The Shadow Box(21)

“What does Ford do that bothers Claire?” Conor asked.

“He’s confrontational,” Sloane said. “He came down to her studio two days ago while I was there with her and said awful things. He’d been drinking.”

“What did he say?”

“I barely remember,” Sloane said.

“Anything would help,” Conor said.

She cleared her throat. “Dumb stuff about her not belonging here, that the property had been in his family. That she’d married his father right after his mother went away because she wanted the money. As if she ever . . .”

“So what can we do for you?” Edward asked abruptly, interrupting his wife. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that we’re very upset. We always have a Memorial Day party. This year it was going to double as a fundraiser for Griffin, but with Claire missing, we decided to cancel.”

“Did either of you see Claire yesterday?” Conor asked, and he watched them shake their heads in unison.

“No,” Edward said, sliding a glance at his wife. “I was at the office, and Sloane was running around, shopping for the party.”

“All day?” Conor asked.

“Lots to do for the party,” she said, glancing at Edward. “Got to keep up appearances, you know?”

“Appearances?” Conor asked. She didn’t reply. “When were you home?” he asked.

“Well, I left here midmorning, came back for lunch and a swim, then headed out again. I went to Claire’s opening with Leonora and Abigail. I spotted you at the gallery. I actually saw you leave with Griffin. I guess that’s when you came here and found . . . she was gone, right?”

“Did you see Claire at any time while you were home?” Conor asked, leaving her question unanswered.

“No,” she said. “And it breaks my heart. I thought about running over after lunch, just to give her a hug and moral support for her show. But I figured she might be busy getting ready or with some last-minute touches on this one particular piece. It had special meaning to her, and she wanted to hold on to it longer than the others.”

“Which piece was it?” Conor asked.

“Fingerbone,” Sloane said. “Kind of disturbing.”

Conor nodded, picturing the skeleton hand. “Do you know why it meant so much to her?”

“She said it was inspired by something she saw when she was young.”

“Okay,” Conor said, remembering what Claire had asked him at dinner Monday night.

“Anyway,” Sloane said, frowning. “I didn’t go to her house. Everything might have been different if I had.”

“Yeah, you might have been bludgeoned or stabbed and strung up too,” Edward said. He looked at Conor. “I know, you’re wondering how I know, none of that is public knowledge. Griffin told me what you found in the garage. All the blood. It’s horrific.”

“She has to be alive,” Sloane said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Yes, we have to hope,” Edward said. Again, Conor was struck by the emotion in his face. “Is there anything else?”

“That’s all for now,” Conor said. He started to turn away, then stopped. “Just one more thing, completely separate. That insignia,” he said, pointing at Edward’s shirt pocket.

“Oh, that,” Sloane said. “It’s his secret society.”

Edward’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “It’s the crest for a men’s club I belong to. Sloane thinks women should be allowed to join.”

“The Last Monday Club. Actually, Claire and I just think it’s silly,” Sloane said.

“So Griffin’s a member too?” Conor asked.

Edward gave Sloane an angry glance and didn’t reply; chastened, Sloane stood stiffly and gave a single, brisk nod.

“How about Dan Benson?”

Neither of them replied. Conor thanked them and walked away. It had struck him when Sloane had mentioned the small-world connections all around that Edward had interrupted her, effectively cutting her off. Even more noteworthy had been the way Edward had clearly not wanted Sloane to tell him that Griffin belonged to the same men’s club. The secret society.

He would look into the Last Monday Club, including whether Dan Benson was a member. And he would talk to Ford Chase, find out how badly he resented Claire for moving into his family home at Catamount Bluff.





10





TOM


The USCG search for survivors of the Sallie B had been going on for fourteen hours. No one had been found, and no debris had been sighted since yesterday. Tom had been up all night. He felt himself flagging, but all he had to do was think of Gwen, nine, and Charlie, seven, to sharpen up. He stood on the bridge of Nehantic and drank black coffee.

Sallie Benson’s body had been recovered from the wreck. She had been trapped in the galley and badly burned in the blast. Divers had searched for the children, found no sign of them. They did, however, discover a large hole blown through the floorboards, indicating the explosion had come from the bilge.

Dan was at Easterly Hospital recovering from surgery. A length of the boat’s aluminum trim, turned into an arrow by the blast, had hit his chest. It had just missed his heart, punctured a lung. By all reports, he was frantic about his family. Tom knew that both Conor and Jen considered his changing statements about what happened to be suspicious—first saying “they got her,” then claiming that Sallie’s negligence had blown up the boat. Tom wasn’t sure where the investigation stood, but he assumed that until the explosion was ruled an accident, Dan himself was a suspect.