“How?” Conor asked.
“Maeve’s boyfriend is a musician—”
“Lincoln Adams,” Conor said. “His father buys paintings from Kate’s gallery.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “I’ll have to talk to him. Because Lincoln played at a wedding in Jamestown, and Suzanne approached him—told him that she’d heard about a big wedding at the Ocean House—yours—and that she wished she could get hired to do assistant-type stuff and the calligraphy.”
“So Lincoln put her in touch with Maeve?” Conor asked.
“Yes. Suzanne made it seem she had no idea who was getting married. But that doesn’t ring true, considering other developments—we’ll fill you in, but it seems Suzanne had a connection to Belinda. Could Lincoln have lied to Maeve, told Suzanne from the start?”
“I don’t know him that well,” Conor said. “But Kate does—through his father, then through Maeve. Sometimes she has music at gallery openings, and he’s played a few times. She said he seems like a good guy. But wait—what connection to Belinda?”
“She might be living on a boat,” Tom said. “There was a marina receipt made out in her name. The bizarre thing is, it was found in Belinda’s room.”
“So they knew each other?” Conor asked.
“Seems so,” Joe said. “We’ll ask Suzanne when we find her, hopefully soon.”
“Where is she?”
“According to the receipt, she’s off-grid, at one of the dumpiest marinas in Rhode Island. We’re going to check it out now,” Tom said.
Joe pulled into the parking lot at Westerly State Airport. This was where Kate kept her plane. The knowledge made Conor’s heart tighten.
“Where are we going?” Conor asked.
“The marina’s on Bellevigne Island. It has a grass strip, and flying is the fastest way to get there,” Tom said.
Joe drove straight toward the tarmac, where private planes were parked. Conor spotted Kate’s Cessna. Joe pulled into a space and turned off the engine. Then Conor saw the pilot standing by the cockpit door, arms folded, hair tossed by the summer breeze. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
“Here’s our ride,” Joe said dryly.
“Kate,” Conor said, getting out of the car.
Kate took a step toward him, then stopped. Her eyes were full of emotions, too fleeting for Conor to translate. All he cared about was seeing love in her eyes—he thought he saw it, along with sorrow, hurt, confusion—so he moved closer to her. He wanted to put his arms around her. He hesitated, and then he did. Tom and Joe were standing right there, but he felt as if he was alone with Kate.
She leaned her head against his chest. “Oh, Conor,” she said.
“Kate, I am sorry . . .”
“Don’t say that right now,” she said. “I want to hear everything, I want us to talk, but not here.”
“I know, Kate. I have a lot to tell you. I can’t work, do anything right now, until I can explain what happened. It’s so important. And I’m so fucking sorry—about our wedding. I swear, if I hadn’t been in police custody, I would have been right there with you. We would have done it, Kate. We would have gotten married, no matter what.”
She didn’t reply to that. She leaned back, stepped out of his embrace. Her eyes filled with tears, and Conor’s heart fell. Was she saying she wouldn’t have married him? Was the damage between them too great for her to go on with him?
“We would have, right?” he asked.
She nodded, but no words came out.
“Please say it,” he said.
This time she looked down at her feet, as if she wasn’t sure—or worse—as if she had decided she couldn’t. He knew she was thinkingof Belinda, the silver ring, the baby picture. He could feel all her doubts and suspicions pouring off her.
“Let me tell you the whole thing,” Conor said, feeling desperate. If only he could explain, put the truth in perspective, he would have her trust again. He would tell her the whole story about what had happened; he would come clean about it all.
“Not right now. Tom told me you’re still under suspicion. I’ll fly you to the island so you can go to that marina, get Suzanne to put it all together. You have to get out from under this. People think you killed Belinda.”
