Stranger on the Shore, стр. 5

Chloe gave another of those very white, very red smiles. “The photo of you in a Santa hat at the Banner Chronicle Christmas party. After Grandy announced you were coming to stay, I googled you.” She shrugged, hands spread wide in a kind of what-can-you-do? The blue beaded bracelets on her wrists made a clicking sound. “What kind of a name is Griffin?”

“What kind of a name is Chloe?”

“Sexy. Stylish.”

Uh-oh.

“Well—” Griff awkwardly gestured behind him, “—it was nice of you to—I was just unpacking.”

“Leave that,” Chloe told him. “I was thinking we could grab a late lunch and I’ll show you around town.”

Maybe she didn’t realize how she sounded, like she was telling the under butler to give the fish forks another polish.

“Thanks, but I already had lunch.”

Chloe frowned. “Where?”

“Muttontown.” Syosset, actually. And it had been coffee and a bear claw at Dunkin’ Donuts, but he wasn’t hungry. Still too keyed up. He got like that when he was working.

She thought this over. “You can come and keep me company.”

“That’s really kind of you, but I want to get settled in and go over my notes. I’ve only got a couple of days here and there’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“Oh my God. The famous book.” She shook her head.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I know. We all know. It’s all we’ve been hearing about for the last two weeks. But it’s been twenty years. No one cares anymore.”

“Your grandfather cares.”

“Yeah, and you care. We know. But Brian was four when he disappeared. I’m sure he was adorable and I’m sure it was horrible at the time, but it’s not like he had developed a personality. I think everybody missed the idea of him more than him. Anyway, his parents aren’t even alive now.”

“Jeez. You’re all heart,” Griff said.

“I’m just being honest. I’m telling you what everyone else will be too polite to say to your face. How is finding Brian buried under the floorboards of one of these cottages going to make things better?”

His expression must have given him away. Chloe added, “I don’t mean literally under the floorboards. Though who knows? Maybe. I just mean, twenty years is too late to do anyone any good.”

“Your grandfather wants to know the full story. He has a right to know.”

She tipped her head sideways, her expression puzzled. “Are you really going to keep skulking up there?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you coming down here or do I have to go up there?”

Griff straightened. “I’ll—”

Too late. Chloe was already on her way up the staircase.

What the heck? Was he going to have members of the family traipsing through the cottage while he was trying to work? Maybe a motel would have been a better idea.

“Anyway, it’s not like I care,” Chloe assured him as she reached the top of the stairs and sauntered toward him. “We can still have fun even if you are wasting your time.”

“Fun?” he said cautiously.

Up close, she was very thin. Too thin. And tall. She was as tall as he was, and he was just over medium height. She was wearing a spicy, exotic perfume. She did not smell—or look—like girls in Wisconsin, let alone Janesville, though it was hard to pinpoint what exactly was so different about her. Maybe it was just attitude.

“Sure. Fun.” She was crowding into his space, her face tilted challengingly, and he realized uncomfortably where she thought this was going.

“Uh...hey,” Griff said feebly, trying to step back without looking like he was retreating.

Was this really how it worked for girls like her? Did it work like this for the boys of her social strata too?

After a couple of seconds the sparkle died out of her blue eyes. Her knowing smile faded. Another second passed and realization dawned on her face.

“Are you kidding me?” she demanded. “You’re gay?”

Now that, illogical or not, was really irritating. “Is that the only reason a guy might turn you down?”

Chloe glared, hands on her hips now. “Are you gay or not?”

Griff glared back. “Yeah, I’m gay.”

She relaxed. Sort of. She still frowned as she eyed him. “It’s becoming an epidemic.” Before Griff could respond to that, assuming he had a suitable response, she gave a short laugh. “It’s not going to do you any good with Pierce.”

Pierce. Right. The lawyer. The apparently homophobic lawyer. Great.

“I’m not worried about Pierce,” Griff said.

Chloe was turning, heading back the way she’d come. She threw over her shoulder, “You should be.”

* * *

Did rich people dress for dinner or was that just something out of old movies? Griff had no idea and he hadn’t thought to ask—wouldn’t have known how to ask. It was moot anyway because the closest thing he had to formal attire was a pair of dark jeans and the Tommy Hilfiger navy blazer he’d got on sale two years ago and wore to his city hall interviews.

Anyway, his clothes were clean and they fit right. That was all that anyone should give a damn about, right?

As he did up the buttons on his shirt, he could hear Levi jeering, “You’re just a reverse snob, Griff. Nobody is more judgmental than you.” Levi still getting the last word, even four months after their relationship was history.

Griff took a final glance in the mirror, swore, and headed back to the bathroom to have one last shot at slicking down the persistent cowlick that made him look about twelve. It didn’t seem to matter what kind of haircut he got, he always ended up looking like Dennis the Menace.

Finally, having run out of reasons to stall, Griff left the cottage, walking across the wooden bridge and hiking up the brick path to the villa. Bloodred sunset splashed across the ivory sky, but inside the tunnel of trees it was nearly dark. Discreet blue-white lights shone at the base of the trees to light the way.

The bees were gone, the birds silent. There was no sound but his footfalls on the old bricks. It was so quiet he thought he could hear the distant crash and thunder of waves.

Already he had a better sense of what the size of the estate meant in practical terms. So much ground to search, so many places to hide. Even if the kidnappers hadn’t had that significant head start, they would have had a number of advantages.

Griff left the shelter of the trees and the house stood before him, lights blazing in welcome. Of course, it wasn’t actually in welcome. It was in complete disregard for natural resources and indifference to utility bills.

He timed the distance it took to walk from the concealment of the trees to the back entrance of the house. Eleven minutes. And he wasn’t rushing. He could have run it in half that time. Even carrying a small child, it wouldn’t have taken much more than five. But for those five minutes he’d be in clear view of both the house and the gardens. Because of the party, there would have been people everywhere, and presumably the walkways would have been well lit.

Would the kid have been awake or asleep? If awake, he’d have been yelling, wouldn’t he? Crying at least? But maybe he wasn’t awake. Maybe he’d been drugged or knocked over his wee noggin. Which could explain why, even after the ransom had been paid, Brian hadn’t been returned. Maybe he hadn’t survived the first phase of the kidnapping.

Maybe he was buried somewhere on the estate.

A strange, shivery feeling slithered down Griff’s spine. Someone walking on your grave, his mother used to say. He glanced instinctively over his shoulder. It was twilight now, the first faint stars appearing in the sky, trees and shrubs and statuary throwing long, sinister shadows across the grass.

For the first time it occurred to him that if Brian’s kidnapping had been an inside job, that insider might still be alive. Alive and well and living on the estate.