She wrung her hands. "I tried to tell them, but no one would listen to me. I know her disappearance had something to do with that little girl who went missing at the same time."

Claire made a tiny gasp, but he kept his eyes on his aunt. "Why are you so sure of that?"

"She called me, Vicky did. Before she disappeared. She said she'd heard a child crying out in the woods. She told Walker, but he insisted it was an owl."

"Did he hear it too?" Claire's voice was strangled.

His aunt nodded. "He told her he'd check it out, but when she looked, she found him sleeping on the porch. I know my sister. She couldn't ignore a crying child."

"Pop never said anything about it."

Aunt Nan looked down at her lap. "What does this all mean?"

"We don't know yet. The victim hasn't been identified." If his aunt went any paler, she was apt to keel over right here on the floor.

Her slim fingers pleated the paper napkin on her lap. "I told the sheriff." Her voice was stronger now, more confident. "But your dad and the sheriff were good friends, so who do you think he listened to?" She looked over at Claire as a tear rolled down her cheek. "My dear, why are you crying?"

Luke glanced at Claire. "Aunt Nan, I didn't mention Claire's last name. It's Dellamare."

His aunt's eyes widened, and she looked from him to Claire. "You're the Dellamare child?"

Claire nodded. "I'm sorry if I was the cause of your sister's death."

"Oh, honey, it wasn't your fault! No, no, I didn't mean that." Aunt Nan leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "But this has to be G.o.d's providence that you're here now when Vicky has finally been found. You can tell us what happened. Did she help you in some way?"

Claire's hand went to her mouth, and she smothered a sob. "I don't remember. Oh, dear Lord, why can't I remember?"

He reached over to take her hand, but she wrenched it away and bolted for the door.

SEVEN.

Claire stumbled along the tree line through the debris left by a long, hard winter. Bits of twigs, leaves, and small pebbles slid into her water shoes and bit into the soles of her feet. She found a path into the dimly lit forest and took it.

She wanted to slap her skull and force herself to remember. Something important had happened that night, something that took the life of Luke's sweet mother. Guilt twisted itself around her gut. She leaned over and retched. Though nothing came up, the nausea subsided, and she wiped a shaky hand across her damp brow.

Luke would be worried, and she ought to go back, but she wasn't ready to face the man. His childhood had been ruined because of her. She tried to remind herself she'd been a child, but she still felt responsible.

The path wound past a small waterfall, and she stopped and absorbed the landscape. Was it somehow familiar? Her imagination, surely. The path beckoned on, and she followed the call. Fifteen minutes later she smelled the salty tang of the ocean before she saw it. Her steps quickened.

Stepping from the dappled shadows of the forest, she stood on a high cliff overlooking the Atlantic. Powerful waves battered themselves against the foot of the great rock. From here, she could see the distant sh.o.r.eline of the Schoodic Peninsula. The storm clouds glowered and spat rain her way, but she lifted her face into the moisture and closed her eyes.

She stood there inhaling the scent of the sea and listening to the squawk of the gulls overhead. The tension had begun to leave her shoulders when she heard a footfall crunch on dead leaves. Smiling, she started to turn to greet Luke, but a hard shove on her back pushed her close to the edge of the precipice.

Her arms cartwheeled, and she tried to regain her balance. A gust of wind aided her, and she dropped to her stomach and grabbed an outcropping of root for all she was worth. The pungent scent of mud and moss filled her head as she pressed her face to the earth to try to thwart her attacker's intent to throw her off the cliff. Her shoes had come off, and she dug her toes into the ground as well.

A hard boot hit her ribs, and the explosion of pain through her midsection loosened her grip on the ground. One leg went over the edge, dangling in the air. No! She tightened her leg until her toes found purchase on the side of the rock. She dug her fingers in harder, barely feeling the way her thumbnail tore loose. She wanted to scream, but it took all her energy just to hang on.

He is going to kill me.

She barely had the sense left to pray for help.

Through the roaring in her head, she heard Luke shout from the forest, then the sound of someone running away. Daring to raise her head, she peered up and saw a bulky form dressed in camouflage rushing into the forest. Struggling to breathe, she got to her hands and knees. It hurt to try to pull in oxygen.

She sat back on her haunches and drew in a shallow breath, then another. Luke rushed toward her from the tree line. His eyes widened as he approached, and she raised a shaking hand to her hair. Her hair was no longer safely held atop her head and lay in disarray on her shoulders.

When he reached her he dropped to her knees. "Claire, are you all right? What happened?"

