The Harbor

Thirty-Two

The naked lightbulb at the top of the attic stairs cut through the gloom of the bleak, gray morning. Zoe sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled open the box she'd packed up after her aunt died. Christina sat next to her. They hadn't said a word since they'd opened the attic door and started up the steep steps.

Zoe had no idea if they'd find anything. Maybe she and her sister were grasping at straws. At this point, why not? It was better than grasping at nothing.

After she'd relayed Betsy's story to Donna Jacobs, who would then relay the information to the state detectives and appropriate federal agents, Zoe had gone back to the café, diving into a warm apple-cinnamon muffin, telling herself that was what she needed to do. Sit there and eat muffins. Stay out of the way.

But the café was deserted, and Christina came out from behind her counter with a muffin of her own. Zoe mentioned that Kyle could have asked her anytime about looking in their great-aunt's attic-he could have sneaked in anytime. Why now?

Christina, apparently, had asked that very question when they'd argued last night. He'd been working on the documentary for months. Why the sudden urgency?

"Then I knew," Christina said. "Damn. I knew it was because of me."

At first, Zoe had no idea what Christina was talking about. Then she guessed it-she could see it in her sis-ter's expression, knew it because she was her sister. "You know about Aunt Olivia."

"I saw her before she died," Christina said. "She told me she knew who'd killed Dad. She was so convinced, Zoe. It was unbearable. I tried to reassure her. Then she died-and I didn't say anything to you because you didn't say anything to me. If you didn't know, it'd just upset you."

"And what does Kyle think, that Aunt Olivia left a clue behind?"

Christina was positive that was exactly what Kyle thought. "He's read all of her Jen Periwinkle novels. He says Aunt Olivia was a master at dropping clues. He couldn't believe she'd die without letting us know somehow who Dad's killer is. He wanted to find it so he could do this big ‘ta-da' presentation. You know, like Jen Periwinkle."

Zoe didn't tell her that if Kyle believed there was a clue, he hadn't gone looking for it because of his documentary. He wanted to make sure it didn't finger his father-or him. Not that either was guilty.

She dug into the box she'd put away last year, after the memorial services, after Betsy had moved out, before she'd gone completely off the deep end. She'd collected up the papers on the kitchen table, junk mail, several versions her aunt had done of her own obituary, at least two false starts on a new Jen Periwinkle novel, letters. Nothing looked like anything Zoe needed to save, but she'd left the box for another day, one that hadn't come until now.

Christina pulled out a sheet of typing paper with just Chapter One typed at the top. "She didn't get very far, did she? Poor thing. I still can see her hunched over her typewriter, typing with those bony old hands. It's hard to believe when she started writing, she was younger than I am now." She sighed. "God, I miss her."

"I do, too, Chris." Zoe touched her aunt's things, as if they'd somehow bring her closer to them. "I like to think she's still a presence in our lives, don't you?"

"She is in mine. I'd never have the café without her."

Zoe pulled out the obits and laughed and fought tears at the same time. "Leave it to Aunt Olivia to rewrite her own obituary. Dad thought she was nuts-he threatened to get her on Prozac. Maybe I should have brought the new version down to the paper, but I couldn't think."

"What's that?" Christina leaned toward Zoe and pointed to doodles at the bottom of a half-typed page.

"Nothing, I don't know. A tree. A hangman. Betsy probably tried to get her to play hangman-" But Zoe frowned, examining the doodles more closely, noticing the frailty of the pencil lines. They were definitely her aunt's doing, the difficulty she'd had drawing evident. "Chris, Aunt Olivia had a hard time even holding a pencil. Why would she doodle?"

"Maybe it wasn't her."

Zoe shook her head. "No, you can see it was hard for whoever did it-it had to be her. Look, there are places where the pencil went a little wild."

"Jeez, it really is like a Jen Periwinkle clue, isn't it? You know, how she'd find messages in bottles, stuff dropped just in the nick of time."

