Four boards were gone from the deck. But the beams and the girders still looked intact and sturdy.

Griff edged back from the rift, stood and dusted off his knees. He walked back to the bridge’s approach and left the path, following the grassy ledge down to the pool at the bottom of the cottage garden.

It took a while but at last he spotted one of the planks docked against the stone dam that ringed the pool.

Naturally it was on the other side of the pond. Griff swore quietly. This night was just getting better and better.

Not wanting to risk a fall on the slick rocks, he clamped the flashlight between his teeth and crawled along the rocky top of the stone dam on his hands and knees. He fished out the waterlogged board.

If crawling out had been fun, crawling back while only able to use one arm was even more enjoyable. By the time he reached solid ground he was drenched in sweat, and the flashlight beam bobbed erratically with his labored breaths.

Griff sat down on the grass and directed the flashlight beam to both ends of the board. As expected, one edge was splintered and torn. On the surface, the other side was also...

Griff turned the board over and ran his thumb against the neatly sawn edge.

Chapter Nine

He dreamed about the mechanical bird in the library and woke with the sound of real birds singing.

For a few minutes Griff lay blinking up at the ceiling, absorbing the pleasant strangeness of his surroundings. Outside the windows, the climbing rose bushes threw pewter-colored silhouettes, sharply cut as old-fashioned valentines, against the white ceiling. The room smelled faintly of orange and lavender, the sheets and blankets were luxuriously soft.

It was nice here. No point in pretending otherwise. It was lovely.

Then he remembered the bridge and his heart nosedived.

It couldn’t have been deliberate. It was too crazy to even consider the idea that someone had deliberately sawn partially through the planks on the bridge. And yet he couldn’t forget the jagged evidence spotlighted in the beam of his flashlight.

But what would be the point? The chances of his being killed were highly unlikely. He might have broken an arm or an ankle, but that was about the worst that could have happened. Barring some really bad luck.

Jarrett’s offspring hadn’t made any secret he wasn’t welcome, but was he that big a nuisance?

Or did the idea of this book really pose a threat to someone?

Griff sat up and threw back the covers. He went to the closet and pulled out the sawn board, which he had stashed behind his suitcase. He carried it to the window and examined it in the pure morning light.

Both ends were rough and splintered. But the underside toward the other edge of the board looked sawn to him. He was no expert in carpentry, but that was how it appeared. Not cut all the way through, but sawn enough to weaken the board so that it would eventually give way when someone put their full weight on it.

Even if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, two questions remained. When had the board been sawn through and who had been the intended victim? He assumed the sabotaged bridge had been intended for him, but maybe not. Maybe it had been like that for a while?

It seemed hard to believe, especially since from what he’d gathered the Arlingtons didn’t do a lot of grand-scale entertaining any more.

He stowed the board back in the closet. So okay. The dunking had been intended for him. A malicious prank, but probably nothing more. Not exactly heartwarming, but was he going to share his suspicions with Jarrett?

Griff considered this while he showered and shaved. By the time he had dressed and was gathering his keys, sunglasses and laptop, he had decided not to bring his suspicion of sabotage to Jarrett’s attention. It was just going to upset the old man, and Griff found he was reluctant to do that. He liked Jarrett. Well, at least what he’d seen of Jarrett so far. There could be a cold and manipulative side to Jarrett for all Griff knew.

Even so. Jarrett’s grief and determination to find out what had become of his grandson touched Griff. So no. He would not tell Jarrett about the sawn board. For now he would keep silent.

And he would be very careful.

* * *

He met Chloe on his hike up to the house. She was wearing a skintight black-and-lime-green jogging outfit. Her body was silvered with sweat despite the chilly morning air, giving the razor-sharp bones of her chest and shoulders an almost robotic aspect.

She removed the iPod ear buds from her ears as she caught up with him. “Are you coming up to the house for breakfast? If you are, I’ll go up with you.”

“No, I was just going to get my car. I want to head over to Oyster Bay early this morning.”

“What’s in Oyster Bay?”

The Nassau County Second Precinct, which had handled Brian’s kidnapping. But after the bridge incident Griff had decided to keep his plans to himself as much as possible. He said, “I was hoping to interview a couple of people.”

“Did you want some company?”

“No.”

She bridled. “Jesus. Don’t bother being polite on my account!”

Griff looked at her in surprise. “I’m sorry. I’m working, that’s all.”

“This is kind of my business, you know.”

“How?”

“Brian was my cousin. This is my family you’re investigating.”

“I’m not investigating your family. I’m writing a book about Brian’s kidnapping.”

“And you’re going to pretend that’s not the same thing?”

“It isn’t the same thing. Necessarily. Or do you know something I don’t?”

Chloe scowled at him, still jogging alongside. “You’re really not very good with people, are you? How the hell did you ever decide to become a reporter?”

He considered this. “I like answers.”

She rolled her eyes as though this was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. Maybe it was ridiculous, but it was true. Maybe he wasn’t good with people, but he was interested in them and what made them tick.

He waited for Chloe to sprint off, but she continued to pace him with that bouncy step. Finally she asked, “Do you get along with your mother?”

“My mother passed away when I was in college.”

“Sorry.” She was silent for a moment, apparently paying her respects, then she said tersely, “I hate my mother. I don’t know why the fuck she’s here. She detests this place.”

“Why do you hate your mother?”

Chloe’s lip curled. “Is this off the record?”

“Sure.”

Instead of answering she asked, “Did you get along with your mother?”

“Off and on,” Griff admitted.

“Did you like her?”

“I never thought about it. She was my mother.”

“You can’t say now anyway because she’s dead and you’re from the Midwest.”

Griff laughed. Chloe was odd and abrasive, but he sort of liked her. Truthfully, his relationship with his mother had been difficult. Growing up, she had alternately smothered him with attention and ignored him. Now he understood how hard things must have been for her, widowed with a small child, and no immediate or even extended family to support her. It had to have been tough, but she had not been a complainer.

He said, “Forget about my mother. What’s wrong with yours?”

“You mean aside from the fact that she never wanted me?”

Griff looked at her. Chloe gave him a sideways look and then smiled. He didn’t trust that smile. “She shouldn’t have come back. That’s all. The only reason she did is because of you. Because of this book. And she sure as hell shouldn’t have brought him.”

“The Viking?”

Chloe nodded. “Grandy hates him. Of course he hates all of us. The only one he ever loved was Matthew. Matthew and Brian.”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious or just spinning him a line. Maybe she wasn’t sure herself.