On Fire(28)

"Oh, Sig," Riley said.

"Does Mom know you're going?"

"I packed while you were in the tub. She's opposed, but she knows she  can't stop me. That's why she's not seeing us off. I'm thirty-four years  old. I know what I have to do." She set her jaw.

"If I don't go with you, Riley, I go alone. It's that simple. Your choice."

"Like that's any choice. All right, but here's the deal. The second I  think you're pushing it, I'm hauling you back here or straight to a  hospital. I won't have you endanger your health on my watch."

Sig sniffed.

"I'm not on your watch. I'm on my own watch. And I have been for some time." She attempted an encouraging smile.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Good, because I sure as hell don't."

"That's another quarter for my mason jar." She yawned, not exactly  looking up to traipsing after her seventy-six-year-old grandfather.

"I'm thinking of exempting hells and damns. What do you think?"

Riley laughed.

"I think Straker'd be happy he didn't stick around.

This whole family's nuts. "

Nine ^ ^1 hey stopped for lobster rolls and wild-blueberry pie and made  it to Emile's before Riley had to stop a third time for Sig, who  constantly sipped water, to go to the bathroom.

"You're going to be impossible in your third trimester," Riley told her.

"I hope so. I hate suffering in silence." The air was cool and still,  the tide out, the last of the dark clouds pushing east and exposing a  starlit sky. Riley breathed in, feeling herself relax. She could smell  the ocean, spruce, pine, and for an instant, she was carefree and six  again.

"We should build a bonfire and toast marshmallows," Sig said beside her, obviously sharing her mood.

"Maybe Emile would smell them, wherever he is, and come to his senses."

"Do you think he's out here somewhere?"

"I don't know. I gave up a long time ago trying to figure out how he thinks."

Riley unlocked the door to their grandfather's cabin, and they carried  their gear inside. The place seemed empty, almost uninhabited. She  turned on lights and built a fire in the woodstove while Sig, looking  more exhausted than she'd ever admit, flopped onto the couch.

"You still believe he can do no wrong, don't you?"

"You mean Emile."

"Of course I mean Emile."

Riley opened the dampers on the stove, struck a match and set her  kindling ablaze. She watched the flames, remembered the orange glow of  Sam's house last night, the crush of fire lighters and police and  onlookers, and Matt Granger there at the edges of the crowd. Her  brother-in-law. Sig's husband. Riley hadn't told her sister about seeing  him at Sam's, about her encounter with him earlier that afternoon. It  was obvious Sig wasn't here because of Emile. She was here because of  Matt.

"I was nearly killed last year." A skinny piece of kindling caught fire,  blackened and smoked as the flames ate it up. Riley kept her back to  her sister. If she didn't, she was afraid Sig would guess she was hiding  something.

"Those hours in the submersible with Emile will haunt me to my dying  days. We were hot, couldn't breathe. We were so sure we were going to  die."

"Even Emile?"

"I think he already knew Bennett was dead--I think he thought we'd all  be lost. Everyone aboard the Encounter. He never said. He's so stoic.

His only concern was me, what had happened to the crew. He didn't care about the ship, his mission, his research. "

She sighed.

"We were cut off from Sam and the crew. We wanted to believe they got  into the life boats, but the fire and flooding were so horrific, we just  didn't know."

"Sam always struck me as self-serving, but you have to admit he never  benefited from accusing Emile. His own career went down the tubes this  past year."                       
       
           



       

But Riley was back in the submersible, hot, gasping for air.

"I didn't panic." Sig seemed to know what she was talking about.

"Maybe it was shock, I don't know. Emile never said a word about how he thought the ship caught fire."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," Sig said.

"If you're about to suffocate or drop to the bottom of the ocean, what  difference does it make who did what?" "I suppose. Still, when the Coast  Guard picked us up and Sam started flinging accusations, Emile never  defended himself. I don't know if he blamed himself out of a sense of  honor because the Encounter was his ship, or if he really believed he'd  cut safety corners--or if he just didn't want to credit Sam's  accusations with a response."

Riley shut her eyes. She thought she'd had all this worked out. That  she'd done all her post-trauma work and she would never again feel this  crawling sense of panic. Her narrow escape in the submersible, she  realized, would be with her forever.

"Riley? Look, if this is too hard for you to talk about" -- "It's not.

I'm fine." She took a breath, held it, let it out slowly; she couldn't  lose control when Sig had so much more at stake. Twins, a faltering  marriage.

"The question is, do I believe Sam's version of what happened to the  Encounter? Do I believe Emile's arrogance and obsession with his work  caused it to go down? The engine should have shut off. If the automatic  safety features weren't working properly, if there'd been a crewman  posted..." She turned, faced her sister.

"I don't want to blame Emile, but the truth is, I don't know what happened to the Encounter."

Sig frowned, stretched out on the couch, her shoes off.

"It blew up, caught fire and sank for a reason. Five people died, Riley, including my father-in-law."

"Don't you think I know that? I was there." She grabbed a small oak log,  shoved it on the burning kindling, nearly smothering the flames.

"It was an old ship, Sig. Unless we go out and dredge it up, we'll probably never know for sure what happened."

Sig was silent.

The fire was throwing off heat now, and Riley turned to her sister, could feel the warmth on her back.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you" -- "I'm pregnant, I'm not sick.

And I'm not fragile. Don't tiptoe around me, okay? If Sam..." Sig  thought a moment, fidgeting, pulling at the fringe on her shawl.

"If he was murdered, we have to assume someone would have a motive to  kill him. What if he had proof the Encounter was sabotaged--or of  criminal negligence, something?" "What, and he brought it to Emile and  Emile killed him?"

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it was phony proof and Emile  cracked, or maybe Sam came after him for revenge and Emile killed him in  selfdefense. Maybe Emile didn't have one damned thing to do with  killing him. How the hell would I know?" She paused, eyes narrowed.

"And how would you know?"

Riley kept her cool.

"I've worked side by side with Emile since I turned thirteen. He didn't kill Sam. Sig, come on. You know he didn't."

"All right. Let's do it your way. For the sake of argument, let's  eliminate Emile as a suspect. Let's say someone else killed Sam. Let's  say Sam had evidence of neglect or sabotage--proof something went very  wrong aboard the Encounter and it wasn't just one of those things,  something beyond anyone's control."

"He just pinned it on the wrong person?"

"Right. What would he do with that kind of proof?"

Riley didn't hesitate.

"He'd try to make a profit."

"He wouldn't go to the police?"

"No. When Sam railed to the Coast Guard and then the rest of the world  about Emile, it wasn't for the sake of justice. It was for revenge, and  to keep anyone from blaming him for what happened. I'm not saying he was  evil or even particularly bad, he just looked out for himself."

"Until someone hit him on the head and let him drown."

Riley shuddered.

Sig pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

"This is scary."

"Yep. I think I'll turn on another light."

She stopped halfway across the living room. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Then, from outside, came a muttered curse in a voice that was distinctly  male but unidentifiable, followed by heavy footsteps on the front  porch.                       
       
           



       

"Grab the poker," Sig said, even as Riley reached for Emile's ancient blackened iron poker by the woodstove.

The door opened. Riley had her poker poised, ready for battle.

Straker walked in and shook his head.

"I don't believe you two. The two of you put together don't have the sense of one hermit crab."

"Scare us to death, why don't you?" Riley didn't lower her poker. He  filled the room with his presence, his broad shoulders and glower and  total selfpossession.