Текст книги "Stranger on the Shore "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

But the main problem, the clincher for Griff, was that freaky phone call and the sabotaged bridge. Granted, the bridge might not have been sabotaged—it looked that way to him, but he was no expert—however, there could be no mistake about that warning phone call. Someone was making it as plain as possible they didn’t want him to investigate any further.

And since that person could not be Odell Johnson, it had to be someone with a vested interest in keeping the case closed. Griff couldn’t think of anyone with an interest other than Johnson’s accomplice—or the real kidnapper.

He stopped walking, leaning against one of the low stone walls and pulling his phone out. He tried calling May Chung again.

The phone rang a couple of times.

Somewhere on the other side of the morning mist he could hear the gloomy groaning of a distant foghorn.

“Hello?” The voice was deep but definitely female.

“May? Is this May Chung?”

The voice sharpened with distrust. “Who’s calling please?”

“This is Griff Hadley. I’m a journalist. Jarrett Arlington has authorized me to write a book about his grandson’s kidnapping. I was hoping I could have a few minutes. Is this a good time to talk?”

If anything, she sounded more suspicious. “Jarrett Arlington hired you?”

“Mr. Arlington is hoping that reopening the conversation about Brian’s kidnapping might lead to new information. Do you think you could spare me a few minutes? It won’t take long.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just a quick couple of questions. Or if this isn’t convenient—”

“I’ll have to think about this,” May said.

“Let me give you my cell number. Just tell me when and where. I’ll be hap—”

She overrode him. “I’m not sure about this at all. I’m going to have to think. The person you should be talking to is Nels Newland.”

With that, May hung up.

Chapter Fifteen

He was still trying to make sense of May Chung’s reaction when his cell phone rang. The number was not one Griff recognized. He was aggravated at the hope that flared inside his heart, and he answered briskly.

“Griff? This is Diana Mather.”

“Hi,” he said, surprised.

“I just had a client cancel on me and I’m free for lunch today. Would you like to get together?”

Did he have time for this? She was Pierce’s sister, so he was sort of inclined to make time, but he only had a couple of days left on the estate and he still had a lot of work to do.

“Well...”

Diana said, “It’s not going to change the course of history, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to get off my chest for twenty years.”

“All right,” Griff said. “Where did you want to meet?”

“Do you like sushi?”

“Er, no.”

She laughed. “Okay. How about Italian?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you at Angelina’s on Berry Hill Road at twelve-thirty. Will that work?”

“I’ll see you there.”

He stopped himself disconnecting in time at her urgent, “Griff?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell Pierce we’re meeting.”

Diana disconnected, leaving Griff to stare in astonishment at his phone. After a moment, he added her into his contacts, which seemed a bit of bravado, but after all, he might get lost or get delayed.

He walked on to the cottage and found that the bridge had already been repaired and repainted. The rich really were different if they could get a response from a contractor within twenty-four hours.

He went inside, showered, dressed in his last clean pair of jeans and sat down to read Gemma’s journal until it was time to leave to go meet Diana.

Unsurprisingly, after Brian’s kidnapping the tone of Gemma’s journal had changed. One of the most surprising things to Griff, surprising because the earlier Gemma seemed such a positive, upbeat person, was that Gemma seemed to have believed from the first that she would never see her son again. That terrible certainty and sorrow made the latter part of the journal difficult to read.

Today would have been Brian’s fifth birthday.Ifound myself hoping no one would remember.No, that’s not true.Iwant them to remember, but I don’t want them to tell me all those well-meaning, inspirational, encouraging things.Ican’t bear another kind word.Even Matthew doesn’t understand that hope only makes it harder in the end.

It was almost a relief to put the journal down and leave for his lunch date.

Angelina’s turned out to be a family-owned restaurant in a mostly residential area. On the exterior it looked like any cozy brick and white clapboard house. The interior consisted of three dining rooms, a fireplace and a very nice bar, all warm and pleasantly furnished in cherry wood and old-fashioned wallpaper. But the real attraction was the fantastic fragrance of basil, oregano, garlic, onion and meats braised in wine wafting through the building.

Diana was waiting for him in the bar, sipping a glass of red wine. Her hair was pulled into a casual updo that looked stylish on her. She wore a short shift with an ugly purple-and-yellow print, and somehow that looked great too.

“Hey there! You found it.” Her smile was a less guarded version of Pierce’s white blaze. “Did you want a drink?”

Griff ordered a Peroni from the bartender. The beer arrived in a pilsner glass. Diana touched her glass to his. “Cheers. I’m glad you came.”

