Close to the Bone (Widow's Island Novella Book 1)
Author: Elliot, Kendra
Date: 2018-10-23
Publisher: Montlake Romance

ALSO BY KENDRA ELLIOT

MERCY KILPATRICK NOVELS

A Merciful Death

A Merciful Truth

A Merciful Secret

A Merciful Silence

BONE SECRETS NOVELS

Hidden

Chilled

Buried

Alone

Known

BONE SECRETS NOVELLAS

Veiled

CALLAHAN & MCLANE NOVELS
PART OF THE BONE SECRETS WORLD

Vanished

Bridged

Spiraled

Targeted

THE ROGUE SERIES NOVELLAS

On Her Father’s Grave (Rogue River)

Her Grave Secrets (Rogue River)

Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter)

Death and Her Devotion (Rogue Vows)

Truth Be Told (Rogue Justice)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2018 by Oceanfront Press Company
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

e-ISBN-13: 9781503960152

Cover design by Caroline T. Johnson

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

1

“I’ve been hauling people out to Ruby’s Island all night,” Dick Jacobs told FBI Special Agent Cate Wilde.

It was two in the morning, and Cate tightened the knit scarf around her neck, thankful the night was clear and there was no wind. But the speed of the small boat made the temperature feel much colder than its thirty-five degrees. The fifteen minutes to motor from Washington State’s Widow’s Island to Ruby’s Island was fourteen minutes too long in the cold.

Cate had been summoned because human bones had been found on Ruby’s Island.

“Who else needed a ride?” Cate asked the gray-haired driver. Dick had driven an unofficial water taxi around the islands since Cate was a child. When someone needed a ride and didn’t have a boat available, they called Dick. He charged twenty bucks, a twelve-pack of beer, or a fifth of vodka. Cate paid cash.

His thirty-year-old son, Adam, accompanied him these days and stared at Cate in a way that gave her the creeps. She stared back, and Adam finally had the grace to look away.

Cate decided she’d never ride with Adam when he took over for his father in the future.

“I brought over Dr. Powers,” answered Dick. “He’s the one who said to call the FBI. Kurt Olson from the sheriff’s office and a new deputy, Bruce Taylor, were already there.” Dick glanced over his shoulder at Cate. “You met Bruce or Dr. Powers yet?”

“No.” She only knew Kurt. He’d been a deputy on Widow’s Island forever.

“Bruce is young. Only been here a few months. From southern Oregon. Haven’t made up my mind about him yet,” Dick said, pulling at his beard. “Dr. Powers is a good guy. We’ve needed a doctor on the island since Dr. Hardy died three years ago. Tessa Black from the sheriff’s department shared his ride. Didn’t you two run around together when you were young? You know she’s a county deputy now, right?”

“Yes.” Tessa had been like a sister to Cate while growing up. After nearly ten years of being a Seattle police officer and detective, Tessa had returned to Widow’s Island about a year and a half ago and joined the sheriff’s office. Cate had been back on the island for five days and still hadn’t contacted her good friend. Her grandmother had repeatedly pushed her to call Tessa, but Cate had dragged her feet, stating she needed more rest, and had firmly ordered her grandmother to keep this visit to the island under her hat.

Cate wasn’t ready to face people.

But tonight’s discovery gave her no choice.

Trespassing teenage lovebirds had found the bones. The coroner—the new Dr. Powers—believed they belonged to a teenage female. Two years ago the FBI had conducted an investigation of a missing local girl, Becca Conan, with no results. Fourteen-year-old Becca was the daughter of Rex Conan, sole resident and current owner of Ruby’s Island. Now the FBI—meaning Cate—was back to see if the bones belonged to Becca.

An old memory struggled to the forefront of Cate’s brain, and she shut it down.

The odds say this will be Becca.

Dick pulled up to the tiny dock. The county sheriff’s boat gently rocked on the other side, and Adam jumped out to tie Dick’s boat. Cate remembered how the dock had nearly crumbled into the water when she was a teenager. Now it sported fresh boards and ropes, and she assumed the new owner of Ruby’s Island had repaired it.

Rex Conan isn’t really new. He’s been here for years.

But to people born on the island—like Cate—everyone else was new.

What is it like to live alone on an island after your daughter disappears?

Adam held out a hand to help her out of the boat. She hesitated but held her breath, took his hand, and stepped out of the boat. Pain shot from her shoulder, and she gasped. Adam gave her a strange look. “Something shocked me,” she lied as she rushed past him, not wanting to share that she’d been injured on the job three weeks ago.

Cate looked up the island’s rugged slope to the lighthouse. Tiny Ruby’s Island sat in the center of Widow’s Island’s huge horseshoe-shaped bay. Five thousand residents lived on Widow’s Island, but only one person lived on Ruby’s. Besides the lighthouse, there was nothing on the island except the mansion on the north side. Ruby’s Island was not for tourists; it was for the owner.

“The lighthouse looks different,” she said to Adam.

“Yeah, the coast guard updated it. Now it’s solar powered and flashes an LED light instead of the sweeping beacon.” He shrugged. “No one likes it. They say it’s obnoxious.”

Cate agreed. “Is it still haunted?” she jokingly asked.

“Yes.” Adam’s scowl was deadly serious. “The new light didn’t chase her away.”

Cate bit her tongue. As a teen she had believed the story of the haunted lighthouse. She’d done her share of sneaking onto the island’s south beach with friends at night, ignoring the NO TRESPASSING signs. Everyone wanted to see Ruby’s ghost, who was rumored to haunt the island’s woods and lighthouse.

Cate swore she’d seen Ruby a few times. Each time it’d been a white wisp. A cloud of cold when the air was warm. An electric tickle in her spine.

She’d never told anyone.

“Everyone’s up that way. Follow the lights.” Adam pointed to the left and up the slope to the start of the woods. A hint of artificial light peeked through from deep in the forest. “Those lights were a bitch to transport,” Adam muttered.

Cate understood. The big ferry system of the Puget Sound area didn’t stop at Ruby’s Island. All supplies were delivered by smaller boats. She thanked Dick and Adam and headed for the woods, glad she’d worn her heaviest boots. The ground was soft from the recent November rains.

Cate’s boss had called her in the middle of the night, well aware she was on leave for six weeks. “The ferry from the mainland to Widow’s Island is down, and we need an agent on the scene immediately,” he’d told her. “I hate to ask you, but I’m also relieved that you’re already there.”

“I’m on leave,” she’d muttered into the phone, knowing it didn’t matter. When children were lost, the FBI got involved.

“I’ll get another agent out there as soon as the ferry is running again.”

Cate had sighed. Widow’s Island was small and distant from the more popular San Juan and Puget Sound Islands. Seattle commuters didn’t live in this area; only island locals lived here. Sometimes the ferry was unavailable for days because Widow’s Island was low on the priority list.

She hiked up the slope, the pain in her shoulder reminding her that she was on medical leave.

Not tonight.

After following the lights through the woods for several minutes, Cate spotted a group. Three men and one woman. Happiness bubbled up in Cate’s chest at the sight of the woman’s profile. The group turned to see who was approaching, and Tessa Black’s jaw dropped open.

“Cate!” Tessa launched herself at Cate and nearly knocked her over with a big hug.

“Hey, Tessa.” Cate returned her old friend’s hug, joyful tears burning in her eyes. I should have told her days ago that I was visiting.

Tessa pulled back, her gaze searching Cate. “You’re the FBI agent they sent?”

“Yes.” Cate wasn’t ready to explain.

“It’s so good to see you. It’s been forever.” Tessa squeezed Cate’s hand, her smile nearly as wide as her face.

“It feels good,” Cate agreed. “I’ve missed you,” she added softly, stealing a glance at the curious group of men watching the two of them. Cate nodded at Kurt, the deputy she recognized. She looked back at Tessa and swallowed hard, searching for the nerve to ask a painful question.

Tessa’s blue eyes suddenly filled with sympathy. “I wondered the same,” her friend whispered in a shaking voice.

“Could it be?” asked Cate.

“Maybe.”

Becca Conan wasn’t the only young teenager who had vanished from the islands.

Samantha Bishop, the third member of Cate and Tessa’s tight teenage trio, had vanished nearly twenty years ago.

2

Dr. Henry Powers watched the two women emotionally greet each other. Clearly the dark-haired woman was not the FBI agent Deputy Black had expected.

“Cate and Tessa have been friends since they were tiny,” Deputy Kurt Olson informed Henry and the other deputy. “Cate’s been gone for . . .” Kurt screwed up his gray-stubbled face as he thought. “Must be over fifteen years now. She visits occasionally. Her grandmother still lives on the island.”

“Looks like a happy reunion,” Henry commented. But then both women’s faces fell, and they lowered their voices. They looked ready to cry.

Maybe not so happy.

They drew apart, their faces still solemn, and Tessa introduced the FBI agent to the group.

Cate Wilde looked cold even though she was bundled up in a coat and scarf. An island breeze had started and frequently blew her long black hair across her face. She’d brush it away impatiently. Henry shook Cate’s hand, wondering what had abruptly depressed the women’s reunion. As he met her gaze, the discomfort in her blue eyes startled him.

She’s in physical pain.

He’d seen enough in his years as a doctor to instantly recognize it.

Cate smiled for the introduction, but it appeared forced. “I understand you took over for Dr. Hardy,” she said. “He delivered me and was the only doctor I ever saw until I left for college.”

“I think a few dozen people have told me the same story,” Henry replied, pleased to see his comment created a real smile on Cate’s face.

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

It was true. Ninety percent of the people he’d met during his six weeks on Widow’s Island had informed him of their history with his predecessor. It’d been interesting the first few times, but most of the stories included criticism of what Henry did differently from the old doctor. The islanders weren’t receptive to change.

Will they tell stories about me one day?

If I stick it out.

The job had brought a few surprises. Tonight he’d learned that he’d inherited the title of county coroner. The midnight phone call from the sheriff’s office had caught him off guard.

“You’re the only doctor around, aren’t you?” the sleepy, gruff voice had asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re the coroner, just like Dr. Hardy was before you.”

“I guess I can tell when a person is dead.” Henry had seen his share of murder victims. And attempted murder victims. A dismal perk of working in a busy Los Angeles emergency room. “How many deaths a year do you get around here?”

“Not many. Mostly old-age deaths. The occasional tourist who climbs over the fence at the Widow’s Walk doing that selfie thing with their phone.”

Henry wasn’t a medical examiner. Depending on the state and county, either a medical examiner who had well over a decade of medical education or a coroner investigated deaths. Oftentimes a medical degree wasn’t required to be a coroner. Henry had heard of rural counties where the mayor or sheriff filled the role.

The body was fully skeletal. The deputies had told him the teenagers had been trying to dislodge a jacket buried in the dirt when they’d discovered the bones. The jacket had been wrapped around the skull. The deputies had responded, uncovered torso bones, and then asked for the coroner. Henry’s stomach had roiled when he’d spotted the braces on the skull’s teeth.

Young.

But adults have braces too.

He had carefully moved the rest of the dirt from around the skull and taken a closer look at the teeth. Years ago he’d dated a dentist who had taught him some basics about tooth eruption. The second set of molars had barely erupted on this skull, something that typically happened as a teenager, give or take a few years.

The jacket had looked like something a teenage girl would wear, and the skull had delicate female characteristics.

Deputy Kurt Olson had informed him that fourteen-year-old Becca Conan disappeared two years ago, and the FBI had been involved in the investigation.

“Get the FBI back out here,” Henry had told him. “There’s a possibility their case has been solved.” He quickly scanned the visible bones and the skull, searching for a clue that could point to cause of death. Like cracks on the skull that suggested hard blows, nicks in the bones that indicated the stab of a knife, or a crushed hyoid that suggested strangulation.

Nothing obvious caught his eye as he knelt in the dirt.

Now the FBI agent stood in front of him, looking upset to be responding to the death of someone quite young. Henry understood and wished his first case as a coroner hadn’t been a child. Why wasn’t it a senior citizen who died asleep in bed? Their life fully lived.

Not a child hidden in the dirt.

“I’d like to take a look,” said the agent.

“Over here, Special Agent Wilde.” Henry led her a few yards to the scene.

“Call me Cate, please, Doctor.”

“Henry,” he responded.

Cate squatted next to the skull. “Braces?” She immediately looked to Tessa, who nodded. The two women looked nauseated.

“What is it?” Henry asked.

“Oh jeez,” said Kurt, rubbing a hand over his bald scalp, looking from one woman to the other. “I didn’t think of her.”

The other deputy, Bruce, exchanged a confused glance with Henry.

“Becca Conan isn’t the only missing teen girl from this area,” said Cate in a hollow voice. “Our friend Samantha Bishop disappeared when we were fourteen. She had braces at the time.”

“But so did Becca,” Kurt added.

“Excuse me.”

The three deputies whirled around at the sound of the new voice, their hands hovering over their weapons. A young man with a flashlight had appeared from the woods and held up his hand at the deputies’ reactions. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“This is a police investigation,” announced Tessa. “Please leave the island.”

The young man twisted his lips. “Well, I live on the island. And my uncle sent me to find out what happened. Your lights are making a glow that we can see above the woods from our side.”

“You’re Rex Conan’s nephew?” Cate asked, placing herself between the young man and the skull.

“Dustin.”

Henry pegged Dustin to be in his midtwenties and wondered why the deputies hadn’t recognized him. Everyone knew everybody on the islands.

“Why didn’t Rex come himself?” Cate frowned.

Dustin shrugged. “That’s my job. I’m the caretaker of the mansion and island, and I do whatever else Rex needs.”

“Since when?” asked Kurt. “I hadn’t heard that someone lived with Rex.”

Kurt’s aggrieved tone made Henry hide a small smile. The deputy had taken it personally that he wasn’t informed.

“About six months.” Dustin stepped aside and craned his neck to look past Cate. “Is that a skull?” His mouth formed an O as his eyes widened.

The group looked from one to another.

We can’t deny it.

“Yes,” said Cate. “It was discovered tonight. You can go inform your uncle that we’re conducting an investigation.”

“Is that Becca?” Dustin backed up a few steps, shock on his face.

“We don’t know,” Henry said in a firm voice. “It’s too early to tell.”

“I need to go tell Rex,” Dustin said as he started to turn. “He’ll want to see this.”

“Wait!” Cate dashed forward and caught Dustin’s sleeve, earnestly meeting his gaze. “Let’s not upset Rex until we have some facts. This could be someone else.”

Dustin jerked his arm from her grip, annoyance replacing his shock. “He deserves to know a skull has been found on his property . . . and you didn’t ask permission to be here.”

“I’m recommending the remains go to the medical examiner on the mainland,” Henry stated. “That’s how we’ll get facts. They’ll have a forensic anthropologist determine who this is.”

“How many people have gone missing from Ruby’s Island?” Dustin snapped. “There’s only one, as far as I’ve heard. Becca.” The young man paled. “Oh, dear Lord. She’s been this close all this time. This is going to kill my uncle—his health isn’t good.”

“We don’t know—” Cate started.

“Your uncle is ill?” Henry cut in.

Dustin blew out a breath. “He hasn’t written a word in two years, and I swear he’s aged two decades since she disappeared.”

Kurt nodded in agreement. “I rarely see him on Widow’s anymore.”

“I’ve read most of his books. I hadn’t realized he stopped writing,” Henry admitted. Rex Conan was one of the top ten mystery authors in the world. Henry had lived on the island for four weeks before someone casually mentioned the author. When Henry had asked if she meant the Rex Conan, the islander had looked down her nose at Henry. “He’s been here a decade. Just because he writes some books doesn’t make him different than anyone else.”

