"Just that I'm going to keep on digging. The horse isn't buried yet."

"Oh, that's just enough!" Incensed, Abra shoved the flowers back at Eli, then dug into her bag. "Here, take a look. This is the man who's been breaking into Bluff House."

"Abra-"

"No." She rounded on Eli. "Enough. This is the man I saw in the bar that night, and the man who most likely grabbed me when I was in Bluff House. This is the man who almost certainly killed Duncan Kirby-someone you knew-and then planted the gun in my house before making that anonymous call to you. And if you'd stop being ridiculous you'd ask yourself why Justin Suskind bought a house in Whiskey Beach, why he hired Duncan, why he killed him. Maybe he didn't kill Lindsay, but maybe he did. Maybe he knows something because he's a criminal. So be a cop and do something about it."

She grabbed the flowers back, wrenched open the door herself. "Enough," she repeated, and slammed it shut.

"Your girlfriend's got a temper."

"You push b.u.t.tons, Detective. I'm going to visit my grandmother, then I'm going back to Whiskey Beach. I'm going to live my life. You do whatever you have to do."

He got in the car, yanked on his seat belt and drove away.

"I'm sorry." Leaning her head back, Abra closed her eyes a moment, tried to find her center again. "I'm sorry, I probably made it worse."

"No, you didn't. You surprised him. And the sketch of Suskind surprised him. I don't know what he'll do about it, but you caught him off guard."

"Small consolation. I don't like him, and nothing he does or doesn't do is going to change that. Now ..." She let out a couple of long, deep breaths. "Clear the air, settle the mind. I don't want Hester to see I'm upset."

"I thought it was mad."

"Not that different."

"It is when you do it."

She thought that over as he turned the last corner to the Beacon Hill house.

And this, she decided, was more Eli. Maybe because the house exuded, to her, the sense of history and generational family. She liked the feel of it, the lines, the landscape so long established, colored now with early spring bloomers.

She put the flowers back in his hand as they walked to the door. "The good grandson."

And they went in to see Hester.

They found her in her sitting room with a sketchbook, a gla.s.s of cold tea and a small plate of cookies. Setting the sketchbook and her pencil aside, she held out both hands.

"Just what I needed to cheer up my day."

"You look tired," Eli said immediately.

"I have good reason. I just finished my daily physical therapy. You just missed meeting the Marquis de Sade."

"If it's too hard on you, we should-"

"Oh, stop." She waved that away with one impatient flick of the wrist. "Jim's wonderful, and has a nice sharp humor that keeps me on my toes. He knows what I can handle, and how hard to push. But after a session, I'm tired out. Now I'm reviving seeing both of you, and those gorgeous flowers."

"I thought I might have to step in, point Eli in the right direction, but it turns out he has excellent taste. Why don't I take them down to Carmel, so we can put them in a vase for you?"

"Thank you. Have you had lunch? We can all go down. Eli, give me a hand."

"Why don't you just sit for a while first." To close that deal, he sat himself. "We'll go down after you recover from de Sade." He gave Abra a nod, then turned to Hester when she took the flowers out. "You don't have to push so hard."

"You forget who you're talking to. Pushing hard is what gets things done. I'm glad you came, glad you brought Abra."

"It's not as hard to come into Boston now."

"We're working on healing, both of us."

"I didn't push very hard in the early days of it."

"Neither did I. We had to get some traction first."

He smiled. "I love you, Gran."

"You'd better. Your mother should be home in about two hours, though your father won't until after six. Are you going to stay to see your mother at least?"

"That's the plan, then we'll head back. I have a house and a dog to look after."

"Looking after things is good for you. We've come a long way, both of us, in the last few months."

"I thought I'd lost you. We all did. I guess I thought I'd lost myself."

"Yet here we are. Tell me how the book's coming."

"I think it's coming okay. Some days are better than others, and sometimes I think it's just c.r.a.p. But either way being able to write makes me wonder why I haven't done it all along."

"You had a talent for the law, Eli. It's a pity you couldn't make that your hobby, or we could say a sideline, and writing your vocation. You could do that now."

"Maybe I could. I think we all know I'd have been lousy in the family business. Tricia was always the one to follow in those footsteps."

"And d.a.m.n good at it."

"She is, but even though it wasn't for me, I've been learning more about it, or its history. Paying more attention to all its roots and beginnings."

Her eyes lit with approval. "You've been spending time in the library at Bluff House."

"Yeah, I have. Your grandmother-in-law ran whiskey."

"She did. I wish I'd known her better. What I do remember is a feisty, hardheaded Irishwoman. She intimidated me some."

"She must have been formidable to do that."

"She was. Your grandfather adored her."

"I've seen photos-quite the looker-and found more poking around Bluff House. But the roots of Landon Whiskey go back a lot further, to the Revolution."

"Innovation, the heart of gamblers, the head of businessmen, risk and reward. And the understanding people enjoy a good stiff drink. Of course, the war helped, as cold-blooded as that is. Fighting men needed whiskey, wounded men needed it. In a very true way, Landon Whiskey was forged in a fight against tyranny and a quest for liberty."