Part 18 (2/2)

”Okay.” Chris seemed surprised by my boldness.

Frankly, so was I. ”I need to borrow your dinghy.”

He looked relieved, like-was that all I wanted? ”Where're you headed?”

”Morrow. I need to talk to Etienne and he can't come to town right now.”

”That's a long way to go in my dinghy.”

He was right. It was barely more than a rubber raft, but it had a hard bottom and an outboard motor. I knew it would get me there.

Chris handed me the key to unlock the little boat from the dock. ”All set? 'Cause I'm kinda in the middle of something.”

”You said you would help me keep the clambake open any way you could.”

He nodded. ”Yes, of course.”

”But then you didn't tell me you were outside Gleason's Hardware the morning Ray Wilson was killed.” I tried to keep the hurt, anger, and accusation out of my voice.

Chris gestured for me to take a seat on the banquette in the stern. He sat just around the corner, so close our knees were practically touching. Between my anger at him, my fear about where this conversation might be going, and his nearness to me, my heart beat so hard I was afraid he could see it thumping in my chest.

”So you know,” he said.

”Michaela told me. She told Binder, too.”

Chris stared down at his bare, tanned feet. ”Lieutenant Binder and I have had several conversations about my movements that night. I'm certain we'll have many more.”

”Why were you outside Gleason's?”

Chris still didn't look up at me. ”I dropped Wilson at the Lighthouse Inn, just like I told you. As soon as he got out, I opened up my cab to inspect where he'd been sick. I was still in the Lighthouse parking lot when he came stumbling back out the side door of the inn. He started yelling into his cell phone, sounding demented. He hurried up toward Main Street.

”I followed him. At first I was afraid he'd hurt himself. He was in no condition to be wandering around town at almost one-thirty in the morning. But then, as he continued screaming into the phone, I started to be afraid he'd hurt someone else.”

Chris finally looked into my eyes. He was so close that if I moved my knee a fraction of an inch, we'd touch. Hurt and angry as I was with him, I still longed to cross that chasm.

”If you've talked to Michaela, you know what happened next,” Chris went on, seemingly unaware of my heart rate or my desire to touch him. ”Wilson charged up the street toward Sarah Halsey's apartment. I waited outside. A couple minutes later, Sarah came down the stairs and let them both into Gleason's. I was still worried. Obviously they had private business. I didn't want to interrupt, but they were in a place filled with all kinds of potentially dangerous weapons and he sounded like he was off his rocker. So I waited to see what would happen. Then the bride came along and banged on the front door of Gleason's. Ray let her in and the three of them were yelling at one another. It was so loud, I could hear it from across the street. Not words, mind you. But noise.”

So far, everything he'd told me agreed 100 percent with what Michaela and Sarah had said. ”Michaela said you followed her and Ray back to the Lighthouse. And later, when she looked out the window of her room at the Snuggles, you were there, across the street.”

”Wilson had calmed down by the time they left Gleason's. Michaela seemed to have the situation under control, but I didn't want to take the chance. I followed them to the Lighthouse. They split up in the parking lot and he went to get something out of his car. I followed Michaela to the Snuggles to make sure she got back okay. There was no one around and I didn't like the idea of her walking alone. Then I went back to get my cab. Wilson was nowhere to be seen. His car was there, and I a.s.sumed he'd gone inside.”

Chris caught the look on my face and grimaced. ”I know, bad a.s.sumption. Anyway, then I drove over here, got cleaning supplies, and cleaned up the blood and the puke, just like I told you.”

But I still didn't understand why he hadn't explained all that in the first place. Especially since he had told me about the blood in the cab. ”Why would you hide this from me? I thought we were in this together.”

”I'm sorry. I didn't want to make things worse for you by telling you anymore about that night.”

Worse for me? I was already in it up to my neck.

Chris took my hands in his. ”This really isn't a good time. I have something I have to take care of. But there's one more thing I want to say. This is a small town. It's been a long time since you've lived here. Sometimes when two people are seen together a lot, people misunderstand the nature of the relations.h.i.+p. Town gossip says there's more than there is. I don't want you to be caught up in that.”

Just like that, he broke my heart.

Chapter 46.

Somehow I stumbled my way off the Dark Lady and unlocked the dinghy. Chris's message was clear. Town gossips thought there was something between him and me. And they were wrong. There was nothing between us.

I sat in the little boat and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself and calm my racing mind. My pulse slowed just enough for me to start the motor and head out into the harbor.

The boat was small and the ride b.u.mpy. Once I got out beyond the mouth of the harbor, I had to fight for control, but from there the trip was short and soon I pulled up to our dock.

”Etienne! Gabrielle! I'm here.” I tied up the dinghy and continued to call out. Etienne knew I was coming. Why didn't he come out to greet me?

I knocked on the screen door of their house. The sound echoed throughout the place. No answering call. No sign of anyone at all. The door was unlocked which was typical when Etienne and Gabrielle were on the island alone. Clambake guests had been known to wander into the house, use the facilities, and otherwise make themselves at home, so the door was usually secured when customers were on the island, but otherwise there was little point. At least, it had seemed that way until I'd opened the doors to Windsholme and found Ray Wilson's body hanging from the staircase. Could it have been just one week ago?

”h.e.l.lo!” I walked through the empty house. Gabrielle kept an immaculate home, but there were signs of life interrupted. Her knitting sat next to her chair, a business magazine, its spine splayed open, was next to Etienne's. I left the house, annoyed and worried. Etienne knew I was coming.

The next place to check was the pavilion and commercial kitchen. We weren't open for business today, probably never would be again, but I had faith in Etienne and Gabrielle's ability to keep busy-cleaning, fixing, improving. Neither of them were built for sitting still, and I imagined the forced idleness must have been driving them crazy. I called around the kitchen and dining area, but found no indication they were there or had been.

A breeze came in across the ocean as I walked out toward the lawn and I realized how preternaturally still the island seemed. How quiet. I walked over to Gabrielle's vegetable garden, which was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with bright green lettuce and peas hanging from their vines, needing to be picked. But no Gabrielle. No Etienne.

I hurried back to the playing fields and looked up at Windsholme. A shadow crossed a fourth floor window, the one in the center where Lieutenant Binder and I had found the clothing. Was it someone, or merely the reflection of the sun dancing on the wavy, old gla.s.s? That was the explanation behind most of the ghost sightings on Morrow Island.

”Etienne, I'm here!” I yelled up the lawn. If he was inside Windsholme, I wanted him to come out to greet me. But nothing happened.

I walked slowly toward the big front porch. ”Etienne! Etienne!” I steeled myself to open the front doors, remembering that last time I'd been in the house just the day before. I'd walked through its entirety with Binder and felt completely safe . . . until we found the room with the neatly folded clothes. Then my family's property had again become alien. I reached for the doork.n.o.b and started to turn it.

”Julia!”

I jumped a mile. ”Geez, Etienne. You scared me to death.”

He'd come around the side of Windsholme, but there was no need to ask where he'd been. He was wearing swim trunks and carrying a beach towel. His chest was bare, revealing his slight potbelly and powerful shoulders. Water dripped steadily from his trunks onto the gra.s.s.

”We need to talk.” How many times, in how many ways had I said that to someone over the last six days?

”Indeed.”

He climbed the porch and we each sat in one of the wooden rockers.

”Where's Gabrielle?” I asked.

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