Henry had gotten the message. And he’d learned islanders didn’t talk about their occupations—it was bad manners. A local quirk. His Realtor had told him not to tell people he was the new doctor in town. “But how will they know a doctor is finally here?” he’d asked.

“Don’t worry. They’ll know,” she’d assured him.

Sure enough. When his office had opened for business, he’d had a steady flow of patients—without a cent paid for advertising.

“Would you like me to come with you to tell your uncle?” Henry asked. He preferred to be present if Rex went into cardiac arrest.

Indecision filled Dustin’s face.

“I’ll come too,” said Cate, making the decision for the nephew. “I’d like to know more about Becca’s case.”

“Shouldn’t you already know?” retorted Dustin. “The FBI crawled all through his house two years ago. They interviewed my uncle over and over. They thought he’d done something to her.”

“It’s standard to rule out family first,” Henry answered before Cate could reply. “With any law enforcement agency.”

How many times have I seen family members hurt their own flesh and blood?

Countless.

“You said you’d lived here six months,” stated Cate. “How do you know what happened during the investigation?”

Henry admired her cool tone. Fury had risen in his throat as the nephew had lashed out against the FBI.

“My parents and I flew out immediately when Becca vanished. I’d visited dozens of times before Rex asked me to stay.” Dustin’s voice was calm, but his eyes sparked in anger. “Ruling out family again, are you?”

“It’s step one,” Cate said simply. She turned to Henry, her expression flat. “How much more time do you need here?”

“I’m not sure.” He looked at the exposed bones. I can’t mess this up.

“I know the proper way to remove them and protect the scene,” Tessa said, giving Henry a confident nod. “We have to be our own crime scene team on the islands. Bruce and Kurt will help me.”

“Okay.” Henry looked at Cate again. “Give me ten more minutes to look things over.”

“Great.” She pointed at Dustin. “Don’t move. We’re going with you.”

Henry studied Cate out of the corner of his eye.

Could this be her missing friend?

3

“Don’t be a wimp!”

“I’m not. I’m being smart. My grandmother will hear me if I try to sneak out of the house,” Cate told Samantha as they both reached for textbooks in their locker. Cate wouldn’t consider Samantha’s invitation. Twice her grandmother had caught her brother, Logan, sneaking out. The last time he’d been grounded for two weeks.

“What will your grandmother hear?” Tessa asked as she joined them and waited her turn to get a notebook. Usually two people shared a locker at school, but the three of them had kept their things together since kindergarten and weren’t about to stop. They were accustomed to the crowded space.

“Samantha wants us to meet her at the Widow’s Walk at midnight,” Cate said sourly, wishing she had the freedom Samantha did. The temperatures had turned warm, and the days were long. She couldn’t wait to finish up her freshman year of high school and start a lazy summer.

“Ha! Forget it,” stated Tessa. “We’d have to bike there. There’s no way I’d ride that winding road in the pitch dark.”

“But I got some pot!” Samantha whispered in an excited voice.

Cate whirled to the girl. “Are you crazy? Who’d you get that from?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Samantha waved away Cate’s concern. “I thought the Widow’s Walk would be an awesome place to smoke it with my friends.”

Her emphasis on the word friends made guilt churn in Cate’s gut. They always did everything together, but Samantha was pushing for a double infraction.

“No way,” Cate said. “The smell of that stuff sticks to you. Once my grandmother smelled it on Logan’s clothes when she was doing laundry, and he didn’t get to drive for a month.”

“I can’t wait to be sixteen and drive,” muttered Samantha. “We won’t have to beg for rides, and I’ll drive us everywhere. Eighteen more months.”

The three girls were silent as they imagined the liberty a driver’s license could bring.

“Well, I’m going anyway. You two can miss out.”

“It’s not nearly as far for you to ride your bike,” Tessa pointed out.

“I have a ride.”

“With who?” Cate and Tessa squealed.

Samantha gave a pleased smile. “I can’t tell you. Show up, and then you’ll know.” She turned and strolled away to class, her long red hair swishing across her back.

Tessa looked at Cate and asked, “She has a boyfriend?”

“Not that I’d heard.” They shared everything. Why would Samantha keep a secret from us?

“There’s no way I can sneak out tonight,” admitted Tessa. “We’ll have to make her tell us tomorrow.”

Cate glanced down the hall as Samantha stopped to talk to two other girls. Is our friendship developing cracks?

She hoped not. Samantha and Tessa were the sisters she’d never had. “Yeah, she’ll tell us tomorrow.”

Cate and Tessa never saw her again.

Cate caught her breath. The memory had surged through her brain as she’d traipsed through the Ruby’s Island woods behind Dustin Conan, nearly making her stumble.

Are the bones Samantha’s?

Cate had stood behind Tessa, listening closely as the deputy and Henry had knelt next to the skull, carefully exposing a few more bones and murmuring to each other. Some hair had been present with the bones. The length was about right, but no one could be certain about the color; it matched the dirt. Tessa had pointed out that vermin had been at work. Gnaw marks were apparent on some of the bigger bones, and several finger bones were missing. Most of the clothing had disintegrated except for the coat and tennis shoes.

Both women had stared at the Nikes. Did Samantha wear that style?

Neither could remember.

She and Henry had been reluctant to leave the skeleton before it was removed, but Dustin had been antsy, and Cate knew Rex Conan was the first person she needed to interview.

The path they followed was like a deer track. Barely visible. If Dustin hadn’t been leading them, Cate would have never found the way. Well, that wasn’t quite true. All she needed to do was head north, and she’d eventually come out on the other side of the tiny island.

She pushed a wet branch out of her way, careful not to let it slap back on Henry behind her.

“Thanks,” he said as he put a hand on the branch. “Have you been on this island before?”

“Of course. Everyone parties on that beach at some point in high school. Or visits the lighthouse, hoping to see the ghost.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard about the ghost.”

“We play it up for the tourists,” Cate admitted. “A little island lore to make them curious.”

Henry laughed, and it lightened her sad heart.

“What else do you tell tourists?” he asked. “Now I’m wondering how much I’ve been told is true.”

“Have you heard that Camilla Bishop haunts the old Bishop mansion on Widow’s?”

“No. I did hear that Camilla’s husband, Elias, and his lover, Ruby, haunt the Widow’s Walk,” he answered.

“That’s correct, but I haven’t seen those ghosts at the Walk. If they reveal themselves to anyone, it should be me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a descendant of Ruby and Elias Bishop,” she said simply as she glanced over her shoulder. In the light of his flashlight, she saw his eyebrows rise.

Yep. A descendant from their affair.

“You’re related to Elias Bishop?”

“Yes. So are my grandmother and mother,” she answered in a teasing tone. “He was my great-great-grandfather.”

“He’s the biggest historical figure around here.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve toured his little museum in the old hotel,” said Henry. “He was quite the entrepreneur. Not everyone decides to build ships for the navy and becomes successful at it.”

“Most of his fortune went to Camilla after he died. That’s always the next question people ask. ‘How rich are you?’”

“I bet that is annoying.”

“Drove me crazy growing up. That and the fact that people can’t get over that he was cheating on Camilla when he died.”

“Even I’ve heard about that huge scandal in the island’s history,” Henry said. “In the last hundred years, nothing else happened here to compete with the story?”

“Nope. The fact that Elias left Camilla and had a child with his lover, Ruby, will always take first place. The names of our four islands won’t let anyone forget.”

“I understand why three of the islands are named for the people in that love triangle, but where does the name Widow’s Island come from?”

“Originally it was because of Camilla. She remained a widow until she died of old age.” Cate paused and looked at Henry. “You’ve probably noticed we have an unusual number of widows on the island.”

Henry blinked. “I’ve had many more older single female patients than married ones.”

Cate bit the inside of her cheek as she nodded solemnly. “Married men have an awfully short life span on Widow’s Island.”

He stared at her, and she knew he wanted to ask if she was joking.

“You’ll see that it’s true.” She fought to keep a serious look on her face.

They hiked in silence for another minute.

“So how does it feel to be on an island that was named after your ancestor?” he asked.

Cate was silent, not wanting to sound like a freak. That little electrical pulse in my spine . . . “Can’t say I feel anything. The island was sold out of the family line years ago.”

“Almost there,” Dustin announced. He glanced back at Cate. “My uncle’s mansion used to belong to your family?”

“Elias Bishop built a small home for Ruby where the mansion now stands. The home was in ruins when your uncle bought the island.”

“Yeah, not many people can buy an island,” Dustin said in a flat voice. “But when every book you write hits the New York Times number one slot for thirty years, I guess it’s easy.”

Well now. There’s a bit of jealousy in the family.

“There it is,” said Dustin as they emerged from the woods and found themselves at the top of a cliff, looking down at the mansion.

The sky had grown lighter as they’d hiked north, but it wasn’t time for sunrise. Now she saw that every outdoor light at the mansion was on. It glowed from its hillside perch halfway down to the water.

“Wow.” Henry stepped beside her. “I’ve seen the home from Widow’s Island across the water, but up close it seems ten times bigger.”

Cate had to agree. She’d never viewed the home from such a high angle. The mansion was protected from south winds by the steep cliff, and the front of the home faced Widow’s Island. A wood-and-metal staircase zigzagged down the face of the cliff to the home. Dustin headed toward the top of the stairs. As they carefully moved down the steps, Cate stole glances at the home. She couldn’t imagine the years of work it had taken to build. Every square inch had been delivered by boat.

The home could have been transplanted from a beachfront in New England. It was a gigantic gray craftsman with weathered shingles, a wraparound deck, multiple gables, and an assortment of large bay windows. The rooflines were steep, and she counted three stone chimneys. Huge river rocks covered the foundation. They wouldn’t have come from the island; someone had physically brought each one.

She couldn’t estimate the staggering cost.

Farther down at the water’s edge was a covered boat dock and small marina. There was no use for a garage or a car on Ruby’s Island. No doubt Rex stored vehicles at one of the larger marinas on Widow’s.

“The home is stunning in the summer,” Cate commented, remembering the multiple times she’d passed by the house on a boat, staring hungrily at the beautiful home.

“It’s stunning right now,” corrected Henry.

Truth.

It felt as if they’d emerged from a wicked wood and found a glorious castle at the end of a journey.

“What’s it like to live here?” Henry asked Dustin.

The young man held on tightly to the handrail as he looked back at Henry. “Lonely. Isolated.”

“Then why stay?” Cate questioned.

Dustin shrugged. “My uncle pays well. I have benefits, and it’s an easy job. I like to paint a little, and he gave me a huge studio to work in. I’d pay thousands a month in rent for a space like that back home.”

“Where’s home?”

“New York.”

“Isn’t that where Rex’s wife lives now?” Cate asked. She’d lost count of the stairs, and they were only halfway down the cliff.

“Yeah. She couldn’t handle it here after Becca vanished. Rex refused to leave, but legally they’re still married.”

Cate could see both points of view. Daily reminders that her daughter had vanished would rip a mother apart. But Rex had stayed in place; she assumed he hoped Becca would return one day. “Understandable. When a child vanishes, it’s devastating for the parents. They each react in their own way.”

“Rex has changed since Becca disappeared,” Dustin said slowly.

“How?” Cate asked sharply.

“You’ll see.”

4

Henry followed Cate and Dustin through a back entrance and into the giant home.

He felt like an intruder. This was police business, not his. But Dustin had concerns about Rex’s health, and Henry felt compelled to stay. It wasn’t every day a father heard his missing daughter’s bones might have been found near his home. Even the healthiest person could go into shock.

The back door opened into a gigantic mudroom, and after passing through they stepped into a kitchen worthy of an interior design magazine spread. Dustin led them into a great room with soaring ceilings and views of the night sky, black water, and the faint outline of Widow’s Island. Tiny clusters of lights sparkled along the coastline. On the bay’s right, Henry identified the lights of Harlot Harbor, and straight ahead was the town of North Sound.

A gray-haired man rose out of a window-facing chair and turned to the small group. He was tall and angular with stooped shoulders and a distinctive long face. Henry recognized him immediately from the jacket photos on the back of Conan’s books, but in the pictures his hair was dark brown and his face less lined. The photos didn’t show the current haunted look in his eyes.

“What’s going on at the south end?” Rex immediately demanded of Dustin. His voice boomed through the room with unexpected strength from such a gaunt man, and he glared at Cate and Henry. “Who’s this?”

Cate stepped forward. “I’m FBI Special Agent Wilde. Along with the sheriff’s office, I’m investigating skeletal remains that have been discovered on the south side of your island.” Her voice was calm yet full of steel.

Holy crap. She considers Rex to be a suspect.

Henry looked at the older man in a new light.

Rex Conan took a shaking step backward, steadying himself with a hand on his wing chair. “Whose bones?” The booming voice was gone, replaced with a broken whisper.

“We don’t know, Mr. Conan.” Cate paused. “It’s possible it could be your missing daughter—but we haven’t found evidence to support that yet. Please don’t jump to conclusions.”

The older man leaned against the chair, breathing heavily. He’d paled, and Henry took a step in his direction, watching him carefully. “Maybe you should sit down, Mr. Conan.”

“You with the sheriff’s office?” Rex perched on the arm of the chair, his knuckles white as he gripped the back.

“No. I’m Dr. Powers. I recently bought the medical practice on Widow’s.”

“So you’re acting as coroner,” Rex added, staring at him sharply. “What did you see out there, Doctor?”

Henry felt like a fraud. “I’m not a medical examiner.”

“I know the difference,” Rex stated. “At least you have a medical background, and I assume you can tell the difference between”—he swallowed hard—“an adult and a teenager.”

“It’s not that simple,” Henry hedged.

“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve been writing mysteries for decades. I know what you can tell from bones.” Beads of sweat appeared on Rex’s temples, and he’d turned a sickly shade of gray.

Alarm shot through Henry, and he took two steps closer. “Are you feeling dizzy?” He took Rex’s wrist, feeling the rapid pulse. “Any vision issues or chest pain?”

Rex yanked his arm out of Henry’s grip. “I’m not having a fucking heart attack. I’m just caught off guard,” he said shakily, shooting glares at the three people staring at him. He mashed his lips together. “Maybe a little light headed,” he conceded.

“Get in the chair, and put your head down.” Henry guided him into the seat of the chair. He wanted the man to lie on the floor, but he suspected Rex would refuse. The author bent over and didn’t protest when Henry took his wrist again. “Breathe deep and slow.” Henry looked over his shoulder at Cate, who frowned at the two of them. Is she worried about his health or analyzing his reaction to our news?

“I’ll get you some water.” Dustin vanished in the direction of the kitchen.

Henry wished he had a blood pressure cuff. “If you’re not having chest pains, I suspect it was a rapid drop in blood pressure.”

“No pain anywhere,” Rex admitted, staring at the floor between his knees.

Thank God.

“I’m a fan,” Henry said, and he heard Cate softly snort behind him. “I’ve read every book you’ve written.”

“Are you my biggest fan?” Rex muttered, alluding to a psychotic-fan quote from a well-known Stephen King novel.

Henry grinned. The author making jokes was a good sign. “Definitely not.”

“Good. Part of the reason I live here is to avoid the crazies.” Rex took another deep breath and gingerly raised his head. “Dizziness seems to be better.”

Cate pulled a chair to Rex’s side and sat. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“I’d like to do the same to you,” the author said gruffly, eyeing the woman. “And the doc here.” He turned to Henry. “You don’t need to be a medical examiner to tell me if the . . . remains . . . had braces.”

Henry looked at Cate, who gave a quick nod.

“There were braces on the teeth, but”—he spoke quickly as Rex’s face fell—“Becca isn’t the only teenage girl missing from the area who was wearing braces at the time.”