“Well, it would be hard to resist a hook like that,” Griff told her.

Diana laughed, sounding nervous, but the waitress arrived at that moment and they were led to their table.

There followed the rituals of napkins and menus. The waitress reappeared and Diana ordered the field green salad with Portobello mushrooms and parmesan. Griff ordered the chicken Caesar.

The waitress thanked them, took their menus, and departed. By then Griff was wondering if he’d made a mistake in coming out to lunch.

“How was last night?” Diana inquired brightly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah, sure,” Griff said cautiously, hoping this wasn’t about to get very weird.

“I’m glad. Pierce is...difficult.” She smiled ruefully. “He doesn’t trust very easily.”

“He’s not in a trusting line of work.”

“No. True.” She chuckled. “And neither are you.”

“True.” He’d never really thought about it that way before.

Her lip curled. “You’ve probably heard the whole story right? I’m sure Muriel was only too happy to fill you in.”

Griff said cautiously, “The whole story?”

Diana stared at him and then her cheeks turned pink. Even in the soft lighting he could see she was blushing. “Me and my big mouth. Just forget I said anything.”

“Okay,” Griff was now totally confused. And embarrassed, although he wasn’t completely sure why.

Diana took a sip of her wine. She set the glass down with a decisive click. “Forget I said anything but if you want to see Pierce again, you’ll have to initiate it. Take my word for it. He doesn’t.”

“He doesn’t what?” Griff asked, wondering if he had fallen asleep reading Gemma’s journal and was still sprawled on the sofa in the guest cottage snoring.

Diana groaned. “I’m making this worse and worse,” she said. “I could tell he was interested, that’s all. From the minute you showed up at Winden House. He was irritated, but in a good way. And it’s been a while. Not since he was irritated, but since he was interested. A really long while. And you’re obviously nice.”

“I am?”

“Anyway, you’ll be desperately relieved to hear this is not why I dragged you out in the rain.”

“It’s not raining.” Griff instinctively glanced at the large picture window. Was it his imagination or was the slate-colored sky starting to sag?

“It’s going to.” She stopped as their salads were delivered. There was another pause for sprinkling ground pepper and reordering drinks.

When they were alone again, Diana said, “What I told you on the phone is true. This isn’t something that is going to change anything for anyone, which is why it never came out before.”

Griff restrained himself to an even, “Go on.”

Diana sipped her wine, took another bite of salad, clearly working herself up to it. He controlled his impatience the best he could, eating his own salad, not rushing her, not letting himself wonder about whatever this big mystery was with Pierce—and why someone else would have to do all the running.

Diana said suddenly, “Brian had this little boy crush on Pierce. It was very cute. It really was. He adored Pierce. If Pierce was around, that was it. Nobody else was in the room. He was always trying to drag Pierce off to see something or to play with him.”

“He was four.”

“I know. He was a baby. But he was smart and he really was so cute.”

“Right.” He could tell from the alarming shininess in Diana’s eyes that there was bad news ahead.

“And Pierce was fourteen. He was like an adult compared to Brian. So of course he wasn’t always patient.”

“Of course,” Griff said. There was a cold knot in his stomach. He could picture half a dozen horrific scenarios, a careless shove, a push down the stairs... Kids were so easily broken. And so frighteningly unaware of the fact.

“He wasn’t a monster or anything. Don’t think that. Mostly he was good with Brian. It was sort of sweet. Anyway, that night Pierce and I were in Gemma and Matthew’s bedroom watching TV. The nursery was right next door.”

“I know.”

“Pierce said you did.” She sighed and fortified herself with another sip of wine. “Brian must have heard us because he snuck out of bed and came into the room. That was about eleven-thirty or so.”

“How long was he in there with you?” Griff watched her expression closely.

“Maybe ten minutes. Not very long. Pierce wasn’t in a patient mood that night. He didn’t want to be there at all. But our parents made him go because I wanted to. I wanted to see the costumes and the decorations. I loved Gemma. I wanted to see her in her dress.” Diana smiled faintly at some long ago memory.

Griff was mentally calculating. This news narrowed the window of Brian’s kidnapping by over ninety minutes. How could anyone think that this was not relevant information? Surely it would have been easier to track individual people’s movements if the time frame was significantly reduced?

“Who knows about this?”

“We told our parents, of course. And Dad told Jarrett. They both agreed it had no bearing on the case.”

Griff stared at her in disbelief. “So the police didn’t even know?”

