On Fire(44)

"That's a hell of a damned thing to do to a ship setting out to sea."

"So is Emile off the hook?" Straker asked.

But he knew the answer. It'd be his answer, too, if this were his case. The sheriff scowled.

"No. And neither are you. Sit down."

Straker sat, and after he told his story to Lou one more time, he had to  wait for the state detectives and tell it to them. They weren't pleased  with him for letting Emile go. Straker wouldn't have been pleased,  either. A seventy-six-year-old man and a trained FBI agent--he could  have brought him in.

"Next time," Teddy Palladino said, "you'd better."

"Next time, I will. Meanwhile," Straker said, "I think we're giving  Riley St. Joe way too much time to get herself back into hot water."

Palladino agreed, and Straker was on his way.

Fourteen -^Q >^~

Oig plopped down on a squishy, comfortable sofa in the front room of her  house on Chestnut Street, not far from Matt's childhood home on  Louisburg Square. They'd picked this house together. Although she hadn't  contributed a dime, she'd never felt it was any less hers than his--and  he'd never indicated otherwise. That wasn't how they operated. They  were partners, equal, even if his bank account had more zeroes than  hers.

Her babies jumped, startling her. It was their strongest movement yet.

She placed a palm on her lower abdomen and sank deeper into the  cushions. She'd fought melancholy during the long drive from Camden,  could feel it again threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to be  plucky and resilient, but just couldn't summon the energy.

Her gaze drifted to a framed picture of her father- in-law and Caroline  at their wedding. Matt so missed his father. He was self-contained, not  one for open displays of emotion. He'd insist his actions in recent  months had nothing to do with his grief, but with facts, logic, truth  and justice. He and Bennett weren't demonstrative or openly  affectionate, but they'd enjoyed each other's company.

Her father-in-law had been delighted when she and Matt had announced  they wanted to marry. Bennett and Emile had been friends and partners  for fifty years.

"I don't care if you know a whale from a dolphin," Bennett had told her.

"I'm thrilled to have a Labreque in the family."

His tragic death had changed everything, shattering Matt's world, and thus, Sig thought, her own.

She imagined her husband standing in their elegant living room in  tattered jeans that hung low on his slim hips, his hair tousled, his  eyes that memorable, piercing blue. He didn't hide his intelligence, his  education, his money, nor did he flaunt them.

"Hell's bells," Sig breathed.

"You're getting maudlin."

She popped up off the couch and headed straight for the front door  before her thoughts could get away from her, take on a life of their  own. She might not be a fighter like Riley, but damned if she'd turn  into a brooder.

It was warm outside, warmer than Camden would be at this time of the  afternoon. She walked down to Charles Street, saying hello to a neighbor  she recognized, enjoying the feel of the brick sidewalk underfoot, the  sense that she was home and trying, at least, to take charge of her  life.                       
       
           



       

The markets and coffee shops, the flower shop, the antique shops, were  all crowded with people coming home from work. She stopped at a small  market for milk, juice, bread, coffee. Could she live here without Matt?  She didn't think so. It was difficult enough making a place for herself  on Beacon Hill with him in her life.

Without him, she'd probably always be known as Matthew Granger's ex-wife.

The thought made her gasp, unable to get a good breath. She'd felt the  same way in Emile's loft with the smoke oozing up the stairs. Matthew  Granger's ex-wife. But that was where they were headed.

She carried her grocery bag up to Louisburg Square. Abigail would be  back from Maine by now. Sig hadn't talked to her in weeks and didn't  want to put her sister-in-law on the spot--but Matt was in trouble, at  least on the edge. If Abigail had any insight into her brother's state  of mind in light of the fires, Sam's death, the pending birth of his  children, Sig wanted to hear it.

