The Harbor

Twenty-Five

Luke and Kyle paced in the main salon like two angry bulls. Betsy had never seen them so furious with each other. She didn't think they were even aware of her. She sat as far down on the sectional sofa as she could but thought about slipping out to the afterdeck, except that might draw attention to herself.

"You should learn to mind your own goddamn business! I never asked for your help." Luke was clenching his fists, yelling, which he never did. "I've done nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Kyle all but sneered at his father. "Get with the program, Pop. Teddy Shelton will turn you in before he goes down himself."

Luke went very still in that superior, intimidating way he had. "Turn me in for what?"

"Oh, fuck you," Kyle said, flouncing off.

Luke started to charge after him, but Betsy jumped up and interceded, grabbing his hand. "Give him a chance to cool off," she said. "He's not making any sense. He's had a terrible scare and he's looking for someone to lash out at."

"Why me? I'm his father-"

"That's why you." She smiled gently. "Once he's pulled himself together, he'll realize he was way off base and apologize. He'll understand that you hired Teddy because you were worried about Zoe."

"Zoe?" Luke sniffed, his skin clammy and gray as he extricated his hand from hers. "I don't give a damn about Zoe West. She can take care of herself. I'd hoped she wouldn't come back here."

Betsy was stricken. "Luke."

"Why so surprised? You don't like her."

"It's not that simple. I sometimes feel inadequate around her, but I don't know-no, I do know that's not her fault."

"Women," Luke muttered, dismissive. "I wanted to know if Zoe would try to link the break-ins at the café and her father's house-her sister's house now, I sup-pose-to his murder and start back on that again."

Betsy swallowed. "Oh."

He smirked, stepping back from her. "Betsy, you're so naive. You always want to think the best of people."

"You say that like it's contemptible."

"It can be, if it makes you willing to overlook the truth, if it blinds you to what's right in front of you." His voice was cold, his condescension palpable, but Betsy tried to tell herself it was a cover for his fears, his deeper emotions. "Do you think Zoe West cares about any of us?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"If we came between her and her father's killer? You, me. Kyle."

Betsy's knees went out from under her, but Luke didn't help her when she stumbled. She sank onto the sofa. "Luke!" Her voice was strangled, her heart skipping beats. "You can't think Kyle had anything to do with Patrick West's death?"

"Why not? He thinks I did."

Like it was a contest. Tit for tat. A game. You think the worst of me, I'll think the worst of you. Betsy tried to absorb what Luke was saying. "My God. You two have to talk. You have to get this straightened out."

Luke spun around and hissed at her. "Be quiet!"

But he was too late.

A white-faced Christina West was standing at the entrance to the salon. She was still wearing her apron from the café. She seemed unable to speak.

Betsy got shakily to her feet. What had she done? "Chris-"

Luke didn't move, didn't look at either woman. Christina whispered something unintelligible, flew around and ran out.

"Go after her!" Spit flew out of Luke's mouth, and he pressed his palm into the middle of Betsy's back and shoved her, propelling her across the carpeted floor. "Undo the damage you've done. Then pack up and get off my boat."

"Luke-Luke, I know you're tired-"

He pushed her again. "Go!"

Sobbing, Betsy staggered for the afterdeck, tripping over chairs as she stumbled onto the slip. Christina was faster, younger, upset but not as shattered, not as terrified as Betsy was. Betsy was shaking. She couldn't walk properly. The finger slip undulated under her with the wake of a passing sightseeing boat. She thought about flinging herself into the water. Maybe she'd drown. Maybe she'd die of hypothermia. Maybe Luke would rescue her.

But she wasn't going to kill herself.

And nobody would ever rescue her.

A damp southwest breeze brought with it gray clouds and the smell of impending rain. J.B. noted that Zoe's color was better than when he'd first charged into her house with Kyle Castellane. She was perched on an old wooden lobster pot in his rented boat, staring out at the harbor and thinking. Or maybe not thinking. She wasn't talking.

They'd found her VW on a side street about a half mile from her house, the keys on the dashboard. Shelton must have parked his truck there and walked down to Ocean Drive, crossed over to the water and gone about his business. J.B. called the police to let them know.

Since Shelton had shot at Zoe, the police wanted to go over the car thoroughly. After she and J.B. gave statements, he drove her down to the town docks and Bruce's disreputable boat.

Zoe had jumped right in, a reminder she'd grown up on the coast and had been jumping in and out of boats all her life.

Bruce was out in deep water. J.B. radioed him, but Bruce had heard about Shelton. "I haven't seen that asshole," Bruce said, referring to his former tenant. "Zoe okay? She got shot?"

" Shelton missed. She cut her hand on a piece of flying glass."

"Christina?"

"Wasn't involved."

"I'm coming in. See you soon."

Zoe breathed in deeply, as if she wanted to suck in as much of the ocean air as she could, as if it had secret healing powers or maybe just would crowd out the demons. "Bruce's father took me out on this very boat when I was a little kid. I figured out pretty quick I didn't want to be a lobsterman. It's almost a calling in a lot of ways."

"When did you know you wanted to be a cop?"

"Then." She blinked up at the sky, her eyes the same gray as the clouds, the blue flecks seeming to have disappeared. "I knew I wanted to catch bad guys like my father. I didn't want to catch lobsters. It was one of those rare moments in life of absolute clarity, where you just know what you're meant to do."

Those were rare moments, J.B. thought.

She turned from the water, the late-afternoon light making her short curls seem a tone darker, the wind blowing wisps off her face. "It seems I was wrong."

"Not for the past ten years. Maybe for the next ten."

She shifted back to the water. Her back seemed stiff, and blood had oozed through her bandage. She'd declined again to go to the E.R. "It must have been a moment of a different kind of clarity this summer with the man you killed."

