Her dear father the romantic. He didn’t understand that she was no longer a child who believed life was a fairy tale, with good on one side, always the winners, and evil on the other side, always the losers. For God’s sake, she was mature enough to know the world wasn’t that simple. Didn’t he know that about her?

But it wasn’t that she was fearless. As she had sat in sullen silence next to Giles on the drive to the airport, she had acknowledged just how desperately afraid she was. There was mounting evidence that her father had been lying to her about the Balaton jewels—and now wanted her to go away and not demand answers to all the difficult questions he knew she would ask. But she loved her father—totally and unconditionally. He was a good man, but not a perfect one. Who was?

If there was an unpleasant episode in his past, she could face it because she believed in him. So why wouldn’t he let her? If only he believed in her.

Giles climbed out of the car. “I’ll get your stuff out of the trunk.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Giles.”

He used the inside latch to pop open the trunk and circled around to the back of the car.

That meant he’d left the keys in the ignition.

Sarah scooted across the seat, knocked the transmission into drive and trod on the gas pedal. She could hear Giles swearing at her. But she didn’t look back.

She sped out of the airport lot and onto Interstate 91 North. It would take time for Giles to rent another car and come after her. By then, she hoped she’d have enough of a head start.

In just over an hour, she was back at the Wakefield farm. David and his friend Iggy, a plain-looking, tawny-haired man, were arguing in front of a black Ferrari.

Iggy was fuming. “You can’t drive a Ferrari with a busted leg. I’ll drive you up to Maine.”

If anything, Iggy’s language was more colorful than David’s. Sarah jumped out of Giles’s car. She was beaming. “How ’bout me? I can drive a Ferrari.”

27

Andrew Balaton arrived on Badger Rock Island from Bar Harbor via helicopter. He was met by Lillian Parker. As they walked together toward the house, she hurriedly, and reluctantly, told him about her visit with Ashley to Jude’s Paradise. “I think Crockett just wants to make a memorial out of the island,” she concluded. “That’s all.”

“Lillian, Lillian. Do you think I’m a fool?” His tone was only mildly critical, and he took her hand and squeezed it gently, his smile one of encouragement.

She looked away. “I’m just telling you what I know.”

“And I appreciate it. But permit me to draw my own conclusions.”

She tore her hand out of his and picked up her pace. It was so damn cold on this bloody island, she thought viciously. She had wrapped her hair in a brightly colored Hermes scarf and put on heavy socks, but the shivers wouldn’t abate. Nerves, she thought. But she was relieved she’d seen nothing of Mac Stevens.