"H-He tried to push me off the cliff, just like Jenny Bennett." Sobs bubbled up, but she forced them down. A Dellamare didn't lose control. It had happened once, but never again.

His rough fingers caressed her cheek. "You're having trouble breathing. I need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?"

"I think so." She let him help her to her feet, but every breath caused a red-hot shaft of agony through her midsection. She took two steps, then sagged against him. "I-I can't breathe."

She expected him to say he'd call for help, but instead he swung her into his arms and plunged into the woods with her.

"You can't carry me that far." It was getting harder to breathe, and spots of color danced in her vision.

She didn't hear his answer as roaring filled her head and the world went dark.

Folly Shoals Hospital, barely bigger than a clinic, squatted between two giant maple trees. Several old-timers lounged on the benches in the shade and looked up curiously as Luke burst from his truck, then went around and lifted Claire from the pa.s.senger seat.

He'd broken all speed records getting here in the driving rain. At least it had stopped, but the muddy road had slowed him down. Claire was too weak to cling to him as he carried her through the gla.s.s entry door. "She can't breathe!"

The receptionist looked up at his shout, and her gaze went to Claire's pale face. "This way, last room on the right." She hit a b.u.t.ton, and the doors to the emergency area opened.

The muscles in Luke's arms and back finally began to complain as he made it the last few feet to the examining room. The sting of antiseptic stung his eyes. He laid her gently on the table, then stepped back as a nurse and doctor rushed in. "She was attacked up on Sweet Gum Ridge. Some guy kicked her in the ribs and tried to throw her off the ridge."

"Can't breathe right," Claire gasped. Her color was gray, and her eyes fluttered closed.

"Probably a rib poking your lungs." The young doctor looked about seventeen, but his manner was brisk and professional as he bent to listen to her chest. "You her husband?"

"No, just a friend." He curled his fingers into his palms. They weren't going to throw him out if he had his way. "I interrupted the attack." He stared at her dark lashes resting on her cheeks and willed her to open her eyes again.

"Did you call the police?"

"Not yet."

"You can't use your cell phone in here. Step out into the lobby, and we'll let you know when you can come back. We'll get the portable X-ray machine down here."

Luke pressed his lips together, but he knew the doctor was right. He would just be in the way here. At least he'd be allowed back in later.

He squeezed Claire's fingers. "I'll be right outside."

He stepped into the hall and found a waiting room that smelled of new carpet, then pulled out his cell phone. He settled in a brown upholstered chair and called his friend.

In five minutes, Beau strode into the waiting room wearing his uniform and a somber expression. "You okay?"

Luke rose and shook hands with Beau. "Just wish I had a chance to land a punch. I saw the attack from the edge of the woods and yelled. He ran off when he saw me coming. Big guy dressed in camouflage, like he'd been out hunting." Luke closed his eyes briefly at the thought of Claire hurtling to her death. "I was barely in time."

"Have you spent much time with her?"

Luke eyed his friend. The question held a double edge to it, and Beau's reserve was new. "What aren't you telling me?"

"The sheriff would shoot me if he knew I was talking about this, but as an investigator with the Coast Guard, you can help us figure it out." Beau stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We got an anonymous letter in today's mail. The writer said the sheriff should investigate Claire Dellamare, that she isn't who she says she is. It was postmarked on Wednesday before the Dellamares arrived, and though the letter wasn't signed, the postmark was local. We swept it for prints and found some."

"And?"

"We found Jenny Bennett's prints on the envelope. Her prints were in the computer from the investigation into her disappearance, and they popped up as a match this morning."

Luke took a step back and absorbed the implications. "So you suspect Claire may have killed Jenny and faked the attack?" He shook his head. "I don't buy it."

"The sheriff does, though."

"And you? What do you think?"

"She doesn't seem the murderous type. But the sheriff is up for reelection, and this case is high profile."

"The new attack might make him doubt his a.s.sumptions about her guilt." Luke knew Danny well, and once the sheriff got something in his head, he didn't often change his mind.

"What were you two doing up there anyway?"

Luke told him about what went down at his aunt's. "You ever read the accounts from my mom's disappearance? The part about hearing a child crying?"

Beau's mouth flattened. "As a matter of fact, I pulled out those old accounts this morning. I ran across her comments, but family members find clues where none exist."

"And it explains why my fire truck was with her. If we find out the body is her, anyway."