"But a hangman and a tree?"

"They're line drawings," Christina said. "She didn't fill them in. Maybe that means something."

Zoe held the paper closer to the dim light. "There's a tiny arrow pointing to one of the tree branches. Oh, hell. Chris-a stick, a stick figure."

"Stick Monroe? Zoe!"

"He was here the morning Dad was killed. the other day-" Zoe swallowed, shaking. "Stick mentioned Aunt Olivia was revising her obituary that morning, before I got here."

"You can't possibly think-no." Christina shook her head. "No way."

If there was a name Olivia wouldn't want to remember-a man she would never want to know had killed someone as surely as she knew that day-it was Stick Monroe. Zoe's hands were shaking so badly she had to set the paper down. Not Stick. She had to be wrong.

Christina was equally as horrified. "Why would Aunt Olivia think Stick killed Dad? It can't be!"

"You know what Stick says. Everyone has secrets. Maybe she discovered his secrets."

"Or knew Dad had-but Zoe, Stick wouldn't have the kind of secrets you'd kill your friend to keep from getting out. My God, we have to be wrong!"

Zoe stared at the paper and the simple drawings her great-aunt had done in her last hours. "Dad must have been planning to arrest him."

"Stick? For what? It had to be something awful for him to risk killing someone-to kill his own friend." Christina jumped to her feet, and Zoe could feel her sis-ter's agitation, her fear. "You wouldn't kill somebody over unpaid parking tickets."

"Dad stopped by to see Aunt Olivia that morning. If he said something, and then Stick stopped by-Aunt Olivia wouldn't have to say anything. He'd know. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Just because Aunt Olivia believed she knew Stick killed Dad doesn't mean she was right. A couple of doodles aren't proof of anything." Zoe handed the half-written obituary and its stick drawings to her sister. "Will you take this to the police? J.B. and Bruce must still be at the lobster pound-I'll take my car and go find them."

"Kyle-Zoe, do you think he knows-"

But she broke off, and Zoe didn't answer her sister's half-formed question as they headed back downstairs. They'd taken Christina's car up from the docks, and she drove off alone, with obvious misgivings at leaving Zoe to her own devices. But she didn't plan to waste any time. She had her VW back. She grabbed her keys and charged out the side door.

Stick walked around from the front porch. "Zoe."

He had one hand behind his back. Not a good sign, Zoe thought. You always want to keep their hands in sight. "Hey, Stick, what's up?"

She knew she'd blown it. He'd been her friend since she was a little girl, and he'd killed her father. Murdered him. How could she pretend she didn't know?

His eyes narrowed on her. "Oh, Zoe. Zoe, Zoe. You can't hide it. Not from me."

"Stick-"

"Shh. You don't know what it was like to have Olivia look at me and know."

Zoe could barely breathe. "Did you kill her, too?"

"I didn't have to. She was dying. I could see it. Zoe-I have a Zodiac down on the water. I borrowed it from Luke. No one even paid attention. They're all fixated on the idea of Teddy Shelton loose in Goose Harbor with grenades." He swallowed, but didn't look nervous or upset. "I don't have much time. I need you to help me make this work. I've had the plan in place for a year. I've examined all the contingencies. It's my only option left."

He pulled the gun from behind his back. Luke's missing Colt Python. He was Luke's friend. He'd have access to the alarm code-Luke would have given it to him.

He leveled the Colt at Zoe. Had he done it this way with her father?

She refused to panic. "Christina's taking your name to the police."

The shock of seeing Stick-the fury Olivia must have felt at what he'd done-must have been the last straw for her old heart. He'd as good as killed her. Zoe could feel her own rage building, but she knew she had to contain it. If she didn't, she'd die, and so would Teddy Shelton and Kyle Castellane.

"Stay two steps ahead of me," Stick said. "And no cop tricks. I shot your father, Zoe. Don't think I won't shoot you."