Stranger on the Shore - lanyon Josh (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗

“Morning.” Griff was already rolling out of bed, on his feet. He found his jeans where he’d kicked them off.

Pierce scrambled out of the nest of sheets and blankets. “Hell. I’m late.”

“Thanks for letting me stay last night.” Griff didn’t look at Pierce. He had a pretty good idea of how much Pierce did not enjoy waking up to morning afters.

“Of course. Do you mind if I say goodbye now and jump in the shower?”

Friendly but brisk, as expected. He didn’t have to worry. Griff didn’t have a lot of experience at this kind of thing, but he had enough.

“No worries. I’ll let myself out.” Griff fastened his jeans and smiled across at Pierce. “I had a nice time. Screaming fits aside.”

Pierce relaxed enough to give a small laugh. “Screaming fits aside, me too.” He hesitated and then disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door firmly.

The sound of the surf continued to ebb and flow, drowning out the sound of the shower.

Griff grabbed his shirt and flapped into it as he trotted downstairs. His keys and wallet were still in his jeans pocket. He let himself out quietly.

* * *

Winden House appeared to be genteelly slumbering beneath a silvery blanket of morning fog when Griff got back to the Arlington estate. He parked in the star courtyard and walked down to the guest cottage. Today there was no Chloe jogging, no Marcus practicing his golf swing, no sign of anyone but Nels Newland using a hedge trimmer in the farthest square of the sunken garden. The angry buzz seemed to bounce off the wall of trees and shrubs.

Griff walked on, lost in thought. Early in the evening he had considered telling Pierce about the weird phone call he’d received and his suspicion that the bridge had been sawn through, but he hadn’t been able to decide, and then he’d gotten distracted. He wasn’t sure now if that maybe wasn’t for the best.

From the beginning he had pretty much been working from the angle that Johnson was the kidnapper, perhaps—though probably not—working with an accomplice on the estate. Partly that was because until he’d seen the police files he hadn’t realized there were any viable alternative theories.

The broad-spectrum police investigation had basically come to a halt once suspicion had zeroed in on Johnson. Individual threads of inquiry—Mr. Tuppalo’s credit problems, for example—had been dropped while law enforcement worked to make the case against Johnson watertight.

In a way it was understandable. Most of the household staff were trusted long-time employees. And as far as a member of the family being implicated, Griff knew the Arlingtons well enough by now to know how that idea would have gone over. Michaela would have to have been caught with her arms wrapped around the bag of ransom money for her family to even permit the discussion.

Maybe it was the sabotaging of the bridge or maybe it was simply having had time to process his interview with Johnson, but the more Griff considered everything he had learned so far, the more he was inclined to believe Johnson. If Johnson couldn’t adequately hide the ransom money, how the hell would he so successfully hide a child—or even a child’s body? That was one of the things he kept coming back to. Another was Johnson’s inability to move through the house that evening undetected. People—guests and staff—had been coming and going all night. Whoever had taken Brian had been able to move through the house unseen. Either because he or she was familiar with the interior passageways or because he or she was able to blend in. Or both. Johnson might know there were secret passages in the house, but it was unlikely he’d know where or how to gain access to them. And as far as blending in? No way in hell.

But the main problem, the clincher for Griff, was that freaky phone call and the sabotaged bridge. Granted, the bridge might not have been sabotaged—it looked that way to him, but he was no expert—however, there could be no mistake about that warning phone call. Someone was making it as plain as possible they didn’t want him to investigate any further.

And since that person could not be Odell Johnson, it had to be someone with a vested interest in keeping the case closed. Griff couldn’t think of anyone with an interest other than Johnson’s accomplice—or the real kidnapper.

He stopped walking, leaning against one of the low stone walls and pulling his phone out. He tried calling May Chung again.

The phone rang a couple of times.

Somewhere on the other side of the morning mist he could hear the gloomy groaning of a distant foghorn.

“Hello?” The voice was deep but definitely female.

“May? Is this May Chung?”

The voice sharpened with distrust. “Who’s calling please?”

“This is Griff Hadley. I’m a journalist. Jarrett Arlington has authorized me to write a book about his grandson’s kidnapping. I was hoping I could have a few minutes. Is this a good time to talk?”

If anything, she sounded more suspicious. “Jarrett Arlington hired you?”

“Mr. Arlington is hoping that reopening the conversation about Brian’s kidnapping might lead to new information. Do you think you could spare me a few minutes? It won’t take long.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just a quick couple of questions. Or if this isn’t convenient—”

“I’ll have to think about this,” May said.

“Let me give you my cell number. Just tell me when and where. I’ll be hap—”

She overrode him. “I’m not sure about this at all. I’m going to have to think. The person you should be talking to is Nels Newland.”

With that, May hung up.

Chapter Fifteen

He was still trying to make sense of May Chung’s reaction when his cell phone rang. The number was not one Griff recognized. He was aggravated at the hope that flared inside his heart, and he answered briskly.

“Griff? This is Diana Mather.”

“Hi,” he said, surprised.

“I just had a client cancel on me and I’m free for lunch today. Would you like to get together?”

Did he have time for this? She was Pierce’s sister, so he was sort of inclined to make time, but he only had a couple of days left on the estate and he still had a lot of work to do.

“Well...”

Diana said, “It’s not going to change the course of history, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to get off my chest for twenty years.”

“All right,” Griff said. “Where did you want to meet?”

“Do you like sushi?”

“Er, no.”

She laughed. “Okay. How about Italian?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you at Angelina’s on Berry Hill Road at twelve-thirty. Will that work?”

“I’ll see you there.”

He stopped himself disconnecting in time at her urgent, “Griff?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell Pierce we’re meeting.”

Diana disconnected, leaving Griff to stare in astonishment at his phone. After a moment, he added her into his contacts, which seemed a bit of bravado, but after all, he might get lost or get delayed.

He walked on to the cottage and found that the bridge had already been repaired and repainted. The rich really were different if they could get a response from a contractor within twenty-four hours.

He went inside, showered, dressed in his last clean pair of jeans and sat down to read Gemma’s journal until it was time to leave to go meet Diana.

Unsurprisingly, after Brian’s kidnapping the tone of Gemma’s journal had changed. One of the most surprising things to Griff, surprising because the earlier Gemma seemed such a positive, upbeat person, was that Gemma seemed to have believed from the first that she would never see her son again. That terrible certainty and sorrow made the latter part of the journal difficult to read.

Today would have been Brian’s fifth birthday.Ifound myself hoping no one would remember.No, that’s not true.Iwant them to remember, but I don’t want them to tell me all those well-meaning, inspirational, encouraging things.Ican’t bear another kind word.Even Matthew doesn’t understand that hope only makes it harder in the end.