On Fire (22 page)

She leveled her artist’s gaze on him. “He’s not a killer.”

Straker didn’t respond. What response was there?

“He’s
not.
”

If Emile was right, someone had sabotaged the
Encounter.
Someone who knew boats. Someone who, according to Riley, probably hadn’t realized Bennett Granger would be aboard. That opened up the possibilities.

“Sam’s death could have been an accident,” Sig said. “Matt’s never been that interested in the center. He indulged his father and Abigail, but he had no scores to settle, no grand plan for preserving the world’s oceans. He just wants to know why his father died.”

Straker could see she was getting upset; her face was red, her hands twisted into knots. Time to change the subject.

“My God,” she said, going even paler, “it’s not as if
he
sabotaged the
Encounter.
”

“Sig, I’m not jumping to any conclusions. Neither should you.”

“Why would he fund Sam to find out what really happened if he knew? If he’d done it himself? Why would he—” She gulped for air. “I suppose if he’s
guilt ridden and the explosion, the fire, the flooding were all worse than he expected, he might want to know what happened. He could—”

“Sig. Stop.”

She placed a hand on her brow, tried to control her rapid breathing.

“Tell me about Abigail,” Straker said quietly.

Sig licked her lips, calming slightly. “She’s wonderful. Riley and I have known her since we were little kids, but she’s older than we are. She was always good to us. I think she might have liked to become a marine scientist, but she never did.”

“Your sister did.”

“Oh, there was never any question of that. You remember. She and Emile were joined at the hip from the minute she could dip a hand into a tide pool.”

“Did you feel left out?”

Sig smiled, looking better now. “Are you kidding? With Riley tramping around after Emile and Mom and Dad, I was free to draw, paint, do my own thing. My mother and I have grown closer since she moved to Camden and took up nature writing.”

“What about your father?”

“He’s a great guy, and he and my mother are happy together now, even if they have unconventional living arrangements. I’m not sure I could stand it myself. I
know
Riley couldn’t.”

Straker made no comment.

Sig went on. “My father can’t wait for the
Encounter II
to get finished. He doesn’t have Emile’s charisma, but he’s just as committed to the center’s
work.” Her expression hardened suddenly, and she glared at Straker. “He didn’t blow up the
Encounter.
”

Straker sighed. “You and Riley have to quit trying to read my mind. You’re no good at it.”

Unlike her sister, Sig had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry. I’m defensive. There’s one more thing about Abigail I probably should tell you—she and Henry Armistead are having an affair. I’m not surprised, really. Abigail’s divorced, Henry’s charming and handsome, and they both live and breathe for the center. They’ve had a traumatic year, trying to make up for the loss of both Emile and Bennett.”

“They’re keeping their relationship secret?”

“For now. I suspect they want to have a better idea of where it’s going before they open themselves up to that kind of publicity and scrutiny.”

“She and Armistead have to fill pretty big shoes.”

“Yes, they do.”

An awkward silence followed. Straker had never been much on small talk. He got to his feet and motioned for Sig to stay put, but she didn’t. Her color had improved, and she seemed to have more energy, even a little fight, now that she’d had a chance to talk.

She touched his arm. “My sister isn’t as invulnerable as she likes to pretend. You’ll be gentle with her?”

He smiled. “If I don’t throttle her first.”

Riley lasted in her office just over ninety minutes, thinking about the fall whale migration south, before Henry stormed in. He inhaled sharply and dropped
into her extra chair, frowning at her. “The Maine State Police were at Abigail’s this morning.”

Matt. They would want to talk to him about his role in bringing up the
Encounter
’s engine. Riley nodded. “I hope they’ll get to the bottom of this mess soon.”

“They’d get to it a lot sooner if your grandfather—” He stopped himself, waved a hand in frustration. “Well, you know my position on Emile. I’d hoped we were over the hump when Caroline had us to Mount Desert last week. It’d been a year since the
Encounter,
and—” He sighed, throwing up his hands. “Obviously I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong, Henry. We had a great time at Caroline’s. None of us could have predicted Sam’s death.”

“I hope not.”

Riley felt her stomach turn over. “You’re not saying—”

He raised his eyes to hers. “Let me be plain, Riley. I hope for your sake Emile’s exonerated.”

