"I told you, Ike Grantham has nothing to do with me. I've been married to Lauren for less than a year, and Ike's her brother. We hardly know each other." Richard's tone was controlled, calm, neutral. Defensiveness would only raise Carver's suspicions. "I've always felt he'd come to a bad end, sooner rather than later."
"Because of his personality."
"Yes. He's reckless and inconsiderate. You've learned that yourself in your investigation."
"But people like him," Carver added. "Why is that?"
"His charisma."
Carver waved a hand in abrupt dismissal. "In Washington, you get your fill of charisma." He squinted, radiating a sharpness and ruthlessness that Richard knew he would be unwise to underestimate. "You think he's dead?"
"Personally? Yes, I do."
"What do you think happened?"
"I have no idea. Knowing Ike, I suppose he mooched a boat off a friend and went overboard in a storm because he didn't check the weather reports."
"Why wouldn't the friend report it?"
Richard shrugged. "Maybe he borrowed the boat without asking, or the friend didn't think anything of it when Ike didn't return it. Who knows? This is just one theory. He could have fallen in a remote area, and some hiker will find his remains twenty years from now."
Carver drank more tea, draining his glass. "But you don't suspect foul play?"
This wasn't a conversation, Richard knew. It was part of Jeremy Carver's investigation into a man his boss would go to bat for. Senator Bowler's judgment and reputation were on the line. Richard sipped his tea, wishing he could add a third spoonful of sugar; but he didn't want to come across as a man who needed excessive amounts of sugar to get down a glass of iced tea. It was the little things that counted.
"Of course not," he said, smooth and unconcerned.
"Well, I suppose you wouldn't, or you'd have been hounding the police, trying to find the bastard."
"That's exactly right."
Jeremy Carver rose. "Thanks for the tea. Do you mind if I walk through the gardens on my way out?"
"Please do. If my wife were here, she could show you around. I can try-"
"That's okay. I've taken up enough of your time. You want me to help with the cleanup?"
Bile rose up in Richard's throat. "No, thanks. I'll handle it."
After Jeremy Carver finished his tour of the gardens, and his car finally pulled out of the driveway, Richard's guts clamped down on him, fiercely, painfully. He knew he wouldn't make it inside. He ran out into the yard, plunged into the herb garden and fell on his knees, puking up everything in his stomach. Then came the dry heaves. One after another. Thank God Lauren wasn't there.
Finally, reeling, spent, he stumbled back to the porch. He dumped the last of the ice cubes from his tea down the front of his shirt, rubbed one over his face and tongue.
"I swear to God, I'll kill you before I let my sister marry you."
Ike's words. He'd had his chance. And failed.
Richard had to keep his focus. He couldn't think about the past, what was done. Who was the Haviland woman? What did she want? And why now?
He had to know. The stakes were too high to leave anything to chance.
The afternoon turned warm, almost summerlike. Andrew gave up on getting anything done and sat on the front porch with a glass of lemonade he and Dolly had made together. She dragged out an army of dolls and stuffed animals. She wanted him to play with her. He could be the daddy.
If only the guys he'd beat up in a string of Gloucester bars could see him now, he thought as Dolly ran up to her room for one last, totally necessary stuffed animal. The rest of the gang were heaped on a blanket in a corner of the porch.
Tess Haviland had not asked for help repairing her cellar window. He'd decided it was best if he didn't think too much about her and her blue eyes, her artistic hands, why she kept lying about what she'd seen last night.
Across the street, over the rocks and across the narrow, sandy beach, the ocean beckoned. He was already teaching Dolly how to sail, and he wondered if a love of the sea was in Thorne blood. He doubted it. They'd been a pragmatic lot. To most of them, the sea was probably just where they'd made their living. It was what they knew.
Except, perhaps, for Jedidiah. He'd been a romantic, a man who'd accused a prominent local citizen of beating his wife, of cowardice and a lack of honor. He'd been an outsider in Beacon-by-the-Sea, the upstart who'd just finished building his small estate on a point near the village. Whatever else he was, Jedidiah had loved the sea. Andrew was sure of it.
Lauren Montague's cream-colored Mercedes pulled alongside the road in front of his house. The Mercedes was an older model, no doubt because Lauren wouldn't want to look ostentatious. She climbed out of the driver's seat and waved at him over the hood, the sunlight catching the highlights of her hair.
Andrew got to his feet and walked over to the porch steps, wanting to avoid having to ask her to have a seat. It wasn't gracious of him, but Lauren wasn't high on his list of people he wanted popping over for a visit.
She tucked strands of her straight, windblown hair behind her ears as she came up the walk, skirting Dolly's bicycle. "I hope I'm not interrupting-I'll only be a minute."
"Not a problem. What's up?" She smiled. "It's a gorgeous day, isn't it?" "I suppose." "Oh, Andrew. You're such a Puritan." Not bloody likely, he thought. "I brought a present for Dolly," she said. She stood at the bottom of the steps, as if not sure she should proceed further. She was always self-con-sciously cheerful and energetic around him, worse since Ike's abrupt departure last year. Although they'd never discussed it, Andrew knew she felt guilty over her brother's role in Joanna's decision to climb Mount McKinley, blaming herself in part for not reining him in. Periodically, she'd show up with gifts for Dolly, as if they could provide absolution for herself.
Andrew walked down and joined her on the walk. He could hear the tide going out, seagulls crying as they hunted for easy food. "She's upstairs looking for a stuffed animal."
"I can just leave it with you." She opened her expensive leather tote and withdrew a clear plastic bag. Through it, Andrew could see purple and red flowers, frothy white flowers, a bit of pink ribbon. Lauren handled it gently. "It's a garland. I was in a crafty mood and made it myself, with flowers from my garden. Dolly can wear it as a crown. I know she loves her crowns."
She thrust the garland at Andrew and stepped back quickly, as if she didn't dare get too close. He eyed the flowers. "I'll give it to her when she comes downstairs."
"Don't make her write a thank-you note like last time. It was adorable, but, Andrew, she's only six. She can't be expected to write thank-you notes."
After Lauren's last gift, Dolly had scrawled "Thank you" in milky pink gel ink and had drawn a picture of a cat. She'd spent a lot of time on the cat. Andrew shrugged. "Okay. No thank-you note."
A knowing smile lifted the corners of Lauren's mouth. She was an odd mix of contrasts. Elegant, breezy, gracious, often tactless. Andrew hoped her need to give Dolly little gifts would run its course.
She shifted, glancing out at the street. She could hold her own with high-powered executives, at fundraisers and cocktail parties, with her husband's brainy friends, but Andrew and his six-year-old daughter put her at a loss. "I suppose I should be running along."
"Thanks for stopping by."
She gave him a chiding smile. "Always so polite."
"Not always."
She left, and Andrew gave Dolly the garland when she burst back onto the porch with a stuffed whale he'd forgotten she had. Of course, she loved the garland. She gasped in delight, and after he helped her open the bag, she put the flower crown on her head.
"Oh, Daddy, I am a princess!"
He laughed, and they set about pouring more lemonade and playing stuffed animals. Dolly tried to boss him around, wanting him to do precisely what she wanted him to do when she wanted him to do it, but he held his own.