On Fire(17)

       
           



       

Caroline Granger was the first to greet her. "Riley, I'm so glad you  decided to come tonight. It's the very best thing you could do for  yourself."

Her warm words helped Riley to relax. She'd come to admire Caroline's grace and fine manners, her acute sense of duty.

Just sixty, an attractive woman with silvery-blond hair, her life had  been in limbo since Bennett's sudden, horrible death aboard the  Encounter. They'd been married only seven years. This was Caroline's  second experience with widowhood. Her first husband, a corporate  executive, had died of a heart attack when she was in her early forties.  She had no children, and she'd taken great pains not to overstep with  Bennett's two adult children. She was the sort of wife who made her  husband's interests her own, and even now, she was doing what she could  to support the center and provide a smooth transition to the next  generation of Grangers.

"I heard about Captain Cassain," she said.

"I can't imagine what it must have been like for you."

"It was pretty awful."

"Yes, so I gathered from what the police told me. They interviewed me  earlier this afternoon. They asked about Sam's visit to Maine. He  stopped by the cocktail party--did you see him?"

Riley shook her head.

"No. I spent most of the cocktail party trying not to hyperventilate, so I was glad just to be back on terra firma.

I'll get over it, but that was my first time on a boat since. " She didn't finish.

"I understand," Caroline said quickly.

"Well, Sam didn't stay long. He was in a good mood. But..." She smiled.

"Enough said about that. How's Emile? I heard he's gone off on one of  his jaunts. His timing's awkward, but I told the police this was vintage  Emile.

I miss him. I know that's heresy in some quarters, but it's true. "

"It was good to see him." Riley swept a glass of champagne from a nearby  table. She knew she should abstain from alcohol under the  circumstances, but the champagne went down easily.

"I think he likes his new life."

"So long as he's close to the ocean, he'll do fine." Her eyes misted,  and Riley wondered how many glasses of champagne she'd had.

"Ben loved your grandfather. They accepted each other's weaknesses along  with their strengths. Even if Emile did make a mistake, Ben wouldn't  have wanted to see him..." She stopped herself, manufactured another  society smile.

"It's a tragedy. I'm sure everyone can agree on that much. Now, tell me, how is Sig?"

"Painting again," Riley said, and they chatted for another minute before Caroline melted into the throng of other guests.

Her champagne finished, Riley slipped out to the courtyard, one of  Beacon Hill's many "secret" gardens. She paused at a classical stone  fountain. The gurgling water and sweet scent of end-of the-summer  flowers calmed her, made her feel less exposed and vulnerable. She  blamed Straker. Seeing him with the two Maine detectives had forced her  to admit he wasn't the obnoxious, raging teenager she'd pelted with a  rock at twelve--nor was he a salt-of the-earth Maine lobster man like  his father. He was an FBI agent. Confident, disciplined, self-possessed.

"Hey, kid."

She smiled at her father. He'd put on his one dinner suit, but no matter  what he wore, Richard always managed to look rumpled--and dinner  parties just made him awkward.

"Are you hiding, too?" she asked.

"Not yet. I saw you and came on out. Everything okay?" "I was thinking  about how I could go for a dozen whales stranding themselves on a Cape  Cod beach right about now. Isn't that awful?"

"It would take your mind off things."

"I shouldn't have come. Everyone knows about Sam. Everyone thinks Emile  had something to do with his death. They won't say so, but it's  obvious."

"Is that what you think?"

She sighed.

"I'm trying not to think."

"I was thinking about Sig." He glanced around the perfect little  courtyard garden, shaking his head. "Do you believe she's happy as a  Granger?"

"She's not a Granger. She's a Labreque-St. Joe. She just married a  Granger. It's a fine distinction, but one that's important to her, I  think." Riley caught herself.

"Or was my glass of champagne one glass too many and I'm not making any sense?"                       
       
