27

Matthew could hear Shannon singing softly along with the radio as she dealt with her windblown hair in Becky’s bathroom. She had a beautiful voice, something he noticed when they’d attended church. It was nice to hear her singing again.

Shannon’s biggest concern was that the investigation into what had happened to her would lead back to evidence that would put her mother in jail. Matthew was holding information in his pocket that could do just that. He went into his bedroom, pulled back one of his daughter’s tapestries, opened his private safe, and put the envelope from Flynn inside it. He closed the safe door and spun the dial. If he opened that envelope, if he knew the details of what had happened, saw what proof backed up the statement Flynn had made, he would potentially trigger the one thing Shannon feared.

Shannon had to survive this. That was his bottom line. He personally could live with her mother facing prosecution and jail time. He could live with scuttling Jeffery’s campaign for governor with the timing of this. But Shannon could not.

If she took a blow so severe she couldn’t recover from it, where she regretted returning to her family, where she absorbed the fallout of the truth as her responsibility, her doing, her fault—that was the line he couldn’t see things cross. Shannon could only absorb so much at a time. She couldn’t handle this news right now.

Three days. He was going to wait three days.

He was already withholding the Colorado address where Shannon was to have been delivered, along with the news about Flynn’s cabin. He was now in possession of all Shannon’s diaries and had no plans to pass them on before she determined he should do so. Delaying a decision about this latest bombshell in the envelope was an act of grace toward Shannon and one more serious infraction of his agreement to share what he knew with Paul on a timely basis.

But he had an even more serious problem. If Flynn’s statement was credible, the possibility that Shannon’s mother could take her own life if the news came out was a very real risk, regardless of whether the authorities became involved in the matter. He’d have to figure out some way to mitigate that peril. It was now over a week since Shannon had returned to Chicago, and so far her mother hadn’t made a rash step.

Shannon had felt loved those first sixteen years of her life—that was what puzzled Matthew the most about this news. He needed to meet Shannon’s mom. Who was she? What had she done, and why? Had it been a loving mother making an unbelievable mistake? Or a selfish, cold woman who didn’t love her daughter, who had used her to address a financial problem? All Matthew knew about the woman was what others had told him, comments Jeffery had made, what Shannon had mentioned. None of it made sense; the puzzle pieces didn’t fit together. For Shannon’s sake he would get to the bottom of it, and as carefully as he could.

There were no good solutions in front of him, but there were several decisions that had to be made, and Matthew mentally ran down the list, settling matters in his mind as to where to start, what he would do.

The envelope was going to wait. During the next three days, Paul hopefully would arrest George Jacoby, removing the most serious threat to Shannon’s security. She’d meet with her parents, and he’d get an impression of how her mother was with her. Jeffery would make the news of Shannon’s return public. Three days would give him time to read the majority of the recovered diaries, and afterward he would know, and not be guessing, about Shannon’s missing years.

Shannon needed her brother. She needed her father, if that relationship could be salvaged. That had to be a priority. He would make sure Shannon was never alone with her mother, that there couldn’t be a whispered plea or confession that sent Shannon careening into an abyss.

When he knew Shannon’s past as best he could grasp it, when he had met her mother, he would then deal with that envelope and do what could be done to check its veracity.

Then he would tell Shannon what the envelope revealed before he shared its contents with Paul. That decision surprised him, but it felt right. Her welfare would drive the decisions he made. Shannon could handle hard truths, but not all at once. No matter how else this played out, he was determined to make sure that inner core of strength of hers didn’t break from stresses beyond her limit.

God, don’t let me fail Shannon now. A simple prayer, a simple statement, but it was the mission he was determined to accomplish. He listened to the faint sound of her singing. She was happy. He wanted . . . needed her to have more hours like this. They were the best gift he could give her.

He looked at the time. Dinner. Confirm his friends with the Boston PD were in place to watch the cemetery for the evening. Then call Paul and figure out how to say without sounding like an idiot, By the way, did I mention we ran into Flynn earlier today?

Tomorrow morning he’d convince Shannon to get on a plane with him for an hour-and-forty-minute flight back to Chicago, convince her that anything under two hours was like a bad dream that would be swiftly over. He’d read another of her diaries during the flight.

