The Shadow Box(68)

“Tear what apart?” Tom asked.

Gwen shrugged.

“Were they talking about your mother?” Lydia asked, her voice shaking.

“No, another lady.”

“What is the darkness behind her?” Jackie asked.

“A shadow. Where she lives in secret. They can’t see her.”

“How sad that she lives in a shadow,” Jackie said. “They said that?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes.”

“Is she a ghost?” Tom asked. “The way you drew her, her body looks hollow.”

“Not a ghost, she’s just clear.”

“Why clear?” Tom asked.

“That’s her name. Clear,” Gwen said. “They said Clear ruined everything.”

“What an odd name,” Lydia said, holding Gwen tighter.

“Wait,” Jackie said. “Could it have been ‘Claire’? Do you think they might have said Claire?”

Gwen looked up, eyes meeting Jackie’s, then Tom’s. She didn’t reply.

“And she lives in a shadow,” Jackie said.

“Shadow box,” Tom said, and Gwen nodded.





37





CONOR


“Whoa,” Conor said on the phone to his brother after Tom had spent five minutes on a stream-of-consciousness rant that sounded more like a tortured dream sequence than anything resembling reality.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Tom asked. “She said ‘Clear,’ but I’m sure she meant ‘Claire’—Jackie thought so too. Dan was on the phone with someone, and he said ‘she ruined everything’ and ‘she has to go.’”

“Gwen was hallucinating,” Conor said. “I’ve already said that, and you know it too. There’s no way a merman followed the Sallie B and rescued Charlie to take him to some enchanted mansion where a scary lady lives in a shadow.”

“She must have heard them say ‘shadow box,’” Tom said as if Conor hadn’t spoken.

Conor took a deep breath. He heard the strain in his brother’s voice and understood; Tom had been first on the scene of a horrible explosion, rescued the Bensons’ daughter but hadn’t found their son. Conor knew well the feeling of guilt when he couldn’t solve a case, provide answers to a family.

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Tom asked. “You sounded damned interested about her sketchbook, enough to go to the hospital with me. And now you can’t even be bothered to check it out?”

“Take a deep breath,” Conor said.

Tom did and let out a big exhale of frustration.

Conor was sitting at his desk at the barracks, staring at photos on his wall: of Claire Beaudry Chase, the garage where her blood had been found, and the evidence retrieved from the storm drain and gallery recycling can on Black Hall’s Main Street. He thought he had let Tom know he believed the theory had arisen to assuage guilt and grief; he had assumed his brother would have come around to realizing that by now.

“I think someone sabotaged the boat and took Charlie,” Tom said.

“It doesn’t track,” Conor said, trying to be patient. “Jen is working your case hard, and your own guy told her fuel had leaked into the bilge, and that’s what caused the boat to blow up. It’s an accident, pure and simple.”

“There are too many things that do track,” Tom said. “The name—Clear or Claire. And shadow—that has to refer to her work, shadow boxes, right? And the fact she was going to ruin everything.” He paused.

“And you think Dan was talking about Claire when he said ‘they got her,’” Conor said.

Tom cleared his throat. “Look, Jackie is really upset,” he said. “Claire was—is—her friend. She thinks this means something. We both do. Will you at least pass it on to Jen Miano? Did you even tell her about the sketchbook?”

“Of course I did.”

“Listen,” Tom said. “I took some photos of Gwen’s drawings. Okay if I text them to you? At least take a look?”

“Sure,” Conor said.

“Thanks,” Tom said in a subdued tone.

“Hey, meet me for a drink later, okay?” Conor asked. His worry was sharper now, knowing how a feeling of responsibility and failure in a case could lead to despair, and he wanted to lay eyes on Tom.

“Not today,” Tom said. “I’m on duty.”

“Be careful,” Conor said.

“You too,” Tom said.

Conor hung up. A few seconds later, his cell phone buzzed. Tom’s photos had come through. Conor stared at them, taking his time. Gwen had drawn detailed pictures of a castle, complete with gargoyles, crows, and black-clad guards. He saw the ones she’d done of “Clear,” the sea witch. The images didn’t change Conor’s mind, make him think that Gwen’s drawings were anything more than a traumatized girl’s attempt to keep her brother alive in her mind.

He put his phone in his pocket and went to look for Jen. He wondered how he was going to show her the photos and tell her what Tom had said without making his brother sound bonkers.





NINE DAYS LATER





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