“What?” Shock rocked Rex back in his chair. “Why wasn’t I informed that more girls have vanished?” Dustin appeared with Rex’s water, and the author took several large gulps.

“The other girl disappeared nearly fifteen years before Becca disappeared,” Cate said. “She’s never been found.”

Rex drew his eyebrows together, forming a thick black line that contrasted with his gray hair. “I remember hearing about that when Becca went missing, but didn’t she fall off the Widow’s Walk?”

“Her coat was found at the top of Widow’s Walk,” agreed Cate. “But . . . her body wasn’t found below.”

“There are rocks and rough water at the bottom,” stated Rex. “She probably washed out to sea.”

Henry carefully watched Cate. Her face was blank. No outward indication of pain from speaking about her friend’s disappearance. But he’d spotted a flash in her blue eyes. A momentary glimpse of her struggle to hold it together.

“That was one of the working theories,” Cate admitted. “It’s why they built a fence at the top of the Widow’s Walk cliff.”

“Should have been a fence there decades before,” Rex added. “How long will it take to determine if this is Becca?” He looked sick to his stomach, and Henry knew it wasn’t from the dizziness. “The county and FBI both have her dental records and DNA samples from her mother and me on file.”

“It shouldn’t take long,” Cate said. “I’ve skimmed through some of the digital notes on Becca’s disappearance. I haven’t had time to read everything we have . . . can you tell me about the day she vanished?”

“Do you know how many times I’ve recited that story?” Rex asked in a ragged voice. “How many times I’ve run it through my head as I search for something I missed? It’s haunted me for over two years.”

“Humor me,” Cate requested kindly. “I want to hear it directly from you.”

Rex took a long drink of water, his gaze growing distant. Henry watched the pulsating vein in his neck, wondering if Rex’s heart rate would spike again. His breathing had calmed, and his color was better.

“It was summer. No school. I let her take the boat to meet up with some friends.”

“Wait,” Henry interjected. “Wasn’t she a little young for that?”

“Fourteen-year-olds can get a boater education card in the state of Washington,” Cate said. “It’s common with islanders.”

Too young. Henry could easily imagine the stupid things he and his friends would have done with the freedom of having a boat.

“She was a good driver. Responsible and smart about it,” Rex said. “I was comfortable letting her take it on calm days. No boating in the dark. She didn’t come back when she was supposed to, and she didn’t answer her phone. When it grew dark, I knew something was wrong and called the sheriff’s office.”

Henry sat very still. How hard is this for him?

Rex continued in a monotone, his eyes staring past them. “They found the boat at the marina in Bishop Bay, not far from the ferry landing. She’d had permission to go to Harlot Harbor to meet her friends. It’s a straight shot from here.”

Bishop Bay is a good half hour by boat from Harlot Harbor. She drove the boat around the southeast point of the island.

“Her phone was found on the boat,” he went on. “The sheriff suspected she’d ridden the ferry to the mainland, but she didn’t show up on the camera footage.” He turned to look out the window toward the lights of Harlot Harbor. “They theorized she might have hidden in a vehicle for the ferry ride. The cameras wouldn’t have seen her on the floor in a back seat . . . or in the trunk.”

“Her friends said she’d agreed to meet them but never showed. There were a dozen texts on her phone, asking when she’d arrive. They were all unanswered.” He took a deep breath. “They searched far and wide, but nothing ever came of it. It was as if she’d vanished into thin air.”

He closed his eyes. “Daphne blamed me. It was my decision to live here. Neither she nor Becca were happy on the island. My wife was right; it was my fault.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at Cate. “Guilt like that eats away at your gut and brain. It ages you, and you wonder if you’re better off dead. But I can’t die . . . Becca could come back, and I wouldn’t be here for her.”

Henry couldn’t speak. There were no words to comfort Rex. No words to alleviate his guilt. The author was drowning in remorse.

Rex pointed at a family portrait on an end table, and Henry picked it up. A happy family smiled at him. Becca looked to be about twelve in the picture, and Rex’s hair was a salt-and-pepper mix, not the solid gray of today. He studied Daphne, wondering how hard it’d been for Rex’s wife to leave the island. She looked kind, vulnerable. He silently handed the photo to Cate. Her lips tightened as she studied the faces.

“Originally the island was just a summer home for you, correct?” she asked, still examining the picture.

“Yes. But I decided to stay permanently when Becca was eleven. My brain felt clear and light here. It was easier to breathe, and my writing flowed. The isolation was hard on Daphne, but she made friends on Widow’s Island and tried to stay social. Becca went to school and had friends, but both of them talked about life back in New York. They would go back for several weeks at a time on vacation.”

“You didn’t go?” Henry asked.

“I went a few times, but I couldn’t relax.” He frowned. “It’s as if the islands have become part of me. I feel off balance and empty when I’m gone.”

Understanding flashed in Cate’s eyes as she slowly nodded.

Ridiculous. He’s just scared to leave.

“Can I go see her?” Rex looked from Henry to Cate.

“That’s not a good idea,” answered Cate. “The scene is being processed.”

He’s already convinced it’s Becca.

Cate’s phone dinged. She glanced at the screen, did a double take, and opened the message. She studied a photo for a few seconds and then cleared her throat. “Mr. Conan . . . do you recognize this bracelet? It was . . . with the remains.” She held the phone out to Rex.

Henry moved to look over Rex’s shoulder, not caring that it was none of his business. Dirt had been ground into the hollows of the bracelet’s large glass beads. They were pale blues, greens, and pinks. Rust encrusted the metal clasp. Rex stared for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Daphne might.”

“I don’t want to send her the photo without speaking with her first,” Cate said. “Can you give me her phone number?”

Rex recited the digits as he continued to stare at the photo.

Henry looked at the portrait he’d set back on the table. Becca wore a few bracelets, but they were black thin cords.

Rex handed Cate’s phone to Dustin. He looked at the bracelet photo and shook his head.

“I thought you moved here after Becca disappeared,” Cate said. “Why do you think Dustin could recognize a bracelet, Mr. Conan?”

“Ever since I finished building the house, Dustin would spend weeks at a time here. My brother and his wife did too.” He gave a half smile. “Dustin was Becca’s official chauffeur when he visited.” He shrugged. “It was worth letting him take a look.”

“Of course.” Cate stood, signaling the interview was over. “I’ll be in touch later today, Mr. Conan.” She paused. “I’m very sorry to interrupt your night.”

“As if I sleep anyway,” he said without emotion. “Dustin can guide you back.”

They said their goodbyes and left the home, stepping out into the cold November air. No one talked. Henry paused halfway up the cliff stairs, breathing hard, and looked back at the glowing mansion.

Money doesn’t guarantee happiness.

5

The next morning, the wood floors chilled Cate’s bare feet as she headed to her grandmother’s kitchen, seeking the source of the coffee aroma that filled the home. Cate had grown up in her grandmother’s house, and her feet recognized every small imperfection in the floors. She avoided the board that still squeaked near the stove and headed straight for the coffee pot. She’d been home for less than a week, and it felt as if she’d never left. She wasn’t the only returning child; her brother, Logan, had recently come back to the island, but his work hours as a park ranger were long, and he lived in a cabin on-site. Cate had barely seen him.

She tightened her bathrobe and looked out the large window of the kitchen. Frost decorated the needles of the pines. The charming home had been built in the early part of the last century by Elias Bishop for his lover, Ruby, and it’d been handed down through the generations. The small house on Ruby’s Island had been a retreat for the lovers, but this was Ruby’s formal home.

The home wasn’t big and stunning like the Bishop mansion Elias had built for his wife, Camilla; this one had more character. Cate wished she could have heard the explosive gossip when the islanders had realized Elias wasn’t building an additional home to sell—it was for his lover.

“Good morning, sweetie!” Jane Sutton stepped out of the butler’s pantry with a plate of cinnamon rolls in her hands as Cate poured coffee into her favorite delicate childhood teacup.

“Morning, Jane.” Her grandmother insisted her grandkids use her first name.

Jane planted a kiss on her cheek as she hustled past to set the rolls on the table.

No worry about losing weight while I stay here.

Cate sat down and plopped a roll on her plate. They were still warm. She sighed in contentment.

“So what happened in the middle of the night?” Jane pulled up a chair and fastened an eager gaze on Cate. “I heard you come back in around five this morning.”

Cate had fallen asleep as soon as her head had hit her pillow.

“Bones of a young woman were found on Ruby’s Island.”

Jane froze, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. “Whose?” Her eyes darkened.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Could it be Samantha?” Jane whispered, leaning toward Cate as she set down her cup.

Cate swallowed hard, the cinnamon roll suddenly dry in her mouth, and took two sips of coffee to make her tongue function. “Could be. You know Rex Conan’s daughter went missing two years ago. I think it’s more likely to be Becca Conan, since she was found near her home.”

Jane ran a hand over her long gray ponytail, blinking rapidly. “Is her father a suspect?”

“That’s jumping ahead, but of course we’ll talk to him.” Cate didn’t mention that she’d met the man last night. The heavy aura of sorrow around Rex and his home kept her lips shut.

“What’s next?”

“Well, we need to get the bones to an anthropologist and have someone compare the dental records to Becca Conan . . . and Samantha. Any word on the ferry yet?”

Jane shook her head. “They’re saying at least another twenty-four hours before it’s running again. My circle put the word out to let us know if the breakdown has caused issues for anyone; we’ll find them a ride. So far, no one is hurting from the lack of service.” Her eyes twinkled. “Most of the islanders just shrug. We like to believe we don’t need anything from the mainland, you know.”

“Complaints don’t start until the Black Tail Bakery runs out of coffee.”

“Damn right.”

“The ferry is already causing an issue with this investigation,” said Cate. “I shouldn’t be handling this case since I’m on medical leave, and we need to get the remains to the right sets of eyes. At least I can review the old cases from our database.”

“They’re lucky you were on the island.”

“I’m sure Tessa could have handled everything.”

“She can’t access the FBI’s information.”

“True,” Cate admitted. “I’m going to work from home. There’s no point in working out of the sheriff’s office in North Sound. They have two desks in a space smaller than your dining room. I’ll just be in the way.”

“I have a meeting with my circle today. Let me know if we need to get the word out about anything.”

Cate nodded. Jane was the head of the Widow’s Knitting and Activist group. Thirty years ago the group had taken its name from the island, but now—oddly or creepily—all the women were widows. The fact was amusing to most of the islanders but not funny to several of the married island men. The group would knit while discussing projects to improve life on the island. The topics ranged from recycling to domestic abuse to the island’s rampant drug problem. The group set lofty goals and got shit done.

“We finally got a doctor,” Jane said. “I haven’t met him yet, but all the gossip has been positive. His nurse is a cute little thing from Oregon—Julie something. She’s engaged to our newest deputy. Perhaps one of them could look at the remains and give their opinion—something to at least point you in a direction.”

“I met Dr. Powers last night,” said Cate, focusing on her cinnamon roll. “He’s also the county coroner.”

“Hmmm. Well, that’s good. What did he think?”

With her mouth full, Cate looked up. Jane’s blue eagle-eyed gaze was fastened on her granddaughter. Cate recognized that intense look from her childhood. It meant she or Logan was in trouble, or else Jane had come up with a mission. Since Cate and Logan were now adults, she assumed Jane had stumbled across a new task for her group.

“He said it was female and possibly a teenager. He asked to see the dental records today and wants another look in better light.”

Jane massaged her hands, eyeing the lanky, bony fingers. “My arthritis has acted up this winter. Knitting is getting harder and harder. I wonder if he’d have some suggestions to help with the pain. I should make an appointment.”

Cate studied her grandmother’s hands, remembering how they could knead dough or whip through skeins of yarn. The knuckles were more pronounced than she remembered, and the skin was looser. Jane still sat straight as a pole and held her head proudly. Cate’s heart swelled with love. Jane had raised her and Logan. Their mother was flighty. Cate’s father had died soon after she was born, and Jane said her mother had never recovered. When Cate was ten, her mother had left her children behind and moved to Arizona for year-round sun.

Long ago Jane had said, “Don’t be angry with your mother. She never felt she belonged here. The islands never spoke to her heart; they aren’t for everyone. She needed to leave for her own mental health.”

But a small amount of resentment still simmered in Cate’s gut. What kind of mother abandons her kids? An immature one who acted like a rebellious teen instead of a responsible adult.

She suspected that Jane had stepped in and insisted that the children stay behind. She and Logan had grown up in a warm, loving home thanks to Jane.

“I didn’t realize your hands hurt,” Cate said.

“It’s nothing.” Jane tucked her hands under the table. “How’s that shoulder and head of yours healing?”

Cate shrugged her good shoulder, and Jane’s eyes narrowed. “You taking your pain medication?”

“When I need it.”

“Stay ahead of the pain,” Jane said sternly, but her expression softened. “In a way I’m glad this case landed in your lap. It will distract you . . .”

Distract me from Stephen’s death.

Cate closed her eyes. The door. The shots. The blood. A dark void swirled in her brain and sucked the air out of her lungs.

“Cate!”

Panic shot up her throat, and her lids flew open. Jane had stood and was leaning across the table, worry etched across her forehead. “I thought you were going to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Cate said automatically as her heart pounded out of control.

“Mmph.” Jane slowly sat, her attention never leaving her granddaughter. “No one who has been shot is fine. It takes work to heal emotionally from that.”

“I already talked to the psychiatrist.”

“I know. But two sessions aren’t enough.”

“It wasn’t helping. I just need some time alone.” Cate’s brain walled off the past, protecting her thoughts. If three weeks ago is considered the past.

Jane reached across the table and took Cate’s hand with a gentle smile. “I’m glad you’re home. You’ll heal here on the island. Give it time to work its magic.”

“That’s why I’m here.” She gave a flat laugh. “But I hadn’t planned on working.”

“I think it will be a good part of your healing process. You aren’t the type of person to sit around and relax all day.”

“True.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“Shower, make some calls, and read up on Becca’s case.”

“Why don’t you get some air first?”

Fresh island air and some movement greatly appealed to Cate. “Good idea. Then I’ll get to work.”

Or am I nervous to identify those bones?

6

Through the glass front door, Henry watched a young man in jeans and a heavy coat stride up the walkway to his clinic.

His nurse, Julie, who was also his office manager and person-who-does-everything-else, was out on a coffee run, so Henry sat behind the reception desk, propping his head up with his hands. It’d been a quiet morning, and Henry couldn’t keep his eyes open. He’d managed two hours of sleep after the late night on Ruby’s Island. He’d lain in bed for hours, thinking about the young girl’s bones, Rex Conan’s sorrow, and Cate Wilde. If he was being honest, most of the thoughts had been about Cate. Her blue eyes had revealed she was in physical pain, but she hadn’t let it affect her work. She’d considerately handled Rex, respecting his sorrow.

She has a story.

A deeper story than her and Deputy Black losing a teenage friend years ago.

The clinic door opened, and Henry pushed to his feet. The man looked to be in his early twenties and had a serious case of bed head. Henry ran a hand over his own short hair in reflex.

“Are you the doctor?” Mr. Bed Head looked confused. Now that he was closer, Henry noticed both the coat and jeans were heavily worn and dirty. A large part of the island population was poor. The primary industry was tourism, and during the winter, the industry was nearly nonexistent. People scraped by. Others gave up and moved to the mainland.

“I am. What can I do for you?”

“I slipped on the ice yesterday, and today I can barely walk. Everything hurts.”

“Mmmm,” Henry answered noncommittally. “Let’s get your paperwork done, and then I’ll take a look.” He handed over a clipboard with several forms. “You been in before?”

Bed Head took the clipboard. “Nah. Just visiting the island.” He scowled at the form. “I don’t have any of these diseases, and I’ll pay cash today. My insurance isn’t worth squat.”

