“The Sunniva painting is ambitious. The research, the attention to detail—it must have taken time.” Emma stepped into the shade of the building, the midday sunshine more like summer than fall. “Anything else on any artwork Claire might have brought East with her?”
“One thing.” Her grandfather seemed subdued. “It’s nothing I thought much about at the time. I’d like to do more research—”
“Tell me, Granddad.”
He sighed. “You sound just like the FBI,” he said with a touch of humor.
“Now’s not the time to hold on to information, even if it’s not firm.”
“I don’t have much. Gordon Peck, Claire’s grandfather, bought the house in Maine and started the family’s art collection. He was a bit of a character. He liked to think of himself as a philanthropist and gave away a number of pieces, but his estate was a mess when he died. His son and daughter-in-law sold whatever they could. Then they died in a plane crash.”
“Leaving poor Claire on her own,” Emma said. “You’ll tell Lucas?”
“I don’t have to. He called a little while ago. You and he—”
“We’re in touch,” Emma said.
“You’re not staying together? You found a bomb in the damn attic, Emma. I hope you’re not staying there alone. I don’t care if you’re an FBI agent.”
She glanced back at Colin and said, “I’ve taken reasonable precautions. Thanks for the info, Granddad. Be well.” She slid her phone into her pocket and turned to Colin, wondering how much he’d overheard. “Can you take me out to see Ainsley d’Auberville? I can walk back for my car if I have to—”
“Here I was thinking we’d go out for a late breakfast and a nice stroll on the beach.”
“Sister Cecilia found a picture of Claire Grayson. CID’s on the way.”
Emma headed down the walk. Colin caught up with her in two long strides. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m not letting you out of my sight again. You cost me an extra cup of coffee. I ate the doughnut I bought you, so I won’t put that on your tab.”
“I left you a note. I had work to do.”
“My truck’s around the corner. That was Granddad Sharpe on the phone, I gather. What if he’s covering up something in his past?”
“Then I’ll find out,” she said, refusing to take offense at Colin’s question, and got into the truck.
He climbed in next to her, filling up the cab with his broad shoulders, his long legs. He frowned at her. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He must have noticed the heat rushing to her cheeks. He grinned. “Wishing you walked back for your car, after all, aren’t you?”
“You’re a hard man to ignore,” she said.
“Good.”
“You’re not mad at me for skipping out on you this morning?”
“I got two doughnuts out of it.”
“I’m serious.”
“It’ll teach me to give you information.”
“You’d have done the same thing with a case on your mind,” Emma said.
“This isn’t a simple art crime case, Emma. It’s a murder case.”
As if she needed reminding.
Colin started the engine. “Tell me what Granddad had to say.”
As they headed south out of the village, Emma filled him in on her conversation with her grandfather, leaving out only his concern for where she was sleeping.
When she finished, Colin was turning onto the sunny lane to the d’Auberville studio on Claire Grayson’s former property. “Maybe your brother’s the one who’s covering up past crimes,” he said.
“You can ask him,” Emma said coolly, nodding to the converted carriage house. “That’s his car parked behind Gabe Campbell’s van.”
CHAPTER 31
GABE CAMPBELL CARRIED A SMALL, DUSTY CHEST down the front steps of the former carriage house. “Hey, there,” he said, smiling as he set the chest on the driveway.
Emma managed a tight smile back at him. “My brother’s here?”
“Ainsley took him down to the water to show him where Claire Grayson’s house used to be.”
Colin came around from the other side of his truck. “The police have talked to you, then.”
Gabe squinted at him and nodded. “They came by last night. There’s nothing left of the original house. Man. What a tragedy, though. I had no idea. No one said a word when I bought my lot. It’s been forty years, and she wasn’t from here. I guess not many people remember.” He wiped his palm over the dusty top of the chest. “This was in Jack d’Auberville’s studio. Ainsley’s clearing everything out. Cleaning, sorting, hunting for treasures. She likes staying active, but she’s easily distracted.” He grinned at Emma and Colin. “Lucky for her I’m not.”
“Anything of interest in the chest?” Emma asked.
“Nothing, actually. It was empty.” He straightened, looking down the lane, birches, their leaves turning yellow against the blue sky, swaying in the ocean breeze. “Ainsley’s freaked out about a woman burning to death so close by. It’s tragic, but it doesn’t bother me as much, maybe because of my work. Every property has a history.”
Colin kept his attention on Gabe. “Is your lot on the original site of the Grayson house?”
Gabe shook his head. “The property was subdivided into three lots after she died. My lot’s to the north of where the Grayson house was—it’s not as protected but it’s got a better view. You can’t see it from here. I’m doing most of the work on the house myself. Taking my time. I’m worried about Ainsley. She took off for a couple days on Mount Desert. I think it helped. She said she needed to get away and clear her head.”
“The past week hasn’t been easy,” Emma said.
He walked over to his van and opened up the back. “I think she’s been trying to get close to her father with this show she’s planning. Following in his footsteps with her painting, fixing up his former studio, sorting through everything—I don’t blame her, but I don’t know if it’s what’s best for her.” He yanked a
