Suspicion

“Congreve.” Lynsky stopped the Jeep and they both climbed out and stood at the edge of the cliff, looking out. “The Old Bachelor. He also wrote, ‘I could find it in my heart to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee.’”

Scott decided to mull that over later. The vista below him was one he’d seen in the postcard racks in town. The glittering ocean, the yellow wildflowers that dotted the steep slopes, the landmark red roof of the Casino and the familiar white bulk of the high-speed Catalina Express. What the postcards didn’t capture was the dusty sun-warmed smell of sage and eucalyptus, the subdued hush of waves, the cries of seabirds.

“Won’t find a more beautiful place anywhere else on earth,” Lynsky said after a while. “You look at the mainland over there—” he gestured at the faint bluish outline of the Southern California coastline “—and feel pretty damn lucky you’re over here.”

Scott nodded. He’d mailed a postcard to Ellie that morning. After he’d dropped it off at the post office, though, it had occurred to him that picturesque scenery was unlikely to be a selling point to a teenage girl whose notion of paradise right now was all about shopping malls and cosmetic counters.

“There’re a lot of good people on the island,” Lynsky said after they were back on the road again. “Most of them, in fact. We’re a fairly law-abiding lot. A tourist now and then who has a few too many Wicky Whackers or Margaritas and starts making a nuisance of himself, that’s about the worst of it.”

“Suits me,” Scott said.

“You’re daughter’s fourteen, you said?” The doctor turned to look at him. “Difficult age. Suddenly you’re not a hero anymore and you can’t do a thing that’s right.”

Scott watched palms and eucalyptus and other low scrubby trees he couldn’t name fly past as the Jeep tore down another canyon. Tell me about it, he thought.

“Of course, I say that and my daughters are thirty-four and we still don’t see eye to eye. Ava’s doing okay.” Lynsky wiggled a hand. “Lost her husband three years ago, but she’s engaged to a fine man now. Attorney here in town. Got a few things in her own life to work out, but Ed’s good for her.”

Scott recalled Ava’s telling him about stamping her foot to get what she wanted and felt a stab of sympathy for the fiancé.

“Ingrid, Ava’s twin, has taken a vow of poverty,” Lynsky was saying. “Doesn’t believe in working for a living. Dropped out of medical school with one year left to go. She’s quite content to live on whatever she grows—lettuce and beets, she tells me, but who knows what else. Lives behind some horse stables on the other side of the island.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure her out.”

Scott felt vaguely defeated. If Dr. Samuel Lynsky living on an idyllic island, loved by everyone—a man who’d actually written a book on raising children—had problematic relationships with his daughters, what were his own odds? He wanted to ask the doctor what went wrong. What would he do differently?

They were headed back into town now, Dr. Sam nimbly maneuvering the Jeep through narrow streets of equally narrow houses that rose in tiers from the harbor, dodging the ubiquitous golf carts, most of them driven by tourists who rented them from stands along the seafront.

“Las Casistas over there—” Lynsky nodded at a development of pink, adobe-style cottages “—used to be housing for the island’s workers.” He leaned an elbow on the window frame. “Don’t get the wrong impression about what I just said. Ingrid’s okay. Ava is, too. Diana’s death hit them both pretty hard.” He looked at Scott. “You know about that?”

“A boating accident, I heard.”

“Three months ago. Took the boat out for a sail. Bad timing all around. I was getting over flu, and Diana had been having dizzy spells. I went below to take a nap, and when I woke up she was gone.” Lynsky pulled off his cap by the brim, replaced it a moment later. “Coast Guard, helicopters. Everyone out there looking for her. Nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. The words seemed inadequate, but he’d never been very good at offering condolences. “How are you managing?”

“I’m fine.” Lynsky pinched his midriff. “Overdosed on casseroles for a while. People couldn’t do enough. Still can’t. Lot of talk about creating some kind of garden in Diana’s name, inlaid tiles, that sort of thing. The mayor’s asked Ava to design it.” He glanced at Scott. “You’ve met Ava?”

“This morning. She showed me some of her work.”

“Paints decorative tiles. Catalina tiles are world-famous. Ava refuses to even discuss any kind of memorial. Since Diana died we can’t spend two minutes together without a battle.” He cleared his throat. “Body’s never been found—that’s part of the problem. Good chance it never will, I’ve been told. Meanwhile, life has to go on.”

