Margie continued. “I don’t think that this boy is coming to kill you. If he’d wanted to kill you, he probably would’ve done it already.”

Claire, wide-eyed, turned to her. “Margie!”

She put her hands up. “Oh, you know what I mean! It looks like he just wants to meet you.”

“Maybe.” Claire bit her lip.

“Did the FBI say why they were looking for him?”

Claire shook her head. “No, and I didn’t think to ask. They were so angry with me. They were convinced I was lying.”

“Hm.” Margie rapped her fingers on her now empty mug. “They didn’t say that he was armed and dangerous. Maybe they want him for…tax evasion.”

“Tax evasion?” Claire raised an eyebrow.

Margie brightened. “Like Al Capone.”

Claire cracked a smile. “Al Capone, the famous, violent mobster? Do you think Becca’s son is a mobster?”

“Gosh, I hope not!” Margie stood up. “I don’t want you to worry about this. I can have Hank check at the station and –”

“No,” Claire put a hand up. “I know this is a lot to ask, but please don’t tell him about this. Not yet. Not until I figure it out.”

Margie frowned. It was hard, if not impossible, to keep secrets from her husband Hank. Margie wasn’t great at keeping secrets in general.

At the same time, she knew that as an officer of the law, Hank would be professionally obliged to alert the FBI if a fugitive was in their area. “Okay. I won’t say a word. But I need you to know how hard that is for me.”

“I know, I know,” Claire said with a laugh. “Maybe I can meet with the poor kid, tell him what happened to his mother, and he’ll disappear. Then I can tell the FBI the truth.”

“You’re not going to turn him in?” asked Margie.

Claire sat back, squinting her eyes. “I hadn’t thought about it. You’re right. Maybe I should. Depending on what his crime is, he could be dangerous.” She set her mug down. “But still, I would like to talk to him. He deserves to know the truth.”

Margie smiled. “Maybe you can find out his birthday, and see if it was before or after the accident.”

Claire nodded. “Maybe.”

They sat and chatted for another few hours until Margie was convinced that Claire was no longer on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She invited her to spend the night, but Claire insisted on going back to Orcas Island.

“I’m going to grab a few things from the cabin and go back to the hotel.”

“How’s everything going there?”

Claire shook her head. “Not great. The staff doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that! How can they not like you?”

“They can tell that I have no idea what I’m doing,” Claire said. “Maybe they’re right.”