“What about the man?” Conor asked. “Do you know his name?”
“I made a mistake,” she said, avoiding the question. “I didn’t mean to, but when I was sick at MK, I told the woman about the mansion on the hill. And she came to see, and she brought one of the men. And it was perfect for what they needed, so they come back again and again, with the girls. Girls are being taken, and it’s my fault.”
“Grace, what do you mean, ‘taken’?” Conor asked. “Kidnapped?”
“Are they there now?” Joe asked. “In the mansion?”
“What is MK?” Conor asked.
Without replying, Grace stood up and gathered up her needlework. Conor watched her start walking toward her house. Then she stopped and turned around. “Don’t tell the man or the woman how you know about MK. Don’t say it was me who told. Do you promise?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, as she had stopped believing that promises could ever be kept. She turned her back on Conor and Joe, then stepped through her door and closed it behind her.
“She’s obviously confused,” Joe said. “Ghost girls? Can we trust anything she said?”
Conor knew that not all of Grace’s words had made sense, but her emotions were genuine. He felt the guilt pouring off her when she’d said it was her fault that the man and woman brought girls to the island.
“I think we have to,” Conor said. “What else do we have to go on?”
Joe nodded. “Okay,” he said.
Then the two detectives walked to the dead end beyond Grace’s cottage, stepped over the chain, and followed the gravel road toward the mansion on the hill.
18
Sunday, July 4; 2:00 p.m.
In preparation for the Ocean House Independence Day Beach Ball, the wide and beautiful strand directly in front of the hotel had been set with round tables and chairs for six hundred people. Vases of blue and white hydrangeas adorned the center of each table, and long, white tablecloths were secured with discreet clips, to keep them from blowing off the tables in the sea wind. The seating area was flanked by raw bars, barbecue grills, enormous pots full of steamed lobsters, and stations of salads and local delicacies. Garlands of twinkling lights crisscrossed overhead.
A band had set up beside the beach restaurant—Théa at Dune Cottage—and the deck was ready to transform into a dance floor. Fireworks would commence after dark. Some of Kate and Conor’s guests had planned to stay for the festivities; given the fact that the wedding had been canceled, many had decided to skip the beach party.
Kate found a corner table on the Club Room terrace to sit and think. Brian kept her glass of sparkling water full. She had seen Mike and his fellow crime-solvers sitting in the Bistro’s bar, huddled over a table with pens and pads of paper. She kept her eye on the door. She hoped that when Conor came back from Bellevigne Island, he would look for her here.
Her phone buzzed, and she stared at the screen. It wasn’t Conor; it was her niece.
I’m in the car out front with Maeve. We have an idea. Can you come with us?Sam texted.
Where are you going?Kate asked.
But she received no response, so she headed through the lobby, down the stairs into the circular drive. Maeve was at the wheel of her navy-blue BMW. Sam was in the passenger seat, but when she saw Kate, she got out to let her sit in front.
“No, you stay there,” Kate said.
When she climbed into the back seat, she saw the painting propped up beside her—Foggy Night, with a corner of its broken gold frame poking out of the brown wrapping paper. Kate felt a pang and touched it, tore a little of the paper away so she could see the canvas.
Maeve looked in the rearview mirror, saw Kate gazing at it.
“I’ll take the painting to the conservator, Kate,” Maeve said. “As soon as he opens after the holiday.”
“Thanks, Maeve,” Kate said. She didn’t ask which conservator. She had two that she favored, but right now, she barely cared.
They started to drive away from the hotel, but Dermot the valet waved for them to stop.
“Miss Woodward,” he said, jogging over to the car. “Miss Forrest gave me this gift a few minutes ago and asked me to see you got it.”
“‘Forrest’?” Kate asked.
“Miranda Forrest,” Sam said. “You know, Bernard’s girlfriend.”
