"In any case Eli continued the tradition of expanding the house, the business, and the parties continued-with some scandals and tragedies thrown in-up to Prohibition. If things got lean, you wouldn't know it by the way they lived. The twenties roared into the thirties, and the government realized they had screwed up and banning whiskey was costing them one h.e.l.l of a lot. People bellied back up to the bar, in the open, and we opened another distillery."

"The whiskey empire."

"Through it, we've had art connoisseurs-and those reputed to have had affairs with artists-suicides, two who spied for the Allies, and plenty who died in various wars, a dancer who soared to fame in Paris, and another who ran away with the circus."

"I like that one especially."

"A d.u.c.h.ess through marriage, a cardsharp, a cavalry officer who died with Custer, heroes, villains, a nun, two senators, doctors, lawyers. You name it, they're probably in there."

"It's a long line. Most people don't-or can't-trace their family back that far, or have a place that's been in that family for so many generations."

"True enough. But do you know what's missing?"

"A suffragette, a Playboy bunny, a rock star?"

He laughed. "We had some of the first. I didn't come across any of the other two. What's missing is Esmeralda's Dowry. It's mentioned along with the Calypso, the wreck, some speculation on Broome-did he survive or was the survivor a simple seaman? Speculation again on the dowry: Did it survive? But in these two most in-depth and sensible histories I've come across, the weight's on no."

"That doesn't mean they're right. I prefer believing it survived, just like in my version, the young brother and schoolteacher made their way west and plowed fields and made babies."

"They drowned when their wagon tipped over crossing a river."

"They planted corn and had eight children. I'm firm on that."

"Okay." Either way, he thought, they'd been dead a very long time. "On the dowry, it makes me wonder, again, what information Suskind has that I don't. What makes him so sure that he'd risk so much, that he'd kill? Or is it all just bulls.h.i.t?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if it has nothing to do with the long-lost treasure? I just jumped there, automatically. Somebody digging in the bas.e.m.e.nt. What else?"

"Exactly, Eli." Puzzled, she turned to study his profile. "What else?"

"I don't know. Nothing I've found takes me anywhere else. But nothing I've found, realistically, takes me there either." He glanced at her. "I think he's just f.u.c.king bats.h.i.t."

"That worries you."

"d.a.m.n right it does. You can't reason with crazy. You can't predict it. You can't really plan for it."

"I'm going to disagree."

"Okay. And?"

"I'm not saying he isn't twisted. I think anyone who takes a life, unless it's in defense of self or another, is twisted. But you know, it's verified that he and Lindsay were involved."

"Yeah. Yeah," he repeated. "And she wouldn't go for crazy. Not overtly crazy. But people can hide their nature."

"Do you think so? I just don't, at least not for long. I think what we are shows. Not just in our actions, but in our face, our eyes. He's worked on this for more than a year and a half-closer to two years now-as far as we know. Getting close to Lindsay, talking her into driving to Whiskey Beach when she didn't like it. So there's probably some charm in there. He's also juggling a wife, children, a job. Twisted, I think, yes, but not bats.h.i.t. Bats.h.i.t's out of control. He's still maintaining."

"Twisted's bad enough."

When they fought their way into Boston traffic, he turned to her again. "You're sure about this?"

"I'm not sitting in the car, Eli. Forget that. I think we should drive by her house first. If there's no car, we can check her work. She's part-time, so it's a toss-up. So much energy in the city! I love it for a day or two, then, boy, I want out."

"I used to think I needed it. Not anymore."

"Whiskey Beach is good for a writer."

"It's good for me." He laid a hand over hers. "So are you."

She brought his hand to her cheek. "The perfect thing to say."

He followed the GPS, though he thought he could have found the house. He knew the area, actually had friends-or former friends-who lived there.

He found the pretty Victorian, painted pale yellow, with a bay window on the side where stairs led down from a deck.

A BMW sedan sat in the drive, and a woman in a wide-brimmed hat was watering pots of flowers on the side deck.

"Looks like she's home."

"Yeah. Let's do this."

The woman set down her watering can as they pulled in behind the BMW, and came to the edge of the deck.

"h.e.l.lo. Can I help you?"

"Mrs. Suskind?"

"That's right."

Eli walked to the base of the steps. "I wonder if you have a few minutes to talk to me. I'm Eli Landon."

Her lips parted, but she didn't step back. "I thought I recognized you." Her gaze, calm and brown, slid to Abra.

"This is Abra Walsh. I realize this is an intrusion, Mrs. Suskind."

She let out a long sigh, and sadness moved in and out of her eyes. "Your wife, my husband. That should put us on a first-name basis. It's Eden. Come on up."

"Thank you."

"There was an investigator here last week. And now you." She pulled off her hat, ran her hand over a sunny swing of hair. "Don't you want to put it behind you?"

"Yes. Very much. I can't. I didn't kill Lindsay."

"I don't care. That sounds horrible. It is horrible, but I can't care. You should sit down. I've got some iced tea."

"Can I help you with it?" Abra asked her.

"No, that's fine."