“Johnson had no alibi for the entire night. It changed nothing for him. And Dad and Uncle Jarrett both agreed that they didn’t want Pierce and me subjected to questioning, maybe even put on the witness stand.”

“Your dad’s a lawyer. He knew you wouldn’t have been put on the witness stand. You’d have made a deposition in a nice private legal office.”

It was hard to keep his anger banked down. The Mathers and the Arlingtons had taken it upon themselves to keep vital information from law enforcement. Okay. Maybe not vital information, because it was true that Johnson had no alibi for the entire evening. Ultimately, it probably wouldn’t have changed Johnson’s fate. But it might have made it easier to narrow down possible accomplices.

And besides, it wasn’t up to the Mathers and Arlingtons to decide what information to withhold from the police.

It was that arrogance, that blindness to all interests but self, that he so detested in people of their class.

Diana was saying, “Pierce and I agreed we would never tell anyone. Never speak about it again.”

“Why?” He couldn’t help it. He lost patience. “If nobody thought it was relevant, why was it hushed up all these years?”

“Partly because the Arlingtons are afraid some bleeding heart liberal organization is going to take up Johnson’s cause, and they’ll grab on to any excuse to let him off the hook.”

Maybe he deserves to be let off. He managed to keep from saying it aloud. After all, Johnson wasn’t an innocent bystander. He had deliberately taken advantage of the Arlingtons’ fear and desperation in his attempt to extort millions of dollars. Also, by placing himself in the middle of the search for Brian, he had derailed the hunt both for the real kidnapper and for Brian. So no, Johnson had to bear responsibility for his own actions.

Which still didn’t make the rest of this any better.

“And partly because Pierce...”

Griff realized he had missed the rest of what Diana was saying. “Partly because Pierce what?”

He was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “I think Pierce has always felt he was to blame.”

“For Brian being taken? Why? I don’t understand.”

She wiped at her eyes. “Because he wouldn’t let Brian stay with us that night. Brian was begging to watch TV with us, whining like little kids do, and Pierce was grumpy and he made him go back to bed. He walked him into his room and the whole way Brian was dragging his heels and pleading and kissing Pierce’s hand. He was such a little nut!” She gave a watery chuckle and wiped her eyes again. “But then afterwards...” She shook her head.

“Pierce felt guilty.”

“He was devastated. He believed if he’d let Brian stay with us, he’d have been safe. I think he still believes it.” She added somberly, “Because it’s probably true.”

Griff was silent. Maybe it was true. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Pierce. That was a crushing load of guilt to have to carry around all your life. And for no greater crime than insisting Brian stayed in bed like his mom wanted.

Diana drew a deep breath. “We could hear him crying from the other room. We were afraid he was going to wake up Chloe. Finally he got quiet and I opened the door to see if he’d fallen asleep or if he’d snuck out again. He used to do that. Even when he was in a crib, he used to climb out. And he had. Fallen asleep, I mean. Mrs. Truscott was in there with him.”

Griff was still thinking about Pierce so it took a second for Diana’s words to register. “Wait. When did you say this was? What time?”

“By then it must have been around midnight.”

“Mrs. Truscott was in the nursery at midnight?”

“Well, she wasn’t Mrs. Truscott then. She was only Wilma the maid. But yes. She was in there. She probably heard the baby monitor. They’d put it in the kitchen so Mrs. Cameron could hear—”

“Slow down. You’re saying Mrs. Truscott was in the nursery at midnight.”

“Right.”

“Because according to her, she was in the nursery around ten o’clock.” Griff’s cell phone was ringing. He ignored it.

Diana was untroubled by the discrepancy. “I know. She said Pierce and I were confused about the time. But we weren’t. It’s more likely that she was confused because she was rushing up and down the stairs all evening. We were just hanging out and watching TV.”

“Are you telling me that this is something else the police never heard?”

“Of course not. We said we’d heard Brian crying and I said I saw Mrs. Truscott. And she said she had been in the nursery earlier. It didn’t matter because she never left the house. Everyone vouched for her. She was never out of anyone’s sight for more than a couple of minutes.”

“You’re not serious? Do you know how easy it is to lose track of people during a big event like that one, where everyone is busy and preoccupied with their own stuff?”

Diana shook her head. “Griff, you’ve met her. Do you think Mrs. Truscott is a kidnapper?”

Did he?

No. At least not the kind of kidnapper who snatched a kid for money. But people took children for different reasons. Griff tried to imagine any of those reasons in connection with Wilma Truscott.

Still no.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. “You can’t tell by looking at someone if they’re capable of a crime.”

