The gate behind him was still closed, so Stone got into the car and drove another fifty yards before the drive ended at a sharp turn into a clearing. Stone noticed a large convex mirror mounted on a tree at the turn. Ed Rawls was a very careful man.

He got out of the car and approached a small, handsome, shingled cottage. As he stepped onto the porch, Ed Rawls opened the front door.

“Come on in,” Rawls said. “The coffee is already on.”

Stone stepped into a large room paneled in old pine, with a fieldstone fireplace to his right. Two walls were covered in pictures, oils and watercolors of Maine and European scenes and landscapes. Rawls disappeared and came back with a coffeepot and two mugs on a tray.

“Have a seat,” he said. “You take cream or milk?”

“Black is fine.” Stone sat down in a leather chair.

“Good. I don’t have any cream or milk.” He poured them both a mug of coffee, handed one to Stone and sat down himself. “So you’re a retired cop? I wouldn’t have thought there was a cop in Dick’s family.”

“I’m from the black sheep branch,” Stone said. “Since I retired I practice law in New York.”

“You look pretty young to be retired.”

“A bullet in the knee retired me.”

Rawls nodded. “So you’re Dick’s executor? Why, is Caleb dead, too?”

“No.”

Rawls stared at him for a moment, then decided not to pursue that line of questioning. “You gonna be on Islesboro long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes to what?”

“To find out who murdered Dick and his family.”

Rawls looked at him carefully. “And why do you think he was murdered?”

Stone shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of homicides and quite a few suicides, and I know the difference.” Stone sipped his coffee. “And what are you retired from, Mr. Rawls?”

“You call me Ed and I’ll call you Stone, all right?”

“All right.”

“I’m retired from the State Department,” Rawls said. “Dick and I used to work together.”

“Ed,” Stone said, “I know who Dick worked for, and it wasn’t the State Department.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. And why do you have all this security and why are you walking around in this lovely place with a Sig P220 in your hand?”

“Well,” Rawls said, “I reckon the folks who got Dick Stone might be coming for me, too.”

10

STONE THOUGHT FOR a minute about what Ed Rawls had just said. “So you think Dick’s death was work related?”

Rawls nodded gravely. “Certainly.”

“Why?”