“Then check the No box on each condition.” Subtle alarms were going off in Henry’s head. The patient looked as tired as Henry felt.

He scribbled on the forms for a moment and handed back the clipboard. “Thought there was a pretty nurse working here.”

“Sometimes. Usually it’s me.” Henry hoped Julie wouldn’t return within the next five minutes. The patient’s sleepy gaze darted around the clinic from the chairs to the art and to the door. For someone so tired, he couldn’t seem to focus.

Henry read the name on the form. Blake Shelton. Yeah, right. The address was on Fifth Street in Seattle. I’d bet good money that he’s never been there.

He sighed and sat down at the computer. “Give me a minute.”

“Blake” nodded and started to pace around the room, unable to stay still. Several nervous looks were shot at Henry as he used the computer. When Blake had handed him the clipboard, he’d seen the dilated pupils. Drowsy, short attention span, dilated pupils, a claim of lots of invisible pain.

It added up to drug seeker.

He’d seen too many in Los Angeles. And in his own home.

His older sister had died from an Oxy overdose after a year of drug abuse, family fights, and failed attempts at rehab. At the end she’d been taking nearly forty pills a day. She had been arrested three times for shoplifting to support her habit before she’d decided to steal from home. She had then sold their father’s lawn mower, Weedwacker, and revolver. Henry had been a senior in high school, and watching his sister’s rapid decline into addiction had made him decide to study medicine instead of engineering. Somehow he’d wanted to make a difference. He couldn’t save his sister, but maybe he could save someone else. The constant flow of addicted patients in Los Angeles had curbed his optimism. There wasn’t one answer or path to healing.

“Where’s the pain, Blake?”

“Oh man. Everywhere. Especially my back.” Blake arched his back and touched his right kidney, avoiding eye contact with Henry.

“Where’d you land when you slipped?”

“On my ass. Stairs were icy.”

“You must have hit your back several times on the steps, then.”

“Yeah . . . a lot of times. They were steep and concrete. I was at the top when I slipped.” He winced. “I think I need to sit down.”

Henry pointed at a chair in the waiting room. No way I’ll let him into the back of the clinic. Henry didn’t have opioids on hand, and he’d seen angry drug seekers destroy expensive medical equipment when they were denied their fix.

Blake sat and moaned, appearing quite crippled, no longer the young man who’d confidently stridden to Henry’s door.

A blood pressure cuff in his hand, Henry entered the waiting room as his ire battled with his sympathy. I don’t have time for this today. Or the patience. He had forgotten how each drug-seeker encounter wrenched his bruised heart, which had never healed from his sister’s death.

“Take your coat off so I can take your blood pressure.”

“Out here?”

“I don’t want to make you walk any farther than you have to.”

Blake slipped off his coat, and his strong body odor filled the room.

“Turn so I can look at your back.”

Blake froze, and his eyes widened.

Oops. Someone realized his back should be bruised and battered.

Rookie.

“Don’t want to show me your back?”

“It hurts inside. There’s nothing really to see.” Blake squirmed in his seat, not knowing what to do with his hands.

“I’m not going to give you a prescription for pain,” Henry said as Blake turned angry eyes to him. “What I’ll give you is a phone number for help. I’ve watched too many people throw their lives away for this addiction.”

Blake shot out of the chair, and Henry stood his ground, his muscles tensing. The men stood eye to eye for a long second while Henry fought the impulse to take him to the floor. He’d tackled addicts several times in the LA emergency room. “Back the fuck down,” Henry said quietly. “My sister died from this shit, and it’ll kill you too if you don’t do something about it.”

Blake turned to grab his coat and then headed for the door. “Asshole.”

“And tell your druggie friends not to seek here!” Henry shouted just before the man slammed the glass door behind him. Leaping down the outside steps, Blake nearly knocked over a woman. Henry threw open the door and raced out to steady her. She appeared to be in her seventies and had a long gray ponytail.

“What’d you do to scare off your patient?” she asked with a glimmer in her eye.

“Refused to give him opioids for his back pain.”

“Ah, yes. He was clearly in pain as he rocketed down the stairs.” She tilted her head as her blue eyes studied him. “Are you Dr. Powers?”

“I am.” Henry frowned. The woman was familiar, but he was pretty certain he’d remember someone with a ponytail nearly to her waist.

“Jane Sutton. Glad to have you on the island.” She held out her hand, and he shook it. “I’d like to get your opinion on my arthritis.”

He invited her in and sat her in an exam room. She stated she was in his records, and he reviewed her medical history on a laptop.

“So fancy,” she said, eyeing the small computer. “Old Doc Hardy never had anything like that.”

“It’s taken weeks for Julie and me to computerize everything. We’re still not done.”

“I imagine folks are a little resistant to some of your changes? Us islanders have strong opinions.”

Henry laughed for the first time that morning. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“There’re only five thousand people on the island, but we’ve got ten thousand opinions.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “I don’t want drugs for my hands. I was hoping you had some exercises or creams to recommend.”

He did. Henry guided her through a few hand movements to help increase the joints’ natural lubrication. Jane joked with him as she practiced, and he was at ease with her, but her visit felt a bit like a job interview. Her gaze was too sharp, and she asked a dozen questions about his past.

“Why Widow’s Island?” she asked as she stretched her thumbs across her palms.

“It felt right the first time I visited. Even during the ferry ride, I knew I was about to experience something special.”

Her nod was approving.

“But it appears I have some hazing to get through,” Henry added, raising a brow.

That triggered a scowl. “What sort of hazing?”

“Locals told me I had to check out the amazing live music on Thursdays at the Harbor View Inn’s bar.” Henry paused. “One man playing oboe doesn’t qualify as amazing in my book, and it was one of the most uncomfortable experiences I’ve ever had. The musician has no sense of personal space. I didn’t appreciate his oboe three feet from my nose.”

Henry tried not to show it, but the treatment from the locals was getting to him. How long does it take to be accepted?

He’d moved to the island to help people. They could give him a little slack.

Jane’s laugh was infectious, and Henry had to grin. “We all know to avoid the bar on Thursday nights when Herb plays his oboe. But we get a kick out of recommending it to the tourists.”

“He enjoys performing,” Henry said, remembering how the musician enthusiastically played at every table, trying to persuade the patrons to groove with him and his horn. “Now I don’t know what to believe from the islanders.”

“What else have you been told?”

“Is it true married men don’t live through old age on the island?” Henry felt a bit ridiculous asking the question.

Jane nodded. “I’m a three-time widow. Most of the women my age are widowed.”

“There has to be a medical explanation . . .”

She shrugged. “No one has found one. The name stuck to the island after Camilla Bishop became a notorious widow.” She leaned toward Henry, her eyes serious. “You’ve heard about Camilla and Elias Bishop, right?”

“And Ruby?”

“That’s them.” Satisfaction filled her face.

“I’ve heard bits and pieces over the last few weeks.” Cate’s statement that she was a descendant of Elias and Ruby rang in his head. “Why does the island have so many unusual location names?”

“You mean names like Harlot Harbor and Breakneck Point?”

“And Cheater’s Bookstore and Widow Maker Brewing.”

“We embrace our history. It happened. No point in hiding it.”

“Clearly no one was hiding it when the adjacent three islands were named Ruby, Camilla, and Elias,” he said dryly. “How are your hands feeling?”

She stretched her fingers, and a surprised look crossed her face. “Those few exercises made a big difference.”

“Good.” He typed a notation in her chart.

“Any other island questions?” Jane asked.

“Not right now,” Henry said, pleased with her kindness. Maybe the tide is turning. “I guess time will tell if I’m meant to be here.”

An odd look entered Jane’s eyes. “The island will either accept you or tell you to leave. You’ll know which it is. Its roots will embrace you if you’re meant to stay.”

Henry didn’t know what to say.

Her face cleared, and she gave a confident nod. “I have a good feeling about you, Dr. Powers.”

At least one of us does.

Cate’s small SUV followed the winding road to the southwest point of Widow’s Island. Her destination was the cliff edge known as Widow’s Walk. She’d avoided the area since she’d returned. In fact she’d avoided Widow’s Walk for over fifteen years, but today something pulled her to the site.

She’d taken a brisk walk at her grandmother’s, frustrated at her inability to jog without jostling her shoulder. As she’d walked, she’d had a yearning to look out over Blind Bay and see Camilla’s Island in the distance. Knowing she had work to do, she’d gotten in her vehicle, promising to keep her visit to the cliff brief.

The road rose higher and higher, and she kept an eye on the outside temperature, hoping she wouldn’t encounter ice. To her left, she caught brief glimpses of the green forested hills of Camilla’s Island. The entire island was a wildlife refuge full of the tiny black-tailed deer. Many of the deer lived on Widow’s Island and swam between the two islands. She reached the top and noticed a few vehicles parked at the Widow’s Walk. One was a county SUV.

Cate scanned the scattering of people strolling along the fence. There. Tessa’s familiar profile and blonde hair.

Why is she here?

Tessa leaned against the rails of the wood fence, her focus on the beach far, far below. Cate was nearly to her side when Tessa finally looked up. Delight crossed her face. “Cate!”

The women hugged, and Cate wondered again why she hadn’t contacted her best friend. “What are you doing here?” Cate asked, pulling her coat tighter against the brisk breeze.

Tessa looked across the bay. “I don’t know. I felt the need to stop here today. Usually I avoid it.”

“Me too.”

“Probably because of the body discovered last night.”

“Do you think it’s Samantha?” Cate whispered.

“I don’t know,” Tessa said slowly. “For some reason my gut says no.”

Cate exhaled. “Mine too.”

Tessa’s blue gaze met Cate’s, a look of puzzlement in her eyes. “Why do we feel relieved? We both know our feelings mean nothing in an investigation.”

Turning toward the bay, Cate placed her hands on the top rail of the fence and leaned over as far as she could. She directed her words toward the rocky beach far below her, watching the water lap at the big rocks. “No one knew her better than us.” A memory floated through Cate’s mind: the three of them making Christmas cookies in Jane’s kitchen.

“We had a special bond,” Tessa agreed. “You two were like my sisters. Hell, we lived at your house half the time. Your grandmother practically raised us.”

Cate paused, hesitant to ask her next question. “How is your mother?” she asked delicately. She’d heard about the dementia diagnosis from Jane.

Tessa was silent for a long moment. “Some days are better than others.”

Her heart heavy, Cate put an arm around Tessa’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome at Jane’s when you need a break.”

They stood side by side, their heads touching.

Someone is missing.

Cate knew this was why she’d avoided Tessa. Together they were incomplete. Even almost twenty years later.

“Do you still have—”

“Yes,” Cate answered. “But I don’t wear it anymore.”

“I don’t either.”

The necklaces had been a gift from Jane. A heart pendant had been divided into three jagged pieces, each with its own chain. The word sisters was inscribed on each piece. “I don’t know of any girls closer than you three,” Jane had told them as they unwrapped the tiny presents. “It’s like you were separated at birth.”

The silence stretched, both women lost in the past.

“I nearly asked last night how you were assigned to this case,” Tessa said. “It didn’t make sense because I knew you’d been shot less than three weeks ago. You shouldn’t be working yet. I put it together once I realized the ferry wasn’t running.” She didn’t look at Cate. “You’ve been on the island for a while, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” The admission relieved some guilt. She removed her arm from around Tessa but continued to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, feeling strength flow from her friend.

“Are you okay?” Tessa asked in a soft voice.

“I’m healing. I should regain at least ninety percent of the use of my left arm. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was here. I couldn’t . . .” Cate couldn’t find the right words.

“You weren’t ready for people,” Tessa finished. “I know you.”

“You do,” agreed Cate.

“Now you’ve been plunged into this investigation.”

“It’s good for me. I was starting to mentally atrophy doing nothing at Jane’s, and we’ll know very soon if it’s Samantha or not,” said Cate.

“Dr. Powers’s clinic is storing the bones until we can get them to a medical examiner on the mainland,” said Tessa. “I emailed him the dental records we have on file for both Becca and Samantha. He’s had some experience with comparing teeth.”

“That needs to be done by a forensic odontologist.”

“I agree, but it doesn’t hurt for him to look. I think he knows his limits.”

“I thought it was pretty funny that he didn’t know he was the island’s coroner,” said Cate, relaxing.

“He’s a nice guy,” said Tessa. “Half the island women have their eye on him. Even the ones who are way too old.”

“Understandable. A single doctor.”

“An extremely attractive single doctor,” Tessa corrected. “Tall. Built. Smart.”

Cate silently agreed. Henry Powers was easy on the eyes.

She checked the time, wanting to pull more information on Becca Conan. But would it be a waste of time if the remains didn’t belong to Becca?

I wonder if Henry has examined the teeth yet.

One way to find out.

7

Cate stepped through the door of the doctor’s office.

“Good morning. What can I do for you?” said the lovely dark-haired woman behind the reception counter. Her name tag said Julie.

“I’m Cate Wilde. I’d like to talk to Dr. Powers—I’m not sick. This is about . . . something that happened last night.”

“Wilde,” Julie repeated, and understanding crossed her face. “You’re the FBI agent who responded to the . . . issue on Ruby’s Island.”

How fast does gossip travel these days?

Julie looked abashed. “My fiancé, Bruce, was there. He’s a deputy. He doesn’t spread rumors, but he does share news with me. And I know how to keep my mouth shut,” she added hastily.

Cate remembered the young officer. “My grandmother told me you and Bruce moved here recently.”

Julie nodded. “Yes, we did. Dr. Powers is with a patient right now, but you’re welcome to wait.”

Eyeing the padded chairs that had to be from the eighties, Cate sat on one and pulled out her laptop, determined to make the most of her time.

First up: sex offenders.

Sex offenders were the second set of people investigated in missing teenage girl cases. Family and boyfriends were first. The FBI had checked after Becca had disappeared, and no offenders lived on the island, but Cate wanted to look at the data herself. She searched and found one name had been added three months after Becca had disappeared.

Maybe it takes a while to show up in the registry?

Stan Irish. She made a note of his address.

“Well now. Look at you!”

Cate glanced up. Edith Starr had emerged from the back of the clinic and stood in the waiting room, glee on her face. Cate immediately stood and was enveloped in the massive hug. Edith was a close friend of her grandmother’s and belonged to the knitting and activist group. She also owned the Black Tail Bakery. Cate had wanted to stop in several times—she could almost taste her memories of the apple fritters—but she hadn’t wanted to answer questions.

Those questions now shone from Edith’s eyes. “Are you here for your shoulder, honey?” she whispered.

Cate stiffened. “No. I just have some questions for the doctor. My shoulder is good.”

Edith’s smile widened. “I’m glad you came home to the island. Its earth is healing, you know. People who have survived life-changing illnesses often end up here.” She leaned closer to Cate and lowered her voice. “They don’t know why . . . but us islanders understand.”

Acutely aware of Henry’s watchful interest from a few feet behind Edith, Cate could only smile and nod. Stories of the island’s healing power had been part of her childhood.

“Stop by the bakery,” Edith insisted. “I’ll get you a brownie.” She winked.

Cate couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up her throat. “I will.”

Edith said her goodbyes and left.

Silence filled the waiting room as the vivacious personality left, and she and Henry were abandoned to awkwardly stare at each other.

His eyes are kind.

The corners of his mouth rose in amusement. “What’s so special about the brownies? Do they contain a healing herb from the island?”

“If you consider marijuana an herb, then yes.” His laugh sent warmth through her limbs. “Edith has supplied secret pot brownies for the last forty years or so.”

“Not so secret?”

“An open secret, I guess. To get one you have to ask at the counter if there are any fresh brownies still in the oven.”

