She crossed the room to a misty seascape hung above the stone fireplace. Even through the haze of fog, the colors were ripe and vivid, as though the vitality and passion were fighting to free themselves from the thin graying curtain. Turbulent whitecaps, the black and toothy edge of rock, the gloomcrowned shadows of islands marooned in a cold, dark sea.

“It's powerful,” she murmured. “And, oh, lonely. It's his, isn't it?” “Yes.”

She let out a shaky sigh. “If you'd like to see that view, you've only to walk on the cliffs beneath The Towers. Suzanna walks there, sometimes with the children, sometimes alone. Too often alone.” Shaking off the mood, Coco turned back. “My niece seems to feel that you're not particularly interested in confirming Christian and Bianca's relationship, and helping to find the emeralds. I find that difficult to believe.”

Holt set the plate aside. “It shouldn't be, Mrs. McPike. But what I told your niece was that if and when I was convinced there had been a connection of any importance, I'd do what I could to help. Which, as I see it, is next to nothing.”

“You were a police officer, weren't you?”

Holt hooked his thumbs in his pockets, not trusting the change of subject. “Yeah.”

“I have to admit I was surprised when I heard you'd chosen that profession, but I'm sure you were well suited to the job.”

The scar on his back seemed to twinge. “I used to be.” “And you'd have solved cases, I suppose.”

His lips curved a little. “A few.”

“So you'd have looked for clues and followed them up until you found the right answer.” She smiled at him. “I always admire the police on television who solve the mystery and tidy everything up before the end of the show.”

“Life's not tidy.”

On certain men, she thought, a sneer was not at all unattractive. “No, indeed not, but we could certainly use someone on our side who has your experience.” She walked back toward him, and she was no longer smiling. “I'll be frank. If I had known what trouble it would cause my family, I might have let the legend of the emeralds die with me. When my brother and his wife were killed, and left their girls in my care, I was also left the responsibility of passing along the story of the Calhoun emeralds – when the time was right. By doing what I consider my duty, I've put my family in danger. I'll do anything in my power, and use anyone I can, to keep them from being hurt. Until those emeralds are found, I can't be sure my family is safe.”

“You need the police,” he began.

“They're doing what they can. It isn't enough.” Reaching out, she put a hand on his. “They aren't personally involved, and can't possibly understand. You can.”

Her faith and her obstinate logic made him uneasy. “You're overestimating me.”

“I don't think so.” Coco held his hand another moment, then gave it a brief squeeze before releasing it “But I don't mean to nag. I only came so I could add my input to Suzanna's. She has such a difficult time pushing for what she wants.”

“She does well enough.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. But with her work and Mandy's wedding, and everything else that's been going on, I know she hasn't had time to speak with you again for the last couple of days. I tell you, our lives have been turned upside down for the last few months. First C.C.'s wedding, and the renovations, now Amanda and Sloan – and Lilah already setting a date to marry Max.” She paused and hoped to look wistful. “If I could only find some nice man for Suzanna, I'd have all my girls settled.”

Holt didn't miss the speculative look. “I'm sure she'll take care of that herself when she's ready.”

“Not when she doesn't give herself a moment to look. And after what that excuse for a man did to her.” She cut herself off there. If she started on Baxter Dumont, it would be difficult to stop. And it would hardly be proper conversation. “Well, in any case, she keeps herself too busy with her business and her children, so I like to keep my eye out for her. You're not married, are you?”

At least no one could accuse her of being subtle, Holt thought, amused. “Yeah. I've got a wife and six kids in Portland.”

Coco blinked, then laughed. “It was a rude question,” she admitted. “And before I ask another, I'll leave you alone.” She started for the door, pleased that he had enough manners to accompany her and open it for her. “Oh, by the way, Amanda's wedding is Saturday, at six. We're holding the reception at the ballroom in The Towers. I'd like for you to come.”

The unexpected curve had him hesitating. “I really don't think it's appropriate.”

“It's more than appropriate,” she corrected. “Our families go back quite a long way, Holt. We'd very much like to have you there.” She started toward her car then turned, smiling again. “And Suzanna doesn't have an escort. It seems a pity.”