“He will be,” she said. “If he’s not, I’ll resign. You won’t have to fire me. What about my father?”

“He doesn’t have your visibility. He’s pure research, and he’s been more willing to allow the possibility that Emile has gone over the edge.”

“I understand,” she said quietly. “But I’m not worried. I know my grandfather, Henry. He didn’t kill Sam or set those fires.”

He sighed, as if he couldn’t expect her to say anything else. “Abigail’s terrified for her brother. Nearly losing Sig just about did her in, and now the police are looking for Matt.”

“It’s a mess. I know that. With any luck the police will find Matt before he does anything really stupid.”

His chin shot up, his eyes sparking. “Are you implying—”

She gave him a quick smile. “I’m not implying anything.”

Henry rose, stiff, formal, carefully controlled. “Riley, if something else is going to blow up in my face, I need to know it.”

“Hey, I’d like to know it, too.”

Her halfhearted attempt at humor didn’t go over well. “I’m asking you to keep me in the loop.”

She groaned. “There is no loop, Henry. I wish there were.” She jumped up from her desk, suddenly restless; she couldn’t imagine focusing on her work. “We’re all in difficult positions. We’re all under a great deal of stress. Believe me, I’m not trying to make things worse for you.”

“I know, I know.” He exhaled, looking less angry and frustrated, more tired. “Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to downplay the ordeal you’ve been through in recent days. Abigail said the police left her with the impression they have information they aren’t willing to share with her. I was hoping you had some idea what might be—”

She did have some idea. She had plenty of ideas. But Straker would have her head if she sat Henry down and told him everything. Instead she mumbled, “I’m just doing the best I can.”

His eyes narrowed, again suspiciously. The look of fatigue instantly vanished. “Riley?”

She’d never been a good liar. “Look, I’m not going to get anything done around here. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. You don’t mind if I head out, do you?”

“Of course not.”

His tone was clipped, wary. She didn’t know what had tipped him off that she was in fact holding back on him—probably recent history. But how could she explain that her grandfather had been hiding out in an abandoned Maine sardine cannery with his pictures of a sabotaged
Encounter
engine?

“What about your FBI agent? John Straker. Where’s he?”

“He doesn’t exactly keep me informed of his movements.” She tried to seem casual. She swooped up her leather tote. “I’ll stop by Sig’s. If she’s seen Matt, I’ll let Abigail know. Okay?”

Henry remained cool. “Be sure you do. She’s worried about her brother, as you can imagine. None of us wants him to be the next victim.”

“Henry—”

He held up a hand. “I’m not suggesting anything. I imagine the police have interviewed your sister as well. She would cooperate, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Riley echoed, annoyed.

After Henry left, she finished packing up for the day. Tension and fatigue had eroded her ability to concentrate. Usually the opposite occurred, and the more stressed out she was, the more she buried herself in her work. It was, she thought, her own form of self-imposed exile. Straker had gone to an island after his
ordeal. She had dived into the world of marine recovery and rehabilitation. There was nothing more exhilarating than returning a healthy dolphin, a healthy whale, to the wild.

Instead of going directly to Beacon Hill, she slipped out to the small, rusting, outdated research ship moored at the back of the center. It wasn’t the
Encounter,
and it wasn’t even a shadow of the
Encounter II.
Her father was down below, trying to work in cramped temporary quarters.

Riley managed a smile. “This old tug doesn’t quite compare to the
Encounter II,
does it?”

He leaned back in his ancient chair, visibly shook off his total immersion in his work and focused on her. “It’s going to be a fabulous ship.”

“Bennett’s dream come true,” she added.

Her father nodded sadly. “He always had tremendous vision. Emile, too. They were remarkable men.”

“Emile still is. He’s not dead.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

He raked a hand through his scruffy hair. His research into the endangered right whale—a large, slow, acrobatic, oil-rich species long favored by whalers—consumed him. The northern right whale,
Eubalaena glacialis,
was near extinction, although the southern right whale was showing signs of recovery. Their slow breeding hindered their recovery and thus was a focus of much of Richard St. Joe’s research and restoration efforts.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

She nodded, realizing with a pang of regret that she
couldn’t tell him about Emile and the
Encounter
sabotage, either. She’d simply wanted to see him. “Sig’s back in town.”

