On Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

first whale and dolphin strandings when she was a teenager volunteering on a rescue and recovery team. Their mission was to end the suffering of animals beyond help, get the healthy ones out to sea before they died on the beaches and treat the injured, taking them back to the center for rehabilitation and, whenever possible, their eventual return to the wild. Now it was her team—but she would never get used to the death and suffering.
    The man on the beach had been long past suffering.
    She decided to leave Emile a note. Sympathy, commiseration, allaying her fears, venting—such niceties wouldn’t occur to him. He would expect her to continue on to Camden and Boston. He wasn’t heartless; he was simply oblivious. The urge to share her woes with him arose more from the shock of the moment than any rational reasoning on her part. She’d arrived too late to do the man on the rocks any good, and now her experience felt unfinished, as if she should do more, know more.
    Would Straker dismiss the dead man and resume his isolated island life without a second thought?
    She found Emile’s spare key on the windowsill and let herself in. Even less rational than wanting to cry on Emile’s shoulder was trying to get into John Straker’s mind. Time to get her things and be on her way.
    But when she set off, she ended up on the side street above the village harbor, where Straker’s parents lived in a serviceable house that was at once home, shop and project. It had been in a constant state of flux for as long as Riley could remember, with gardens going inand coming out and discarded house innards piling up in the yard as various rooms underwent renovation. The glassed-in front porch served as a catchall for yard sale findings Straker’s mother planned to fix up. She was clever at fixing things up, even if she tended to underestimate the time she would require. Summer people and locals alike employed her talents in furniture restoration and upholstery—they just knew not to expect quick results.
    John Straker, Sr., was a lobsterman, his pots piled up outside the garage. It was a hard, good life, and if he regretted not having his son around to share it, he would never let an outsider like Riley St. Joe know about it.
    She went around back, and Linda Straker called her into her cluttered kitchen, where she was elbow deep in one of her craft projects. She had an unlit cigarette tucked between her lips. She was a strong, stubborn, imaginative woman with hair that frequently changed color—today it was brunette—and a few extra pounds on her hips.
    Her son had inherited her gray eyes. They settled on Riley. “You’re here about that dead body?”
    “You heard.”
    “Not much happens around here I don’t hear about. Where’s Emile?”
    “I don’t know. On the nature preserve, I expect. I’m on my way back to Boston.” Riley dropped into a chair; she felt awkward, as if she were twelve again and Mrs. Straker would offer her a glass of Kool-Aid. “Actually, I’m not sure why I stopped by.”
    “Because you’re afraid that body’s got somethingto do with my son and it’s going to come back and bite you in the behind.” She took a breath, made a pretend drag on her cigarette. Her eyes were serious, experienced. “It could, you know.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because that’s the way it’s been with John since he saw the light of day thirty-four years ago. He’s an FBI agent now, Riley. He’s seen and done things since you nailed him with that rock when you were twelve. If I were you, I wouldn’t mess with him.”
    Riley fiddled with a length of twine. “Too late.”
    “You couldn’t have just pretended you didn’t see that body and gone on your way?” She gave a long sigh. “No, I suppose not, and if you had, John would have known it and come after you. No way out of this one, Riley. If you’re going to go toe-to-toe with him again, don’t rely on luck. That’s my advice. Take good aim, and if you