He dealt often in difficult lists, but this one was nearly crushing him with its potential for bad outcomes. He needed a couple of aspirins. The headache that had appeared wasn’t easing off. The photographs could be a good distraction for Shannon. He could use that for this evening. He’d start there.

Matthew sorted through the two shoeboxes of photo memory cards. Since an important priority on Shannon’s personal list was to establish a career as a photographer, reviewing the images would certainly give her a starting place. Simply sizing up the scope of the project would itself take some time, keep her occupied on a worthwhile endeavor. He found the extra laptop he kept around, set it up on the dining room table. He chose a random sample of the envelopes and began loading the memory cards to ensure the software and directories were set up properly.

Shannon joined him as the sixth card finished transferring to the hard drive. She leaned over his shoulder to look at a photo he’d clicked on to open full screen—a beautiful beach scene.

“An excellent image, Shannon. These first cards have over three hundred images each, and by my rough count there are well over a thousand cards. You could have as many as three hundred thousand images here. I’ve been randomly opening a variety of dates. They’re reading fine.”

“A lot are duplicates. Driftwood. Sunsets. Interesting waves.”

He changed the screen to six similar images of the beach tiled across it. “You’re going to have a difficult time choosing just one or two. They’re all lovely.”

She smiled at the compliment. “I think I took some good photographs,” she agreed.

He got up from his seat, motioned her into it. “Spend an hour loading memory cards, sorting out images, selecting favorites. I think you’ve got a good basis for your dream to have a career as a photographer right here. Even if you set aside more than half of these, you’ll end up with a hundred thousand images to work with. You should have someone look at these, give you a professional opinion on their value.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Let’s take them back to Chicago and show them to Ellie Dance.”

“Doesn’t she handle art, not photographs?”

“She’s an expert on artistic images and their worth. You’ve met her and liked her. She’ll be kind in what she says. And if she doesn’t feel qualified to give you an opinion, she’ll no doubt know someone who can.” He understood her hesitation—this was a core dream for her. “Choose fifty images spread across these cards as representative of your work. When we’re back in Chicago, we’ll stop at that camera shop and get them printed as eight-by-tens. It’s better to know, Shannon. Time isn’t going to change the verdict. Being a photographer is one of your dreams, and this one strikes me as easier than getting your GED. Certainly quicker than getting married.”

He got her to laugh. She looked at the images on the screen, clicked to the next ones. “You’re right, Matthew, this is a big dream,” she admitted softly. “Every time I clicked the shutter, I hoped I was storing away something for my future. I don’t want to fail.”

He put both hands on her shoulders, kneaded at the tension he could feel. “You haven’t failed. I like what I see. Take a small chance, show Ellie your work, see what she has to say.”

Shannon tabbed through the loaded images. “What time is our flight to Chicago?”

He gently squeezed her shoulders as she silently accepted his plan and then stepped back, letting her get to work. “Nine a.m. It will put us comfortably back at the apartment by noon. Your parents will be at Jeffery’s for dinner. I told him we’d plan to come out around seven, stay an hour. If you’re comfortable with how that goes, you can meet again as a family Sunday afternoon.”

“When is Jeffery making the public announcement?”

“He’s scheduled a press conference for Monday at ten a.m.” Matthew glanced at the time. “I’m going to go call Paul now, tell him about Flynn, get an update from him on how things have progressed. Then we’ll have dinner. That work for you?”

“Yes. I’d like those steaks you set out—medium well works for me,” she mentioned, “and a heaping salad. I can do the salad if you can take care of grilling the steaks.”

“Perfect.”

Matthew took his phone and a cold soda out to the back patio, settled in for a long conversation, called Paul.

“Good to hear from you, Matthew. Was Shannon able to locate what she thought might be there at the property?”

“She retrieved two shoeboxes’ worth of camera memory cards, and I’m now in possession of all her diaries.”

“That’s excellent news.”

“Paul, we had a face-to-face with Flynn today.”

A long silence met his statement. “You did have an interesting day,” Paul said slowly. “When and where?”

Matthew briefed him. “Sorry it played out this way. I was making choices as it unfolded, none of them ideal. I chose to give Shannon the delay she wanted.”

