The Shadow Box(43)

“Did she talk about Ellen?” Conor asked.

“No,” Alexander said. “And I think my brother’s wrong about Claire being obsessed with her or anyone. She’s an artist, she’s curious.”

“Let me ask you this, though: Why are you guys here today? In Claire’s studio?”

“Because I’m hungover like a motherfucker,” Ford said. “I didn’t want to drive home drunk last night. And I don’t feel like being up at the main house where my Dad might come in.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Conor asked.

Ford just stared at the ceiling.

“Our mother left because she’d rather drink than be with him. With us,” Alexander said, staring at Ford. “And our dad worries about Ford.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Ford said.

“How do you feel about Claire?” Conor asked.

Ford made a scoffing sound. “I told you, we didn’t get along. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, but it’s not making me drink.”

“What is, then?” Conor asked, taking note of the fact he had said didn’t twice—past tense, as if she weren’t coming back.

Ford clamped his lips together and his eyes tightly shut. Conor watched waves of pain pass through him. Alexander stared at his brother, brow-furrowed worry on his face. He looked at Conor.

“Someone Ford loved died,” Alexander said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Conor said.

Ford didn’t react.

“Can you tell me who?” Conor asked.

“Sallie,” Ford mumbled, and he turned toward the wall, perhaps so his brother and Conor wouldn’t see his emotion.

Conor’s pulse jumped. The mention of Ford in Sallie Benson’s letter now had context. He was facing the big window, and he spotted a tall young brown-haired woman running across the grass—not from the house but from the direction of the beach path that led to Hubbard’s Point. Alexander saw her too and met her at the door. She threw herself into his arms.

“Is Ford okay?” she asked.

“He is,” Alexander said, and when he looked at Conor, the young woman’s gaze followed.

“Oh,” she said, startled. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“I’m Detective Reid. And you?”

“Emily Coffin,” she said. “Alexander’s girlfriend. I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” Conor said.

“He’s investigating what happened to our stepmom,” Alexander said. He held Emily’s hand, and she leaned into his body.

“You’re Neil and Abigail’s daughter?” Conor asked, trying to keep the neighbors straight.

“I’m their niece—I live in Stonington.”

“That’s how Alexander and she got together,” Ford shot over his shoulder. “He and I live in her family’s guesthouse. Proximity makes the heart grow fonder.”

“We caretake the property when Emily’s parents are away,” Alexander explained.

“Emily, do you know Claire?” Conor asked.

“Not very well, unfortunately,” Emily said. “I’m not here that often. But I really like her—she’s always so nice to me. It’s horrible. The reporters keep talking about the blood.” She gazed expectantly at Conor, as if waiting for him to comment, but he didn’t.

“Dad says he’ll never go into the garage again,” Alexander said.

“I can imagine!” Emily said. “Is the blood still there? I mean not the actual blood but the stains? The stuff you can see with that chemical in the blue light?”

“It’ll never go away,” Alexander said, putting his arm around her.

Conor noticed Alexander glance over at Ford, but Ford hadn’t moved—he was still lying down.

“Ford,” Conor said. “When you said ‘Sallie,’ did you mean Sallie Benson?”

“Yes,” Alexander answered for his brother.

“You loved her?”

“Yeah,” Ford mumbled. “She was married, older than my mother; I’ve heard all about it. But none of that mattered.”

“When did you last see her?” Conor asked.

“Two days before the explosion,” Ford said, sitting up, looking unsteady even though he was on the daybed. “We had a fight. I was a fucking asshole. And she fucking killed herself because . . .” He choked on a sob.

“Because what?” Conor asked, taking note of the fact Ford thought Sallie committed suicide. Or he wanted Conor to think he did.

Ford shook his head and couldn’t speak.

“Ford told her husband,” Alexander said. “He told Dan, but he didn’t do it to be mean—he really loved Sallie. He wanted to be with her, that’s the whole thing. He thought if Dan knew, it would be easier for her to leave him. She’d have no choice.”

“Were you angry with her?” Conor asked. “When she didn’t leave him, when you had the fight?”

“Yes,” Ford said. “Because . . . I never even fucking slept with her. She wanted someone else. I mean, not her husband.”

“You going to tell me who?” Conor asked.