Close to the Bone (Widow's Island #1)(23)

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.