The Shadow Box(95)

I had already built the frame. It was fourteen-by-sixteen inches, four inches deep. I had cut basic shapes from balsa wood—the outline of the house, the crenellations of the towers—and glued them into place within the frame, ready to be adorned with other elements. Even with the anxiety of being home, the artist in me was pleased to see I had succeeded in giving the impression of Ravenscrag.

I counted on the fact that Griffin was so deeply uninterested in my work that he wouldn’t have disturbed this shadow box, and I was right about that. I lifted the false bottom and saw the envelope inside. This is what I had come for.

I pulled out the letter from Evans. It was written in blue ink on pale-blue stationery, in small, tight handwriting, and had arrived days before I was attacked. Finally, I had learned what she had been trying to tell me that night at Griffin’s fundraiser.

Dear Claire,

I am writing this by hand because Max reads my email, checks the call logs on my phone.

You know the Last Monday Club has twenty members. But within it is a much smaller group—my husband, his brother, Wade, and Griffin. Over the last two months those men have split from the club and come here to Ravenscrag. It is more private, and they need privacy as they strategize your husband’s election campaign. Alexander and Ford were at the last meeting.

They are the most powerful men in Connecticut, and they are counting on Griffin to eviscerate the laws and protections that hold their companies in check. They are counting on him, as governor, to deliver more riches, more power, to them all.

I have heard them talking. They believe that you have “something on him” that could prevent his election. You pose a threat to him—to them.

Perhaps my imagination is too vivid. Perhaps the danger to you is mostly in my head, but I strongly believe it’s greater than that, and you are not the only one. Dan Benson, another member of the club but not of the inner circle, “has something” on Griffin as well, and he also needs to be careful . . .

I heard footsteps and voices, so I quickly tucked the letter back into the envelope and looked out the window. Alexander and Emily were walking toward the beach with two children—I immediately recognized them from news stories: Gwen and Charlie Benson. I knew Gwen had been rescued, but I’d thought Charlie was dead. Like me, he had come back to life.

My emotions went wild—I wanted to grab the children, get them away from here. I hesitated for just a moment. I always believed that Alexander was kind. I’d seen him being gentle, not like Ford. Was it possible he and Emily had the children’s best interests at heart? No, I thought. He was just better able to hide his evil, like his father. He’d been at the meeting, part of the group targeting Dan and me. I had to save Gwen and Charlie.

I shoved the letter into my pocket, then took a deep breath. I stepped outside my studio door, ready to call to Alexander and pretend I still thought he was good. Hide the fact that I knew everything.

“Claire,” Griffin said quietly.

I wheeled around. The sound of his voice made my fists clench, ready to defend myself and fight him off. He was standing right there, ten feet away, in the shadow of the privet hedge.

“I wondered what happened to you,” he said.

“I escaped,” I said, staring into his green eyes.

“That’s unfortunate,” he said.

“I’ll scream,” I said, pointing at Alexander and Emily and the children.

“It won’t matter,” he said. “My sons will always help me.”

We had an audience—the four of them standing still, watching us. Would Griffin kill me right in front of them? I glanced at his hands; he didn’t seem to have a weapon.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” he said in an almost confessional tone. “I was planning to meet the children and get them set up.”

“The Benson children?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Their mother’s death was a terrible accident. Who could ever have guessed? Only Dan was supposed to die. A quick shot to his head after they docked at Block Island. And you were supposed to go, too, of course.”

“Why?”

“Because neither of you could be trusted to keep your mouths shut. To be discreet and loyal. You couldn’t forget Ellen.”

“And Marnie,” I said. “She deserves to be remembered too.”

“You see? You’re obsessed, how would you even know that? I never told you. I suppose there’s someone else out there who wants to take me down. You’re going to tell me who that is,” he said. “Jackie—you’ve talked to her about it?” Griffin asked.

I thought of Jackie and Spencer, clenched my jaw and felt a trickle of cold sweat run down my back, knowing I had to warn and protect them.

“I was young and . . . overactive,” Griffin said. “People make mistakes, but they deserve to be forgiven, especially when they’re in a life of public service. Let’s go inside, so you can tell me who else you’ve told,” he said. I stared at his eyes. They were the barometer of his rage, and they were still green.

“What about Gwen and Charlie?” I asked quickly. “You said you’re going to get them set up?”

“Of course,” he said. “They are innocent, and now they’re orphans.”

“You killed Dan?”

“Ford did. I told you, my sons will always help me.” He stared hard at me. “You’re worrying about the Benson children. Don’t. I know what it’s like to suffer as a child, to be badly treated, abandoned. I could never do that to them. They will be fine.”