“Do you have my number here in Maine?” she asked him.
“Your phone number? Of course. It’s the same number it’s always been. Why?”
“Because I had a strange call this morning. It was on the heels of another strange call Saturday night.”
Owen lifted a popover out of the basket her waiter had brought and set it on his plate. But he had no visible reaction to what she’d just told him. “First things first,” he said. “I didn’t call you on Saturday or this morning.”
“Could someone have used your phone?”
“I doubt it, but if you’d told me Sean and Ian Alden would manage to sneak out a window without my knowing, I’d have said that was impossible. Do you have any reason to believe the calls were made from my house?”
“None.”
She dipped her knife into the softened butter, which she spread liberally on one half of her popover. Owen’s steady calm did not have a soothing effect on her. She had an urge to reach across the table and slather butter on his popover, just to penetrate his self-control. She could dump a tub of strawberry jam in his lap. Grab him by the shoulders and kiss him. Why the hell not?
“Can you tell me about these calls?”
She nodded. “Lieutenant Beeler gave the okay to tell you. He’s not giving a press conference or anything, but you deserve to know, in case this guy’s a threat. If you value your quiet spot on the water, you’ll want to keep the information to yourself.” She reached for the strawberry jam. “FBI Director’s widowed cop daughter gets anonymous tips-well, you can imagine the media reaction.”
“I can, indeed. And unleashing reporters out here would only muddy the waters of finding this caller.”
“Correct,” she said, then gave him a rundown of the two calls. When she finished, she ate a piece of her popover and gazed out at Jordan Pond, a lone bird of some kind soaring overhead. A hawk? She didn’t know her birds that well. Finally, she looked back at Owen. “I know you’re not the caller. I don’t think you could disguise that mix of Boston and Texas in your voice.”
But he didn’t smile, his gray eyes narrowed, intense. “Do you think it’s Mattie?”
“Lou and Doyle are talking to him. So far, there’s no reason to believe it’s him-or anyone on the island.”
“What are you doing out here?” Owen asked.
“I followed Jason and Grace. Ellis came in a separate car. I was out on the road, and there they were-and I figured, why not? Sometimes if you stick your fingers in enough eyes, things happen.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” He ate part of his popover, without butter or jam. “The Coopers looked as if they wanted to choke you. All three of them.”
“They did, didn’t they? They’re too repressed to admit as much.”
“Or too polite.”
She shrugged. “That, too. Do you see them during the off-season, when you’re not in Maine?”
“No.”
“I thought you and Grace were betrothed in the cradle.”
“Her father might like to think so, but, no, we weren’t betrothed in the cradle. We knew each other growing up. We see each other here from time to time. That’s about it.” His mouth twitched with unexpected amusement. “Satisfied?”
“What about Linc?”
“I put him through his paces today. We did the pond hike at a fast clip. It’s not a difficult trail, although it’s rough in spots, but I made him hoof it. He kept up. He’s walking back to his place now. It’s a trek-it’ll do him good.”
“Think he’s seriously interested in search-and-rescue?”
“We’re offering different levels of courses at the field academy, from basic instruction for the novice through advanced coursework for specialists who could end up on a Fast Rescue team.”
“Like yourself,” Abigail said. “Except you’re probably past coursework at this point.”
“Not in this field. There’s always something new to learn.” He finished off his popover. “I hope Linc will apply at least for a weekend course.”
“How did you get into search-and-rescue?”
“I took a first-aid class in high school. I was hooked after that. Abigail-”
“I’ve told you what I can about the calls. The first one was easy to dismiss. I get crank calls from time to time. Lou Beeler does, too. Doyle, less so. We all took this one seriously, but the odds are it was nothing.”
“This second call this morning changes things.”
She nodded. “Whoever’s calling wants to manipulate me. I was married on the second Saturday in July. Chris was found-” She didn’t finish, simply added, “The timing of the call is deliberate.”
“Why would someone who claims to want to help you try to get under your skin?” Owen asked.
“To be in the middle of the drama. To feel important.” She shrugged. “Or maybe to mislead me. Obviously it’s not someone who wants to come forward.”
“Why not?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Owen pushed his plate aside and leaned over the wooden table. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, Abigail? This isn’t an investigation in Boston. It’s not part of your job. You’re personally involved.”
She smiled. “Now you sound like Doyle and Lou. They told me to leave the heavy lifting to them.”
“Will you?”
“Of course.”
He gave her a skeptical look, grabbing the tab when the waiter dropped it off. “My treat. I haven’t had tea and popovers in ages. I’d forgotten how good they are.”
“Owen?” She tried to keep her gaze on him but found she couldn’t. “About last night…”
“About Mattie, you mean?”
She heard the humor in his tone and scowled at him. “Very funny. I meant about-you know.”
“The fire in my woodstove. It was too damn hot.”
“You’re making fun of me, Owen Garrison, and if you think I’m going to sit here and take it, you can think again.” She finished the last of her popover, doused in butter and jam, and brushed off her fingers with her napkin, but he didn’t take the hint. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Okay. The kiss. I have no regrets.”
“I would hope not.” He smiled. “It was a damn good kiss.”
“We did get a bit carried away. As I said, I have no regrets, but it can’t happen again.”
“Why not?”
“You’re looking for distractions, I’m looking for distractions. I’m getting strange calls. MattieYoung’s acting weird. Doyle Alden’s in a sour mood. The Coopers are in the middle of an FBI background check that might not be as routine as they want us all to believe. Jason’s selling his brother’s house.” Abigail paused, catching her breath, wondering what her litany of goings-on was all about, why she’d rattled them off. “I can’t be sneaking kisses in the dark.”
“Hands off, then?”
She didn’t answer right away, which surprised her.
Owen seized on the delay. “Not as easy as you thought, is it? Abigail, we’ve been thinking about kissing each other for a long time. I know I thought about it that time I caught you in Austin pestering my grandmother. Last night was meant to happen.” He laid a few bills on the table and placed the check over them. “It’s going to happen again.”
“Not today,” she whispered, her chest clamping down on itself, until she thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
His eyes darkened, and he nodded. “No, not today.”
He had the grace to let her get out of there first. She picked up her pace, moving in a half run by the time she reached her car. She drove out to the entrance to the Park Loop Road and paid for a pass, joining a car from Colorado and an SUV from West Virginia on the quiet, scenic drive.
