“These other pictures are amazing, too,” she said, pulling out a stack of prints.
Although she wasn’t an expert in photography, Abigail could see that Mattie’s later pictures were better, technically and artistically. Presumably, he’d kept all the negatives. She flipped through the prints, seeing Mattie Young in a different light, understanding better why Chris had been so reluctant to give up on his friend.
“Look,” someone in the outer gallery said. “Sunlight!”
Abigail turned away from the photographs. Owen said, “We should dry off an outdoor table somewhere and have a drink.”
“That sounds wonderful. Then you’ll show me your new field academy?”
“It’s just a big empty building right now.” He angled a look at her, as if trying to figure out if she had an ulterior motive for wanting to see the training facility. “But I’d be happy to give you the grand tour.”
On their way out, Abigail bought a small, carved black duck, noticing Walt carefully returning Mattie’s photographs to the cabinet drawer, on top of the one he’d taken the day Doe Garrison drowned.
Linc watched Mattie lift a fat, squirming worm out of the wet dirt of a hole he’d dug in a small garden near the back gate of Ellis’s house. “Your uncle doesn’t like working in the rain.” He tossed the worm aside. He had on a half-shredded denim jacket, not warm enough for the chilly temperatures. “But he doesn’t mind me working in the rain.”
“It’s not raining now. What are you doing?”
“I’m dividing perennials. How’s that for a day’s work?”
“At least it’s an honest day’s work,” Linc said, sarcastic. He didn’t care.
Mattie rolled back onto his heels. “You’re an arrogant little fuck, Lincoln Cooper. I’m enjoying making you sweat. It’s about damn time someone did.”
“I don’t care what you think of me. I know what I’ve done and what I haven’t done.”
“You care what your family thinks of you. Those FBI agents sneaking around town, checking into your family’s business so they can give your sister the stamp of approval she needs. The local cops. Who’s that skinny guy from the state police? Lou Beeler. He’d like to know what I know about you. Get your nuts into the wringer. Find out what you were up to the day Chris Browning was murdered.”
Linc felt himself flush but refused to let Mattie see he was getting to him. “Having fun, aren’t you?”
“Oh, sure. I like cutting worms in half in the mud.”
Linc felt his stomach roll over at the thought of cut-up worms. “You’re lucky I’m not a killer. If I were, I wouldn’t be paying you to keep your mouth shut. I’d have you buried in a deep, dark hole where no one would ever find you.”
Mattie wasn’t the least bit rattled. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a killer or not. You’re a snot-nosed kid who stole from your family’s friends. Even if you didn’t break into Chris’s house and hit his wife over the head, steal her necklace, you gave whoever did the idea.”
“A copycat,” Linc said. “Except that doesn’t make sense. With all the rich people on this island in the summer, why target the Brownings?”
“Wedding money, maybe.”
“There was none.”
“Doesn’t mean the thief knew that or—” Mattie rolled onto his knees, digging with his bare hands into a tangle of greenery and roots. Linc wasn’t good with his flora and fauna. He had no idea what kind of plant it was. Without looking up, Mattie said, “Do you have my money?”
“It’s under a flowerpot next to your bicycle.”
“All of it?”
Linc hesitated. He’d done a cash advance on his credit card, cleaned out his bank accounts, hauled a bunch of stuff no one would miss to Ellsworth, the closest real town, and pawned it. He’d debated swiping a watch from his father, getting into his or Grace’s cash. But he hadn’t gone that far.
“Damn it, Linc—”
“No. I don’t have all of it. Two thousand. It’s all I could manage without drawing attention to myself. I can get more in a few days.”
Mattie sat on his butt in the wet grass and leaned back, spots of blood where he’d nicked his mud-encrusted hands. He’d worked in the rain. He wouldn’t care. “I don’t have a lot of patience left.”
“It won’t do either of us any good if I’m caught. My father’s not stupid. He’ll ask questions—he’ll see through me—”
“All right, all right. We don’t want Daddy getting all suspicious and pissy. Just get it done. I want my money. I deserve it.”
Linc could feel his blood roaring into his face, pounding in his ears. He noticed a scratcher lying in the grass and pictured it embedded in Mattie’s head, silencing him forever. But he couldn’t picture himself doing the embedding.
It had to be easier just to shoot someone, he thought. The coward’s way out. Just close your eyes and pull the trigger. If the target wasn’t moving, it wasn’t that hard to do.