And why keep such a picture?
Why leave it for her brother?
Mattie wasn’t in the shot. That suggested it was most likely his work.
Abigail paused in the shade of a massive spruce, its lower branches dead sticks poking out of its gnarled trunk. Despite the ravages of the harsh conditions of its exposed spot, the tree had survived.
The angle of the shot of Doe and her traumatized family and friends meant it must have been taken not from a boat or farther out on the dock, but from the parking lot above, perhaps from a car or truck.
She shut her eyes, seeing the horror on the faces of the Garrisons-Owen, his parents, his grandmother. And Jason Cooper, his arm around his young daughter.
Who would take such a picture?
Chris and his grandfather were there, on the sidelines, grim and sad, but not a part of the Garrison and Cooper circle.
Mattie wasn’t there. Definitely. She’d remember.
Abigail opened her eyes and felt a warm breeze sweep in as if from the center of the island.
Ellis Cooper wasn’t in the picture.
Lou Beeler had never warmed up to Grace Cooper. People said she was nice enough. Smart. Well-connected. But she’d always struck him as a woman wrapped so tight, once she started to unravel, that’d be it. It’d be like unrolling a mummy and finding nothing inside but bits of bones and little piles of dust.
For all her success and riches, she was a woman with no center. Lou was convinced she didn’t really know who she was.
He was relieved not to see any FBI agents parked in the Cooper driveway.
Grace called to him from the front porch. “Lieutenant Beeler,” she said, her voice cool, collected. “I imagine you’re looking for me, aren’t you?”
He walked up the steps, noting that the hanging plants looked parched-missing Mattie Young, no doubt. “Mind if I have a word with you?” he asked.
“Of course not.” She sat on a wicker settee with a little puff-ball of a dog in her lap. But her face was pale, her eyes distant, even as she smiled with an emotionless grace. “Please, sit down.”
Lou shook his head. “I don’t have that much time. I wanted to ask you, Ms. Cooper-” He paused, watching her reaction. She knew why he was there. “When Chris Browning came up to your uncle’s house after Abigail was attacked and spoke to you, why did you tell him your brother was down at the old Garrison foundation?”
“I-I-” She made a choking sound, unable to go on, and fell back against the settee. Her knees went slack, and the little dog slipped down her legs, then jumped off her lap and scampered up onto a nearby rocker.
Lou didn’t relent. “Did you know your brother was on the grounds?”
“No.” She recovered her poise. “I didn’t know. I didn’t lie to Chris.”
“Ms. Cooper-Grace, why did you think your brother was down at the old Garrison place?”
But she couldn’t answer, and Lou realized that she didn’t have to.
He saw her answer in her eyes. The truth had hit her, and hit hard. Just as it did him.
Her uncle had told her.
For the first time in many years, Lou’s knees buckled under him.
The two FBI agents pulled over just as Owen started up the steep steps. Special Agent Steele, in the passenger seat, rolled down her window and shouted to him. “You can’t even see those steps from the road. They’re amazing. I guess this island’s full of hidden, amazing spots.” But nothing about her manner suggested she was playing the tourist. “We just saw Detective Browning. She said she’d be along soon.”
Ray Capozza leaned over from the wheel. “You shouldn’t be running around out here by yourself.”
“Probably good advice,” Owen said.
Steele tapped her fingers on the open window. “Advice you’ll ignore.”
He said nothing, and the two agents went on their way. He continued up the steps. He would be able to see Abigail once she started up. He knew every inch of the stone steps, similar to, but not as dramatic as, the more famous steps up to the Thuya Gardens in Northeast Harbor, now open to the public. No such destiny awaited his great-grandfather’s former property.
As he climbed a narrow section of steps, Owen imagined visiting Thuya Gardens with Abigail, hiking every trail on Mt. Desert, kayaking with her-then, with a pang of guilt, realized Chris must have had similar ideas. He shook them off and focused on the task at hand.
When he reached the top of the steps, he saw that Jason Cooper’s car was in the driveway.
Owen looked down the vertical hillside, through the trees toward the road, but Abigail still hadn’t turned up. He walked out to the driveway, feeling the humidity in the air.
He remembered himself charging out the front door and down the steps after his sister.
Twenty-five years ago, if anyone had said one of the Garrison kids would fall off the cliffs and drown, one- hundred percent of the people told would have guessed it would be him.
The front door of the graceful house stood open. He headed up the shaded stone walk. A hummingbird fluttered to a pot of some kind of red flowers, almost as if Doe’s ghost had sent it as a reminder of her.
Owen peered through the screen door. “Hello-anyone home?”
When there was no answer, he pulled open the door and stepped onto the cool tile floor. Since his family had sold the place, he’d seldom been inside, and not just to avoid memories. Ellis was a private man who preferred small get-togethers with family and close friends. The garden party seven years ago had been an aberration, atypical of his nature.
When no one answered, Owen walked back to the kitchen.
Jason stood at the sink, staring out the window at his brother’s gardens.
“Jason? What’s going on?”
The older man didn’t look back from the sink. He said, “Chris suspected there was something weird about Ellis-something beyond eccentric. I never wanted to listen.” He lowered his head, as if in shame. “I accused him once of trailer-trash envy.”
“Jason-”
“I wish I knew what was going on. I wish I’d known all along and had asked the right questions. I thought…” He gulped back a sob. “I thought selling this place made sense. I hoped it would help Ellis-help all of us.”
“Where is he?”
Jason shook his head. “I don’t know.” He placed both his hands on the sink edge and dropped his head down between his arms. “I’m afraid he’s lost in his own obsessions. I’m afraid there’s no way back for him.”
Owen left Jason in the kitchen and quickly checked the living room, the library, and the dining room, but saw no one. He headed down the hall toward the back bedrooms. Not since he was a child had he gone this far into the house. He pushed back memories.
He arrived at Doe’s old room.
Jason came up behind him. “Ellis keeps it locked.”
“Not anymore.”
Owen reared back and kicked the door, splintering it away from the lock on the first try. It bounced open, and he went inside.
The room was as Doe had left it twenty-five years earlier.
The same white throw rugs, the same pink chenille bedspread, the same simple pine furniture.
And there were differences.
Birds, Owen saw. Dozens of stuffed birds stuck up on shelves, hanging from the ceiling. Hawks, eagles, robins, bluebirds, hummingbirds, chickadees.
And guns. They were on display behind a glass cabinet. A rifle, a shotgun, two revolvers and two pistols. Ammunition. A stack of paper targets.
Jason staggered, falling against the doorjamb. “Dear God.”
