alive if you let it.”
“I hope you choke on your own vomit.”
Mattie shrugged. “You’re not alone.” He squatted down, picked up the crushed cigarette and tucked it into a front pocket as he rose. “Best to cover my tracks. Your uncle doesn’t let me smoke on the grounds. If he or your father or sister finds out about the money, what will you tell them? Do you remember your cover story?”
Linc didn’t want to argue with him anymore. “I’ll tell them I bought some of your old photographs.”
“Very good,” Mattie said, then smiled. “See you soon.”
After his blackmailer left, Linc turned and faced the water, looking down at the near-vertical hillside. Juts of exposed granite ledge, moss, bare roots of trees—spruce, pine, fir, a few beeches and birches—clung to its thin, acidic soil.
“I’m on my honeymoon, Linc. You and your shenanigans aren’t even on the list of things I want to be thinking about this week.”
Linc gulped in a shallow breath. He felt hollowed out, a shell of everything he wanted to become. He was twenty now, and he hadn’t succeeded at anything yet—except video games and getting kicked out of schools.
And begging his father’s forgiveness.
Avoiding his sister’s disappointment.
What would the scandal of what he’d done seven years ago—of what he was doing now, paying off a blackmailer—do to Grace’s appointment? The FBI was running a background check on her. It could take several months. She’d already begged Linc to behave, which was part of the reason he was on Mt. Desert for the summer.
But Mattie Young had approached Linc three days ago and demanded ten thousand dollars in exchange for his silence, changing everything.
“I believe in you. Don’t disappoint me.”
Countless times, at his lowest depths, Linc had used Chris’s words to give himself courage—to try again after yet another failure.
Linc knew what his dead friend would have him do.
Tell everything. Confess.
Not let Mattie confuse and manipulate him.
But Linc also knew he wouldn’t come clean.
He couldn’t tell anyone about the blackmail—or what he had done that had gotten him into this mess.
CHAPTER 7
G race Cooper stepped carefully in the lush grass of her uncle’s backyard, as if she didn’t want to leave footprints. “Ellis has worked very hard to make these gardens look natural. It seems contradictory, doesn’t it?”
Abigail smiled, enjoying her tour of the award-winning gardens. “Everything’s so beautiful. I’m lucky if I can keep a pot of geraniums alive.”
“I know how you feel,” Grace said with a laugh.
Ellis was transplanting a bush with Mattie Young and had left his niece to deal with his unexpected guest, suggesting a quick garden tour. At thirty-eight, Grace was striking with her fine blond hair and strong features. Her eyes, a clear, pale blue, were her best feature. She was gracious and politely reserved.
The mix of perennials and annuals, their colors and textures contrasting here, complementing there, sparkled and glistened in the clear and crisp morning air. Abigail had walked up from her house, yesterday afternoon’s escapade on the rocks with her journal ashes and Owen Garrison behind her.
Grace leaned over and brushed her fingertips over a perfect dark pink foxglove. “These gardens are Ellis’s pride and joy. It won’t be easy for him to give them up.”
“Give them up?”
“Oh. I assumed you’d heard. We’re selling the property.”
“This place?” Abigail didn’t hide her surprise. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
And Grace would know she hadn’t heard. It was just her way of reminding Abigail that she didn’t know everything about the Coopers. Abigail had no illusions about her relationship with them. It wasn’t unfriendly, but they were aware she kept track of them—and that she did so because of their connections to Chris. They’d known him all his life. Ellis had held a garden party here the day she was attacked and
“I hope you choke on your own vomit.”
Mattie shrugged. “You’re not alone.” He squatted down, picked up the crushed cigarette and tucked it into a front pocket as he rose. “Best to cover my tracks. Your uncle doesn’t let me smoke on the grounds. If he or your father or sister finds out about the money, what will you tell them? Do you remember your cover story?”
Linc didn’t want to argue with him anymore. “I’ll tell them I bought some of your old photographs.”
“Very good,” Mattie said, then smiled. “See you soon.”
After his blackmailer left, Linc turned and faced the water, looking down at the near-vertical hillside. Juts of exposed granite ledge, moss, bare roots of trees—spruce, pine, fir, a few beeches and birches—clung to its thin, acidic soil.
“I’m on my honeymoon, Linc. You and your shenanigans aren’t even on the list of things I want to be thinking about this week.”
Linc gulped in a shallow breath. He felt hollowed out, a shell of everything he wanted to become. He was twenty now, and he hadn’t succeeded at anything yet—except video games and getting kicked out of schools.
And begging his father’s forgiveness.
Avoiding his sister’s disappointment.
What would the scandal of what he’d done seven years ago—of what he was doing now, paying off a blackmailer—do to Grace’s appointment? The FBI was running a background check on her. It could take several months. She’d already begged Linc to behave, which was part of the reason he was on Mt. Desert for the summer.
But Mattie Young had approached Linc three days ago and demanded ten thousand dollars in exchange for his silence, changing everything.
“I believe in you. Don’t disappoint me.”
Countless times, at his lowest depths, Linc had used Chris’s words to give himself courage—to try again after yet another failure.
Linc knew what his dead friend would have him do.
Tell everything. Confess.
Not let Mattie confuse and manipulate him.
But Linc also knew he wouldn’t come clean.
He couldn’t tell anyone about the blackmail—or what he had done that had gotten him into this mess.
CHAPTER 7
G race Cooper stepped carefully in the lush grass of her uncle’s backyard, as if she didn’t want to leave footprints. “Ellis has worked very hard to make these gardens look natural. It seems contradictory, doesn’t it?”
Abigail smiled, enjoying her tour of the award-winning gardens. “Everything’s so beautiful. I’m lucky if I can keep a pot of geraniums alive.”
“I know how you feel,” Grace said with a laugh.
Ellis was transplanting a bush with Mattie Young and had left his niece to deal with his unexpected guest, suggesting a quick garden tour. At thirty-eight, Grace was striking with her fine blond hair and strong features. Her eyes, a clear, pale blue, were her best feature. She was gracious and politely reserved.
The mix of perennials and annuals, their colors and textures contrasting here, complementing there, sparkled and glistened in the clear and crisp morning air. Abigail had walked up from her house, yesterday afternoon’s escapade on the rocks with her journal ashes and Owen Garrison behind her.
Grace leaned over and brushed her fingertips over a perfect dark pink foxglove. “These gardens are Ellis’s pride and joy. It won’t be easy for him to give them up.”
“Give them up?”
“Oh. I assumed you’d heard. We’re selling the property.”
“This place?” Abigail didn’t hide her surprise. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
And Grace would know she hadn’t heard. It was just her way of reminding Abigail that she didn’t know everything about the Coopers. Abigail had no illusions about her relationship with them. It wasn’t unfriendly, but they were aware she kept track of them—and that she did so because of their connections to Chris. They’d known him all his life. Ellis had held a garden party here the day she was attacked and
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