The Widow - Carla Neggers [97]
“They watched Chris’s grandfather pull her out of the water into his boat.”
“Then what?” Abigail asked, pressing him, resisting the tug of her own emotions.
“We drove out to the harbor.”
“How? Who were you with? Where were the cars?”
“The cars were up at Ellis’s house. Jason Cooper and my father went to get them. The rest of us walked out to the road and met them there. I’m not sure I’d remember, but I saw an owl in a fir tree—it didn’t fly away. It perched on its branch and stared at me. My sister was into birds. I thought somehow…” He shrugged, tossing the last of his coffee out into the encroaching tide. “I thought the owl was trying to reassure me that whatever had happened, wherever she was, my sister was okay.”
Abigail touched his arm. “I don’t know who put that picture on your doorstep or why, but it was an awful thing to do.”
Owen turned to her. “If it helps find this killer, then it’s worth it.” He glanced out at the sparkling water. “I don’t need a picture to make me remember that day.”
“No. I imagine not.”
“When we finish up with Lou, I’m going up to Ellis’s house, then out to the cliffs. Maybe being there will jog my memory for any details I’ve buried all these years.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He managed a smile. “Somehow, I knew you would.”
“Unless you’d rather go alone—”
He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Abigail refused Lou Beeler’s suggestion that she put herself into protective custody. She was polite and appreciative of his concern, but adamant. “Not a chance, Lou,” she said, refilling his mug with fresh coffee.
He didn’t give up. He’d perched himself on the bar stool Owen had vacated and had listened to her recap of the call, asking few questions. “At least let me post a trooper at your side.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“I don’t like this caller. I haven’t from the beginning.”
“You said it was probably a crank.”
“I did? Well, it still could be.” He blew on his steaming coffee. “Makes you not want to answer any more phones, doesn’t it?”
“No, it makes me hope he’ll call again.”
Lou didn’t comment.
Once the state detective was finished with him, Owen had retreated to the shower, leaving Abigail to fend off Lou by herself. From the moment he’d walked in the door, it was obvious his anxiety about the situation had been ratcheted up a few notches.
Not that she blamed him.
She dumped out the last of her coffee into the sink. “Next time this bastard calls, I want to have enough caffeine in me so I can figure out a way to back him into a corner and nail him. I hate it when I get calls like that before I’ve had my morning coffee.”
“I see you’re coping,” Lou said, just short of a grumble.
“I want this guy, Lou. This caller is Chris’s killer. I know it is.”
“Think he meant to give himself away?”
“Yes. I think everything he’s done and said is intentional.” She looked at the older man across the granite-topped peninsula. “And we’re using ‘he’ in the rhetorical sense. It could be a woman.”
“You have anyone in mind, Abigail? Any names you want to throw out there for consideration, just between us?”
She shook her head, then said, “Not Mattie Young.”
“Even with the pictures, the necklace, the attack on you, the blackmail?”
“Even with.”
Lou studied her a moment, nothing about him giving away what he was thinking or feeling.
“Hell, Lou, you’re like a stone statue,” she said with some impatience. “You could be sitting there thinking about blueberry pancakes for all I know. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” He picked up his mug but didn’t take a sip of the coffee. “Abigail—”
“I know what you’re going to say. I’m not jumping to conclusions. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“You’re not on this case. Think for a moment what you’d do if you were in my position. Your father’s the FBI director. Your deceased