Her sister-in-law answered her front door in slim pants, her blond hair  pulled back. She looked sleek and poised, while Sig felt bloated as she  huffed and puffed over carrying a bag of groceries up Mount Vernon  Street. Her hair hung down her back in a thick braid, and she wore one  of her voluminous dresses. She felt frumpy, a little sick to her  stomach.

"Sig! What an incredible surprise. Come in, won't you?" Abigail drew her  into the entry, unchanged since her father's death, probably since her  grandfather's death, too.

"How are you feeling? Have you recovered from--my God, I can't even say it. We came too close to losing you."

Sig managed a smile.

"No argument from me."

"And you're pregnant." She smiled.

"With twins?"

"Lively twins."

"I can't wait to tell my kids they're finally going to have cousins.

Where are you staying? "

"At the house."

Abigail frowned.

"Alone?"

"It seems that way. I got back this afternoon."

"I meant to visit you in Camden," Abigail said.

"Oh, Sig--are you sure you're up to staying by yourself? You're welcome to stay here with me."

"I'll be fine."

Abigail seemed dubious. She was so different from her brother--more formal, more mannerly.

"Let's have a drink and catch up, shall we?

Coffee, tea, whatever you'd like. Have you had dinner yet? "

"No, but the thought of food..." Sig shuddered.

"A drink would be great, though."

"Then come downstairs. You can leave your groceries right here in the hall. Is there anything we need to stick in the freezer?"

"No, it'll be fine."

She set her grocery bag on the floor, ambivalent about having stopped  in. There were so many questions about the fire. Mart's behavior, Riley,  Emile-even John Straker and his role. Sig didn't want to get into any  of them. She just wanted Matt to come to his senses.

Abigail started down the hall.

"Henry and I were just making coffee."

"Henry's here? Don't let me interrupt" -Abigail blushed, tried to cover for it.

"You're not interrupting anything. He'll be delighted to see you."

With that, she led Sig down a flight of stairs to the kitchen, a cozy  mix of modem and nineteenth century with its brick fireplace, copper  pots, granite countertops and cherry cabinets. Henry got up from the  table, greeting Sig warmly.

"Thank God you're all right. You and Riley gave us all quite a scare."

She smiled.

"We gave ourselves quite a scare."

"I imagine so. Have the police--well, let's not talk about that right now. There's fresh coffee. Can I pour you a cup?"

"I can put water on for tea if you prefer," Abigail said.

"I didn't drink coffee during either of my pregnancies, but I doubt one cup'll hurt someone who survived a burning building."

Sig laughed, relaxing.

"Put that way, I'll say yes to coffee. I'll just add a lot of milk."

Henry poured the coffee, moving about Abigail's kitchen as if he were  comfortable there, familiar. He filled a small pitcher with milk, set it  and the heavy mug on the table.

"I'll let you add your own milk.

I'm sure you and Abigail have a lot to talk about. I'll scoot upstairs for a bit. "

"That's not necessary," Sig said.                       
       
           



       

He held up a hand, smiled.

"It's fine, Sig. You two catch up."

When he was gone, Abigail put her hands on her hips and scrutinized her  sister-in-law. "Are you positive you're well enough to stay alone?

You still look pale to me. I think you should have stayed with your mother a few days at least to recuperate."

"I'm just tired. It was a long drive." Sig poured milk into her coffee,  sipped it. It was hot, not too strong. She avoided Abigail's eyes.

"I'll be fine."

"Mara must have hated seeing you go off on your own under these  circumstances. Wait until you have those babies, Sig. Then you'll  understand. There's no off button when you're a mother."

"You were divorced when your children were young. Do you think" -She cut  Sig off with a firm shake of her head. "You and Matt are not going to  divorce. Don't even think about it. This is just a bump in the road.  You'll see."

"Don't pay any attention to me, Abigail. I'm not thinking straight.

I.

" She sighed.

"I'm just worried about him. I wish I understood what he's trying to accomplish."

"Matt has a good head on his shoulders, Sig," Abigail said gently, sitting across the table from her.