“Leah got out, that’s a huge win. I can see the big picture. Keeping Shannon’s trust. Gaining help toward arresting the most violent man in the family. Locating those ledgers. I’m not thrilled at the time gap, but I would have made the same call.”

“Not being a cop made today easier,” Matthew admitted. “And I’ll tell you up front, I’m sitting on other news about Flynn, nothing that I think changes your outcome but still rather big truths.”

“Shannon?”

“Uh-huh. I think I’ve seen the full picture with her, only to discover an entire new fissure opens up. Let me get through reading the journals. When I’m done with them, hopefully I’ll be past the surprises.” He wasn’t looking forward to those hours of reading, but it had to be done. “What’s the property out here look like? I saw a lot of cops working the site.”

“No graves so far. Some good leads on aliases they might be traveling under. A lot of paper to sort through. Photo albums. We’ll be out there for weeks figuring it out.” Paul shifted the topic. “Give me the name of the guy the Coast Guard is holding again.”

“All I have is a first name, Peter. I assume it’s Peter Jacoby, but who knows what alias he gave the Coast Guard. The boat was listing—Flynn’s doing—and Peter deliberately scuttled the boat rather than have her boarded.”

“I’ll find him in the system and make sure we get custody.”

“Shannon and Flynn both are focused on George as the one point of serious trouble. I’ve got some of Boston PD’s finest watching the cemetery tonight on the slim chance George shows up. The hotel in Alabama is going to be the most likely place to arrest him. I’m sending you the photo of Flynn I snapped. My read of it, Flynn will do what he can to keep cops from getting killed making the arrest, but he’s expecting George to escalate this to a gunfight. If you could not kill Flynn in the crossfire, Shannon would be enormously relieved.”

“I’ve got some men in mind to make the arrest, the kind who can sneak up on an angry grizzly bear and walk away from the encounter without teeth or claw marks.”

Matthew chuckled at the image. “Send a lot of those type guys.”

“I want a smooth arrest,” Paul agreed. “I’d like George in handcuffs and talking, or saying ‘I want a lawyer’ and not talking, rather than dead. Shannon’s aware Flynn is certain to get arrested Sunday night?”

“She’s aware,” Matthew replied. “She’s not ready for it, but she’s accepted that it’s going to happen. Flynn will be the one person in the family you can pretty much trust to tell it straight, Paul. There’s enough in her journals to contradict him if he gives you a self-serving story. I’m not sure how many within the family he’ll be willing to testify against, but it sounds like George and Peter are on the list he’d hand over on a silver platter if he can. If you can hold Flynn without charges for a while, keep him separate from the family, it’ll make this easier on Shannon. Just having some time pass will help. She’s going to ask you at some point if she can have a conversation with him—she hasn’t said that, but I can read how she’s thinking. She wants this over, but Flynn isn’t someone she’s seeing as only part of her past. I don’t think she’s put together a picture of the future, but she’s made an assumption she continues to see Flynn. My best guess is writing him letters, visiting him in prison is a possibility in her mind.”

“She’s holding on to him,” Paul remarked. “Interesting.”

“How much of that is a sense of closure—she’s put getting herself out and seeing him ‘get out’ as part of the same package to some degree—and how much of it is just their relationship flowing from the past and into the present is hard to figure. He’s important to her, I know that. She doesn’t move into her own future without knowing Flynn’s future has settled,” Matthew said.

“I’ll do what I can to make this unfold so Shannon doesn’t get surprised. Time is the one piece I can offer once he’s in custody. There are a lot of conversations we need to have, and I’m more than willing to start with Flynn as the linchpin on the eventual trial strategy. If nothing else, that can limit how much we need Shannon.” Paul shifted topics again. “Talk to me about Leah and Nella.”

Matthew gave Paul what Shannon had told him, along with what he’d picked up from the diaries. He sorted through his phone images and sent the one of Leah taken at some distance. “Shannon thinks a conversation with Leah next week is the right way to proceed. Leah is taking Shannon’s advice about writing a list of things to talk about with the police. Leah was mostly West Coast and on the boat with Peter, never traveled the circuit with the family. Shannon is intentionally vague about dates, but the first journal entry mentioning a Leah is four years ago. I’m guessing that’s the time frame she represents.”

“I’ll send Rita out that way when Leah’s ready to talk,” Paul said. “How’s Shannon doing?”

