Page 82 of Trick of Light
Chen shrugged helplessly. “Whoever did that must have been on the island, since three people were poisoned—four including Amelia. How could that same person falsify a tox screen report? No one here would have that kind of access.”
Gabby thought about the mystery person possibly staying in Amelia’s guesthouse. Could they have been hiding out there, sneaking powdered castor bean into drinks? Was it the fake officer who had visited Sasha and confiscated the journal?
“The name Officer Boone, does that mean anything to you?”
“No, should it? He’s not one of the Harbortown police.”
“I know. But someone calling himself that showed up at Sasha’s house. He said he was following orders from someone higher-up, but since he isn’t even a member of the department…”
Officer Chen paled, then clutched the bowl closer to her. “I knew it. Someone has infiltrated the department. Too many things haven’t been adding up. If only I hadn’t gotten food poisoning—” She broke off. “Mother-effer. They did it to me too, didn’t they? My symptoms are different, no blood, thank God. Same idea, though. Someone wanted me out of the way. Goddamn it. I need to warn Hooper.”
She grabbed her phone and fired off a text, then fell back on her pillows, exhausted.
“How long have you and Hooper been partners?” Gabby asked as she rose from her position perched on the foot of her bed.
“A couple years. He was at Harbortown PD before me.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “He started about a year earlier. He transferred from Alaska, if you can believe it. From one cold climate to another.”
Alaska?
Gabby froze. Could that possibly be a coincidence?
She pulled out her phone and found the photo from the newsletter. “One more thing before you conk out. Do you mind looking at a photo and seeing if you recognize anyone?”
Before she could hand her phone over, a text popped onto her screen. It was Heather, telling her that she’d just heard from Heidi Ochoa that Fiona was on a water taxi on her way to the inn.
If you hurry you can intercept her at the dock.
“I have to go,” Gabby told Chen as she airdropped the photo to her. “Take a look and let me know if the guy in the back looks familiar.”
Chen squinted at the photo. “The tall kid, the athletic one? First glance, not really. How old would he be now?”
“Thirty-five-ish.”
Chen bent over her bowl again as another spasm hit. Gabby escaped just in time to miss the vomiting fit, although she could hear poor Chen retching even after she closed the door behind her.
She raced down the wide staircase, nearly knocking over the stately porcelain vase at the foot of the stairs, with its outsized bouquet of greenhouse flowers. A number of frowns came her way from guests lounging in the conservatory, the glass-walled sitting area where she’d spent many a happy hour herself.
Ignoring them, and the voice in her head that wanted to yell something about Barnaby Carmichael being her new boo, she hurried through the elegant foyer, onto the terraced entrance with its converted gas lamps and overflowing planters.
Outside, she looked around for a stray golf cart, but didn’t see any, so she ran down the grassy hillside to the dock. That was the most direct route, unlike the paved road, which took a few turns because the slope was so steep.
At the head of the dock, she spotted a small watercraft zooming across the waves. Other boats were already tied up at the dock, including one she recognized—Gary’s lobster boat, in which she’d been involved in a shootout. She spotted a bullet hole that still hadn’t been repaired. He was probably waiting until the busy summer season was over.
A few teenagers were sunbathing on towels spread across the dock, and a member of the landscaping staff was casting a fishing rod into the water. Other people were chatting in the freight shed as they awaited their deliveries, or the next ferry, or a water taxi. Island life, so relaxed in some ways, so full of stress in others. Island fever was a real thing. Several islanders had mentioned the claustrophobia and hopelessness that could set in during the long, isolated winter months.
As the water taxi closed in on the dock, Gabby caught sight of Fiona Carmichael. She made a whimsical picture as she stood on the taxi’s open deck, her long white-blond hair loose and flowing behind her in the wind, her retro Pucci dress clinging to her body.
Barnaby’s sister. Well, half-sister.
So far, Barnaby hadn’t talked much about the ugly truth that had been revealed about Fiona, that she was so desperate to hold on to her fortune that she’d colluded to get her father declared incompetent, and she’d done everything she could to stop Denton Simms from exposing the dark side of the inn’s origins. Although she was selfish and greedy, not to mention spoiled, she was still Barnaby’s sister. Gabby knew he was struggling to come to terms with all that.
She herself had only met Fiona twice, once when she was first investigating the history of Sea Smoke Island, and the second time on that very lobster boat after that shootout, when Fiona had been pulled onboard to shield her from bullets.
Nevertheless, she hoped Fiona would remember her. She waved her arm as the water taxi maneuvered closer to the float where the boats tied up. Fiona waved back. Her butterfly sleeve fell back, revealing the bandage still covering the wound on her arm from that shootout.
Was there a chance that her experiences that night had been shocking enough for Fiona to turn her life in a better direction? For Barnaby’s sake, Gabby hoped so.
As she hurried down the long aluminum ramp that connected the dock to the float, Gabby called out to her. “Hi Fiona, remember me, Gabby Ramon? We survived a shootout together?”
