Mick pauses before continuing. “As you know, I was on the police force. Five years ago, my partner and I were intercepting a high-speed drunk driver. We’d just radioed for backup when our windshield shattered. Sam was driving. He was killed instantly. The squad car smashed head-on into a bridge embankment. The chase was a diversionary tactic to draw a unit to the bridge so that an officer could be killed. That diversion allowed for a heist from the evidence room at the police station. They got away with over ten million dollars of heroin.”
After thanking everyone for their cooperation, Dan puts on his cap and starts to leave. “I’ll walk you out,” Father MacCullough says. “I need to get back to the parish.”
“And I’m heading back to my cottage,” Jason adds. “I’ve had enough excitement for one evening.”
Niall refreshes the coffee cups of the remaining group sitting at the table. As they continue to hash over the possibilities of who and why, Mick takes mental notes of the different scenarios that are offered up, weighing their plausibility.
Libby looks at each of the women, in turn. “I’m so sorry this happened. We’re all rattled. If you’d feel more comfortable sleeping here this evening, we can have a slumber party in The Ink Well.”
“I’ll admit that I’m still a bit shaken, but I’ll be all right,” Fran says. “Thank you for the offer.”
“Me, too,” Emma says. “I’ll be fine.”
“As will I,” Cynthia says.
“Okay,” Libby assents, “but I think we should still do tai chi in the morning.”
“Yes, keeping to a normal routine is helpful,” Mick agrees. “Dan and the photographer will be here early. I’ll meet you at the pavilion after they’ve gone.”
As the women begin to leave, Libby lays her hand on Mick’s forearm. “Would you mind staying? Niall and I have something we’d like to discuss with you.”
“No problem. I have something to ask you, too.”
After telling Mick about Jason’s open container in the car this morning, and his subsequent drunk walk back to Pines & Quill from town, Libby and Niall ask his opinion about having Jason leave.
“Let’s wait. He doesn’t have access to any of the vehicles so he can’t drink and drive, and so far, he’s pretty much kept to himself.” What Mick really has in mind is the old adage, Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
“I’m going to make the rounds before I head to my cabin. Mind if I take Hemingway with me?”
“Not at all. We’ll see you in the morning.”
On his way to check Austen cottage first, Mick replays the conversation with his brother-in-law. When he’d asked Niall to make a picnic for him to share with Emma tomorrow, he couldn’t help but notice the face-splitting grin on his sister’s face. Still reeling after being slammed by this evening’s event, it was a bright spot to focus on.
After changing into her nightgown and attending to her nightly routine, Emma transfers herself into the lavender and sage cloud that’s her bed. She smiles that she was able to stand at the bathroom sink a little bit longer this evening. I’m getting stronger every day. Taking her book from the nightstand, she turns pages without reading them. Preoccupied with tonight’s scare and tomorrow’s picnic, nothing registers. Emma falls into a restless sleep with the light still on.
Fran feels raw in a shiny and new kind of way. Like the difference between a dying phoenix and one that’s risen. She has difficulty falling asleep. It’s not because her bed isn’t the epitome of comfort, but because something is bubbling just beneath the surface. It’s been a long time since a man like Dan has paid attention to her. And she likes it. She drifts off, dreaming about shopping with Cynthia tomorrow for clothes that are soft, feminine, and flowing.
Cynthia sits in the lotus position on her yoga mat trying to get a handle on Jason. It isn’t often she encounters cold, soulless energy like his. Right now, however, it eludes her. If I just had a piece of his clothing—anything of his—to tune into, it would be helpful. I’ll see if I can remedy that tomorrow. Before climbing the spiral staircase to the sleeping loft, she visualizes a sphere of protective white light. In her mind’s eye, she steps inside, cloaking herself.
After the enormity of what happened, and the adrenalin rush begins to fade, Niall and Libby climb the stairs. Snug in their treehouse-like nest and delighted for her brother, Libby finally drifts into a dreamless sleep. She doesn’t hear Niall slip out of their bedroom.
When Niall’s upset, he cleans. Everything. He tiptoes down to the kitchen and starts with the mudroom, scrubbing everything to within an inch of its life—including Hemingway’s bowls.
And though Jason has left a soft light glowing in Thoreau cottage to maintain the illusion of being hard at work, it’s empty. Slipping into the dead of night, he uses the veil of darkness to set his plan into motion.
CHAPTER 11
“The difference between the almost right word and the right word is . . . the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”
—MARK TWAIN
Sunrise brings with it Officer Dan and a police photographer. Mick and Niall are waiting for them. Mick’s emotions are roiling just under the surface. Niall offers fresh coffee and hot blueberry muffins.
They scour the grounds again. The light of day reveals the same thing the previous evening had—nothing.
After bagging the charred remains of the pipe bomb, the two men leave with a promise. “We’ll let you know if the lab is able to lift any prints.”
Mick joins the guest authors, sans Jason, at the tai chi pavilion where a session with Libby is already underway. After slipping off his shoes and