“Mara told me. We’re in constant touch since the fire at Emile’s. I heard you came to work today—I was going to stop in later. I think it’s a good idea to try to maintain your routines as much as possible until this all gets sorted out.”

“In theory, anyway. I’m heading out right now. I thought I’d go up and see what Sig’s up to.”

“I don’t like her staying in that house alone.”

“I wondered about that, too. Maybe I’ll stay with her or make her camp out at my apartment.”

He nodded approvingly. “What about John Straker?”

Riley deliberately misinterpreted his words. “What, do you think I need to keep an eye on him?”

Her father smiled. “No, but I suspect he’s keeping an eye on you. That thought helps me sleep nights.” He gave himself a shake, sighed. “I can’t believe I said that. Amazing. Trusting John Straker with one of my daughters. But he’s here in Boston, isn’t he?”

“He most certainly is.”

“If you need me—”

“I know, Dad.” She gave him a quick hug. “You and Mom are both rocks. Thanks.”

The sun was bright, the air perfect for an afternoon of playing hooky—if only she could, Riley thought. She’d love to walk through Fanueil Hall Marketplace, sit on a bench and look out at the harbor, or just go to the Department of Motor Vehicles and replace her driver’s license after it burned up in the fire at Emile’s.

Instead she spotted Straker at the marine mammal fountain. His thick body, the ease with which he stood at a Boston fountain or on a rickety Maine dock, were unmistakable. He turned to her, his gray eyes sweeping over her. “No whales to drag back to sea?”

“Thankfully, no. Did you see Sig? How is she?”

“Hanging by threads.”

“She can’t stay alone. I’m going to insist we stay together.”

He nodded and gestured behind her. “Company.”

Caroline Granger joined them at the fountain. She looked composed, perfectly groomed and coordinated in her stylish pantsuit and gold jewelry. “Riley, you’re just the person I’m looking for.” She smiled at Straker, narrowed her ladylike gaze on him. “You must be John Straker, the FBI agent.”

He smiled back, a gleam of wry humor in his very gray eyes. This was a man, Riley realized, who didn’t take himself too seriously. “And you must be Caroline Granger.”

“The widow,” she added with a light note of self-deprecation. “I heard all sorts of stories about you this summer in Maine. You were a topic of much speculation. Were you a hero or a wounded lion raging on his own private island? No one quite knew whether to lock up their daughters.”

Riley tried not to squirm. Straker laughed. “Nothing like a little drama to perk up a summer afternoon.”

“Well, you’ve become quite the legend. Don’t deny it. I came to invite Riley here to lunch. Won’t you join us, Special Agent Straker?”

If Caroline Granger could charm Straker, she could charm anyone. Riley, who had no such ability, watched in fascination. “I was just on my way to see Sig—”

“I won’t keep you long. We can have lunch right here at the hotel.” One of Boston’s finer hotels was a short walk from the plaza. “To be honest, Riley, I need to talk to you.”

“Then lunch it is. Thank you.”

Whether because he was charmed or simply determined to keep watch on her, Straker joined them. Caroline had a table waiting at the waterfront luxury hotel, its menu nothing like the one at the shack of a restaurant where his father and fellow lobstermen ate.

“You must try the clam chowder,” Caroline told him when they were seated. “It won’t compare to sitting down to a bowl of steaming haddock chowder in a good Maine fog, but it’s really a wonderful recipe.”

Straker agreed to try it. Riley could see he was taken with Caroline. Who wouldn’t be? Caroline asked about Sig, shared Riley’s concern about her sister staying on Beacon Hill alone. As their table filled up with warm bread, salads, chowders and drinks, she said, “I’m going to tell you both something. A secret.”

Riley glanced at Straker, but his expression was unreadable.

Caroline continued, “I don’t eat, sleep and breathe oceanography.”

“Horrors,” Riley said with a laugh.

But Caroline was serious. “I took an interest in the center because it meant so much to Ben. It was like having a third partner in our marriage. I knew that
going in, of course. I accepted it. I loved his passion for oceanographic research, his love of the ocean. That kind of intense commitment, I find, is rare.” She turned to Straker. “Did you ever meet my husband?”