“Difficult to find closure, I would imagine,” Scott said, then cringed at the words. Closure. One of those pop psychology terms people say that mean absolutely nothing. Tie everything up in a neat little package and then move on. Lynsky pulled up outside the Argonaut office, and Scott grabbed his canvas backpack from the floor behind him and stuck out his hand. “Thanks for the tour, Dr. Lynsky.”

“Got a business deal for you,” Lynsky said. “You might as well accept, because you’re not going to support yourself with that paper, I don’t care what old Aggie Broadbent told you about the thing turning a profit. She just wanted to unload it.”

Scott watched the doctor leaf through a manila folder of papers he’d removed from under the front seat.

“You know much about the Lynsky family?” Sam asked, still riffling through papers.

“Some. I stopped by the Island Historical Society yesterday.”

“So you probably know my family owned this island years ago. Not for long. It changed hands a few times before it was deeded to the state around 1900. Diana was putting everything into a book before she died. I want it finished.” Lynsky stuck the folder back under the seat. “Need to sort through her papers before you see them, but if you’re interested, the book should solve your money problems. What do you think?”

“Sounds interesting,” Scott said. “What do your daughters think about it?”

“They don’t know anything about it,” Lynsky said. “And I don’t know that they need to. They get their hands on Diana’s papers and it’ll be yak-yak-yak. Stirring up things that don’t need to be stirred up, and the book will never get written.”

“Won’t they want to see the papers?”

“You want to write this thing or not?”

“I’m just asking,” Scott said.

“You let me deal with my daughters,” Sam said. “You do a good job with the book, they’ll be thrilled. A year from now, they’ll have forgotten all about the papers.” He fished under the seat, produced another file. “I’m going to give you a check right now,” he said. “Just to get things going.”

“Hold on a minute, Dr. Lynsky.” Things were moving a little too fast. “You don’t want to talk about this some more, see some samples of my writing?”

“Nah.” Lynsky was scrawling his name across the check in a bold black hand. “And it’s Sam.” He held out the check. “You worked for the L.A. Times. That’s good enough for me.”

Scott ignored the check. “I’d like to think things over first.”

“Suit yourself.” Lynsky dropped the check on Scott’s knee. “Might as well deposit this while you’re doing your thinking. It’ll tide you over when the advertising drops off. Meet me for breakfast at the Beehive tomorrow. Around eight-thirty. I’ll bring some things to get you started.”

“YOU SITTING DOWN?” Lil asked Ava later that afternoon when she called with the information on the cottage. “Guess who the owner turned out to be?”

“No idea,” Ava said.

“Your dad,” Lil said. “Seems he bought it back a few years ago, no idea what he intended to do with it. It’ll make things easier for you, I should think.”

Not necessarily, Ava thought as she walked up to the hospital to see her father. A volunteer in a pink smock was sorting through a stack of National Geographic magazines when Ava poked her head around the door of the hospital auxiliary office.

“Your father?” she said. “Let me think a minute. I saw him early this morning making rounds and then…” She paused and smiled. “You know your dad—doing ten things at the same time. Now what was it he said he had to do? Something about dropping by the Argonaut…”

“If he comes back in the next hour or so, please tell him I need to talk to him. I’ve got some things to do in town, so I’ll meet him back here.”

“All right, honey, I’ll tell him.” The volunteer peered at Ava. “You doing better?”

“Fine, thanks,” Ava said. Maybe she’d just get a billboard made up. Don’t ask. I’m fine. Fantastic. Never been better.

“Keep busy. That’s the best thing you can do.”

“Absolutely,” Ava agreed.

“Bring that dog of yours back. Everyone got such a kick out of him in that cape. It’s so heartwarming to see how animals raise people’s spirits.”

Ava smiled. Henri was a participant in the Pets Are Therapy program. For an hour every week Henri was stroked, petted and fussed over by the half a dozen or so hospice patients. They fed him treats, rolled balls across the floor and laughed at his shameless grandstanding. At the end of the hour, the patients looked happy, Henri seemed happy, and as Ava walked him back into town, she always felt…well, happier.

“How’s your sister?” The volunteer’s smile had cooled slightly. “Still living out by the horse stables?”

“Ingrid’s fine, too.” Tomorrow, she would try to go through the whole day without using the word fine. “She’s happy working with the horses, not dealing with people all the time. Listen, I need to get going.”