“I’ll remember that.” His countenance turned serious. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

A fucking bullet ripped through it.

“It’s good for now.” She changed the subject. “Have you studied the dental x-rays from Becca and Samantha?”

A short pause told her he understood her shoulder issues were private. “I have. Come on back.” He turned and gestured for her to follow. Cate grabbed her laptop and trailed after him. He led her into an exam room and flipped on a large light box. A large plastic bin on the counter held human bones. She spotted the skull’s braces through the clear plastic sides of the container.

Henry slipped two sets of dental x-rays onto the box. “Top is Becca. Bottom is Samantha.” Then he added two larger x-rays that showed the entire smile of a skull. “We’re lucky in that both girls had braces. The orthodontists typically do this larger film of the lower half of the head before starting treatment.”

The grayscale grins were creepy. She stepped closer, studying the record of Samantha’s teeth, searching for anything familiar of her friend. Nothing. The films were impersonal. “What’s this?” She pointed at a white mark on the far side of Samantha’s large x-ray and noticed a similar mark on the other side.

“Earrings.”

“Of course,” Cate muttered, realizing it was the personal piece of Samantha she’d been searching for. Samantha had always worn a pair of tiny diamond studs that’d reportedly been handed down by Camilla Bishop. “A bit of my ancestor in my ears,” Samantha had said.

Cate had been envious. She had never complained, but the Bishops had been wealthy, while Cate’s family—also descended from Elias Bishop—had struggled.

“Any conclusions about the identity of the remains?” She turned her attention to the plastic bin, putting Samantha out of her thoughts.

“Yep.” Henry lifted the skull and mandible from the bin. Cate noticed each bone had been marked in pencil with a code. Tessa had known what she was doing while removing the bones. He pointed at the upper front teeth. “See how the braces brackets are nearly as wide as the teeth on these two teeth? They’re extremely narrow for front teeth.” He didn’t point at the center two teeth but at the teeth flanking them. “There’s a name for the condition when these two teeth are abnormally small . . . I’ll have to search online to find it.”

Cate immediately stepped closer to the two large x-rays. One had the tiny front teeth. “It’s Becca.”

“No self-respecting forensic odontologist would make an identification off this one anomaly,” Henry said. “But the skull does have a large white filling on a molar that I can see on the x-rays too. Samantha’s films don’t have any fillings—still not conclusive . . . Samantha could have received the filling after the films were taken.”

“But no dentist would make Samantha’s front teeth so tiny, right?”

“The small teeth haven’t had any enamel removed; she was born with them that size. I’m comfortable saying this is definitely not Samantha and highly likely to be Becca,” Henry finished.

“We’ll officially confirm with an odontologist’s report. Or DNA.” But the results were strong enough for Cate to move forward with Becca’s investigation. “I don’t think we should tell Rex until we get an official confirmation.”

“It’s hard not knowing what happened to a loved one,” Henry said. His brown gaze was gentle.

A wave of sorrow washed over Cate. “I’m relieved it’s not Samantha. Is that wrong of me?”

“No. It means you still have hope.”

“I do.”

The awkwardness she’d felt with Henry in the waiting room was gone. She felt . . . comfortable.

“Have you had lunch?” he asked. A dimple appeared on his left cheek, and she was instantly charmed.

I have work to do.

But she was surprised and pleased by the invitation.

“I can have a quick lunch.”

Henry chose The Little Garden for lunch because he liked the food, and it was close.

“I’ve never eaten here,” said Cate. “It used to be an office building.”

“I think the restaurant is only a few years old,” Henry said as he held the door open. As she passed, he smelled cinnamon, making his stomach growl. Good thing we’re eating. Something about Cate had held his attention last night on Ruby’s Island and again in his waiting room this morning.

He’d suggested lunch because he hadn’t been ready to let her leave his office.

They were seated immediately. Only three other tables were occupied. Cate sighed as she sank into the booth. “I love how quiet the island is during the winter.”

“When I checked out the practice in September, it was mellow then too. Residents have warned me it’s a madhouse in the summer with the tourists.”

“You won’t recognize it. People everywhere. Traffic. Hour waits at the restaurants. The locals stay away from the towns.”

“It was warm and sunny when I bought the practice. This cold, dreary winter was a bit of a shock to my system. Especially for a California transplant.”

“No consistent heat or sun up here,” Cate agreed. “Get used to gray and rain during the winter. Some snow when we’re lucky.”

She wore a scarf that brought out the blue in her eyes, and some of her long black hair was casually braided, keeping it out of her face. Overall she made a very attractive and fascinating lunch companion.

She said quick lunch.

But she didn’t say no.

“Good afternoon,” said a gaunt man in his fifties as he filled their water glasses. His crisp white shirt and black apron were pristine. “I’m Milton, and I’ll be waiting on you today. Can I bring you something else to drink?” he asked in a formal voice.

“Coffee,” Henry and Cate said in unison.

The waiter gave a stiff nod and vanished.

Henry set his menu aside, knowing he wanted the burger. “What’s your next step in Becca’s investigation?”

“Supposedly the ferry will be running by tomorrow, and we can send her remains to the lab.” She lowered the menu and rubbed her eyes. “I want to call Becca’s mom in New York and retrace Becca’s last movements. I’ll also talk to Rex and Dustin again.”

“You have a lot to do. What else?”

Her lips flattened into a line. “I have a sex offender to follow up on.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they’re on Widow’s Island.” He paused, remembering his unwelcome visitor from that morning. “Does the island have much of a drug problem?”

She smiled faintly. “Everywhere has a drug problem, but drug problems have been rampant on Widow’s as long as I can remember. The only change is the type of drug.” Her eyes were somber. “There’s not a lot to do here. Unless you’re into fishing or own a business, you have a lot of time on your hands. Drugs are an easy entertainment.”

“Until your life is no longer your own.”

“That sounds personal.” Sympathy rang in her tone.

“My sister. Overdose. I was eighteen.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“You could say I have a special hatred for the industry.” Understatement.

“With good reason.”

“Y’all ready to order?” asked a waitress. Her plump cheeks were very pink and gave her a jolly air. Unlike Milton, her white shirt had been the victim of a coffee spill.

“You’re not Milton,” Henry joked, picturing the gaunt waiter.

“No, I’m Naomi,” she said, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Are you from the island?” Cate asked.

“Yep. Born and bred. I’ve worked at every restaurant on the island at one time or another. Even the bakery. You get to know everyone’s secrets when you stay in the public eye like I do. The good ones and the bad ones.”

“Have you heard anything about police activity in the last twenty-four hours?” Cate asked, surprising Henry. Maybe she’s testing the waters.

Naomi’s eyes widened. “No. What happened?”

“I was asking you,” Cate answered. “Something’s up. Was wondering if the word was out yet.”

“Not that I’ve heard.” Anticipation crossed her face. “I’ll ask around. Do y’all know what you want?”

They both ordered the burger.

As she left, Cate reached for her bag and winced.

“Okay,” said Henry. “We’ve ordered the same food and tramped around Ruby’s Island in the dark together. I think it’s safe for you to tell me what’s up with your shoulder. I knew you were in pain last night.”

Cate took a tiny bottle of ibuprofen from her bag, shook out three, and swallowed them with water before looking him in the eye, her expression grim. “I was shot.”

Shock rocked through him. “Shot? How?”

“With a gun,” she said wryly.

“You know what I mean.” He placed his forearms on the table and studied her closely. He’d seen his share of gunshot victims. Cate looked good from the outside, but he knew how a bullet could leave physical wreckage in its wake. Mental and emotional wreckage too. “What happened?”

Indecision flickered in her eyes.

“I won’t gossip,” he promised.

She gave a short laugh. “Oh, the whole island knows already. Jane saw to that.”

“Jane. Jane Sutton?” Henry couldn’t think of any other Janes he’d met. “Why would she do that to you?” Annoyance flickered as he thought of the pleasant woman he’d met that morning. Did Jane play me for a newcomer again?

A wide grin filled her face. “Jane is my grandmother. She meant well by spreading my news.” Cate rolled her eyes. “You know her?”

“I met her this morning. Nice lady. Didn’t treat me like an outsider.”

Cate’s brows shot up. “Wow. You must have made quite an impression. Everyone is an outsider to her.”

“Is she on your Elias Bishop side of the family?” He wondered what he’d done to get on Jane’s good list.

“Yes. And very proud of her heritage. No one dares put our family down for being descended from the whore . . . not to our faces, anyway.”

“Do people really say that?” Henry was stunned.

“Oh yes. Even though it happened generations ago, some grudges go very deep.” She twisted her lips. “Welcome to Days of Our Lives. Island version.”

“What is the real story of Elias and Ruby? There’s no mention of her in his museum.”

“I rarely meet someone who doesn’t know the story.” She rested her chin on her hands, her eyes distant as she thought. “Elias started as a shipbuilder in Seattle. He built ships for the US Navy but moved to the islands for an early retirement because Camilla loved this location. She came from a poor coastal family on another island but became a snob with Elias’s success. I heard she never spoke to her family once she’d married Elias. When they’d settled here, their son joined them and started his own family. Somewhere during that time, Elias met Ruby. He was much older than her.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know how long the affair went on, but at some point Elias built a home for Ruby on Widow’s—my grandmother still lives there. It’s not huge like the Bishop mansion, but it’s a nice, quality house. And he constructed a small summer place for her on Ruby’s Island.”

“The location where Rex Conan built his colossus.”

“Yes. Ruby had a baby, and Camilla was furious and made her life hell. Elias and Ruby’s affair was a poorly kept secret.”

“Understandable, since he built her two homes. The public had to notice that.” He couldn’t look away from Cate. The animation in her face as she told the story had hooked him.

“After that the story gets a little murky, but Ruby and Elias were found dead among the rocks at the bottom of Widow’s Walk one morning.”

“Camilla did it,” Henry said flatly.

“Did she?” Cate asked with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Or did they leap off the cliff together, wanting to be with each other in the afterlife, where it’s peaceful?”

“No one falls that deeply in love. Only in movies. What happened to their baby?”

“She was raised by Ruby’s sister, who had been her nanny. That baby was Jane’s mother.”

“Did Camilla go to jail?” The story had sucked him in.

“No, she had an alibi from her groundskeeper.”

“Right. Groundskeeper. You weren’t kidding about the soap opera reference. What happened next?” Henry was enamored that Cate was part of the crazy bloodline.

“Well, Camilla became the most hated woman on the island. Ruby had been a kind young woman, so Camilla was now the evil crone who many believed offed her husband and his lover.”

“I feel a little sorry for Camilla.”

“Me too. Being ostracized can’t be fun. The islanders decided to name the tiny bay island Ruby’s Island, and you can imagine how Camilla reacted. I suspect they primarily did it to annoy her.”

“But the other two nearby islands are named Camilla and Elias. She complained even though she had her own island?”

“Yep. Anyway, Camilla lived a long, miserable life in the Bishop mansion. They say she haunts the mansion, but my friend Samantha lived there and never saw anything. Samantha’s mother, Marsha, lost the huge house a while back. She’s been a little mentally unstable since her daughter vanished.” Cate looked at her plate and fiddled with a fry. “It didn’t help that her husband committed suicide not long after Samantha disappeared. He was suspected in Samantha’s disappearance and hounded by the police.”

“You didn’t agree.”

“No. He barely paid attention to Samantha. He was too busy with the Harbor View Inn and Elias’s little museum. He was kind . . . just overworked.” She laid the fry down without eating it. “The Bishop bloodline fizzled out after that.”

“You have Bishop blood.”

She shrugged. “To me, my side of the Bishop blood represents strong women. The other side of the blood was about Elias’s money. Ruby’s sister proudly raised that baby despite all the rumors and taught that little girl to be resilient and tenacious. The pride and strength continued through each generation. Jane is a perfect example.”

Jane’s granddaughter is too. She was shot and is back to work like nothing happened.

“Everything you’ve told me is true, right? I won’t make a fool of myself if I mention some of the story?” Uncertainty filled his voice.

Cate choked on a sip of water. “Yes. All true. I’m sorry you’ve been teased.”

“You told me about Ruby’s ghost in the lighthouse last night.”

“That’s true.” Her tone was sincere.

Henry studied her. I can’t tell if she’s joking.

“No teasing. I actually saw her during my teenage years, but please don’t tell anyone.” Her eyes were earnest, stronger than any gaze he’d seen from her. “Jane says I see her because we’re related.”

I believe her.

“You made a believer out of me somehow,” he said slowly, accepting the truth in his words. He was floored. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Until now.

“I promise to always tell you the truth about the island stories,” she said solemnly and held out her hand across the table to seal the bargain.

A faint warmth shot through his limbs as he took her hand. He shook it, reluctant to let go. “Deal.”

8

After lunch with Henry, Cate drove to Stan Irish’s home.

She had recognized the address. There was no need for her to use GPS on the island because she had a permanent road map in her head. Stan’s location was among a string of rural farms halfway between the town of North Sound and Harlot Harbor. As she drove she called Daphne Conan, Becca’s mother. Missing the ease of the Bluetooth connection in her vehicle back home, she wore earbuds with a mic.

As the phone rang, her mind drifted back to the lunch she’d enjoyed with Henry Powers, and she acknowledged that something subtle yet electric had started between them. To her surprise, she wanted more. That thought stewed in her brain for a long moment. An attractive, smart man. Why not? A smile curved her lips. Her recovery time on the island was becoming more than she’d expected.

“This is Daphne.”

“Hi, Daphne. My name is Cate Wilde, and I’m a special—”

“I’ve been expecting your call, Agent Wilde. Rex called me this morning.” The woman’s tone implied that Cate had waited too long to call. “Do you know if you found Becca?” Her voice cracked on her daughter’s name.

“We haven’t been able to confirm yet. The ferry has been down—”

“You don’t need to explain. I lived there for several years. Things always move slower on island time and then come to a grinding halt when the ferries break down. I assume your forensic specialists are on the mainland.”

Cate exhaled. “Exactly.”

“A county deputy sent a photo of a jacket and bracelet that were found with the remains. I didn’t recognize either one.” Plates clinked in the background. “This makes me think it isn’t her.”

“We’ll have a definitive answer for you as soon as possible,” Cate said, hating the vagueness of her statement. No matter how much she wanted to, it would be wrong to share Henry’s strong suspicions based on the teeth.

Daphne’s laugh was forced. “I see nothing has changed in how FBI agents speak to grieving parents.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Conan. I wish we had results already.” Cate cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask you about Dustin—”

“He’s a sneaky little shit.”

Cate blinked at Daphne’s bitter tone. “Can you clarify what you mean by that?”

“Several times I caught him stealing our booze during his visits. He was underage. I had some small jewelry pieces and expensive pens disappear too.”

“Oh.” Cate wondered why Daphne had allowed him to drive Becca around if she didn’t trust him.

“His parents let him run wild. He got fired and was prosecuted for stealing from his employer here in New York. He still owes them a lot of money.” She snorted. “Rex was the only one who would give him a job. He always had a soft spot for Dustin.”

“You think it was a mistake for Rex to hire him?”

The line went silent. “Not exactly,” she finally said. “I’m glad Rex isn’t alone in that behemoth of a house, even if it is with that pissant nephew. And I smile when I think of Dustin stuck there on the island. I’m sure it’s a prison for him. He thought of himself as a bit of a player here in New York.” Her laugh was a cackle. “Now he’s a player with no one to show off to except fish and those tiny deer.”

Cate smiled in spite of herself. “He wasn’t in town when Becca disappeared, correct?”

Daphne sighed. “He wasn’t. And even though he was a self-centered little jerk, I think he enjoyed his older-brother role with Becca. Your next question is if I think he’d hurt her, and the answer is no.”

