“That wouldn’t make me, but he made me swear I’d be on that ferry back to the mainland with or without you.” In frustration, Mi jammed her hands in her pockets. “I shouldn’t have given him my word. Tomorrow’s the twenty-second. Why wasn’t it enough for her, Sim? All that death her brother caused wasn’t enough.”
“It was always her underneath it all. I think he was just a defective weapon. Reed says she’s devolving, making mistakes. Jesus, Mi, she put that video clip on Facebook. She needed attention so much, she risked hacking an account and putting it out there.”
“But they haven’t traced the hack yet.”
“They will. But Reed’s going to stop her whether they trace it or not.”
“I’ve never known you to believe in anyone but CiCi the way you do him.”
“And you.”
“Thirteen years,” Mi said with a sigh, turning to the shelves holding the faces of the lost. “What you’re doing here matters so much. People forget, then there’s another nightmare followed by another. And still, after the grief and outrage, people forget. No one can forget when they look at what you’re doing.”
“I tried to forget.”
“But you never did. And Tiffany?” Carefully, Mi took down the bust. “Still right here.”
“To remind me that everyone who survived July twenty-second carries the scars. But we survived, Mi. We can remember those who didn’t, and still treasure the life we have. Tiffany didn’t intend to give me the gift of that insight, but she did. So I’ll keep her face in my studio as a thank-you.”
Mi replaced the bust. “You haven’t done Tish.”
“I want to do her last. She means more to me than anyone else, so I need to finish it with her.”
“I still miss her. Will you do me a favor? No, I’m not going to push you to leave,” Mi said when Simone tensed. “When you’re ready to start Tish’s bust, will you let me come? I know you don’t like anyone in your space when you’re working, but I’d like to be here.”
“I can do better. When I’m ready, you’ll help me. We’ll do it together.”
“You always said as an artist I made a good scientist.”
“So true.” Simone smiled. “But we’ll do it together. Now I’m kicking you out so you don’t miss the ferry.”
“If anything happens to you—”
“Positive thoughts.” She took Mi’s hand, led her out.
“Maybe she’s not here, not on the island. That’s a positive negative.”
CiCi came in from her studio as they walked down the stairs. “It’s nearly sunset. How about drinks to toast day’s end?”
“Mi has to go.”
“I could stay for a drink.”
“And miss the ferry.”
“I’ll take the next one.”
“You’re stalling,” Simone said. “You gave your word.”
“I shouldn’t have.” Annoyed with herself, Mi picked up her purse. She’d caught the first available plane after Reed’s call, hadn’t even packed a bag. Now she sighed. “He thought I’d just phone you, and he put the hammer down on me when I said I was coming. He’s sneaky and smart. I really like him, Simone. I really like him.”
“Me, too. You’ll have more time to get to know him when you come back. We’ll have time to show you the house—and by then, finalized plans for my studio. More time,” she added as she walked Mi to the door.
“I want you to text me tomorrow. Every hour.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“We’re going to look out for each other.” CiCi kissed Mi goodbye. “You come back soon.”
“I feel like I’m abandoning you,” Mi said as Simone walked her to the car she’d rented in Portland.
“You’re not. You’re trusting me. This island’s always given me shelter when I needed it. That’s not going to change. Text me when you land in Boston.”
“And tomorrow—every hour on the hour, Sim.”
“I promise.”
Simone watched her drive off, turned back to the house. She caught the movement, stopped, saw the woman walking along the quiet road hesitate.
“Can I help you?” Simone asked.
“Oh no. Well, I’m sorry. I was just admiring the house. It’s so beautiful. So unique.”
The woman laid a hand on the swell of a baby bump, adjusted her sunglasses.
“I’m being nosy,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I heard in the village a famous artist lives here, and I wanted to see it from up here. I’ve seen it from the beach. Are you a famous artist? CiCi Lennon, the lady in the gallery said.”
It happened several times a summer—an off-islander wandering by, often taking photos of the house, and hoping to catch a glimpse of CiCi Lennon.
So Simone smiled. “My grandmother.”
Blond hair, Simone noted, with a floppy-brimmed sun hat over it. A backpack, expensive hiking shoes, a pink T-shirt that read: BUN IN THE OVEN, and well-toned, athletic legs in mid-thigh khaki shorts.
“I bet my husband will know her work—Brett’s the art buff. I can’t wait to tell him. We’re here on vacation for a few weeks, from Columbus.”
No, Simone thought, because there was too much Maine in the voice for Ohio. Columbus, where another survivor had been shot—and the postmark on the last card.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay.” Simone took a step back toward the house. She saw it now, despite the dark glasses, the hat, the mound of belly. She saw it in the jawline, the profile, the shape of the ears.
She knew faces.
“Oh, so much. It’s our pre-baby vacation! Do you live here, too?”
“The island’s my home.” Another step back, another, a reach behind for the doorknob.
She knew faces, she thought again, and saw the change. In the flash of a moment, they recognized each other.
She bolted inside as Patricia dragged at her pack. She locked the door, leaped toward a stunned CiCi.
“Run,” she said.
*
Reed briefed his men again, gave his thanks to the pair of FBI agents Jacoby had sent him. Then he went out to walk the village, the beach. He intended to walk home—keeping visible. Maybe, just maybe, he’d draw Hobart out, he thought.
He saw Bess Trix through the glass door of Island Rentals, decided to give that another shot.
“Chief, Barney.” She shook her head. “The answer’s the same as always. And look, Kaylee can back that up. She does a lot of the cottages and cabins, and along with Hester, supervises the rest of the housekeeping crew.”
“Okay, let’s try this. Have you had anyone—eliminate families, people with kids—anyone who strikes you as strange? Or that one of the crew’s told you about that strikes them?”
Kaylee rolled her eyes, bent down to pet Barney. “Chief, if I start on the strange with summer people, we’d be here till next Tuesday. There’s the four friends out in Windsurf who pay for three times a week, and I know damn well are swapping partners about as often.”
“Oh now, Kaylee.”
“It’s the God’s truth, Bess. You can ask Hester, we clean that one together.” She wound the tip of her braid around her finger as she got into the gossip. “Then there’s the couple easily going on eighty who want daily and go through a bottle of vodka between them every twenty-four. There’s the guy who keeps the second bedroom locked up, and the shades pulled on the windows. The wife says it’s his office, and I have to wonder what kind of work a man does that has him lock everything up.”
“He keeps the door locked to that bedroom?”
“Well now, Chief, you’ve got an off-limits room in your place.”
“I don’t lock the door.”
“I guess you’re more trusting I won’t—or Hester, either—go poking in.”
“But he locks the door,” Reed repeated.
“He does, and works a lot, it seems. That doesn’t stop him from going through a goodly amount of scotch and gin—expensive stuff. Wine and beer on top of it.”
“Is he on his own?”
“With his wife. And I’m going to say he’s got a nice-looking young wife, too, but they haven’t cuddled up—if you get me—since they got here. The person who changes your sheets knows.”
“Kaylee.”
“Well, he’s asking about strange, Bess, and that’s strange. Makes you wonder how the wife got pregnant in the first place. He tosses clean clothes in the hamper, which is better than the group at the—”
“Let’s stick with the couple in— Where’s the pregnant woman and the secretive husband?”
“Oh, that’s the Serenity. It’s tucked back in there. Got nice views from the deck off the loft, but it’s a walk to the beaches and the village.”