by Karen Harper
“I’d be glad to help you pass those postcards out, though I don’t have a costume if that’s involved. I could bring Meggie, maybe her nanny, Lorena, and our friend Gina too so we can cover the crowd.”
Liz’s red and swollen eyes seemed to light at that. “Well, all right. I have some local friends I could call, but with your red hair, you’d be great. If the other two could put their hair up, I’ve got extra costumes, bonnets, gloves and corsets galore. It would just be for an hour or so this coming Saturday. And thank you for these thoughtful gifts,” she said, stooping to pick up the potted plant with blooming dahlias and camellias interspersed among the greenery.
“Mommy and Miss Liz, Scout liked the apple!” Lexi called to them. “Can I give him another one?”
Liz turned to her. “Since he’s just a pony, how about you save that for later. But I’ll put his saddle on so you can ride him in a circle around the yard, if that’s okay with your mom and dad. One of us can hold the rope that goes to his bridle while you ride.”
“Oh, thank you! I know you’re really sad about your mommy and I am too—about her, not my mommy, I mean. I know I’d be crying too if anything happened to mine.”
Tears blurred Claire’s vision of Lexi and Nick. From the mouths of children. She had to be so careful to protect herself for Lexi’s sake.
“I’ll saddle Scout, then,” Liz promised, putting the planter down. “And thank you all for the gifts. We’ll have to be careful the horses don’t eat those plants, won’t we, Meggie?” she said. She turned back to Claire. “If you and Jack can stay after Meggie’s ride, I’ll give you a box of costume pieces you can mix and match for Saturday for yourself and the others. Just a little early for Halloween, right?”
“We’ll take all this into the house and put it in the kitchen for you,” Claire told her as Liz took Lexi’s hand and led her back toward Scout’s stall.
“And,” Nick whispered to Claire, “we’d better come right back out to be sure she’s okay with Lexi.”
“She will be,” Claire assured him. “She’s Julia’s daughter at heart—a good heart. But it upset me to hear her describe her mother’s ‘last words’ and some other things she tried to cover for. She sounded so shaky on that, but I suppose that’s understandable. Accidents do happen and can be construed as intentional. She’s guilt-ridden over their arguing and she’s trying to atone by dumping Wade Buxton. But how deep is her guilt and exactly for what?”
“That sort of thinking is precisely what we can’t do,” he said as they went in the side door of the house into the kitchen. “We are not going to track down and interview possible suspects or we endanger more than a murderer.”
They both jumped when a male voice nearby said, “That’s enough about suspects and a murderer!”
Michael Collister stood in the kitchen with a raised butcher knife in his hands.
23
When she saw the knife, Claire gasped and jumped behind Nick.
“Hey, Collister, put that down,” Nick said in a strong voice, though he backed up a step too, bumping into her. He raised the sacks he held like a shield. “We just brought these things to Liz, and she’s out in the stable with our little girl.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, but instead of putting the knife down, he stabbed it into a ham he’d evidently been carving. He put both hands on the Formica counter and leaned stiff-armed there, head down. Then he snatched a dish towel and started to wipe his hands, over and over while he turned around to lean against the counter, not quite meeting their eyes.
“Nerves,” he said. “Loss. Then to hear you saying something about suspects and murder. I—She must have just slipped. But so near the place her mother died. Liz wanted to be out there alone in the stable for a while. Is she all right?”
“Better now,” Claire put in.
He nodded and looked them in the eye for the first time, still wiping his hands. Crazy how things came back to Claire that her mother had read to them and both she and Darcy had hated at the time. But now from the recesses of memory came Lady Macbeth’s guilt-ridden words after she’d committed a murder and was trying to wash the blood away from her hands: Out, damned spot!...
“We’re sorry for your loss and Liz’s too,” Claire told him and stepped forward to put the planter on the table. She saw Michael had been slicing not only ham but a loaf of bread on the counter. Perhaps the food had been a gift from a neighbor, and they were expecting more condolence calls.
“Even for an ex-husband, it’s a great loss,” he said. “You’re welcome to sit down. We’ve—Liz, that is—has been given a lot of food and support, but of course, she’s devastated. I’m just glad I happened to be here when it happened, though it’s not helping my position with our illustrious sheriff. Look, I know you are new renters, and Julia was showing you around. How did she seem to you that day?”
Claire could sense that Nick didn’t want to answer that or get into a discussion with this man, even though she did. She disagreed with Nick that they shouldn’t find out what they could, even if only to pass it on to the sheriff or Rob Patterson and not get openly involved.
“Are you staying here now?” Nick countered instead of answering. “I guess we overheard you might go to the Island House.”
“I did at first. But with my former father-in-law staying at a friend’s until we can get someone to live here with him, all that’s fallen on Liz now, and she asked me to move in. You know, without Julia or him here, the place seems haunted. So you’re in the big Victorian rental that supposedly does have a ghost, aren’t you?”
Before Nick could put him off again, Claire put in, “We learned that after we moved in. So sad, the thought of death hovering, haunting those left behind.”