Matthew thought about the expressions he had seen on Shannon’s face over the course of the day. “She’s lived a lifetime today, from extreme joy to grieving tears. It was as close to a normal day in emotions as I’ve witnessed with her.” He checked the time. He needed to get the grill started. “I’ll call you tomorrow once we’re back in Chicago. Would you mention to your wife I’ll have a conversation with Shannon about the Fourth of July? Ann’s suggestion for Shadow Lake and Rachel looks like it could work.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Paul said. “And I concur with Ann—our dog would love not to be in Chicago for the Fourth if you can make that happen.”

“I’m using it as a sweetener in my plan, as Shannon rather likes your dog,” Matthew replied. “Talk to you later, Paul.” He slid the phone into his pocket, relieved to have that call over. Paul had gone easy on him.

Dinner. A conversation about the Fourth, hopefully avoid their first serious disagreement. Matthew pushed himself out of the chair and headed into the house. “Shannon, hungry yet?”

“You were supposed to be annoyed with me for making Fourth of July plans for you without your input,” Matthew noted, sitting across from her with a cold drink.

They had eaten dinner at the dining room table, and he’d told Shannon about the arrangements he had worked out. She’d nodded, said, “Sounds good,” and asked him to pass the butter and basket of rolls. Now she was back to tabbing through images on the laptop while she ate the Dilly Bar he had brought from the freezer. “Becky called while you were talking to Paul,” Shannon told him around a bite, and didn’t elaborate.

Matthew hadn’t told his daughter about his concerns, so he wasn’t sure how to connect Shannon’s comment to his description of the Fourth.

Shannon must have seen his confusion. She smiled and explained, “Becky gave me a list of those coming with her to make sure I was okay with so many people being around. I don’t mind. She mentioned where her headphones were so I could suppress the noise from the fireworks, then came back around at the end of the conversation to warn me the cut glass vases and serving bowls in the china cupboard need to be set out on the dining room table before dark, because the percussions rattled the windows, and sometimes pictures fall off the walls and those glass items can shift to knock into each other and get chipped.” Shannon paused to finish the Dilly Bar and then pointed the stick at him. “You, being the super-conscientious you, would not let someone who had been through a recent shooting anywhere near that close to fireworks. So I already figured you’d have something in mind.” Shannon licked the stick clean. “Besides, I like Rachel and I love Black. And I enjoy Charlotte and Bryce’s company. It sounds like a fun weekend. And this way you won’t be hovering around me, worrying I’m getting stressed over the noise.”

Matthew laughed. “Thanks, Shannon.”

“For what?” she asked absently.

“Letting me plan things for you.”

“It’s what you do, Matthew, and do well. I kind of like it.” She tapped the stick on the table. “Would there be another Dilly Bar? These are really good. I want to work on the photos for a couple more hours, make sure I get a good range of images—different subjects, different years. Not only the best ones, but a good representative sample for Ellie to look over.”

“I like it. I’ll find you ice cream if we’re out of Dilly Bars. My daughter loves them too.”

“In case I haven’t mentioned it, Matthew, Becky is a delight. She sent pictures of her and her roommate all dressed up to go out tonight. Want to see them?”

“My little girl is growing up. Show me tomorrow. Otherwise I might be tempted to call her back and insist she not go out. Did she say if this is a double date?”

Shannon chuckled. “Didn’t have to. Based on their dresses, I’m sure it was a real double date, not just ‘hanging out.’ So . . . your daughter is going out tonight. I’m working on photographs. What are you doing tonight?”

“I thought I’d read more of your journals.”

Shannon’s smile disappeared. “Matthew—”

“My choice, unless you have decided you don’t want them read.”

She thought about it and shook her head. “It’s your decision. But I don’t like to think about all those details running through your memories. You live with Becky’s. That’s enough.”

He turned toward the kitchen, refusing to let this turn to serious. “I’ve room for your history too, Shannon. I’ll step on fewer land mines if I know.” He opened the freezer and called, “A Dilly Bar and a refresh on that lemonade, I think. The sweet-and-sour clash will keep you awake while you work.”

“Now you’re just being cruel,” she called back from the dining room. “I’m drinking the pineapple-and-something-else juice, bottom shelf of the refrigerator door.”