“I think that depends.”

Of course she did. She probably thought anyone not dressed in designer clothes was capable of anything.

No, that wasn’t fair. That wasn’t what she meant at all. Diana and Pierce seemed like credible witnesses. Even as teens, or preteens in Diana’s case, they sounded like smart and fairly responsible kids. So if they weren’t wrong, then Mrs. Truscott had to be mistaken.

That was hard to believe too. She did not seem like a woman prone to mistakes.

But someone was mistaken. And the mistake had happened in the critical juncture of the evening. The time most likely when Brian had been taken.

His phone was ringing again. Griff pulled it out, glanced in surprise at the number. Dusty Whalen was a good friend who worked as a private investigator in Janesville.

“Excuse me, I’ve got to take this,” he told Diana.

She nodded.

Griff pushed back his chair and went outside. Sure enough it was starting to sprinkle. The air smelled of wet pavement and diesel and Italian food. The nearby 7-Eleven sign glittered in the rain.

“Hey, what’s up?” he said.

“Hey,” Dusty said. “Do you know a lawyer by the name of Pierce Mather?”

“Yeah?” Griff said warily.

Dusty gave a funny laugh. “Yeah? Well, he just tried to hire me to dig up the dirt on you.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Is something wrong?” Diana asked when Griff got back to the table.

“Where’s your brother’s office located?”

Diana looked hopeful and then uncertain. “Has something happened?”

“Yes. And I’d like to speak to him face-to-face.” Griff couldn’t smile reassuringly, couldn’t pretend he felt anything but furious. And maybe hurt. But if he was feeling hurt, it just went to show how stupid he was. Last night had been about sex, pure and simple. It wasn’t the start of a beautiful friendship. It wasn’t the start of anything.

Diana, still watching him, said uneasily, “He might not be there. Thursdays he’s in and out. He does a lot of pro bono work for elderly or shut-in clients. People who can’t get to the office for whatever reasons.”

“I’m sure he’s a prince. I’ll wait for him.”

“You don’t think you could tell me?”

“No. I don’t. I need to talk to him. I’m going to talk to him, so either you—”

He didn’t have to complete the sentence. She recited the address, finishing with a tentative, “Griff, Pierce can be a bit insensitive, but he really does try to do the right things for the right reasons.”

“He’s your brother, I get that. But from what I’ve seen of Pierce, he believes the end justifies the means.” Griff punched the last number of the address into his phone’s MapQuest.

“That isn’t fair,” Diana was saying as Griff found his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills, laying them on the table. “Whatever you think Pierce has done—” She broke off as Griff met her eyes. “Oh, Griff,” she said helplessly.

* * *

It took about ten minutes to drive to Pierce’s office. Griff did not remember one second of the drive. He couldn’t seem to get past the fact that Pierce wanted someone to “dig up the dirt on him.” Hiring a PI was bad enough, that was already a betrayal. Hiring someone with an express directive to find “the dirt”? That was what Griff couldn’t get over.

It would have hurt coming from a complete stranger—that assumption there was dirt to find. Coming from someone he had started to—against his better judgment—like? It was too painful to examine. He focused only on what he would say to Pierce. And he planned to say plenty.

He assumed that Diana would have called to give her brother a head’s up, but when he barged through the elegant windowed door with its panes of frosted glass, the front office receptionist—a trim older woman in a brown tweed suit—greeted him with a pleasant smile.

“Is Pierce in?”

Her smile became guarded. “Did you have an appointment?” she asked in the knowing tone of the person in charge of appointments.

“I do now.” Griff passed her perfectly organized desk on his way to Pierce’s office.

She jumped up, protesting like the classic good TV secretary, “Sir! I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in there!”

Griff ignored her and pushed open the door. The secretary, who was faster on her feet than she looked, crammed in ahead of him.

“Mr. Mather, this gentleman forced his way in!”

Pierce, on the phone—possibly to another PI, this time one not personally acquainted with Griff and more willing to snoop into his private life—looked momentarily taken aback. He regrouped fast, looking from Griff to his secretary and covering the mouthpiece with his hand. “It’s all right, Ms. Gordon.”

“Are you sure?” Ms. Gordon threw a worried glance at Griff. He gave her a tight smile. The last thing he needed was her calling the cops.

Pierce nodded. “I’m sure.” As the door closed behind Ms. Gordon, he told Griff, “Take a seat.”

“I need to talk to you,” Griff said.

