Stranger on the Shore - lanyon Josh (лучшие бесплатные книги txt) 📗

No.No, no, no. Not here. Not now. There was no reason. No call to freak out. He was not in any danger. Whatever had happened to Brian had happened long ago. Even if Johnson had not acted alone, it was unlikely his accomplice was still around. Or that this accomplice would care about Griff’s book. Johnson didn’t care. Johnson had even agreed to see him. As for the rest of it, other people’s expectations were not his responsibility, were not his problem. Not even Jarrett’s.

True. All true. But he still felt sick with the crushing weight of huge and formless worry.

Griff leaned over and put his head between his knees, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths. All the while he talked to himself, reasoned with himself. Nothing to be frightened of. No cause for panic. Was it the book? It had to be the book. But the worst that could happen was that no one would agree to publish it. So what? He would just publish it himself.

Maybe he wouldn’t sell many copies. Maybe he wouldn’t sell any copies.

But really it was way too soon to worry about that. First he had to write the book. He had to finish it. He had to start it.

Griff kept talking to himself in a mix of scolding and encouraging, and after a minute or two he could catch his breath again, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rhythm. He sat up and wiped his damp forehead.

Jeez. He thought he’d gotten better at handling stress. He was better, but maybe he hadn’t acknowledged till now what a big deal this book was. If he screwed it up, he might screw up his whole—no. Stop. This was definitely not the way to chill out.

He needed to get out of this house. Do something to clear his mind. He could go for a walk. Yes. Physical activity always helped. He’d go for a walk and then head down to the cottage and have dinner there. He’d had enough of the Arlingtons for one day. And vice versa, he bet. He could go over his notes and plan tomorrow’s trip to the Nassau police department.

Yes. A plan. Great. Having a plan always made everything better.

He rose, gathered his things, longingly considered Gemma’s journal, and left the library.

He didn’t meet anyone on his trek back to the front door, although the brown—and-white spaniels came yapping down the staircase and tried to cut off his retreat. He skirted them and slipped out the front, closing the doors just in time. He could hear the dogs barking hysterically on the other side of the door.

Of course his strategic maneuver had left him on the wrong side of the house, but that was okay. He had wanted a walk and it was a good opportunity to get the lay of the land.

Here was a thought. Suppose the kidnapper had left by the front entrance but cut immediately around the side of the house? He could have stayed off the paths, stuck to the trees and shrubberies. It would take a bit longer but it eliminated both the problem of getting out through the busy kitchen or walking down the crowded front drive without being seen. By the time Brian was taken, not so many guests were milling around the entry hall. It would mean a prolonged and more nerve-racking journey, but in the end it was probably the safest route.

Griff set off walking down one of the dirt side paths. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until someone came up beside him, long strides matching his own.

“Not staying for dinner?” Pierce asked. “Aren’t you missing out on an opportunity to study all your suspects in their natural habitat?”

Griff gave him a cool look. “Are the Arlingtons your only clients? Because you seem to be hanging around here a lot.”

“Am I cramping your style?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

Pierce’s laugh was sardonic. “So let me see if I have this straight. You became interested in the Arlingtons and Brian’s kidnapping because The Great Gatsby is your favorite book?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Close enough,” Pierce said.

“Close enough? That doesn’t seem like a very lawyerly thing to say. I thought lawyers were precise and accurate.”

“We’re talking about you now, Griff.”

“The question is, why are we talking about me?”

“Because you don’t add up.”

“I don’t add up? Check your math,” Griff mocked. “It doesn’t matter if I add up for you, Pierce. You made your objections and they’ve been overruled by Jarrett.”

“Now we’re getting to the real Griffin N. Hadley,” Pierce said. “I thought that golly gee Midwestern boy had to be an act. What does the N stand for, by the way? Is that even your real name?”

“It stands for None of Your Business. And yes, it is my real name. Who would make up a name like mine? Were you waiting out here for me?”

“Not exactly,” Pierce said. Griff couldn’t tell if that was true or not. “So The Great Gatsby. A story about a man who fakes his way into other people’s lives.”

“That’s not what the novel is about.”

“What is the novel about and how did it lead you here into the home of people I care for?”

“Give it a rest,” Griff said.

“Not a chance.” Pierce seemed to be enjoying himself.

They reached a Y in the path. Griff turned right and Pierce kept step along with him. Griff tried to swallow his irritation, but it was no use. “I have a question for you,” he said to Pierce. “Were you here the night Brian disappeared?”

Pierce didn’t actually stumble, but he did seem to check. The next instant he was striding alongside Griff again. “Excuse me?”

“Were you here that night? Your family was obviously close to the Arlingtons. Your dad was Mr. Arlington’s best friend. Were your parents invited? Did they bring you along? You’d have been...what? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Fourteen,” Pierce snapped. “How the hell old do you think I am?”

“It’s hard to tell with you lawyer types. About forty?”

Pierce gave him a long, narrow look. Griff smiled innocently.

“I’m thirty-four.”

“My mistake.”

“Yeah, right,” Pierce muttered.

“Were you here that night?”

“Why?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Counselor. Why are you so cagey?”

“Yes, I was here that night,” Pierce said curtly. “My sister wanted to see the costumes and the decorations, so my parents brought me to keep an eye on Di. We spent the evening eating hors d’oeuvres and watching videos.”

“Watching videos where?”

“In Gemma and Matthew’s bedroom.”

Griff stared at Pierce’s hard profile. “That never came out in any of the news stories.”

Pierce was staring off into the green distance of sculpted hedges and elongated shadows. “Why should it have? We didn’t see anything. We didn’t hear anything.”

“You were right there on the scene though. Wasn’t the nursery next to Gemma and Matthew’s bedroom?”

“Yes. As I said, neither of us saw or heard anything. We watched videos and then we fell asleep. We didn’t even know about Brian until the next morning.”

“How is that possible?”

“My parents left the party before anyone knew Brian was gone. They woke us up, drove us home, we all went to bed and didn’t hear about Brian until the morning.”

“What did you think of Brian?”

“Think of him?” Pierce seemed genuinely astonished. “I didn’t think anything of him. He was four years old. I was fourteen. If I thought of him at all, I thought he was a pain in the ass ba—” He cut himself off and Griff understood why. His predecessor at the Banner Chronicle had covered a child murder—the murder of one child by another—and she’d said it gave her nightmares for years. Pierce was too sharp not to see where Griff’s thoughts were headed. Pierce stopped walking. “Let’s get something straight.”

Griff stopped too.

“I am not part of your investigation. My sister is not part of your investigation. I may not be able to stop you from digging through the Arlingtons’ personal business, but I sure as hell can stop you from poking your nose into my family’s private affairs.”