The Shadow Box(18)

Outside, tires crunched on the driveway.

Griffin checked his watch. “Seven fifteen, and they’re right on time.”

We both walked to the door, saw his two sons getting out of Ford’s black Porsche. They house-sat in a guest cottage on the estate of one of Griffin’s biggest political donors. It was thirty miles away, so they’d gotten up very early to get here.

Although they were twins, only Ford looked like Griffin. At twenty-one, he had his father’s height and build, the same cockiness, the same white streak in his dark hair. Alexander was taller but fair like Margot, less athletic, and sensitive. They walked into the kitchen dressed to go out on the boat: khaki shorts, polo shirts, ball caps. Alexander’s was from the Hawthorne Yacht Club; Ford’s was his college baseball team’s, worn backward.

“Well, you two are up with the sun!” Griffin said, smiling as if we hadn’t been fighting at all. He opened his arms, and both boys hugged him. “Isn’t this great!”

“You mentioned sailing, Dad,” Ford said. “Are we still on for that? And a photo op for the campaign?”

“Absolutely, we absolutely are on,” Griffin said.

“Hi, Claire,” Alexander said.

“Good morning,” I said. “Looks like a great day to be on the water.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Griffin asked, then gestured toward me and said sweetly, “It’s too bad Claire isn’t feeling up to joining us.”

“Are you okay?” Alexander asked.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“She’s just tired out,” Griffin said. “A bundle of nerves, getting ready for her exhibition. She’ll be the toast of the town once everyone sees her latest work. We’re proud of her, aren’t we, guys?”

Ford gravitated toward the stove. Although I had turned off the burner, the bacon was still sizzling in the skillet.

“Did you hear me?” Griffin asked. “Are you proud of your stepmother?”

“Griffin,” I said, “that’s okay.”

“I asked a question,” Griffin said.

“Definitely,” Alexander said quickly. “Your stuff is so cool, Claire.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ford use the spatula to take a slice of bacon out of the pan. He blew on it to cool it off, then bit it in half, crunching away. Griffin glared at him.

“I know the three of you will have a great time sailing,” I said, feeling the air fill with electricity.

“I never thought I could do it,” Griffin said. “Never.”

“What, Dad?” Ford asked.

“Raise a couple of animals.”

“Griffin—” I said.

Griffin crossed the kitchen in two steps and slapped the cap off Ford’s head; it landed in the bacon grease. “Eating straight out of the pan. Wearing caps in the house.” He turned toward Alexander, but he was already holding his yacht club cap in his hands. His face was pure white. The reaction seemed to please Griffin. He clapped Alexander on the shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Griffin said. “I want to catch the tide.”

“Should Alexander and I follow you in my car?” Ford asked.

“Alexander will ride with me. Why don’t you go home and try to get the bacon grease out of your hat? Try soaking it.”

“But Dad . . . ,” Ford said. Where Alexander had gone pale, Ford’s face had turned crimson.

“See you later. We’ll all meet at the yacht club for an early dinner,” Griffin said. Then he and Alexander walked into the garage, and I heard the barn doors swing open and Griffin’s car start up.

“Ford,” I began, walking toward him. He stood with his back to me, trying to fork his cap out of the skillet. “Just leave it. I’ll take care of it.”

“No, he said I have to,” Ford said. He wouldn’t turn around. I put my hand on his back, and I felt his shoulders quaking. We just stood there for a long time. The sound of Griffin’s car receded. Waves broke on the shore. Gulls cried as they flew over the house. After a while, Ford shook my hand away. I didn’t want to leave him, but I knew he couldn’t stand for me to see his tears.

I left the house and returned to my studio. I thought about crab claws and those bare twigs, of the shadow box I was about to make, of how it would be titled Fingerbone and dedicated to my husband.

Looking back, I wonder if Griffin was giving me one last chance by telling me to think about protecting instead of undermining him. Or had he already made up his mind that I was a liability and set his plan in motion?

Even though he’d pretended not to hear what I’d said at the tidal pool that morning, we both knew I’d been talking to Ellen and that I’d told her I was going to leave. But my leaving might raise too many questions, trigger “rumors and innuendo,” and he couldn’t let that happen.





ONE DAY LATER





9





CONOR


On Saturday morning, the forensics team was still processing the Chase house, and Conor Reid drove toward the scene. Everything had changed: they now knew the DNA belonged to Claire. It appeared the rope had been used to hang her from the rafter, that it had snapped under her weight. Blood loss from the fall was possible, but the amount, and the pattern on and around the car, suggested to Conor that she had been beaten, possibly stabbed.