Beau's green eyes softened. "I left a message on your voice mail earlier because I wanted to talk to you. We got some dental records back." His hand came down on Luke's shoulder and squeezed. "We have a positive ID, Luke. We found your mom. Don't tell your dad yet. Danny wants to do it."

Though he'd been expecting the news, Luke closed his eyes shut and inhaled. He'd never dreamed they'd really find her. What had happened twenty-five years ago and how was Claire involved? He exhaled and opened his eyes, staring at Beau, who wore an expression of concern.

Beau removed his hand. "We're going to find who killed her. I'll go talk to Nancy and see if she remembers anything else."

"And talk to Pop. See why he dismissed Aunt Nancy's concern." Bile rose in Luke's throat. Why had his father ignored his mom? She might still be alive if Pop had taken her seriously.

"Your dad up to it?"

"He slurs his words a little, and he can't get of the wheelchair without help, but his mind is still sharp. When do you think Danny will tell us the news officially?"

"Probably Monday. He's in Bangor for the weekend."

The door to the waiting room opened, and the doctor entered with a file in his hand. He looped his stethoscope around his neck and smiled at Luke. "Just got the results back, and your girlfriend doesn't have a punctured lung, which is what I feared. But she's got a cracked rib. Whoever did this put some heavy force behind those kicks."

Luke didn't correct the doctor's a.s.sumption about Claire being his girlfriend. "Will she be all right? Do you have to keep her?"

The doctor shook his head. "She'll be in some pain for a couple of days, but she can go home. I want her to keep ice on the injury and take ibuprofen." He reached into the file and withdrew a sheet of paper. "Here are the care instructions. I'll call in a stronger pain med just in case she needs it."

"When can I see her?"

"In a few minutes. The nurse is removing the IV and giving her a shot to help her relax. She should lie on the side that hurts the most. It will let her breathe more deeply so she doesn't get pneumonia. And encourage her to walk so she keeps using those lungs. Inactivity is the worst thing for her right now. Her inclination will be to avoid anything that hurts, but it's the wrong prescription for getting better."

"I'll make sure she does that." Luke shook the doctor's hand and thanked him.

"The poor woman is going to be a ma.s.s of bruises from her neck to her knees."

His gut clenched hard. What kind of man would do that to a woman? The same man who killed his mother?

EIGHT.

The small clapboard cottage where Kate Mason grew up sat squarely in the middle of their blueberry barrens just off Highway 1, about fifteen miles north of Summer Harbor. Seeing the cottage always made her happy. The placement of its windows and shutters made the house, painted two shades of blue, seem to smile a welcome. The wild blueberries in this area weren't planted. They'd sprung up where G.o.d intended them.

She parked her yellow Volkswagen in front of the house. "So far so good. No sign of Mom's car."

Her friend Sh.e.l.ley McDonald twisted a red lock of hair around her finger, a sure sign she was nervous. "What if she comes back early?"

"You've been a teacher too long. I hear the stress in your voice at the thought of breaking any rules. It's not like you're about to get caught cutting cla.s.s. It shouldn't take us more than two hours to install the new closet, and I don't expect her back until dinnertime. Uncle Paul promised to keep her gone at least until then."

Sh.e.l.ley opened her door. "It feels like we're breaking and entering."

"A surprise isn't a crime. Surprises are good."

"This sounds like a big job. Are you sure you're up to it? You look a little pale today."

"I'm fine. You worry too much." Kate stepped out of the car and inhaled the sweet aroma of blueberry blossoms. The tiny white flowers covered the wild bushes as far as the eye could see. She opened the trunk and retrieved the tools she'd need. She'd built the same closet in her own cottage on the other side of the barrens, and her mother had mentioned she'd love one in her room. It was going to make the perfect birthday present. She'd rest later tonight from the exertion.

Sh.e.l.ley joined her at the rear of the car. "Need me to carry anything?"

"I've got it." If only people would quit asking her how she felt. She'd gotten used to those anxious gazes from everyone who knew about her condition, but it got wearing at times. She was fine for now. She hadn't even had an incidence of fainting or rapid heartbeat in a while.

Kate handed her a ring of keys and several boxes of screws and nails. "You can get the door. It's the key with a dot of blue nail polish on it." She latched the tool belt around her waist, then picked up a box of closet racks and shelves. "We'll get these in and come back for the rest."

Sh.e.l.ley laughed. "You look like you could be on a home improvement show." She turned and surveyed the house. "Looks like it's just been painted. I bet you did that too, didn't you?" She mounted the steps to the low-slung porch, decorated with white spindles and corbels.