relevant to their investigation."

She looked out at the harbor and squinted at the misting rain, as if she might see something there that would tell her what to do. "I should have said something before, but I didn't. I don't care if I get into trouble-" She took a breath, plunged in. "The evening before Patrick West was killed, he visited Luke on his yacht."

"What time?"

"Late, around ten o'clock."

"Luke told you?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't realize I know. I was interested in him even then, before Olivia died. I was spying on him, to be honest." She smiled lamely, waved off her own embarrassment. "Stupid of me. It was a nice night, and I took a walk on the waterfront. I just wanted to know if he had a woman in his life and I was wasting my time. I saw Patrick-I thought nothing of it."