Cate scrambled for another question. “I’m surprised you and Rex are still married,” she said. “Many marriages wouldn’t survive.”

“I still love my husband, Agent Wilde.” Daphne’s voice had softened. “The loss of Becca has changed both of us, and I hope once we have an answer that he’ll return to the man he used to be. If he knows what happened to Becca, I think he’ll be able to leave that giant house.”

Remembering the author’s comment about feeling empty off the island, Cate wondered if that was possible.

“Investigators always ask about money—I’ve had a lot of interviews since Becca vanished,” Daphne continued. “They want to know if we stay married for financial reasons. I’ve been Rex’s literary agent for nearly thirty years. Our relationship started as a working one, and I could divorce him tomorrow and be very comfortable.”

The two women spoke for a minute longer before Cate ended the call. Daphne had been more forthcoming than she’d expected. She mulled over the quick conversation.

Dustin owes money?

Daphne had shared the name of his angry employer. Could there be a connection between the missing girl and her cousin who owed money? Becca had disappeared two years ago. It was a stretch, but she’d call the employer anyway. It spoke to Dustin’s character.

Cate slowed her vehicle, checking address numbers on posts along the side of the road. Stan Irish’s address was on a prominent sign. HOME OF THE CHEERFUL COWS WHO CREATE WIDOW’S ICE CREAMERY ORGANIC ICE CREAM.

“Ice cream, cows, and sex offenders,” she muttered as she took a hard right onto the dirt road that led to the dairy farm. The rough road passed between two pastures dotted with cows. How do you recognize a cheerful cow? They all looked bored.

A hundred yards later she spotted multiple corrals attached to a low, long barn. Off to the right sat a small ranch home with an ancient VW van and a large Ford pickup in front. She parked between a corral and the van, amused at the hundreds of stickers that decorated the van’s back. Many were faded and peeling, looking almost as old as the van. Several said Widow’s Ice Creamery: Organic Bliss.

Cate didn’t hate the tagline.

Getting out of her vehicle, she noticed she was the subject of curious examination by two cows as they poked their noses through the railings. She patted their fuzzy heads, avoiding the wet noses. Here were the cheerful cows the sign promised. The cows appeared sincerely interested in her, following every move with large brown eyes.

Reluctantly leaving her fans, she walked up to the small house, and her stomach started to spin. She frowned, wondering if something had been wrong with her burger. The nausea grew stronger as she moved up the stairs to the porch. Do I need to go home?

She took a deep breath, feeling sweat start to prickle under her arms. Underneath her coat she was burning up. I’ll talk to him quickly and go.

Confusion swamped her brain, and her hand seemed to lift in slow motion to knock on the door.

My fist. Rapping on the wood.

Her vision tunneled as fear slammed into her.

Shots. Blood. Stephen.

It’d been a small home and porch just like this one. No worries. A simple interview.

Which had ended in Stephen’s death.

The door opened before she could knock again, and reality stopped her from spiraling into a full-blown panic attack.

A tall, smiling man stood in the door. No gun. Not threatening.

Her panic receded a little further.

That’s him. She’d checked Stan Irish’s driver’s license photo. He wore a cap with the name of his dairy farm, a rough work jacket, and rubber boots, clearly on his way to get some work done. His smile was infectious and felt genuine. Maybe it’s the owner who makes the cows cheerful.

“Good afternoon. What can I do for you?” His voice was surprisingly high pitched for such a large man.

The lilt in his voice slowed her heart rate, and her world came into focus.

“Stan Irish?” she croaked.

“That’s me.” Still smiling.

Trying to hide her measured breathing, she showed her ID. “I’m Special Agent Cate Wilde. I have a few questions for you.”

The smile vanished. “What happened?”

“We’re reinvestigating the disappearance of Becca Conan.”

“The author’s daughter. I heard about it when I moved here.” He took a deep breath. “And you’re here because I’m registered.” His eyes were flat, emotionless.

“Standard procedure,” Cate said, watching him carefully for signs of anger or attack. “When exactly did you move to Widow’s?”

“The August after she vanished. People were still talking about it.”

“You own an ice cream shop?”

“Yeah. In Bishopton. Gets good tourist traffic from the ferries in the summer.”

“Did the ice cream shop open that August too?”

He gave her an odd look. “No, opening a business takes time. I came here in August on a whim from South Carolina, with a goal of getting as far away from that state as possible. I had no idea what I was going to do when I arrived, but I knew right away I wanted to stay. I’m close to the end of my ten years, but I’ve wasted too much time feeling sorry for myself. When I realized there wasn’t a decent ice cream shop on the island, I decided to make it happen. Widow’s Ice Creamery didn’t open until last spring.”

Cate knew the ten years referred to the time period that he was required to register as a sex offender. That meant he’d been around twenty-seven when he was convicted. She’d read his history. He’d claimed he hadn’t known the girl was under eighteen; her mother had said otherwise.

She was mostly satisfied that Stan hadn’t been on the island before his permanent move. She’d dig up his rental and employment records to confirm.

“What’s going on?”

Cate turned around to see a young woman tromping up the steps.

Very young.

She wore rubber overalls with boots and a jacket like Stan’s, looking as if she’d been mucking out the barn. Her wavy blonde hair was divided into low ponytails, and her wide-set brown eyes were curious. She had a dirt smudge on one cheek.

“I’m Cate Wilde. I had some questions for Stan about when he started his ice creamery.” The girl’s young appearance made Cate curb her full explanation.

“I’m Clover. The ice creamery has been open since last spring.” The girl moved next to Stan, and the scent of marijuana floated by Cate. “Have you been there?”

“Not yet. I haven’t been to Bishopton in a while.”

Clover nodded in understanding. “It’s for tourists.”

“Do you live here?” Cate asked the girl. Stan was silent, entranced by Clover. He likes them young.

“Yeah. Stan gave me a job when the shop opened. It was love at first sight.” She took his hand and returned the enamored gaze.

She looks young enough to be his daughter.

“I convinced him we needed our own cows so we’d know exactly what went into the ice cream. That’s when we started the dairy.”

“It was a good idea,” Stan agreed. “We actually make more from selling the organic milk than from the ice cream.”

“But the ice cream shop is more fun,” Clover chimed in. She looked at Cate. “I’m working on a tequila-and-lime ice cream recipe. A little salt makes it incredible.”

“Ummm . . . how old are you?” Cate couldn’t hold back the question.

Clover scowled. “I’m twenty. I don’t drink the tequila. I just make stuff with it.”

That wasn’t my point. At least the relationship is legal. Still . . . he’s thirty-six.

“That ice cream sounds . . . interesting.”

Clover’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “I’m trying a whole line of flavors based on cocktails.” She winked. “I’ve tried adding pot, but I can’t get it to work right.”

“Maybe make an extract?” Did I just say that?

She screwed up her face in thought. “Yeah . . .”

“It was nice meeting you. I wish you continued luck with your business,” Cate said to Stan. He could explain her visit to Clover. Cate didn’t have the heart to tell the flower child the real purpose.

On the drive home, she imagined a life where she only worried about ice cream and cows.

It sounded peaceful.

The craving for ice cream was enough to make Cate take a long detour to Bishopton.

Besides, she was curious about a business where someone like Clover took a primary role.

It was almost dark as her vehicle followed the road’s forested switchbacks nearly down to sea level. The little town of Bishopton spread to the east of the ferry station. Clover was right that the town was for tourists. The lucky business owners who had shops close to the ferry station were guaranteed a booming summer business, which helped carry them financially through the slow winter. The islanders who lived along the east coast of the island shopped in Bishopton year-round; otherwise Cate would expect most of the businesses to close for the season.

The ferry dock looked lonely without a huge ferry in port. During the winter the ferry came every other day, and during the summer it made two trips a day, dumping tourists on the island. Cate slowly drove through Bishopton. Admittedly it was a cute and charming town. Wooden sidewalks, homey storefronts, and well-maintained landscaping. She spotted the ice creamery tucked between two larger buildings and easily veered into a street parking spot. An impossible maneuver during the summer high season.

Pleased the store was still open, Cate stepped inside and started as she recognized the waiter and waitress from The Little Garden. They held hands as they peered into the ice cream case. The tall, gaunt man and the smaller, curvy waitress made an amusing sight. Behind the counter, a bored teenage boy waited patiently for the couple to make up their minds. Cate scanned the board of flavors. All the basics were available, but she assumed Clover’s influence added the odd ones. White chocolate curry, buttered popcorn, sweet corn with basil, and avocado mint chip.

“Oh . . . hello!” Naomi had spotted Cate, and her cheeks plumped as she grinned.

“Hi, Naomi . . . Milton,” Cate said and smiled. “I’m Cate, by the way.”

“Cate is the one who asked me about police activity,” Naomi explained to Milton, who nodded solemnly. “I started asking around, and sure enough, it turns out they found bones on Ruby’s Island!” she whispered loudly, gazing from Cate to Milton. “Pam at Shiny Objects had all the details.” Her eyes glowed as she shared the gossip. Milton sighed and gave Cate a one-shouldered shrug, no doubt used to Naomi’s chatter.

“That’s what I heard too,” Cate said, enjoying her incognito role.

“Do you know what they did with the bones?” Naomi asked in the same loud whisper.

The teen employee pulled out his phone and leaned against the back counter, seeing his chatty customers weren’t ready to order.

“Ummm . . . I heard the coroner has them and will get them to the mainland when the ferry is back.” Cate tried to look as excited about the gossip as Naomi. It wasn’t possible. “Have you heard any rumors about who it is or what happened?”

“Well,” Naomi stated with authority. “That author who lives on the island . . . his daughter has been missing for a few years.” She leaned closer to Cate, her eyes animated. “He’s a loner, rarely leaves the island. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done something to her . . . or that nephew of his. I don’t like him at all.”

“What’s wrong with the nephew?” Cate whispered conspiratorially.

“His credit card was declined at the restaurant, and ohhhhh, you should have seen how angry he was. You’d think I’d done it on purpose.”

“He is a spoiled jerk.” Milton spoke for the first time, still sounding as formal as when Cate had met him that afternoon.

Naomi nodded enthusiastically. “Milton had to escort him out.”

“Are you going to order?” the teen asked, still on his phone, his thumbs tapping rapidly.

Naomi and Milton turned back to the counter, and Cate exhaled. Acting was hard. The couple ordered a vanilla and a normal mint chip cone. They said—Naomi said—goodbye to Cate as they left. Cate stepped forward and eyed the small tubs behind the glass. This would be her dinner. “A scoop of white chocolate curry.”

“That’s the best,” the teen mumbled as he scooped it up.

Driving home, with one hand on the steering wheel as she ate her cone, Cate agreed.

9

Henry parked behind his clinic the next morning.

Even though the practice was small, it filled him with pride every time he saw the building. He was making a difference on the island and didn’t know how the residents had survived without a doctor for so long. He looked forward to the rush of the tourist season and wondered if it’d feel as if he was back in a busy LA emergency room. Probably not. He grabbed his bag out of the back seat, imagining a line of tourists with swimmer’s ear and allergy problems. Not LA car accident or shooting victims.

One of the back windows caught his eye.

Is that broken?

He froze and studied the high window. Some shards of glass were still visible at the top, but most of the pane was gone. His gaze shot to the back door. Closed. Pulling his hand inside the cuff of his shirt, he tried the handle. Unlocked.

They got in through the window and left through the back door.

He’d considered an alarm system a dozen times. But the island had seemed so mellow.

The drug seeker.

“Shit. Asshole.” There were no drugs on the premises. The strongest medication the idiot would have found was Advil.

Henry circled the building, eyeing the other windows and checking the front door. Everything else was fine. He pulled out his phone and searched for the local number for the sheriff’s office. This wasn’t a 911 situation. No doubt the druggie was long gone. In fact Henry almost hated to bother the deputies, but maybe “Blake Shelton” had left fingerprints behind and was already in a database for a different crime.

Deputy Black assured him she’d be right over. Not an exaggeration, since their tiny office was three blocks away. Two county SUVs appeared within a minute, and Henry greeted Tessa and Bruce, his nurse’s fiancé.

Tessa and Bruce circled the property as she directed Bruce where to take photos. When they were ready to go in, Tessa slowly opened the back door and announced herself. She and Bruce entered with their weapons ready as Henry calmly leaned against the hood of his vehicle. If the druggie was still in there, he had to be sound asleep to not hear all the noise the three of them had made outside.

“Come on in, Doc,” Tessa called after a minute. “It looks pretty good in here.”

Henry walked through the office and had to agree. Cabinet doors were open, but the insides were neat.

Bruce and Tessa tailed him on his tour. He stopped in the doorway to his second exam room. “Dammit.” Glass from the broken entry window covered the floor.

“At least that seems to be the only damage,” Tessa pointed out. “Is anything missing? Drugs? Equipment?”

He told her about his encounter with the drug seeker from the day before. “The only drugs here are available over the counter. I haven’t noticed that anything is missing yet.”

Bruce spoke up. “I’m surprised he didn’t take your computer equipment or anything else he could sell for quick money.”

“Me too,” said Henry. He checked in his lab, a small room with a microscope, monitor, and some other portable equipment that would have been easy to walk away with. Again the storage cabinet doors were open, but nothing was out of place. His gaze shot to an empty spot on a low shelf, and his heart stopped.

“Shit.”

The tub of bones was gone.

An hour later Henry still felt like an incompetent idiot.

He’d crossed the drug seeker off his list of suspects—why would he steal bones and not the equipment? Now his suspect list was completely blank.

Tessa had called Cate, who now stood with her hands on her hips, clenching her jaw in irritation as she glared at the empty shelf. “We had just looked at them,” she mumbled.

Henry said nothing. He’d fucked up.

Cate looked at Tessa. “Chain of evidence was intact. Leaving the bones with the coroner for delivery to the lab wasn’t wrong.”

“I agree,” said Tessa. “If the county had stored them, they’d still be gone if that was the thief’s primary goal. Our evidence shed is locked with a chain and pathetic padlock.” She looked at Bruce. “I’m assigning you a project. Figure out an upgraded evidence storage system for our office. We’ve been lucky for too long. I’ll get the funding from the sheriff.”

“I’m on it,” the deputy replied. He’d covered areas of the office with black fingerprint powder, and Henry had watched in fascination as the young man twirled the feathery brush. The tons of smeared fingerprints on the cupboards weren’t encouraging, but Bruce had seemed pleased with some prints he’d found on large pieces of the broken window.

“I should have locked up the bones. They were evidence,” Henry said. “This is on me.” Bruce won’t be the only person looking for secure storage. And an alarm system.

“What’s done is done. Locking your cabinet wouldn’t have made a difference,” said Cate briskly.

“This brings the entire investigation to a halt,” complained Tessa. “We’ve got to find those bones so we can have them identified. I’ll get the fingerprints entered as quickly as possible and hope we can track down our thief.”

Henry looked at Cate, sending a question with his eyes. She gave a small nod.

“Maybe it’s not a complete halt,” said Henry. “I did a comparison between Samantha Bishop’s and Becca Conan’s films with the teeth. I’m pretty certain the bones belong to Becca.”

Tessa stared at him, hope in her eyes. “How certain?”

“Ninety-nine percent.” He pictured the small incisors on Becca’s films. The skull had the exact same anomaly. “The skull and Becca’s films had pegged lateral incisors, or microdontia—I looked up the right term last night,” he told Cate. “It’s not a rare occurrence, but it is unusual enough, along with some other things I noticed, to make a tentative identification.” He glanced over at Tessa; she still wasn’t convinced.

“I can’t go to Rex Conan with that,” she said.

