Carla Neggers - The Widow

Grace, however, quietly put down the book she was reading and followed her brother onto the front porch. “Linc, it’s Mattie, isn’t it?”

“I think so. I suspect he’s drunk.”

“My God. I’d hoped he’d stopped for good this time.” She kept her voice to a whisper and showed no sign of wanting to see Mattie herself. “Please, do what you can to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”

“Like you, Grace?”

Even in the dim light, he could see her flush. “The FBI’s here on the island, checking up on me, my past. We all know that. But that’s not what I was thinking-”

“I know it wasn’t. I’m sorry.” He nodded in the direction of the front door. “Go back in. Keep Dad occupied. He’s not going to give Mattie many more chances.”

Linc waited a few seconds to give Grace a chance to get back inside, then took the porch steps in two leaps and ran out to the driveway.

Mattie kicked his bike. “Fucking piece of shit.”

“Mind your language here,” Linc said. “You know what my father’s like.”

“He swears. I’ve heard him.”

“He doesn’t always live by the same rules he expects the rest of us to live by.”

“Especially the hired help?” Mattie half tripped over the bike, standing close to Linc, his eyes wild, furious. But he wasn’t drunk. “I want my money.”

“Not here-”

“All of it. Every goddamn dime.”

“Mattie, I can’t.”

“Linc, you can. Your daddy has that much stuffed in his mattress. Get it, before I demand another ten.”

Linc’s stomach rolled over. He thought he’d throw up right there on the driveway, but saw the futility of arguing with Mattie. He just wanted to get rid of him without attracting his father’s attention. “All right, all right. I’ll see what I can do. Can you give me a couple days?”

“Tomorrow.”

Linc nodded. “Okay. No promises, though-”

“Get. Me. My. Money.”

“I will.”

Mattie sucked in a breath, mollified, then coughed, half sobbing. “I’ll do good with it. I’m getting back into my photography. I don’t care if you think I’m scum. People will see the real me.”

The real Mattie? Linc checked his disgust. “I hope so, Mattie.”

“You wait. You wait and see.”

“I will. Everyone’s always said you have an incredible talent for photography.”

“It’s not just talent. It’s skill. There’s a lot more to photography than just pointing a camera and pressing a button.”

“You know more about it than I do.”

“Damn right.”

For a moment, Linc almost felt sorry for Mattie-wanted him to get back on his feet. The guy who was blackmailing him. “Look, why don’t I give you a ride back to your house? It’s dark as hell out here, and it’s cold-”

Mattie shook his head. “I’ll ride my damn bike. When I get my license back-” He sniffled, picking up the bike. “No more, you understand? No more. I’ll show everyone.”

“I bet you will.”

After two tries, Mattie got his bike rolling, and he pedaled smoothly off into the night. Linc walked out to the end of the driveway and shut and locked the security gate, knowing it was what his father would expect. And he needed the time to pull himself together.

The backs of his legs ached from hiking with Owen. He had to be crazy to think he could do search-and-rescue-he wasn’t in Owen’s league. The guy climbed up mountains as if he was on a stroll. He was strong, sure-footed, in top shape.

His father was right, Linc thought. Everyone was right. He was soft.

And now he was in serious trouble, too. He was letting Mattie blackmail him and had just come down close to rooting for the guy.

He started back down the dark driveway, wishing he’d just trip and break his neck and die on the spot. He was useless. Worse than useless. He was an albatross around his family’s neck.

He brushed at his tears with his forearm.

Mattie had no honor, no boundaries, no rational thought process. He was unreliable, contradictory, volatile. Linc could let himself get sucked into Mattie’s twisted thinking. He couldn’t trust him.

Linc swallowed a sob. Where was he going to get nine thousand dollars by tomorrow-hell, by next week, even? What would Mattie do if he didn’t come up with the money?

Tears ran down his face. What he couldn’t stand, far more than the fear of not getting Mattie the money, was the thought that anyone-even that drunk-would think he’d killed Chris Browning.

But why shouldn’t they think it?

Chris is dead because of you.

Stumbling, Linc cut past the garage and across the yard, knowing he had to compose himself before he saw his father and sister.

He could see the silhouette of the mountains across the sound, against the starlit sky. “I got you killed, Chris,” he whispered. “Please forgive me. Please.”

Owen Garrison had found a way to thrive in spite of the guilt he had to feel over his sister’s death. But Linc didn’t have Owen’s strength.

“Linc?” His sister walked down from the stone terrace, casting a long, black shadow under the night sky. “Is everything okay? Dad’s getting worried.”

“Everything’s fine. I was just on my way in.”

She stood next to him. “Mattie?”

“He’s gone. He wasn’t drunk. He just-he wanted to check about coming out here tomorrow. I don’t know.” Linc gave a fake laugh. “Mattie goes his own way.”

“That he does.” Her voice was subdued, and her color was off-it wasn’t just the light. She shivered, wrapping her baggy sweater more tightly around her. “We should go in.”

“Grace-” Linc stopped himself. “Never mind. You’re right, we should go in. It’s cold out here.” He sniffled. “That’s why my nose is red and running.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

That was his sister, Linc thought. Always so decent. He wanted to tell her about the blackmail and get her advice. But how could he? She had enough on her mind. She might feel obligated to tell the FBI. Would that screw up her appointment?

But if she didn’t tell them and they found out, then what?

No, Linc thought, following her through the cool grass, he had to figure out this one on his own.

Get Mattie the rest of his money. Hope it’d be enough.

Only for guys like MattieYoung, there was never enough.

He’d be back once he had the ten grand. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

The boys started bickering five minutes after Doyle picked them up at camp and hadn’t stopped since. For two cents, he’d put them on a plane to London. Let their mother deal with them.

“Why can’t we stay with Owen?” Sean asked, a demanding note in his tone.

“Because you went out his window.”

“Nothing happened. We didn’t get hurt. He didn’t mind. Come on, Dad, it was no big deal.”

“I mind. What if it hadn’t been Mattie up in the old foundation? What if it had been a ghost? Then what, huh?” He glared at Sean, then shifted to Ian. “There. You don’t have an answer, do you? You didn’t think this one through. You just got a bee up your behinds and out the window you went-”

They sputtered into giggles.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“‘Bee up your behinds,’” Ian said. “That’s funny, Dad.”

He sat back, grinning at his two sons. “What am I going to do with you? Did you tell your mother you went out Owen’s window on a bedsheet when she called?”

“No,” Sean said.

Ian nodded. “She’d worry.”

“What about me? Don’t you care if I worry?”

That just drew more laughter.

At least, Doyle thought, the rascals weren’t fighting with each other. If he heard one more squawk, whine, fake cry or whispered threat, he’d shove them both upstairs and sit and watch television by himself.