"We found it," Zoe said without explanation.
"Well, that's good, isn't it? One thing, anyway."
Christina attempted a smile, but it faded quickly. "Maybe we're letting Shelton spin us around until we're all nuts, and none of this has anything to do with who killed Dad."
"That's possible. We'll just have to see."
J.B. stepped forward, steering clear of the wet spots on the floor. "Let us help you finish up here," he said quietly.
Christina looked at the mess she'd made and peeled off her dripping apron, dropping it in a puddle on the floor and swirling it around with her toe like a makeshift mop. She smiled at them through her tears. "Sure. Mops and sponges are out back."
Bruce Young materialized in the doorway. "This'll be fun. I want to see an FBI agent mop a floor." His natural good humor seemed to infuse the place with positive vibes, and he walked right in and tugged on Christina's long, messy braid. "You okay, kiddo? You look like shit."
"Now I feel great, Bruce. Thanks." She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled.
He turned to Zoe. "Crappy day?"
"You could say that."
Bruce acknowledged her words with a rare display of seriousness. "Teddy didn't kill your dad. I'd bet both my boats on that, Zoe. He's just your basic meat."
J.B. retreated to the back room, got a sponge mop and a bunch of rags, returned and shoved the rags at Bruce. "Swab up some of this water.You ought to be good at that."
"Aye-aye, Captain. Hell, you armed? Were you wearing that thing last night at Perry's? No way am I playing darts with you if you've got a goddamn gun. It's loaded?"
J.B. ignored him and started mopping the floor. Christina shivered in her wet blouse but seemed more cheerful. Bruce pulled off his Carhartt and slipped it over her shoulders, and she murmured her thanks.
Zoe noticed Betsy O'Keefe down on the docks by herself and decided to try to talk to her without the FBI standing next to her. Not that Luke's rudeness was J.B.'s fault-Luke was going to be difficult with or without J.B. there.She started backing toward the door, but J.B. pointed his mop at her. "Uh-uh. You're staying put." Bruce grinned. "Whoa, the FBI has spoken. Zoe? Were you intending to give Agent McGrath the slip?" "Bruce, I swear I don't know why your father didn't throw you overboard when you were six." "Because he knew you at six and figured you'd need someone to give you a hard time when you were thirty."
Zoe could have taken that answer and run with it, but she directed her attention at J.B. "Betsy's down on the docks. I want to talk to her. Two minutes."
He nodded. "Stay in sight."
It wasn't so much an order as a reminder to use common sense. She'd been shot at once today, Teddy Shelton was still on the loose and J.B. was armed. And Zoe had a lot on her mind. J.B. would see that.
Christina stepped back onto a dry section of floor. "She's just trying to get out of helping." But she sniffled at her sister, and the earlier tension between them might never have existed. "You want me to go with you?"
"If you think it'd help," Zoe said.
"It could."
Bruce dropped the rags into the puddle of water. "I meant what I said. Teddy's a meat. He's impulsive. He doesn't think things through. But he's not bright enough to get away with murder." Bruce sighed heavily, working at the rags with his toes. "Don't you wish you knew whose side he's on?"
J.B. squeezed out his mop. "I'm not sure it matters."
"Yeah. A friend kills you, you're just as dead." Zoe touched Christina's shoulder. "Let's go."
"Tell that little fuck son of yours to stay out of my way." Teddy, parked in an out-of-the-way corner of the salt marsh south of the lobster pound, spoke in as low and deadly a voice as he could manage. He wanted to scare the hell out of Luke Castellane. Enough was enough. "He sneaks up on me again, he'll be lucky to live."
Luke was remarkably calm. "My son is an artist. He doesn't think the way you do."
"No shit."
"I didn't call to ask you to defend your actions. Our work together is done. I've already told Zoe, the FBI agent and the Goose Harbor police that I've fired you."
"That right?"
"That's right." There was that cool, snot-nosed tone again.
Teddy didn't know how long he had before the cops picked up his trail, but he wasn't letting Luke get the upper hand, take control. "I suppose now you want me to get out of town."
Luke sniffed. "It makes no difference to me, but I imagine it would be the prudent thing for you to do."
" Gooseshit Harbor. Yeah, I'd love to clear out. Last night, I smack the hell out of your jackass kid. Today, I smack the hell out of your jackass kid. What's his problem? Why's he always in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
"You also shot at a former police officer."
"'Former' is a key word, don't you think?" Teddy stared out at the marsh, pretty even with the gray light and clouds. "What about maintaining the status quo? I thought that was worth a bonus-"
"Goodbye, Mr. Shelton. I'm sorry our association had to end this way. There will be no bonus."
Click.
Done. The ax had fallen.
Teddy had the Goose Harbor police, the Maine State Police, the Maine Marine Patrol, an FBI agent, an ex-cop and who knew else all out looking for him. And Luke, that rich puke, was in the clear. But he must have figured out another way to exercise control over events and make sure Patrick West's murder stayed unsolved.
Or maybe he wasn't worried about that anymore.
It was nothing to Teddy. He'd never given a damn about the Castellanes. Didn't now. The bonuses would have been nice, but he had to remember he was in Goose Harbor for one reason and one reason only-that regal bastard, Judge Steven Stickney Monroe.
Betsy extricated herself from her conversation with the West sisters as quickly as she could, too upset and on edge to trust herself not to lash out at them because of her own volatile emotions. They didn't seem to notice. They merely asked if she'd seen Kyle since he'd left Olivia's house after he'd talked with the police.
Betsy assured them she hadn't. She'd noticed the crude bandage on Zoe's wrist and shuddered at the thought of Teddy Shelton shooting at her-the thought of him possibly almost killing Kyle, of Luke being mixed up with a thug like that. Why didn't the two Castellane men understand how much she cared about them?
Zoe said she and J. B. McGrath had been to see Luke. Betsy didn't mention their argument. She didn't know if he'd forgiven her, but she'd forgiven him. He was upset because of his ridiculous, irrational fear that his son was somehow involved in Patrick West's death.
She promised Zoe and Christina if she saw Kyle, she'd tell him they were looking for him.
As she walked back to the yacht, Betsy found herself feeling sympathy for Luke, wanting to reassure him. No one should have to endure such groundless fears and suspicions. Given his unyielding hypochondria, the anxiety behind it, she guessed that he must have seized on any inkling he had about Kyle and blew it all out of proportion, the way he did a sniffle or a spot that anyone else would dismiss.
She was almost to the boat when Kyle approached her. She grimaced at his bruises and pale, grayish skin. He'd had enough shocks to last him for a long, long time. "I saw my dad. He says he's leaving tomorrow. Alone. Just him and his crew."
"We had an argument," Betsy said.
"Betsy-" Kyle shook his head, looking pained. "Never mind."
She bit down on her lower lip. "You don't think he ever meant to take me with him, do you?"
"He's an odd duck. You knew that going in."
She smiled sadly. "And aren't you relieved you're not like him? Christina West adores you because of it. The romantic, creative artist misunderstood by his difficult, philistine father-"
"All that's true, but he'd do anything for me." Kyle's voice was quiet, surprisingly mature, self-aware. "I know that."