“I agree,” said Cate. “And I don’t think we should tell him the bones are gone just yet. He’s not expecting an identification until the ferry can get the bones to the mainland. We’ve got a window of time to hunt them down.”

“Before everyone knows I screwed up,” said Henry. “My reputation here is shot.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Cate said forcefully at the same time Tessa declared, “You did nothing wrong.”

He wasn’t comforted.

“They couldn’t have gotten far with the bones,” Cate said. “The thief has to still be on the island.”

“Unless they took a personal watercraft.” Tessa turned to Bruce. “Contact the marinas. I want to know who’s left since yesterday afternoon. Luckily most boats are out of the water for the winter, so there won’t be much activity.”

Bruce nodded and strode toward the front door.

“Private docks,” muttered Cate.

“I know,” agreed Tessa. “But maybe we’ll get lucky. Thieves aren’t usually rich enough to afford a boat, let alone a property with a dock.”

“He could have stolen a boat from a private dock or marina,” added Henry.

“I’d planned to review Becca’s last twenty-four hours today,” said Cate. “Do you want help with finding the bones instead?”

“No. Do what you planned.” Tessa eyed Henry. “The doc here seems pretty certain the bones are Becca’s. Let’s not stop our progress on that aspect.”

Henry felt like he was under a spotlight. “What can I do?”

“Open up shop,” Tessa told him. “Widow’s Island still needs its doctor.”

True.

But it felt like Tessa and Cate were cleaning up his mess.

10

Cate walked to Buzz’s Head Shop from Henry’s office, her mind spinning with possibilities.

Who would steal the bones?

Someone who didn’t want them identified.

Hence, the killer.

The teenage girl’s killer was still on the island.

Or a drug seeker took them just for the heck of it.

She sighed and adjusted her scarf. The temperature wasn’t horrible, but the wind was icy. Passing Cheater’s Bookstore, she glanced in the windows and saw an employee watching TV behind the sales desk. No customers. Buzz’s Head Shop was next. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. Spotting the sign that stated the shop opened at nine a.m., she checked the time. It was past ten.

What did I expect from a marijuana dispensary?

Two years ago Jerry Hooper had claimed Becca Conan had been in his pot shop the day she’d disappeared. No other person had seen her. The previous investigators had found Jerry’s sighting to be rather odd because Becca’s boat had been found in Bishop Bay Marina, adjacent to the ferry dock and nearly an hour from Jerry’s pot shop in North Sound. His shop had sold legal drug paraphernalia for decades and then became a licensed dispensary when pot became legal.

“You waiting for me?” a lazy male voice asked.

Jerry strolled her way, keys jingling in his hand. Taking his time as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably doesn’t.

“Hey, Jerry.”

He squinted. “Cate?” His eyes lit up. “Nice to see you.”

“Your sign says you open at nine.”

He didn’t look at the sign. “Well, it should say somewhere around nine.” He slid the key in the lock.

“It’s past ten.”

“That’s pretty close.” He grinned, showing impressively white teeth. “You’re lookin’ good. I heard your brother is back.” He pulled the door open, and an odd mix of odors rushed out. Pine, citrus, and grass. Not the skunky smell of smoked pot she’d expected.

“Yes. He’s working for the park service.”

“What can I do for you? You need some help with pain?”

Does everyone know?

Jerry flipped on the lights and unlocked an inside door that allowed him behind a glass case. It looked like a case in a bakery, but instead of displaying cakes, this one presented large mason jars of the dried green herb. The jars and case were impeccably clean and arranged in perfect rows. Each jar had a neatly printed label.

Purple Power. Blue Haze. Lemon Haze. White Widow.

What’s the difference between Blue and Lemon?

“No pain. I’m reviewing the Becca Conan case.”

“Yeah. The author’s missing kid. I heard they found some bones on his island. Is that why you’re reviewing it?”

“Who told you about the bones?”

He leaned both arms on the case, his easygoing gaze looking her up and down. “Everybody is talking about it. You know how it is.”

“Two years ago you said she’d tried to buy marijuana from you.”

“Yep.”

“You sure it was her?”

“She looked like the picture being passed around by the police. Young girl—way too young—who wouldn’t show ID when I asked for it.” He yawned. “I told her to leave, and she left. That was it.”

“Were you stoned?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t smoke the stuff, but I am around it, so I’m always in a good mood.”

“How come you don’t have security cameras?”

“Don’t need them. If someone commits a crime, where are they going to go?” He spread his hands. “It’s a fucking island.”

Cate couldn’t hold back a smile. Jerry hadn’t changed. “Good to see you, Jerry.” She held up a hand in goodbye and turned toward the door.

“You too, Cate. You here to stay?”

She paused, her hand on the door. “No. Just visiting. Doing a little work.”

“Too bad. I always pegged you and your brother for longtimers. I knew Logan would be back.”

“Maybe someday.”

The door pulled open, and she let go as a man stepped inside. Adam Jacobs. Son of the water taxi driver who’d driven her to Ruby’s Island the night the remains were found. He drew up short as he recognized her, guilt crossing his face.

“Hey, Adam,” she said, enjoying his embarrassment from being seen in the shop by an FBI agent.

“Cate. You sh-shopping?” he stuttered.

“Nope, just talking to Jerry. See ya.”

She pushed the door back open and stepped outside, still entertained by Adam’s shock. If you’re going to buy the stuff, don’t act like a felon. Retying her scarf, she looked up and down the street. Not a car in sight.

Not like back on the mainland. She pictured her Bellingham office. A small hive of action and energy.

I’ll be back to work soon.

She moaned as she remembered she needed to inform her boss the bones had been stolen. Pulling out her phone, she dreaded the call. She was tempted to wait and see if they could locate the bones before the ferry arrived.

Dream on.

“Cate? Is that you, honey?”

A woman approached, covered from head to toe in heavy winter wear with only her eyes and nose showing. It took Cate a moment to place the green eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Bishop,” she said, watching the woman closely, remembering that Samantha’s mother wasn’t mentally steady.

Marsha Bishop’s eyes warmed. “It’s so good to see you. I’d heard you were back.”

“Just for a bit.”

“And you’re an FBI agent now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Seems like yesterday you three girls were having sleepovers at our house.” Her gaze was distant. “Music and chatter until all hours of the morning. I miss those days.”

“Those were good times.”

Marsha’s eyes sharpened. “You’ve got to find her, Cate. You and Tessa. No one knows her like the two of you do.”

Cate couldn’t speak. Does she not realize it’s been years since Samantha vanished?

“Those police didn’t take it seriously. They think she’s dead.” Marsha scoffed. “Ridiculous.” Her eyes pleaded with Cate.

“I’ll see what I can do.” What else can I say?

Marsha brightened immediately. “Thank you, dear. I need to get going. Give your grandmother my love.”

She moved past Cate, humming under her breath.

Cate watched her leave and was swamped with guilt about her missing friend.

It can’t hurt to review Samantha’s paperwork.

Henry had swept and vacuumed up the glass and then hammered a piece of plywood over the window from the outside. It looked cheap and ugly, but it would have to do until he found someone to replace the glass. He’d looked online, and no one on the island did window or glass repair.

He wasn’t surprised.

He started scrubbing at the fingerprint powder and made the mess worse. The fine powder simply smeared, unwilling to detach from any surface.

The bell on the office door jingled, and he went out front, happy to step away from the mess in the back. He was pleasantly surprised to see Jane Sutton.

“Morning, Ms. Sutton. Are your hands still bothering you?”

“Oh, no. I just stopped by to see if you needed any help cleaning up.”

Am I more surprised at the offer of help or the fact that she knows I have a mess?

“Do you know everything that happens on the island?” he asked in full seriousness.

“Of course not.” She brushed aside his question with a hand. “I just know how pesky that fingerprint dust can be.” She held up a spray bottle. “I brought this for you.” Her eyes twinkled. “My special mixture.”

“You deal with fingerprint dust often?” he asked dryly, reaching for the bottle.

“Cate was fascinated with law enforcement when she was younger. She went through a stage where she was lifting fingerprints from all over the house. Took me a while, but I put together a recipe that works.”

“You didn’t tell me you were Cate’s grandmother when you were here the other day.” Henry gestured for her to follow him into the back of the clinic.

“You didn’t ask.”

He snorted, liking the woman more and more by the minute. “She was always into crimes, huh?” he asked as he sprayed a light-switch plate.

“Not until her friend Samantha vanished. Then both she and Tessa started talking about careers in law enforcement.”

Henry wiped the light switch and was astonished as the black dust seemed to jump onto his paper towel. “What happens in someone’s past can guide their future,” he said, thinking of his sister.

“She didn’t have to go all the way to the mainland to be in law enforcement,” Jane stated.

Henry glanced back at Jane. She was watching him closely. “Cate told me she’d been shot.”

Jane’s face fell. “She was,” she said softly.

“What exactly happened?” Cate had avoided details at lunch.

“A routine visit. Low threat. She and another agent went to interview a potential witness. They were on the porch, knocked, and when the door opened, the man fired on both of them.”

Henry slowly turned to Jane, horrified by the image in his mind. “I’d never be able to knock on another door.”

Jane nodded. “The other agent died. They were close friends.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three weeks. I convinced her to come to the island. She has a few more weeks of medical leave.”

“She looks good. I would have never guessed.”

“The island heals,” Jane said simply. “Hurting people come from all over the world. Chronic illnesses, broken hearts, cancer survivors. Many never leave. They find peace. A serenity.”

“Some say being near a body of water will do that,” Henry found himself saying. Am I validating her claim?

“That’s a big part of it. Now Cate and Logan have returned, both damaged inside and needing to heal. The island is in their blood; it pulls at them, but their mother moved away when the children were young. She didn’t belong here.”

“Wait.” Henry was confused. “How can your own daughter not belong here?”

“Believe me, it broke my heart and the hearts of her children. But the island will gently expel those who don’t belong.” He must have looked aghast because she held up her hands in reassurance. “They’re meant to live somewhere else in the world. They have a home, and they’ll find it.”

“And Cate should live here,” he said flatly. This is a bunch of crap.

“Yes.”

“You’ve told her this?”

“No. Of course not. You can’t force anyone to stay. You just know.”

Henry studied the older woman; she looked completely serious. “Is this more island hazing or tales?”

Her smile was sad. “No.”

“Why are you telling me this? I just got here.”

“Because I see and feel it in you, Henry. You’re meant to stay.” She tipped her head to one side. “Right? How did you feel when you first stepped off the ferry?”

He didn’t speak, remembering the sense of relief and peace that had pervaded him. He’d believed it was because he hadn’t taken a vacation in years.

She took his silence for affirmation. “You know. Cate knows too. But like any stubborn islander, she’ll continue to fight it for a bit.”

“Sounds like a waste of time.”

“Maybe. I have faith she’ll listen to her heart this visit.”

What have I gotten into?

11

After leaving Jerry’s shop, Cate walked back to Henry’s clinic, intending to pick up her car and drive to Bishop Bay to continue following Becca Conan’s last twenty-four hours.

Henry stepped out of the clinic’s front door, a garbage bag in his hands, and waved at her as she stopped near her vehicle.

She paused, wondering if he’d discovered anything else about his break-in.

“You just missed your grandmother,” he told her.

The dimple in his left cheek caught her attention, and she forced her gaze to his brown eyes. “Uh-oh. What did she tell you?”

Her cell phone rang, and she checked the screen. Tessa. “Hang on, I need to take this,” she told Henry as she accepted the call. “This is Cate.”

“Cate, Rex Conan just called in a fire and a shooting on Ruby’s Island.”

Alarm shot through her. “A shooting? What happened?”

Henry stepped closer. “Shooting?” he asked.

“His nephew, Dustin, was shot while investigating the fire. Rex said he sent him to the south end of the island because he’d spotted smoke. He figured it was teenagers building a fire on the beach, but Dustin called him saying he’d been shot and that the lighthouse was on fire.”

Leaving Henry, Cate ran across the road from the clinic and stopped at the fence to get a view of Ruby’s Island across the bay. Sure enough, a faint stream of smoke rose from the far end. She clutched her phone to her ear. “I can see the smoke. Is Dustin okay? Who shot him?”

Henry appeared beside her and stared out at the smoke. “Who’s been shot?”

“Dustin Conan,” she whispered. “On the island.”

Tessa continued. “Rex says it winged his upper arm, and all Dustin knows is that a man shot him.” Tessa paused. “Cate . . . Dustin told Rex the man had a bin of bones.”

Shock stole Cate’s breath. “Did you tell Rex the bones had been stolen?”

“No. It didn’t seem like the right time.” Tessa sounded grim. “Why do you think this man brought the bones back to the island?”

“I have no idea.” Cate’s mind raced. Why?

“Bruce and I were in Bishopton when the call came, and now we’re headed to the marina to take out the sheriff’s boat. I called the fire department, and they’re pulling together a crew to take the fireboat to the island.”

Cate’s heart sped up. Too much time. Tessa is over a half hour away. The fire department was made up of volunteers. It’d take even more time to get to the fire.

“I’m closer,” Cate said. “I’ll drive to Harlot Harbor and get the water taxi—wait!” Cate ducked under a fence rail and darted down the steep bank, stepping carefully on the big, rough rocks until she reached the tiny, dirty beach and could see south to the pier. Adam is still here.

“The water taxi is tied up at the North Sound pier. I can be on the island in fifteen minutes.”

“Be careful, Cate.” Tessa ended the call, and Cate scrambled back up the bank to the road.

“Is Dustin okay?” Henry asked as he met her, the garbage bag still in his hand.

“I think so. Someone set the lighthouse on fire and took the shot at Dustin.” She took a deep breath. “Dustin says the man has a bin of bones.”

Henry’s mouth fell open. “Holy crap. What’s he doing with them? And how do you put out a fire on an island?”

Cate only knew the answer to one of his questions. “The fireboat’s water cannons can reach the lighthouse. I need to get to Adam’s water taxi before he leaves the pier.”

“I’m coming with you. Let me grab a medical kit.” Henry ran across the street and through the front door of his clinic. He came out five seconds later without the garbage bag and carrying a case that looked like a large fishing tackle box. “Let’s go.”

They caught Adam on the pier as he untied his boat.

“We need to get to Ruby’s Island now!” Cate ordered as she stepped down into his boat.

“I’ve got a pickup in Harlot’s,” Adam told her from the dock with a glare. “You’ll have to wait.”

“We’ve got a fire and gunshots on Ruby’s,” Cate informed him. “Get moving.”

To her relief, Adam threw the ropes on the boat and followed Henry down the steps.

“On it,” Adam replied. He put the boat in reverse and gunned the engine.

She almost forgave him for his lecherous stares from her first ride.

Fifteen minutes later, they were at the small boat dock on Ruby’s Island. The lighthouse fire was raging out of control, a tall tower of flames.

“There’s no saving it,” Cate whispered to Henry, her throat growing thick at the sight. A piece of my past.

“I don’t recognize that boat,” Adam said, pointing with his chin at a tied-up boat as he pulled up to the dock. He hopped out and stayed low, tying up his own boat. The fire whooshed and crackled, filling the quiet island with its noise of destruction. Ash blew around the dock like snowflakes. Cate covered the area, searching for a gunman. Her weapon stopped on a man who staggered out of the woods, waving one arm at them. Dustin.

His other arm was tucked inside his coat, and he struggled to keep his footing as he came down the steep bank to the dock. His kit in hand, Henry leaped out of the boat to meet Dustin, and Cate followed, keeping one eye on their surroundings.

Dustin collapsed on the dock, catching himself with his good arm. “I’ve been shot!” he gasped, his eyes wide and his cheeks tearstained. Now that he was closer, Cate saw dark blood had stained one arm of his navy coat. He was lightly coated with ash.