The thief called himself by many names. When he had first come to Bar Harbor in search of the emeralds, he had used the name Livingston and had posed as a successful British businessman. He had only been partially successful and had returned under the guise of Ellis Caufield, a wealthy eccentric. Due to bad luck and his partner's fumbling, he'd had to abandon that particular cover.

His partner was dead, which was only a small inconvenience. The thief now went under the name of Robert Marshall and was developing a certain fondness for this alter ego.

Marshall was lean and tanned and had a hint of a Boston accent. He wore his dark hair nearly shoulder length and sported a drooping mustache. His eyes were brown, thanks to contact lenses. His teeth were slightly bucked. The oral device had cost him a pretty penny, but it had also changed the shape of his jaw.

He was very comfortable with Marshall, and delighted to have signed on as a laborer on The Towers renovation. His references had been forged and had added to his overhead. But the emeralds would be worth it. He intended to have them, whatever the price.

Over the past months they had gone from being a job to an obsession. He didn't just want them. He needed them. He found the risk of working so close to the Calhouns only added spice to the game. He had, in fact, passed within three feet of Amanda when she had come into the west wing to talk to Sloan O'Riley. Neither of them, who had known him only as Livingston, had given him a second glance.

He did his job well, hauling equipment, cleaning up debris. And he worked without complaint. He was friendly with his co-workers, even joining them occasionally for a beer after work.

Then he would go back to his rented house across the bay and plan.

The security at The Towers posed no problem – not when it would be so easy for him to disengage it from the inside. By working for the Calhouns, he could stay close, he could be certain he would hear about any new developments in their search for the necklace. And with care and skill, he could do some searching on his own.

The papers he had stolen from them had offered no real clue as yet. Unless it came from the letter he'd discovered. One that had been written to Bianca and signed only “Christian.” A love letter, Marshall mused as he stacked lumber. It was something he had to look into.

“Hey, Bob. Got a minute?”

Marshall looked up and gave his foreman an affable smile. “Sure, nothing but minutes.”

“Well, they need some tables moved into the ballroom for that wedding tomorrow. You and Rick give the ladies a hand.”

“Right.”

Marshall strolled along, fighting back a trembling excitement at being free to walk through the house. He took his instructions from a flustered Coco, then hefted his end of the heavy hunt table to move it up to the next floor.

“Do you think he'll come?” C.C. asked Suzanna as they finished washing down the glass on the mirrored walls.

“I doubt it.”

C.C. brushed back her short cap of black hair as she stood aside to search for streaks. “I don't see why he wouldn't. And maybe if we all gang up on him, he'll break down and join ranks.”

“I don't think he's a joiner.” Suzanna glanced around and saw the two men struggling in with the table. “Oh, it goes against that wall. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Rick managed through gritted teeth. Marshall merely smiled and said nothing.

“Maybe if he sees the picture of Bianca and hears the tape from the interview Max and Lilah had with the maid who used to work here back then, he'll pitch in. He's Christian's only surviving family.”

“Hey!” Rick muffled a curse when Marshall bob-bled the table.

“I don't think he's big on family feeling,” Suzanna put in. “One thing that hasn't changed about Holt Bradford is that he's still a loner.”

Holt Bradford. Marshall committed the name to memory before he called across the room. “Is there anything else we can do for you ladies?”

Suzanna glanced over her shoulder with an absent smile. “No, not right now. Thanks a lot.”

Marshall grinned. “Don't mention it.”

“Some lookers, huh?” Rick muttered as they walked back out. “Oh, yeah.” But Marshall was thinking of the emeralds.

“I tell you, bud, I'd like to –” Rick broke off when two other women and a young boy came to the top of the stairs. He gave them both a big, toothy smile. Lilah gave him a lazy one in return and kept walking.

“Man, oh, man,” Rick said with a hand to his heart. “This place is just full of babes.”

“Pardon the leers,” Lilah said mildly. “Most of them don't bite.”

The slim strawberry blonde gave a weak smile. At the moment a couple of leering carpenters were the least of her worries. “I really don't want to get in the way,” she began in a soft Southwestern drawl. “I know what Sloan said, but I really think it would be best if Kevin and I checked into a hotel for the night.”