The man you killed.

That was what he'd done. Forget the euphemisms, forget the reasons. He'd killed a man.

"Maybe it would have been worse," Zoe said quietly, "if his children had to watch their father kill you."

"Maybe it would have been better if I'd seen it coming and prevented it."

"Hindsight."

J.B. nodded. "I know. I did what I had to do. I don't have regrets so much as-" He looked out at the gray water, still, mirrorlike as the breeze died down. "Demons, I guess."

"They're not why Teddy Shelton shot at me today," Zoe said. "My demons are."

He was silent. There didn't seem to be anything to say.

She rose stiffly, wincing, and glanced around. "This is a very scary boat. Only Bruce and a risk-taking undercover FBI type would think it's seaworthy."

"You don't want to go for a ride?"

She smiled. "I don't think so. I'd like to have a chat with Luke. You?"

"Next item on my agenda."

They walked along the dock, mingling with sight seers and a stray dog Zoe recognized and had to pet. Luke was drinking a bottle of spring water on his afterdeck but didn't invite them on board. "If you're looking for Betsy, she's gone for a walk. Kyle? Here earlier, but gone, he didn't say where. If it's Christina you want, she was here a moment but ran off, apparently having misunderstood a discussion Betsy and I were having." He glanced up at Zoe. "Does that answer all your questions?"

She didn't wait to be invited and climbed on board, and J.B. followed her lead. He'd had a look around the Castellane yacht earlier when he'd talked to Betsy O'Keefe. It was a hell of a nice boat, but he thought he liked his better.

"I haven't seen you since I've been back, Luke." Zoe pulled out a chair at the round table and sat down. "How's it going? Kyle tell you about his second encounter with Teddy Shelton?"

Luke's lips thinned, and he took a swallow from his water bottle without answering.

"You know Teddy," Zoe went on. "Drifter type. He showed up in town last summer."

"Yes. I know Teddy Shelton." Luke's tone was stiff, borderline unfriendly. "I've noticed an increase in tensions around here since you came back. Connecticut didn't work out?"

"For a while. Then, no, it didn't."

"Betsy saw you on Breaking News this summer."

"That was a wild few days," Zoe said.

His resentment of her was plain. "You got your killer."

She said nothing.

Luke sighed audibly and set his bottle on the table. "I considered your father a friend. I adored Olivia. I don't know you and Christina as well, but I've tried to do right by you since their deaths. When Special Agent McGrath turned up in town, I was concerned his very presence, whether or not he was on vacation researching his genealogy, would put people on edge."

"So you hired Teddy Shelton?"

"After I got worried about McGrath. Just to keep me informed. Then you came back, and I asked him to let me know if you started to unravel again." He raised his watery eyes to her. "You know what I mean. I don't have to spell it out."

"You didn't want me to hit the self-destruct button again," Zoe said.

J.B. noted her tone was objective, but she'd started to rub one finger along the edge of her bloody bandage, staring at it. Luke made a small gesture with one hand, as if he wasn't agreeing or disagreeing with her. "I had no idea Teddy would beat up my son or take a shot at you."

"Have you seen him or talked to him since it happened?" J.B. asked.

"I left a message on his cell phone, firing him."

Another breeze stirred, and J.B. thought he felt a drop of rain. "Did you tell the police?"

"Of course. I gave them his cell phone number, not that they can't get it on their own. I have nothing to hide, if that's what you're implying."

J.B. shrugged and didn't respond.

"I don't know what Teddy's game is. He could be working for someone else. He could be running his own angle. Kyle could simply have caught him at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and we're all overreacting."

"Could Teddy have followed Kyle to Olivia's?" Zoe asked.

Luke replaced the cap on his bottle of water. "I have no idea."

"Have you seen what he's collected for his documentary? I'm wondering if Teddy thinks there's money to be made there." She pushed back her chair, rising. "Even blackmail money."

"You're reaching, Zoe. Now, if you don't mind-"

"Kyle's not trying to find my father's murderer, is he?"

Luke was on his feet but stiffened visibly at her question. "I don't have to answer your questions, do I? This isn't an official visit, is it?"

Zoe didn't back down. "Who else knows you hired Shelton?"

"You might not approve, Zoe, but my arrangement with Teddy wasn't illegal. What he's done on his own isn't my fault. I won't allow you or anyone else to tarnish me because of it." He yawned, covering his mouth. "If you two will excuse me, I have work to do. I'm leaving Goose Harbor in the morning. I don't usually stay this late in the season as it is."

"What about Betsy?" Zoe asked.

"She won't be coming with me."

J.B. thought that was the first bit of good news he'd heard. Betsy O'Keefe deserved better than this snot. He looked at Zoe. "I guess this means dinner on the yacht tonight's canceled."

Luke ignored him. Zoe spun on her toes and got off his boat. J.B. could sense her anger. She shot ahead of him and was out to the main dock before he caught up with her. She marched along at a brisk pace. "I can't believe Aunt Olivia didn't see what a coldhearted bastard he is. I know people who've come out of abusive childhoods. They don't treat people like cockroaches. They-" She stopped herself. "It was the tone he used when he mentioned Betsy that got to me. Like she wasn't worthy of going south with him. The summer stuff you leave behind in Maine."

"He's a condescending prick."

She gave him a sideways glance. "Your professional opinion?"

"They teach us to recognize condescending pricks in the academy. You should have gone."

For the first time in hours, she laughed. It was good to see. J.B. slipped his hand into hers, and she didn't pull away. "You need a new bandage."

"Christina has a first-aid kit at the café."

He nodded. "I thought you might want to talk to her."