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A shiver ran through Kaitlin despite the warm mug in her hands. “You think they’ll try again?”
“I think,” Matt said carefully, “that you and I need to stick together on this. I think I’ll accept your offer of accompanying me on some interviews.” He set his mug down, meeting her eyes. “If that’s agreeable to you.”
The proposition hung in the air between them. An offer of partnership, of shared purpose, of mutual protection. A crossing from adversaries to allies.
“Agreeable,” Kaitlin whispered, finding herself smiling despite the pain. “Very.”
He nodded once, decisively, as if sealing a pact.
The crunch of tires on gravel signaled Amy’s return.
Chapter 9
Late morning sunlight filtered through the windows of Matt’s Jeep as he navigated the narrow roads of Widow’s Point Island. Beside him, Kaitlin studied the notebook in her lap, her profile outlined against the passing scenery of weathered clapboard houses and stretches of pine forest. The bruise-like shadows under her eyes had begun to fade, but her voice still carried the raspy aftermath of smoke inhalation.
Matt kept his attention on the road, conscious of the potholes that appeared each spring and were never fully repaired. He typically interviewed witnesses alone, but this case demanded a different approach. He was part of the island and its fabric; outside eyes would be helpful to see anything he may miss. And Kaitlin was far less intrusive than Agent Cook, who had headed back to the mainland days ago, presumably to meet with Dr. Haddad about the forensics.
Matt smiled to himself. Sorry Samira, better you than me.
Alice had already gotten calls from the inn where Agent Cook had stayed, leaving luggage behind and irritating Mrs. Foster. The guy was annoying even when he wasn’t around.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, glancing briefly in her direction. “Kelsey was pretty clear about you taking it easy.”
“I’m fine,” Kaitlin replied, the slight rasp in her voice contradicting her words. “Better than sitting alone in the cottage. I was getting a little stir crazy.”
Matt nodded, understanding the restlessness. In the three days since the fire, he’d had a considerable shift in his view of Kaitlin. The wariness that had characterized their early interactions gave way to something closer to trust. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, especially the pull he felt toward her and the way he sometimes found himself staring at her when she wasn’t looking.
He found himself making excuses to drop by her cottage, bringing take-out of chicken soup or a hot tea and scone from the bakery. Another reason why he was glad Agent Cook had gone off island. He had Kaitlin to himself.
“So, what’s our cover story?” Kaitlin asked, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “Why would a sheriff and a British researcher be questioning people together?”
“The entire island seems to know what’s happened, but we need to keep it vague,” Matt replied. “We’re just looking into the operations of the mansion right before it closed.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure the townsfolk will run with their own speculation about what we are looking for. Lots of true crime fans, I understand.”
“Don’t remind me.” Matt felt a flush of heat rise to his neck. He hated the crime shows and podcasts on unsolved crimes and disappearances. More than half of them weren’t based in reality. It was almost as bad as medically diagnosing oneself through an internet search.
“Right,” she said, with the faintest hint of amusement in her tone.
He cleared his throat. “First stop is Bayview Nursing Home. Penelope Jenkins worked as a nurse at the mansion from 1975 to 1991. She’s in her eighties now. Her daughter mentioned she has good days and bad days with her memory when I called to arrange the visit.”
The nursing home was a low, modern building on the outskirts of town with large windows facing the bay. The October sun glinted off the water, creating a postcard-perfect view for the residents who sat in the sunroom.
“Morning, Sheriff.” The receptionist greeted him with a familiar smile.
“Morning. We’re here to see Mrs. Jenkins. If she’s up for visitors,” Matt confirmed.
“She’s having a good morning, from what the nurses tell me.” The woman glanced curiously at Kaitlin. “And this is…?”
“Kaitlin Mathews,” Matt explained. “She’s researching the history of Widow’s Point Mansion. Mrs. Jenkins worked there for many years.”
The receptionist’s smile dimmed slightly. “I see. Well, Mrs. Jenkins is in the sunroom. Just know… sometimes she gets confused.”
Matt thanked her, then led Kaitlin down the corridor, past rooms with doors decorated with personal mementos, photographs, children’s drawings, seasonal wreaths. The sunroom at the end was bathed in light, half a dozen elderly residents arranged in comfortable chairs. Some were watching television, others gazing out at the water.
The staff lead them to an elderly woman. Penelope Jenkins sat alone by the window, a knitted shawl around her thin shoulders despite the warmth of the room. Her white hair was arranged in neat curls, and her gnarled hands rested on the book in her lap, though she wasn’t reading. Instead, she stared distantly out at the bay.
“Mrs. Jenkins?” Matt approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. “It’s Sheriff Winters. Matt. This is Kaitlin Mathews, we’d like to talk with you, if that’s all right.”
