Risky, he thought. Risky coming in here, getting so close to her. But he’d been reasonably sure she hadn’t seen him that night in Bluff House. Now as she looked him right in the eye without a single flicker of recognition, he could be absolutely sure. And rewards, God knew, took risk.
He’d wanted to watch her, to see how she behaved—and he’d hoped Landon would be there, opening up a fresh opportunity to get back into the house.
But then he’d hoped the police would take Landon in for questioning. He’d needed only a small opening to get in, plant the gun, make an anonymous call.
Now, they’d searched the place, so planting the gun in Bluff House wouldn’t work. But there was always another avenue. The woman might be the best route.
She could be his way back into Bluff House. He needed to think about that. He had to get back in, finish his search. The dowry was there; he believed it with every fiber of his being. He’d already risked so much, lost so much.
No going back, he reminded himself. He’d killed now, and found it a great deal easier than he’d expected. Just the press of a finger on the trigger, hardly any effort at all. Logically, it would be easier the next time, if a next time proved necessary.
In fact, he might enjoy killing Landon. But it had to look like an accident, or suicide. Nothing that made the police, or the media, or anyone, question Landon’s guilt.
Because he knew, without doubt, Eli Landon had killed Lindsay.
He could use that, and already imagined forcing Landon to write out a confession before he died. Spilling that blue Landon blood as the coward begged for his life. Yes, he found he wanted that more than he’d realized.
An eye for an eye? And more.
Landon deserved to pay; he deserved to die. Making that happen would be nearly as rich a reward as Esmeralda’s Dowry.
When he saw Eli walk in, the rise of rage nearly choked him. The red-hot haze of it blurred his vision, urged him to reach for the gun holstered at his back, the same gun he’d used to kill Kirby Duncan. He could see, actually see the bullets punching into the Landon bastard’s body. The blood gushing as he fell.
His hands trembled with the need to end the man he hated above all else.
Accident or suicide. He repeated the words over and over in his head in a struggle to regain control, to calm his killing fury. The effort popped beads of sweat on his forehead as he fought to consider his options.
At the bar Abra waited for her drink orders and chatted with her favorite village character. Short, stocky, with a monk’s ring of wispy white hair, Stoney Tribbet worked on his second beer and a bump of the night. Stoney rarely missed a Friday night at the pub. He claimed he liked the music, and the pretty girls.
He’d be eighty-two that summer, and he’d spent every year of it—except for a stint in the army in Korea—in Whiskey Beach.
“I’ll build you your own yoga studio when you marry me,” he told her.
“With a juice bar?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“I’m going to have to think about that, Stoney, because it’s pretty tempting. Especially since it comes with you.”
His weathered map of a face went pink under its permanent tan. “Now we’re talking.”
Abra gave him a kiss on his grizzled cheek, then lit up when she saw Eli.
“I didn’t expect you to come in.”
Stoney turned on his stool, gave Eli the hard eye, then it softened. “Now that’s a Landon if I ever saw one. Are you Hester’s grandboy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stoney Tribbet, Eli Landon.”
Stoney shot out a hand. “I knew your grandpa—you got his eyes. We had some adventures together back a ways. Some long ways.”
“Eli, why don’t you keep Stoney company while I get these drinks served?”
“Sure.” Due to the current lack of a stool, Eli leaned on the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Looks like I’ve got one here. Belly up, boy, and I’ll buy you one. You know your grandpa and I both had our eye on the same girl once upon a time.”
He tried to picture his tall, lanky grandfather and this fireplug of a man on adventures, and competing for the same woman.
A tough picture to mind-sketch.
“Is that so?”
“Rock-solid truth. Then he went off to Boston to school, and I scooped her up. He got Harvard and Hester, and I got Mary. We agreed we both couldn’t have done better. What’re you drinking?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
Pleased two of her favorite people were sharing drinks and conversation, Abra snaked her way through to deliver orders. As she moved toward the back, she saw the empty table, and the bills tossed on it.