She pulled, pressed, twisted, tugged, ground, then rubbed every little shock away until he lay limp as water.
“How’re you doing?” she asked when she smoothed the sheet over him.
“I think I saw God.”
“How did she look?”
He let out a muffled laugh. “Pretty hot, actually.”
“I always suspected that. Take your time getting up. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
He’d managed to sit up, mostly wrap the sheet around the important parts, when she walked back in with a glass of water.
“Drink it all.” She cupped his hands around it, then brushed his hair away from his forehead. “You look relaxed.”
“There’s a word between ‘relaxed’ and ‘unconscious.’ I can’t think of it now, but that’s where I am.”
“It’s a good place. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Abra.” He took her hand. “It sounds weak and clichéd, but I’m going to say it anyway. You have a gift.”
She smiled, beautifully. “It doesn’t sound weak and clichéd to me. Take your time.”
When he came in she had the soup warming on the stove, and a glass of wine in her hand. “Hungry?”
“I wasn’t, but that smells pretty damn good.”
“Are you up for another walk on the beach first?”
“I could be.”
“Good. The light’s so soft and pretty this time of day. We’ll work up an appetite.” She led the way into the laundry for jackets, zipped up her own hoodie.
“I used the telescope earlier,” she told him as they stepped outside. “It’s a good spot for it.”
“I saw some crime-scene techs poking around by the lighthouse.”
“We don’t have murder as a rule in Whiskey Beach, and fatal accidents don’t draw tourists. It’s important to be thorough. And the more thorough they are, the better it is for you.”
“Maybe so, but I’m connected. Somehow. The local cop asked if there were guns in the house. I hedged because I had this sudden thought that maybe whoever broke in took something out of the gun collection to shoot Duncan.”
“God. I never thought of that.”
“You’ve never been the prime suspect in a murder investigation. Anyway, they’re all there, in place, locked in their cases. When they get the search warrant, and they will, they may take them in for testing. But they’ll already know none of the weapons in Bluff House killed Duncan.”
“Because they’ll know what kind of caliber was used, and maybe even what kind of gun. I’ve watched my share of CSI-type TV,” she added. “They’re all antique-type guns in there. I doubt Duncan was shot with a musket or a dueling pistol.”
“Odds are low.”
“Regardless, we’re undoing our earlier work talking about cops and murder.” She shook her hair back when they reached the base of the beach steps, lifted her face to the softening blue of the evening sky. “Do you want to know why I moved to Whiskey Beach? Why it’s my place?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I’m going to tell you. It’s a good beach-walking story, though I have to start back a ways, to give you the background.”
“One question first, because I’ve been trying to figure it out. What did you do before you came here and started your massage/yoga/jewelry-making/housecleaning business?”
“You mean professionally? I was the marketing director for a nonprofit out of D.C.”
He looked at her—rings on her fingers, hair flying everywhere. “Okay, that one didn’t make the top ten on my list.”
She gave him an elbow poke. “I have an MBA from Northwestern.”
“Seriously?”
“Deadly serious, and I’m jumping ahead. My mother is an amazing woman. An incredibly smart, dedicated, brave, involved woman. She had me while she was in grad school, and my father decided it was all more than he signed on for, so they split when I was about two. He’s not really a part of my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So was I for a while, but I got over it. My mother’s a human rights attorney. We traveled a lot. She took me with her whenever she could. When she couldn’t, I stayed with my aunt—her sister—or my maternal grandparents. But for the most part I went with her. I got a hell of an education and worldview.”
“Wait a minute. Wait.” The sudden flash had him gaping at her. “Is your mother Jane Walsh?”
“Yes. You know her?”
“Of. Jesus Christ, Jane Walsh? She won the Nobel Peace Prize.”
“I said she was an amazing woman. I wanted to be her when I grew up, but who wouldn’t?” Abra lifted her arms high for a moment, closed her eyes to welcome the wind. “She’s one in a million. One in tens of millions