Page 35 of Strangers She Knows

Kellen would rather play piano.

She determined that her other accomplishments voided the need to join Max and Rae on the briny deep out of some misguided sense of adventure.

Turning away, she followed the ocean cliffs around toward the mansion. As her feet pounded out the miles, she breathed hard, exalting in the isolation, the wildness, the waves. As birds soared above her, her soul rose to meet them…

The mansion came into view and she dropped into a walk. She should go into the kitchen, converse with Olympia about lunch and dinner, but during the weeks they had lived here, that woman hadn’t warmed to the island or their family.

Kellen did the cowardly thing; she dodged a meeting with Olympia, went around to the front door, and ran up to the shower. When she was clean and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, she stopped by the library, picked up Ruby Morgade’s diary and headed for the garage.

The carriage house doors and the door against the back wall stood wide to let the breeze sweep through. She paused outside in the shadows to watch Max and Rae together, and she smiled.

Her husband and daughter were working on the truck, deep under the hood, fiercely discussing whether electrical tape would repair the worn radiator hose, and having a marvelous time. Something must have alerted them to her presence, because Rae looked up and said, “Mommy,youknow. Can we use electrical tape to repair the radiator hose?”

“If you use enough of it.” Kellen strolled in.

“That’s the problem.” Max held up a partial roll. “This is all we’ve got.”

It wasn’t.

Kellen had been slowly cataloging all the equipment in the metal drawers under the tool bench. That first caretaker had kept tools and spare parts to fix the wells, generators, vehicles, toilets—you name it, it was there, including black electrical tape.

Kellen exchanged a look with Luna, who sprawled on a wool blanket close to the back door.

A good mechanic always looked through the toolboxes before she started working on a vehicle.

Max was an amateur, but he was having such a good time figuring it out on his own, Kellen bit her tongue, keeping her advice to herself, unless he asked.

And he did everything in his power not to ask.

“I wonder if there’s a roll of electrical tape in the house,” Max muttered. “Seems like there should be.” He looked at the roll in his hand, decided to go for it, and leaned in to wrap the hose. F-100s operated with six-cylinder engines in an eight-cylinder engine compartment, and enough room to stand inside if he needed. Kellen guessed, at the rate he was going, pretty soon he was going to need to.

Rae sat on the fender of the F-100 in an old, oversize pair of mechanic’s coveralls with well-rolled cuffs, and sent a dark frown at Kellen. “It’s the Fourth of July, and Daddy says we can’t have fireworks.”

“Didn’t bring any.” Max bobbed up from under the hood.

“It’s too dry for fireworks.” Kellen cleared herself a spot on the tool bench, boosted herself up, picked up her stress ball and squeezed it in her right hand. Not because she was stressed, but because it strengthened her grip. “It hasn’t rained since the first day we got here. The grass is like tinder. If we set off any kind of spark, we’d be surrounded by the smoking remains of the whole island…if we weren’t burned to a crisp with it.”

The lack of rain was a worry. The cisterns were low; Max figured they had about two weeks’ worth of water left before they either had to call for some to be brought across the ocean or leave the island. As Max said privately to Kellen, if only there was a break in the Mara case.

But Interpol had lost her. The FBI insisted she wasn’t on United States soil. Most worrisome, when Max checked the radio for reports, Diana, Kellen’s tracker friend, had disappeared.

“It’s the Fourth of July. We should celebrate. We could shoot off fireworks at the beach. The sparks would go over the ocean.” Rae beamed. “Problem solved!”

Kellen looked out the back windows. She could see the green lawn where the sprinklers regularly nourished the carefully cut grass, and the dividing line where the sprinklers stopped, and the wild grasses took over in a dry, golden profusion. “Luna would not be impressed.”

At the sound of her name, Luna left her blanket and came to stand at Kellen’s feet and stare. Regardless of her inability to climb, she wanted up, onto the workbench.

“If you can get up here, you’re welcome,” Kellen told her.

Luna gave a lovely doggie sneer of contempt, backed up and took a running leap. She landed on the bench, skidded along the wood, took out a pile of tools and stopped when she slammed against the window frame. The thump and clatter brought all movement in the garage to a halt, and everyone stared at Luna, who with elaborate casualness stretched out beside Kellen and smiled at her audience.

“Luna was our rescue dog,” Max said. “But I’ve often wondered what her job was before she came to us.”

“Burglar?” Kellen suggested.

Rae chided, “Mommy, Luna’s not a thief. She simply likes to be comfortable with us.”

“Right.” Luna bumped Kellen’s hand with her nose and on demand, Kellen scratched her neck.

---