The Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

picturesque drive that his wife would have to start making every morning once the construction was finished.
    An unmarked Maine State Police car eased in behind him. Doyle recognized Lieutenant Lou Beeler behind the wheel, and knew it couldn’t be good news.
    “Go on inside, guys,” Doyle told his sons. “I’ll be a couple minutes.”
    In the glare of the front-door light, Lou looked thin and tired, his hair grayer. He planned to retire in the fall after thirty years on the job, fifteen of them in the Criminal Investigative Division. He was a decent guy with an extraordinary record, one of the most respected detectives in Maine. But riding off into the sunset with Christopher Browning’s murder unsolved grated on him. An FBI agent married to John March’s daughter, a man beloved on Mt. Desert Island—shot on his honeymoon within shouting distance of his boyhood home, left to bleed to death amid the rocks, seaweed, salt water and gulls.
    Who wouldn’t want to find Chris’s killer?
    “What can I do for you, Lou?” Doyle asked.
    Lou rubbed his lower back. He’d have driven to Bar Harbor from his home hear Bangor. “Fog’s rolling in. I can smell it.”
    “I hadn’t noticed.”
    “I don’t like driving in it. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. How’s Katie?”
    “Fine. She’s in England.”
    “I heard. Working with Owen Garrison’s outfit now?”
    “Yeah.” Doyle knew Lou was just being friendly, but he hadn’t had much patience for the past few days and wanted the older man to state his business. “The boys and I are on our own for a few weeks. They’re inside now, waiting for me.”
    “Sure, sure. I’ll get to the point. Has Abigail Browning been in touch?”
    Hell. Doyle shook his head.
    “She got a call last night. I thought you should know,” Lou said in a professional tone that belied his personal interest in the case. He then gave Doyle details on the call. “I doubt it’ll amount to anything, but—I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”
    “Is Abigail on her way here?”
    Lou sighed. “I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say. But what do you think?”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s here now.”
    Lou kept his steady gaze on Doyle. “I don’t know about you, but I never thought I’d still be hunting Chris Browning’s killer after seven years.”
    “Didn’t you? Here’s how I see it. A burglar targeted the island seven years ago and stole a lot of jewelry from rich summer residents. He landed at the Browning house, thinking it was a guest cottage for the Garrisons or the Coopers, and Abigail surprised him. She was assaulted, and Chris took matters into his own hands. The burglar killed him and took off, never to return.”
    “That’s one scenario.”
    “It’s the only one that makes sense and fits the facts. If Abigail thinks she’s going to come up here and find answers, she’s wrong.”
    “She’s thought that for seven years—”
    “And she’s been wrong for seven years. She just stirs people up for no good reason.”
    Lou sank back against the hood of his car. “The caller said things were happening here.”
    “It’s a busy island that gets three million tourists every year,” Doyle said. “Of course things are happening here. You can cherry-pick a dozen possibilities without breaking into a sweat or thinking hard.”
    “What about things happening among the Garrisons and the Coopers?”
    Doyle scoffed. “Something’s always going on with them. Owen’s starting up this field academy. He just got back from digging for earthquake survivors.”
    “The Coopers?”
    “Grace Cooper’s up for a big State Department appointment. Her father’s doing some complicated business deal. Her uncle’s designed a new garden for one of his rich friends. Her brother’s here this summer. He made it through a whole year of college.” Doyle narrowed his eyes on his fellow, more experienced law enforcement officer. “But you know all that, don’t you,