“I noticed.” Pierce’s hand was still clamped over the mouthpiece. “But I’m on the phone with Jarrett at the moment.”

Griff grabbed the back of the leather wingchair and dragged it out a foot. He sat down. It was irritating and anticlimactic to have to sit there waiting politely for Pierce to finish his conversation. Doubly aggravating that the phone call was to Jarrett.

“I understand,” Pierce said patiently into the phone, as though there had been no interruption. “But it’s important that we follow—” He stopped. He picked up a fountain pen and drummed it nervously on the desk blotter.

Who the heck used fountain pens anymore?

The rain prickled against the bank of windows behind Pierce’s desk, dotting the glass.

“I realize that,” Pierce said into what was apparently the next pause for breath.

Griff forgot how mad he was and began to pay closer attention. He realized that Pierce was worried. Worried enough that Griff sitting fuming right in front of him was a secondary consideration.

“Jarrett. Sir, please don’t—” Pierce broke off again, biting his lip.

As pissed off as Griff was, he found the lip gnawing sort of disarming. Pierce’s eyes met his, their gazes locked. Griff scowled.

“But surely there’s no hurry?” Pierce said. His voice was controlled, calm. You’d never guess, listening to him, that he was upset. That might be useful to know for future clashes.

Silence but for the beat of rain on the window and the agitated tap, tap, tap of Pierce’s pen. As though he was telegraphing for help.

“Well, there’s not a lot of point in having a legal advisor if you’re not going to listen to me.” Somehow Pierce managed to sound amused even as he closed his eyes as though in prayer.

Another silence. “All right. I’ll see you in a bit.” He put the receiver in the cradle and stared at it. He turned to face Griff. “There’s been a development.”

“There sure has.” Griff grabbed the arms of the chair but managed not to launch himself forward. “Did you actually try and hire a PI to poke into my private life?”

“Yes.” It was crisp and uncompromising.

Griff’s anger skyrocketed. “How d—”

“Am I supposed to apologize for looking after the interests of my clients?”

“How does hiring someone to investigate me, to dig up dirt on me, add up to looking after the interests of your clients?”

“I didn’t tell him to manufacture the dirt. If it’s there—”

“If what’s there? What do you think there is to find?”

“You don’t add up,” Pierce yelled, surging to his feet. The sudden slip of his usual tight control was startling. “You’re hiding something and I want to know what it is.”

Griff, also on his feet now, yelled back, “What doesn’t add up? I’ve been completely transparent with you.”

“Give me a fucking break,” Pierce said. “Your middle name is Neptune?”

“I can’t help my middle name!”

“You got interested in the Arlingtons because of The Great Gatsby? Your birthday just happens to fall on the same date as Brian’s kidnapping? Do you think we’re all stupid? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I do now!”

Pierce’s glare dimmed. All at once he was ice cold again. “I don’t know what you were up to. I don’t know what you hoped to get out of all this, but it’s water under the bridge now.” He raked a hand through his hair, which promptly fell back over his forehead. “In fact, it’s a goddamned tsunami under the bridge.”

“What are you talking about?”

Pierce smiled unpleasantly. “Someone beat you to the punch, Mr. Gatsby.”

“What punch? What are you talking about?”

“Brian has returned.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Pierce was still smiling that smile that raised the hair on the back of Griff’s neck. “Brian has been found. Or so a young man by the name of Leland Alvin claims. And this time Jarrett seems determined to believe him.”

Griff opened his mouth but no words came to him.

“You were too slow,” Pierce said. “You missed your shot. Whatever that shot was going to be. Reincarnation? Amnesia? Cloning?”

Pierce was furious, so furious that he was lashing out at any moving target. That much Griff registered. And Griff didn’t blame him. This was a turn of events guaranteed to turn a control freak like Pierce into a gibbering madman.

“That can’t be,” Griff said. “Brian has to be dead. Nothing else makes sense.”

“Jarrett says this Alvin character has irrefutable proof.”

“His DNA? Because that’s the only irrefutable proof I can think of.”

Pierce stared at him as though Griff was only now coming into focus. He said slowly, “You believe Brian’s dead.”

“Yes.”

Pierce’s expression grew skeptical again. “What are you up to?” he asked softly.

Griff remembered why he’d shown up at Pierce’s office in the first place. He remembered the night before—and the way Pierce had brushed him off that morning. He remembered why he didn’t get involved with guys like Pierce.

“Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out,” Griff said. He turned and walked out of the office.

* * *

Mrs. Truscott was crying.

