The Shadow Box(13)

“So they were on deck with him?”

“Near him. In the toy boat. Tom, what if they both got thrown clear, along with him?”

“It’s awfully cold out here,” Tom said, scanning the sea. “Thanks, Alicia.”

Tom wondered if the explosion had occurred when Sallie had been below. Had the propane stove malfunctioned? Had something on the burner caught fire? Or had fuel leaked into the bilge, ignited by a spark?

Searchlights illuminated the ocean and sky. What if Sallie and the children, like Dan and the dog, had escaped the flames? Even if they had, it would be unlikely that they could survive the cold water and night air. Some personal floatation devices had whistles and waterproof flashlights attached. It would be hard to see through the brightness of the searchlights, difficult to hear over the drone of ship and aircraft engines, but Tom knew every officer on the search was keeping a sharp lookout.

Tom’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. The call was from his stepdaughter Hunter Tyrone. Inspired by Tom’s younger brother, Conor, she had joined the Connecticut State Police and was an eager rookie. Tom hit the default message button: Can’t talk now. Two seconds later she texted back: Emergency. Pick up!

She rang again, and this time he answered.

“Hunter, what is it?” he asked.

“Are you on SAR for the Benson family?”

“Yes, which is why I can’t talk now.”

“Tom, I’m at the hospital with Jake.” Her partner on the state police force. “Detective Miano is here too.”

“Jen, yeah?” Tom asked. Jen Miano had been Conor’s partner for a few years.

“She just finished talking to the dad—he’s out of surgery—and she’s going to call coast guard command, but I know how long it can take for information to get to you guys, so I wanted to make sure you heard it right away.”

“What’s she going to tell us?”

“First, that Dan said ‘they got her.’ He kept repeating it.”

“What does that mean?” Tom asked. “Was he talking about Sallie?”

“I don’t know. He was out of it. Detective Miano will ask him more when he’s awake. But listen, Tom—the kids might have made it. Dan said they were playing in the little boat, and he saw it floating away—intact—when he surfaced after the blast.”

“That was a toy raft,” Tom said. “I’ve already heard about it from our investigator.”

“No, it wasn’t a toy. He said the kids sometimes played in it, but it was an actual life raft. They could be alive. It’s completely possible.”

“Wow. Thanks, Hunter,” Tom said, hanging up fast. Then he radioed the rest of the fleet, and the SAR throttled up, taking on a whole new energy. The search was on for a small yellow boat with the two Benson children aboard.





FIVE DAYS EARLIER





8





CLAIRE


On Sunday morning I got up just before dawn. Griffin slept beside me, and I moved carefully, so I wouldn’t wake him. I turned on the coffee maker in the kitchen, then grabbed my red Patagonia fleece and walked outside. The air was chilly, the sun still below the horizon, the eastern sky starting to glow deep, clear blue.

Instead of taking the path through the woods, I climbed down rickety steps onto the beach. I walked the tide line, soothed by the sound of waves hitting the shore. As the sun rose, I began to collect shells and sea glass. Moonstones gleamed in the wet sand. They rattled as I filled my pockets. Walking the beach had always been my comfort and inspiration.

During a blizzard last December, an entire tree washed ashore. It had been uprooted by the wind, left here on our beach. Wind and waves had stripped off the bark, and what remained was a magnificent bone-white relic. With each subsequent storm, the branches and root system broke apart a little more. I always wondered where the tree had come from and stopped to look at it. Twigs and broken branches glistened in the early light; I picked up some of the smallest to add to my other treasures.

When I got to the cove, I couldn’t help going straight to the spot where I’d found Ellen Fielding’s body twenty-five years ago. I’d been coming here lately, pulled by a powerful force. Ellen and I had so much in common. We had both seen the other side of Griffin, the one he kept hidden from everyone else. I wondered if Margot had seen it too. I figured she had.

I used to place flowers in the pool where Ellen’s body had lain, but they seemed too pretty, too frivolous. So I’d started leaving pebbles, moonstones, and wishing rocks—smooth round stones perfectly encircled by a contrasting ring. I crouched down now, placed a handful of offerings just under the water’s shallow surface. It was as if no time had passed at all; I remembered the sound of the crabs. While I was there, I collected some empty crab shells and claws—no longer glossy, just dry and brittle, bleached a pale orange-red by sea and sun.

“I’m almost there, Ellen,” I whispered. “You’ve helped me get to this point. But I promise I will come back no matter what. I’m going to leave him. And I’m going to tell.”

“Who are you talking to?” Griffin asked. I jumped—so startled that I practically tumbled into the tide pool. He was standing right behind me. I hadn’t even heard him approach.