It didn’t make a dent in her sunny disposition. “I told my aunts about you, and they are all excited. Aunt Helen’s biggest fear is that you won’t accept them,” she said with a laugh, then leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.
The telephone rang, and Liam pounced on the opportunity to get away from them. “I’m averting my eyes,” he called over his shoulder as he went to answer the telephone down the hall.
Gwen turned to show Patrick another photograph of Uncle Milton holding aloft a pair of crab traps in preparation for the famed annual lobster bake. Liam’s voice soon interrupted her.
“Yo, Patrick. There’s a priest on the telephone for you.”
Patrick stood, wondering why Father Doyle would be contacting him here. He hurried down the hallway to take the receiver from Liam’s hands.
“Yes, Father?”
It wasn’t Father Doyle, but Father Murry from Pittsburgh, the one who heard Patrick’s confession.
“I’m afraid there was a break-in at the church rectory after you left the city,” Father Murry said. “Somebody stole a hundred dollars from the school fund, and the police got an anonymous complaint accusing you of doing the deed right before you skipped town.”
“That’s a lie!” Patrick’s voice echoed down the empty brick corridor. Outrage mingled with embarrassment as the old priest continued talking.
“I tried telling that to the police, but they seem convinced you and that fellow who was laid up in the hospital were in cahoots together. They’ve already issued a warrant for both your arrests. All this happened last week, but it took me a while to find you.”
Patrick’s hands curled into fists. Whoever attacked Liam was now launching another assault, and it had been going on while they were mindlessly hiding out in Queens. The police had been after him for a week. Even now they could be closing in on them.
There was no time to waste. If Father Murry could track him down in Queens, so could the Pittsburgh police. Normally the police wouldn’t cross state lines to track down a charge of petty theft, but nothing about this case was normal.
Patrick’s mind still reeled as he headed back to alert the others. It hurt to see the innocent happiness on Gwen’s face as she sat beside Liam, laughing about another photograph in her picture album, but she needed to know about the ugliness swirling around them. He explained what Father Murry had relayed to him, knowing this marked the end of their brief interlude here in Queens.
“It sounds like someone is trying to frame us,” Liam said.
Patrick nodded. Framing Liam for theft would effectively stop him from ever being allowed to serve on the board of a bank, and it would ruin Patrick’s legal career forever.
Even worse, if Liam landed in prison, whoever was after him might arrange a swift and brutal murder behind prison walls. Patrick needed to get Liam to safety as quickly as possible.
“We can go to my grandfather,” Gwen said. “We’ll be safe on the island, and the faster we can get Frederick to acknowledge you as Theodore’s son, the safer you will be.”
For once, they were all in agreement.
Gwen sent a carefully worded telegram to her grandfather’s summer home on Cormorant Island, alerting him of their arrival the following day. Frederick didn’t yet know she had confirmed Liam’s identity, and she didn’t want news of it going through a series of telegraph operators. She simply closed the telegram with a hint about why she was coming:
I am bringing Liam Malone with me. The two of you need to meet as soon as possible.
Cormorant Island lay off the coast of New York. The only way to reach it was by a ferry that made a single trip each morning. Sea spray misted Gwen’s face as the ferry drew closer to the island.
“That’s the town of Windhaven,” she said, pointing it out to Patrick and Liam, who stood beside her at the railing of the ferry.
Windhaven wasn’t much of a town, just some homes and shops nestled on the south side of the island, where four hundred people made their living from the sea. Frederick owned the entire north end of the island, which made his estate feel like a private kingdom.
Frederick’s summer home perched high on a bluff overlooking the sea. Several acres of terraced lawns and gardens led down to the shore, where a cove of boulders protected her grandfather’s private boathouse and dock.
They were the only passengers on the ferry this morning, so Gwen tipped the skipper to deliver them straight to the boathouse on her grandfather’s side of the island. The boathouse was easy to spot, with its two bays, a wraparound balcony, and a slate roof with a cupola on top.
“That boathouse is fancier than anywhere I’ve ever lived,” she overheard Patrick whisper to Liam as the ferry drew alongside it.
A butler from the estate awaited them on the dock. “Your grandfather would like you to meet him for tea in the gathering room,” he said once they had disembarked.
She sent Patrick and Liam a reassuring smile. “My grandfather can be intimidating, but I think you’ll find him far more approachable here on the island than when he’s in Manhattan.”
Liam squared his shoulders and adjusted the jacket of his new suit. “I’m ready,” he said, but his face looked like he was about to face a firing squad.
Stonemasons had built a staircase into the side of the cliff and up to the house. There were thirty steps, and she climbed them slowly, mindful of Liam’s still-healing injury. Once at the top of the stairs, she tugged on the lapels of Liam’s coat to straighten it.
