slipped out the photograph of Justin Suskind. Taking it up to his office, he made a copy. He closed his eyes, tried to see the police artist sketch in his mind.
With a pencil he tried adding longer hair, shadowing the eyes. He couldn’t claim to be Rembrandt, he thought—or even Hester H. Landon—but it was worth a shot.
He took the photo and copy back downstairs, detoured back to the library for the files and his notes.
When he got back to the kitchen she had two pots on the stove. A narrow tray of olives, marinated artichokes, cherry peppers sat on the island while she minced garlic.
“How do you do that?” he wondered, and popped an olive into his mouth.
“Kitchen magic. What’s all that?”
“Files the investigator left, notes I’ve made. She went back to the beginning.”
By the time he’d wound through it, pausing before telling her of Suskind’s presence in Whiskey Beach, she’d tossed a bowl of campanelle, mixed with tomatoes, basil and garlic. He watched her grate Parmesan over it.
“You did that in like a half hour. Yeah, yeah, kitchen magic,” he said before she could reply. He dug into the pasta, filled her bowl, then his.
Sliding onto the stool beside his, Abra sampled the dish. “Nice. It worked. So she thinks it’s all connected, too?”
“Yeah, she— Nice?” he said after his own sample. “It’s great. You should write this down.”
“And spoil the spontaneity? She’ll talk to Vinnie, right? And Detective Corbett.”
“That’s the plan, and she’ll have a couple of fresh items to pass along.”
“Such as?”
“Let’s try this first.” He turned over the doctored copy, set it on the counter between them. “Does this guy look familiar?”
“I . . . He looks like the man in the bar that night. A lot like the man in the bar.” She lifted the photo, studied it carefully. “It looks more like him than I was able to translate to the police artist. Where did you get this?”
In answer, Eli turned over the original photo.
“Who is this?” she asked. “Shorter hair, and a cleaner, smoother look about him. How did she find the man I saw in the bar?”
“She didn’t know she found him. This is Justin Suskind.”
“Suskind, the man Lindsay was involved with? Of course.” Annoyance flickered over her face as she tapped her fingers at her temple. “Damn it! I saw his picture in the paper last year, but I didn’t remember or put it together. Didn’t pay that much attention, I guess. What was he doing at the pub?”
“Staking things out. A few months ago he bought Sandcastle, a cottage on the north point.”
“He bought a house in Whiskey Beach? I know that house.” She jabbed a finger at Eli. “I know it. I do seasonal cleaning for one across from it. Eli, there’s only one reason he would buy a house here.”
“To gain access to this one.”
“But it’s crazy, it’s crazy when you think about it. He was having an affair with your wife, and now he’s . . . Did he have the affair so he could get information about the house, maybe hope to get more on the treasure? Or did he learn about all that during the affair?”
“Lindsay never had much interest in Bluff House.”
“But she was a connection,” Abra insisted. “She knew about the Calypso, the dowry, didn’t she?”
“Sure. I told her about it the first time I brought her here. I showed her the cove where pirates used to moor. And about running whiskey during Prohibition. You know, impress the girl with local color and Landon lore.”
“And was she? Impressed?”
“It’s a good story. I remember her asking me to tell it at a couple of dinner parties back then, but that was more for laughs. She didn’t think much of, or about, Whiskey Beach.”
“Suskind obviously did, and does. Eli, this is huge. He could be responsible for all of it. The break-ins, Hester’s fall, Duncan’s murder. Lindsay’s—”
“He has an alibi for Lindsay.”
“But wasn’t that his wife? If she lied . . .”
“They’re separated, and she’s sticking by her original statement. A little reluctantly, Sherrilyn thinks, as she’s not feeling very friendly toward Suskind these days.”
“She could still be lying.” Abra stabbed some pasta. “He’s guilty of other crimes.”
“Innocent until,” Eli reminded her.
“Oh, don’t go lawyer on me. Give me one good reason, other than bad behavior, he’d buy that house.”
“I can give you a few. He likes the beach, he wanted an investment, his marriage is/was going south and he wanted a place to