“Yeah,” he said in a whisper, staring wide-eyed beyond her now as if someone else stood there. “And the Widow’s Watch house—some say she threw herself off the cupola walk when she lost her husband. Well, at this moment, I can almost understand.”
Claire noted he had gained control again. At first, his emotions had seemed so raw—and revealing. But of what? Now Michael sniffed, blew his nose, then washed his hands and dried them thoroughly again.
Before Nick could drag her out the door, Claire asked, “So will you still try to get Liz to move to Baltimore or will her grandfather and other obligations keep her here?”
“Did Liz or Julia share that with you?” he said, finally tossing the towel on the counter. Claire also noted that he never really turned fully toward them but stood sideways, the typical body language to indicate subconscious, wishful flight.
“Sorry to cut this short,” Nick said, “and please accept our condolences again, but we’ve got to get back out where Liz is letting our daughter ride a pony. Jenna,” he said and took her elbow none too gently.
“Sure,” Michael said. “Okay. Maybe I’ll come out too. This silent place is getting to me. No more tinny Gene Autry songs, at least right now, no footsteps with those cowboy boots upstairs—and no Julia.”
“Do you ride the horses if it snows?” Nick asked before Claire could get in another word about Julia. “Or use a snowmobile?”
“Depends on how deep it is,” Michael called after them.
“See you outside,” Nick said and hustled Claire out the door.
She shook his grip off her arm and muttered, “Chats about the weather when we might have got something from him?”
“Look, Jenna Randal. It’s not easy for me either, but I repeat one more time. We have to steer clear of interrogation and investigation here and you know why. Now let’s get our Meggie and head home until we hear from my agent about the supposed book deadline.”
“Yes, well, there may be other deadlines, ones we don’t even know about, and we’d better get ready for those.”
* * *
Jace was really nervous as he sig
naled the Great Lakes Air prop plane into its gate. This was Wednesday, the day Rob Patterson was coming to the island, and he hadn’t been on any earlier flights. Did he change his mind to charter his own plane or had something happened to him? Since their Key West plane, which Rob had arranged for, went down in the Straits of Florida near Cuba, crashes obsessed Jace. The airport closed at 5:30, so this had to be his plane or else.
But as he watched the four passengers deplane, he was disappointed. Still, back at Widow’s Watch, it was interesting to see Claire and Nick at each other’s throats over something for once instead of lovey-dovey, and how would they be if Patterson didn’t show?
He saw no one coming across the tarmac in the biting wind who looked like Rob. Only one was a man, and he was gray-haired and walked with a slight limp. Had a mustache too, while Patterson had always been clean shaven and—
Wait. Could he be here in disguise? The man was his height and had his build. He could tell that even in that bulky parka he wore with the hood up. Hell, maybe they should all be disguised in addition to their fake names. This guy must be a master at this.
“Can I get you a carriage, sir?” Jace asked. Yeah, this close up, he could tell it was Rob Patterson.
“No, and don’t want to be seen talking to you out in the open. I’ll phone your brother, Jack, later. Meeting with you, him and Jenna tonight.”
Rob Patterson/Pat Robart went brusquely on, still limping, pretty much like Nick the days after he was shot. Well, Jace thought, meet the master of working undercover and keeping one’s mouth shut until it was time to make a move. He’d try to learn from that.
* * *
Claire hovered near Nick while he paced in the parlor, on the phone with Rob Patterson. She was so relieved he was here, advising Nick, planning to meet with them. Jace had phoned to say their former acquaintance had got off the last plane from St. Ignace and didn’t look like himself or talk much. But none of that mattered. Without Julia here as their WITSEC handler—and their friend—Claire had been scared about what was coming next. And if Julia had been murdered, was someone onto them hiding here? Though neither she nor Nick had brought it up, it went unspoken that an attack on Julia could mean trouble for them, if the murder wasn’t related to Julia’s own problems.
“Right. Got it. Can do,” Nick was saying even as Jace knocked on the parlor door and peeked in. It was at least a couple of hours after he’d called them to say Rob was on the island.
Is it him? Jace mouthed.
Claire nodded and gestured for him to leave. Frowning, Jace ducked back out and closed the door.
“Just the three of us?” Nick was saying. “But in a public place? Okay, okay. Thanks. We’re really shocked about all this. Glad you’re here.”
He punched off his cell and heaved a deep sigh.
“He’s meeting us in a public place?” Claire asked.
“He says he likes to do the unexpected.”
“It’s dark outside with flakes of snow. Lexi’s going to want to go out in it, and for her first time seeing snow, I wanted to—”
“Claire, for heaven’s sake! Let the others show her snow. We’ll be seeing plenty of it, probably get sick of it, if we’re staying here.”
Pouting, she folded her arms over her breasts and bit her lower lip. “So, you think we’re remaining on the island?”
“To be decided, I suppose. He hardly wanted to chat, the way you did with Michael Collister today. And he really sounded upset about Julia’s loss. So, here’s the deal. We’re meeting my agent in a half hour uptown—walkable—at the Draught House, also called Mary’s Bistro, next to the Star Line Ferry dock.”
“But still, more or less out in the open? Is he crazy?”
