The Widow - Carla Neggers [64]
Excuses. You should have told Doyle everything last night.
Mattie shook his head. He couldn’t afford to let any doubts creep in, undermine him. Not now. Not when he’d gone past the point of no return.
He sat on the floor, his back against a lobster pot. Was it one of Will Browning’s old pots? Pa, Mattie used to call him. Ol’ Pa Browning. He was the Browning who’d lived a long life.
“Two wrongs don’t make a right. Remember that, Mattie.”
Ah, Pa.
“I’m trying,” Mattie whispered. “I’m trying hard.”
At least Pa Browning hadn’t lived to see his grandson murdered. A small blessing, at least.
Mattie didn’t know if he fell asleep, or if he’d simply gone into some kind of trance, but he became aware of the shed door creaking open. He went very still, silently reassured himself that he couldn’t be seen from the door. If it was Ellis, returned from paying homage to his brother, he’d never come this far into the shed.
The door shut—Mattie could hear it, feel more than see the change in light.
“It’s me,” Linc Cooper said. “I’m alone.”
Mattie got to his feet, but stayed close to the little chicken door. “Ellis isn’t back yet, is he?”
Linc shook his head, making his way to the rear of the shed. “The cops have gone out to talk to him and my father. They’re looking for you. They think you attacked Abigail Browning.”
“I didn’t attack her—that’s not what happened.”
“Then tell that to Chief Alden. He knows you. He won’t want to believe you’d deliberately hurt anyone. Running just makes you look guilty. What about your bike? Mattie, they’ll find you—”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
He’d hid his bike in the woods, where no one would find it, but he had no intention of giving Linc that information—that much power over him.
Linc sneered at him. “Always innocent, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Mattie felt a surge of impatience. “You’d better hope our Detective Browning doesn’t think you attacked her.”
“Me? Why would I?” The kid squared his shoulders and gave Mattie an icy, superior look. “I’m not playing your game.”
“This isn’t a fucking game.”
“Whatever.” Linc stepped closer to him, holding out an envelope to him. “Here’s another two thousand. That’s four thousand, total. Take it, Mattie, and get out of here. Before you go too far. What if you’d killed Abigail today? She’s the daughter of the director of the FBI. She’s a cop—”
“You’re a bastard, Linc, you know that?” Mattie kept his voice calm, never mind the lousy situation he was in. He hadn’t meant for things to go this way. “You’re just like your father. Don’t think you’re different, because you’re not. You’re a cutthroat son of a bitch just like he is. A chip off the old block.”
Linc’s cheeks flamed red. “Better than being a foul-smelling drunk who betrays his own friends.”
Mattie snatched the envelope from him and inspected the contents, the mix of green bills. A new beginning. But his eyes welled up with tears. He coughed, covering for himself. “I want the rest.”
“I can’t—”
“I have Abigail’s necklace.”
He relished watching the shock seize Linc, turn him ashen, force him to take a step back, stumble on a bag of cow manure. “Mattie…Christ…”
“You remember her necklace. It was her grandmother’s. Abigail wore it on her wedding day. The ‘something borrowed.’ Pearls, with a cameo pendant. You grabbed it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You thought no one was at the house. I’ll give you that. But she was there, and you hit her on the head—”
“Show it to me.” Linc had recovered slightly, his cockiness, his natural arrogance, rising to the challenge. “If you’ve got the necklace, show it to me.”
Mattie shook his head. “I don’t trust you not to hit me over the head.”
“If I stole it, how did you end up with it?”
“I know where you stashed it.”
Linc looked as if he’d throw up any second. “I don’t know how you can sleep at night. A six-pack of cheap beer makes all the difference, though, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not helping yourself.”
“I don’t care. I’m not paying you another dime. If you’ve got evidence that ties me to Chris’s murder, take it