She sat in the wooden chair in front of the brick fireplace in the kitchen sobbing quietly into her hands. Molly Keane stood over her, patting her back soothingly. Molly looked up as Griff quietly opened the door. She nodded for Griff to go through, and he did, though the sounds of Mrs. Truscott’s breakdown followed him down the hall.

Voices drifted from the drawing room. It sounded like everyone in the house was in there and talking at once. It did not sound like any gathering in Winden House he had heard before. The air seemed to buzz with energy and excitement. The very expressions on the portraits in the long hall seemed lighter, relieved. Nicole Arlington beamed at him as he walked past.

Someone laughed. The voice was young, male, unfamiliar.

Griff’s heart began to pound in that old mix of anxiety and anticipation. He felt like he was walking through some fantastic dreamscape. Everything was the same but different. None of this could be happening, and yet there was no alternative except to continue with the dream.

Brian was home. It was a miracle. But Griff was not someone who believed in miracles, so this just felt surreal. Granted, it wasn’t the first time something at Winden House had struck him as surreal.

Michaela’s dogs began to bark as he reached the entrance of the drawing room. He paused on the threshold, scanning the faces staring back at him. The family was all present and accounted for. Marcus, Muriel, Michaela, Ring. They all wore strange, almost rapt expressions.

Just as on the first night, Jarrett turned and beamed in welcome. “Come in, my boy. Come in, Griffin. It’s only right that you should be here too.” He clapped a friendly hand on Griff’s shoulder, and Griff could feel excitement and tension humming through the old man like an exposed wire. “Brian, this is the young journalist I was telling you about. Griff, this is my grandson. This is Brian Arlington.”

Brian was seated on the sofa between Muriel and Michaela. Muriel was actually holding his hand. He raised his head, met Griff’s gaze, and smiled a wide and guileless smile.

It was not like looking into a mirror, exactly, but all at once Griff understood why everyone but Jarrett had believed Griff was trading on his resemblance to Matthew. Brian too was tall and slender and very blond. He had the striking combination of black brows and the blue, blue eyes that all the Arlingtons possessed. Though he was boyishly handsome, he looked maybe a little older, or at least a little harder, than his twenty-four years warranted. He didn’t look like someone who had had an easy life.

“This is...amazing,” Griff said. It felt too strange to say Brian’s name. “It’s such an unexpected. Pleasure, I mean. An unexpected pleasure.” He was surprised to find he was genuinely rattled. He offered his hand.

Brian half rose to shake hands briefly.

Marcus burst out laughing. “An unexpected. You could say that.” His voice was too loud. All their voices were too loud. But for once nobody seemed to be drinking.

Brian sank back on the sofa. He scrutinized Griff. “Thanks. No hard feelings?”

“Why would there be?”

“There goes your book.” Brian shrugged in commiseration.

“I didn’t...” Griff turned automatically to Jarrett. They had already got as far as discussing his book? He hadn’t thought about the ramifications of Brian’s return in regard to his work. Hadn’t thought about his position in this at all.

Jarrett met his gaze, appearing uncharacteristically nonplussed. “Why, I suppose, that is, er, plenty of time to talk it over.” His smile didn’t quite stretch from Brian to Griff. “No need to worry over that just now. This is a celebration.”

Muriel said, “Yes. We certainly don’t want that book written now!” Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, she looked almost pretty.

Michaela said, “I don’t see why Brian coming home means there can’t be a book.”

Ring, standing behind the sofa, touched her shoulder, but she ignored him. “It gives the story a happy ending. Christ knows we could use some of that.” She even smiled at Griff. Like Muriel, this was the first time she had looked relaxed, let alone happy.

Griff had a flash of Mrs. Truscott sobbing in the kitchen. Those heartbreaking noises. Happiness, yes, and relief. The relief in this house was palpable.

The Arlingtons all began to talk at once. Everyone but Brian, who continued to smile at Griff in that odd, assessing way.

Jarrett coughed, cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s quite fair to Griff.” He threw Griff another of those uncomfortable, apologetic looks.

“I agree.” That was Chloe. Griff took a closer look at her face and realized she was about the only person in the room who wasn’t aglow with happiness. “It’s not fair.”

“I don’t want any book written about me,” Brian said with finality. He smiled at Griff. “Sorry, but that’s the way I feel about it.”

Griff opened his mouth, but before he could make his case, the dogs, which had been snuffling and sniffing his feet, began to bark hysterically once more, plumy tails and fringed bodies shaking, like agitated throw pillows.

“I see the party’s already started.” Pierce’s voice sliced cleanly through the racket.