“Like a fox. I’ll be happy to have him tell you to quit playing detective too. I’ll go tell Jace, and you get ready. Tomorrow, God and Rob willing, we’ll go back to an undercover life with a new handler. We’ll mourn Julia, but we’ll also play with Lexi in the snow and be grateful our enemy doesn’t know where we are—and doesn’t realize that, I swear, with the FBI’s help, I’m going to nail Clayton Ames yet.”
“See there?” she asked, gripping his arm with both hands. “I know how passionate you are about stopping him. If I feel even a tiny bit of that about getting whoever hurt Julia—”
“If someone hurt her, besides herself... Yeah, I understand. But you have to balance that desire with the danger, like I’ve done for years.”
“Right. I’ll be careful. But now I know you understand.”
* * *
Like most of the uptown establishments on Main Street, the Draught House combined with Mary’s Bistro had real ambience, Nick thought. It exuded a rustic character with its wooden bar, dark wood tables and captain’s chairs. Its long list of ales, lagers and beers dwarfed the good-sized menu posted as they went in. A children’s menu too, a couple of things Lexi liked. Man, he had changed if he even paid attention to that under these dire circumstances.
But he felt better already when he saw the man Jace had described sitting at a table in the far corner with his back to the wall, evidently watching for them. No doubt, he was watching for anyone who looked too interested. Nick supposed he could learn a lot from dealing with Rob—Pat. If Jace hadn’t described how he looked, he wasn’t sure he could have picked him out even from the few patrons here already, several locals at the bar, three tables of diners. He assumed this place was packed in season, but he realized now that Rob had probably chosen it to avoid coming to their house.
The four of them shook hands like old friends, and Rob gave Claire a one-armed hug before they sat. Jace quickly maneuvered to sit with his back to the wall, too, next to Rob.
Rob motioned they shouldn’t say anything until they ordered. The TV hung high over the bar had a Vikings-Packers pro football game on and, wherever it was being played, there were snowflakes in the air and dusting the playing field. The volume was on low and blended with the blur of other voices. Now and then, the guys at the bar cheered or groaned.
“They say something called a polar vortex is headed this way,” Rob said when the waiter approached, “and that it can be brutal. Bundle up, right?”
The waiter took their order. It annoyed Nick that Jace actually perused the drink list and ordered something called a Lake Erie Monster. Claire ordered a ginger ale, and Nick got the same as Rob, a foreign lager.
“So, so damn sorry,” Rob said when they were alone with their menus. He spoke partway behind his hand, despite the noise in the large room. “Sorry for Julia, her family and all of you too. She was special, as an agent and as a person.” He actually blinked back tears.
“And without her here?” Nick asked, keeping his voice low too but ignoring his menu.
“Remains to be seen if we can find another handler/liaison, at least for the several of you. The logical person would be someone in the sheriff’s office, but I prefer separation of church and state, if you know what I mean.”
“So,” Claire put in, “you plan for us to stay here?”
“For the immediate future. It’s proved to be an excellent location.”
“Which means,” she said, “along with your mention of ‘the several of you,’ there could be other WITSEC witnesses here, or at least some have been here in the past.”
“Copy that,” Rob said, finally putting his menu down. Nick noted he hadn’t clearly answered Claire’s question. He’d go after him for that in court, but not here. Rob took a long drag of his lager while Nick tried to warn Claire to cool it by pressing his leg against hers.
“I forget,” Rob went on, looking at Claire, “that I’m dealing with a forensic psych, who reads between all the lines. But here’s the thing. The hallmark of WITSEC is deception. A necessity, of course. Sadly, only about 6 percent of people in the program have no criminal record, so we’re not usually dealing
with good, solid citizens like you.”
Claire expected Nick or even Jace to say something, but they didn’t, so she kept quiet too. But Rob was still in lecture mode. “Without Julia to keep warning you of the need for deception and urging you to keep your spirits up, you’re going to feel more isolated, more desperate, than ever.” He looked from one to the other of them. “After all, you’re forced to live a lie. It can destroy your sense of self. At least you’re not alone, totally separated from family, like most. You’re going to have to rely on each other even more than ever.”
Jace shifted in his chair so hard it creaked. He took a swallow of his “monster” drink.
“Any word,” Nick said, “of the coroner’s ruling about Julia’s death?”
“Not yet, and I realize from things she’s told me recently that she had problems—pressure. But she’d been in tough personal situations before, was well trained, so I find the possibility she slipped on the cliff or jumped is moot. You’re nodding, Claire.”
“Despite her problems and some things she said that revealed classic depression, although she mostly hid it, you just voiced what I believe.”
“But,” Nick said, kneeing her again, “we’ll let things work out through the proper channels.”
“Unless you happen to stumble over something—even if it’s technically hearsay—that’s a good idea,” Rob agreed. “If she was harmed, I want to know whodunit and whydunit.”
Jace cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Besides family pressures, you’re aware there are three outsiders who were giving her grief, a Vern Kirkpatrick, who wants to get his hands on her father’s Western collection, and a pushy guy, Wade Buxton, who was evidently after her daughter.”