           



       

"No, you're making a great deal of sense. You know, I always thought Sig  and Matt loved each other, and the rest--his money, her obliviousness  to it--wouldn't matter."

Riley grinned at him. "Is this my pragmatic father talking?"

He smiled.

"I'm a romantic at heart. Why else would I spend a lifetime working to save a doomed species of whale?"

He faced the fountain, his eyes half-closed, almost sad.

"You can ask someone to give up some things, but not their identity, not their soul."

"Do you think that's what Mart's done with Sig?"

"I don't know. I worry about them--but there's nothing I can do." He  pulled at his beard, seemed to shake off some dark thought. Then he  smiled, embarrassed.

"You see why I avoid dinner parties? I'm lousy at small talk. Two glasses of champagne and I turn into a blowhard."

Riley wondered if he knew Sig was pregnant, but it wasn't her secret to tell.

"Sig'll be okay. She's tough."

"You're both tough. Emile and your mother wouldn't have had it any other  way. Me, I'd like to have spoiled you rotten." He gave Riley's arm a  gentle squeeze.

"This will all work out. Sam's death, Emile. I know it will."

Dinner was announced. It was served buffet style, a comfortable mix of  Beacon Hill elegance and practical informality. Even after decades of  attending Granger parties, Riley thought with affection, her father  still looked as if he expected a live lobster to crawl out of his  pockets at any moment. He was much more confident and at ease studying  whales.

She managed to avoid anything controversial or seriously awkward through  the main course, and was just starting to eye the dessert table when  Matthew Granger barged into the elegant dining room.

Abigail gasped.

"Matthew! What's wrong?"

Fatigue clawed at his handsome features, and his blue eyes searched  among the guests gathered in the sparkling dining room. He wasn't  dressed for dinner. His clothes were casual, expensive, wrinkled. He  quaked with outrage, the out-of-control, obsessed antithesis of the  well-bred, contented man Riley remembered waiting for his bride at the  altar.

His angry gaze fixed on her. "Why the hell is John Straker hanging around outside?"

Suddenly the maple cheesecake didn't look so good. Damn Straker. What  kind of FBI agent was he that he couldn't snoop without being seen?

Riley noticed Henry Armistead's eyes narrowing on her with instant  concern and suspicion, and she heard Abigail's sharp intake of breath,  saw her father sink back in his chair in total confusion.

Caroline Granger frowned, a sliver of blueberry tart on her china plate.

"Matthew, who on earth is John Straker?"

Henry answered, his gaze, like Mart's, not leaving Riley.

"He's the FBI agent who was with Riley when she found Sam on Labreque Island.

It's not yet public knowledge. "

"Oh. Oh, my." Caroline required about two seconds to realize this was a  nasty scene in the making. She reached a hand toward her dead husband's  son.

"Perhaps you and Riley can discuss this in the parlor."

Matt didn't move. His eyes continued to bore into Riley.

"Where are you two hiding Emile?"

Half the guests listened with open interest. The rest just sat or stood  in quiet shock, either pretending not to listen or wishing they were  somewhere else. Riley could have stabbed Matt with her dessert fork. If  Sig had been there, her sister would have cheerfully done the honors.

Riley's displeasure with both her brother-in-law and Straker kept her steady on her feet.

"I don't know where Emile is, and John Straker isn't my responsibility.

Or yours." She ignored the knife twist in her stomach.

"That's all I'm saying to you, Matt, while you're in this mood. If you'll excuse me, I'm going home. It's been a long day.

Abigail, thank you"-- " Don't expect me to feel sorry for you," Matt  interjected, his jaw clenched, his expression unrelentingly harsh.

Abigail, horrified, got to her feet.

"Matthew!"

He ignored her, stayed on Riley's case.

"You covered up for Emile last year with the Encounter. If you hadn't,  maybe he'd be in prison right now and Sam Cassain would be alive."

Richard St. Joe shot to his feet, no longer paralyzed with confusion.