Henry knelt beside him, laying him down on his back. “We know.”

The young man closed his eyes. “Fucking hurts!”

Henry eased Dustin’s good arm out of his sleeve.

“Dustin,” Cate asked. “Who shot you?”

“A guy,” he panted. “Don’t know him. He was digging in the same place where you found those bones. He had a bin of bones with him, and I think he was going to bury them too.” He shrieked as Henry moved his other arm.

“Dustin, I’m sorry to make you talk,” said Cate, “but we need to know what’s happening. Did he say anything to you?” Loud snapping sounds from the burning lighthouse made Cate and Henry duck. Looking back, Cate saw a large piece of flaming debris fall to the ground. We’re far enough away to be safe.

“When I spotted him, I asked him how the lighthouse caught on fire. Startled him. He was already digging.” He moaned as Henry did something to his upper arm.

“And?”

“He pointed a gun at me and said he set the fire. I put my hands up and was backing away when he shot. It hit my arm, and I ran into the woods. Hey! Watch it!” he yelled at Henry. “Fuuuuuuck!” His body arched in pain.

Henry didn’t flinch and continued to rinse Dustin’s wound.

“I’m going to find him,” Cate told the two of them.

“That guy is nuts,” Dustin said, shooting angry looks at his doctor.

“What do you mean?” asked Cate as she started to leave.

“He said he had to burn the ghost in the lighthouse.”

Cate and Henry stared at each other. “The ghost?” Henry asked.

“Yeah. I assumed he meant Ruby. Everyone says she lives there. He’s an idiot. You can’t kill a ghost,” Dustin muttered and then clenched his teeth together.

“Noted. I’ll be back.” She checked her weapon again and brushed ash from her eyelashes.

“Cate! Shouldn’t you wait for backup?” Henry sat on his heels, his eyes locked on her.

“No. We’ve got an active shooter. Procedure is to go after him.”

A long moment stretched between them. Henry pressed his lips into a thin line, and he gave a short nod. Cate turned and dashed up the hill.

Cate bent low under the trees, leading with her weapon, keeping her ears open. She’d kept far to the right from where the bones had been found, hoping to loop around and come in from the north, where she remembered there were boulders she could use for cover.

As she moved away from the fire, its roar quieted, and she listened for sounds of digging.

I hear him.

She reached the boulders and carefully looked around one.

Twenty feet away, a tall man with his back to her thrust his shovel in the loose dirt. The bin with the young girl’s bones was beside him. Cate looked for his weapon. She didn’t see it. She took a breath, ready to identify herself, when she realized he was crying. Blubbering crying. Heaves-and-snot-and-choking-breaths crying. He was muttering something between the shovelfuls of dirt, and she strained to hear it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“FBI!” she shouted. “Put down your weapon, and get on your knees.”

The man jerked and spun in her direction, his shovel in his hands.

Milton. The stuffy waiter.

Cate stared. Why . . .

She didn’t have time to figure it out. A man had been shot. “Where’s your weapon, Milton?” she shouted. “Throw it aside!”

“I didn’t mean to do it!” he shrieked, his face wet with tears. He ran the back of his hand under his nose. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Throw aside your gun. Then you can tell me what happened.” Where is his gun?

He clutched the shovel. “You don’t understand. It was an accident!”

“What was an accident?” At least his hands are occupied with the shovel.

“The girl. I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was to be just for a few days.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Milton, and I’m still waiting for you to get rid of your gun!”

“I was going to bring her back. She was fine!”

“Who?”

“The girl. Becca.”

Cate’s heart sank. “Becca Conan? Did you . . . hurt Becca?”

“It was an accident!”

Metal pressed into the back of Cate’s head. “Lower your weapon,” said a female voice.

Ice ripped through Cate’s limbs, and she fought to breathe.

I screwed up. I didn’t check for another person.

“Weapon. Now!” the woman ordered.

Her heart pounding, Cate lowered her weapon and slowly turned her head, trying to see behind her out of the corner of her eye.

Naomi.

Did she kill Becca with Milton?

“Drop the gun.”

Cate let the weapon fall to one side. Backup is coming. But when?

She was on her own.

At Naomi’s urging, she stepped out from behind the rocks and moved toward the hole. Milton had stopped to watch. Tears continued to track down his cheeks.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Naomi,” he pleaded.

“Then you shouldn’t have set the lighthouse on fire for everyone to see!”

“I had no choice!” He raised the shovel as if to fling it at Cate and Naomi. “She wouldn’t shut up!”

“No one was talking to you!” Naomi snapped at him.

“I could hear her!”

“Who was talking to you?” asked Cate, remembering Dustin’s comment about burning out the ghost.

“Shut up,” muttered Naomi behind her. “Don’t encourage him.”

“She told me I’d pay for what I did to Becca,” he choked out. “I’m trying to make it right.” He gestured at the hole.

He killed Becca.

Why?

“You buried Becca here?” Cate asked. She got a rap on the back of her head with the gun for the question.

“She wasn’t supposed to die,” he wailed. “But she tried to escape, and I tackled her and she fought me and I pinned her—”

“Milton. Shut. Up.” Naomi was livid.

“You knew all along what had happened to Becca,” Cate said to Naomi. Hurry up, Tessa. “You helped him cover it up.”

“Wrong,” Naomi sneered.

“Naomi had nothing to do with this,” Milton said earnestly. “She didn’t know anything about Becca until her bones were found.”

“Why are you reburying the bones, Milton?” Cate asked softly. He wasn’t in his right mind. The formal waiter had been replaced with a crazy-eyed man with a shovel on the verge of a breakdown.

“I tried to take care of her, and I brought her back to her home because I messed up. But you guys dug her up and put her in a bin!” He placed a gentle hand on the bin. “She belongs in the ground on her island.”

He’s cracked.

“You haven’t done anything wrong yet, Naomi,” Cate said to the woman behind her. “You didn’t kill Becca. Let me go so we can get Milton some help.”

“Shut up.” Naomi ground the muzzle into Cate’s hair. “You don’t know what he needs.”

“Tell me.”

“He’s a good man,” Naomi said. “He took Becca so her father would ransom her and he could save his dream. Two years ago he needed money to save The Little Garden restaurant before it failed. He was the owner; it was his heart and soul. He had to sell it, and now he’s just a waiter.” Her voice broke.

A ransom? Milton needed money?

“I’m sure a prosecutor will take his desperate situation into consideration.” Not in your dreams. “But how did she die?”

Naomi lowered her voice. “I think he choked her. He said she tried to run away and stopped breathing when he had his hands on her throat.” Her voice faltered. “He brought her back home after that. He really means well.” She sniffed.

How can she pity him?

“I can get him some help,” Cate told her. “He needs to be examined by a psy—”

“No! He’s fine! He just needs to get past this! If the bones hadn’t been found, today would be like any other day!” She shoved Cate in the back, making her trip and fall on her hands and knees. “I won’t let you take him!”

Cate heard a click behind her as Naomi released the safety on her weapon.

This isn’t happening.

She was still on her knees, her mind racing for a way out.

Turn and attack. I’ve got nothing to lose.

She sucked in a breath and prepared to lunge.

A gunshot roared, and Cate flung to her stomach, her hands protecting her head. She lay in the dirt, frozen as she waited for the pain.

“Noooooo! Naomi!” Milton cried out, agony in his voice. Cate lifted her head. Milton ran directly at her, his shovel raised over his head. His face contorted. His mouth was open in a scream. Cate pulled up into a crouch, prepared to tackle the crazy man.

He jerked, spinning to his left as a second gunshot filled the air, and he fell to the ground.

Cate whirled around, expecting to see Tessa.

Rex Conan stood by the rocks, his rifle still aimed at Milton. His face sagged, and the weapon shook in his hands. Naomi was on the ground, moaning softly as she bled from a hole in her gut. Milton writhed and wailed, clamping his hands to his collarbone. Cate kicked Naomi’s gun aside and pulled off her jacket, then made a pad to press against the woman’s stomach. With one hand applying pressure to Naomi’s wound, Cate quickly checked her for more weapons. She looked up at Rex. “Come hold this,” she ordered. He leaned his rifle against a boulder and knelt by Cate, his trembling hands taking over the pressure.

“You heard what Milton said?” Cate asked.

“I did.” His face was wet with tears. “Becca’s disappearance tore a permanent hole in my heart. Nothing can fix it. Not even shooting her killer will fix it.”

“Thank you for firing,” Cate told him. “Naomi would have put a bullet in my head.”

Rex stared at the woman moaning under his hands. “For thirty years I’ve written about shooting the bad guys. I don’t ever want to experience it in real life again.” He swallowed hard and pressed on the padding. “Hang on,” he told Naomi.

Cate turned to go help Milton and found his gun next to the bin.

“Cate?” Tessa shouted from the edge of the woods. She and Bruce had their weapons trained on Cate’s group.

“All clear,” Cate yelled. “We need Henry!”

She reached Milton and knelt next to him, fumbling to stop his bleeding while frisking him for more weapons. She found two folding knives in his pockets and threw them to the side.

He turned his head and looked past her. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened. “I tried,” he whispered hoarsely. “I tried. Leave me alone.”

What? Cate frowned and looked behind her, catching a glimpse of an evaporating white wisp.

An icy pocket of air settled on her, and an electric tickle went up her spine.

Ruby.

12

Henry opened the door to exam room two and was stunned to see Cate sitting on the table.

It’d been five days since the events on Ruby’s Island. Cate had vanished the next day, taking the box of bones to the FBI lab and reporting to her supervisors about the events that had unfolded on the island. Henry had run into Jane at the market, and she had informed him Cate would return but didn’t know when. Henry had wanted to call her . . . text her . . . do something, but he didn’t have her number and couldn’t bring himself to ask Jane.

So he had waited.

“You’re back,” Henry said as he stepped inside the exam room. Cate had dark circles under her eyes and looked like she hadn’t slept in days. He couldn’t look away. She was still beautiful.

“Just this morning.”

They both stood in silence, the air humming with unasked questions.

“Are you ill?” he finally asked.

She gave a soft snort, and her lips stretched into a smile. “No. Unless you count insomnia.”

“That counts.” He held her gaze. “I’ve had my own sleepless nights. You know . . . when I found you holding pressure on Milton’s chest, you had been splashed with blood. I thought you’d been hit.” The sight had made his heart stop. “I’ve had a hard time getting that image out of my mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He set his clinic laptop on the counter and hopped up on the table next to her, needing to get some of that horrible day off his chest. His leg was two inches away from hers, and her body heat touched him. “I’d heard the shots as I worked on Dustin. I’d expected the worst.” He tapped a heel against the table. “I’ll never complain again about how quiet this clinic is. Three GSWs in one night was like being back in an LA emergency room.” He turned his head to her, but she was looking at her lap. “How is your gunshot injury?”

“Not bad.” She touched the front of her shoulder as she met his gaze. “My strength isn’t back yet.”

“It’s way too early for that. Can I see it?”

Her chin came up, and defense rose in her eyes.

“You don’t have to.” I overstepped.

For a long moment she searched his eyes, and he sensed her indecision. Looking away, she inhaled and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, then slid the fabric off her shoulder. The wound was dark pink and puckered, but he knew it’d fade over time. If it’d been three or four inches lower, she could have died. He gently pressed the unharmed tissue around it. She slightly flinched and brought her gaze back to his.

“It looks good.”

She pulled her shirt back into place. “I asked for an additional month of leave. I didn’t expect to have a gun pointed at my head during my medical leave. I’ve learned I need more time before I return to work, and I want to sleep through the night without nightmares.”

“Is that why you’re here? For insomnia?”

“No.” She met his gaze. “I wanted to tell you in person that I wasn’t leaving anytime soon.”

“You’ll be staying on Widow’s?” He held his breath.

“Yes.”

Her answer made him smile.

“I feel better here. Jane is right about this place helping me heal.”

“I’ve felt it too,” admitted Henry. “I’ve always had a lot of anger simmering under my skin. It’s been gone since I stepped off the ferry.”

“Anger?” Surprise shone in her eyes.

“Yes. Working in a big-city ER made me skeptical that something could ever be done for the drug addicts. I couldn’t make a dent in LA. But here . . .” He glanced at the exam room’s new glass window. “Here I think I can make a difference. Some sort of outreach program . . . I don’t know the details yet, but ideas have been spinning in my head. They give me hope.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad you’ll be around longer,” Henry admitted.

“Oh yeah?” She grinned and raised a brow.

“Yeah. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Her grin was radiant. “I’d love to.”

Cate held the carton of ice cream so Tessa could easily reach it with her spoon.

They’d agreed to meet at Widow’s Walk after lunch. Cate had driven all the way into Bishopton on the opposite tip of the island to buy ice cream to share with her friend. It’d been nearly ninety minutes out of her way, but she’d needed to see the even rows of organic ice cream tubs and feel the smoothness of the ice cream on her tongue.

Cate and Tessa leaned against the railing, looking across the bay at Camilla’s Island. The day was chilly, and the gray sky was covered in dreary clouds, but there was no wind. It felt wrong to eat ice cream outside in that weather, but Tessa hadn’t complained.

“Milton and Naomi are both being prosecuted,” Tessa said between bites. “Milton for murder. Naomi is lucky she didn’t shoot you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” stated Cate. “Rex said he’s going to bury Becca in the cemetery here. His wife is upset that he’s not doing it in New York, but he swears he’s never moving back to the East Coast. She’ll have to settle for visits.”

“I can tell Rex likes it here,” said Tessa. “He fits, you know?”

“He does,” agreed Cate. The women were quiet for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s comfortable presence. I’ve missed this. Nothing can replace a close friend.

Especially one who knew Cate inside and out.

“I ran into Marsha Bishop,” started Cate. “She wants me to look into Samantha’s case.” She watched Tessa for her reaction.

Tessa sighed. “I haven’t been able to get Samantha out of my head since we found those bones.”

“It can’t hurt to read over the files. Maybe we can find something that was missed . . . or see new possibilities to investigate.”

Tessa dug her spoon into the carton. “I may have already requested the files.”

Cate grinned and elbowed her in the ribs. “May have?”

Of course we’re on the same page.

“Okay. I did. I need something to read in the evenings.”

“I have a lot of spare time,” added Cate. “I’ve got at least six weeks of leave left.”

The women looked solemnly at each other, and Tessa held up a spoon of white chocolate curry ice cream. “To Samantha.”

“To Samantha,” echoed Cate, imitating the ice cream salute.

I hope we can bring you home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

After writing ten Rogue River novellas, we were ready to write about new characters and a new location. A trip to the beautiful San Juan Islands convinced us a Pacific Northwest island would be a fabulous setting for more mystery and murder, and the concept of Widow’s Island was born. We carried over a couple of characters from Rogue River—we weren’t ready to leave it completely behind. Thank you to Montlake and our editor, Anh Schluep, for your enthusiasm about this project. Thank you to Charlotte Herscher for helping us sound like we know what we’re doing. Thank you to our readers who loved our first novella series and constantly begged for more. We hope you enjoy Widow’s Island as much as we do.

Kendra Elliot

Melinda Leigh

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kendra Elliot has landed on the Wall Street Journal bestseller list multiple times. She is the award-winning author of the Bone Secrets and Callahan & McLane series, as well as the Mercy Kilpatrick novels: A Merciful Death, A Merciful Truth, A Merciful Secret, and A Merciful Silence. Elliot is a three-time winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award and was an International Thriller Writers finalist and an RT Award finalist. She has always been a voracious reader, cutting her teeth on classic female heroines such as Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Laura Ingalls. She was born and raised and still lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest with her family, but she looks forward to the day she can live in flip-flops. Learn more at www.kendraelliot.com.