Page 16 of Strangers She Knows

“They’ve had three weeks to narrow the lead.”

Which was a non-answer, but what could he say?

“I don’t think Rae will think of the helicopter when she thinks of communications, and if she does—well, I’ll lock the door.”

A green golf cart, slightly battered, careened across the lawn toward them.

“Dylan Conkle,” Max said in Kellen’s ear, and when Dylan stopped and got out, Max strode forward to shake his hand.

Kellen observed and cataloged.

DYLAN CONKLE:

MALE, 30YO, CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY, 6'2", 150LBS, HAIR THE SAME BLONDISH-RED AS LUNA, PALE SKIN, RED FRECKLES ON FACE, NECK, HANDS. BLACK-RIMMED GLASSES. GENUINE SMILE AT DOG AND CHILD. PLEASANT SMILE TOWARD KELLEN AND MAX.

“Welcome to Isla Paraíso,” Dylan said to the general area. He didn’t meet Kellen’s eyes. He pretended he hadn’t seen her outstretched hand. Because he didn’t shake hands with women? Or he didn’t want her to notice the low-level tremor in his fingers?

More surprising to Kellen was how he reacted to Rae’s sunny smile and cheerful, “Hi!”

He startled as if Luna herself had spoken, then grinned sheepishly and touched his forehead, like an English peasant to his lady.

Even Rae looked at him as if she didn’t know how to react to such weirdness.

Max climbed into the helicopter and handed their luggage down to Dylan.

While Dylan stashed it in the golf cart he said to Kellen, “My wife is sorry she couldn’t be here to greet you.”

“I’d love to meet her,” Kellen told him.

Dylan’s pale blue eyes grew wide behind the thick lens of his glasses, and he stood very still as if to avoid detection. “I’ll let Jamie know.”

Translation:I said the proper thing, but the truth is, she doesn’t want to meet you.

So Max was right—Jamie Conkle really didn’t want anybody intruding on her privacy. Interesting.

“If you’d like to walk,” Dylan said, “I’ll transport your bags to the house.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Max inclined his head, but his gaze never left Dylan.

Dylan headed across the lawn at full speed.

Kellen waited until they had walked a little way before asking, “What’s wrong with him?”

Max glanced at Rae and Luna, romping along beside them, apparently oblivious. “Coming to the island was Jamie’s idea, I’m sure of it, and Dylan hasn’t managed the isolation nearly as well as she has.”

Kellen did not like the sound of that. “What do you mean? About him?”

“He drinks too much—makes his own moonshine. He grows his own weed—Jamie won’t do it for him—and he spends entire weeks bombed out of his mind.”

“Marijuana is a drug. So is alcohol,” Rae said indignantly. “He shouldn’t do that to himself and his family!”

So much for her not paying attention to their conversation.

“You’re right,” Max told her. “But he does, and he barely manages to do what little we ask of him—watch over the house, mow and water—and if it weren’t for Jamie, we’d get rid of him. But she wants to stay and when she needs to, she drives him to do the work.”

“He’s a nice-enough-looking guy,” Kellen said.

“She’sa beautiful woman. Tall, slender, short dark hair, dark eyes with sweeping lashes, long legs and a walk that from the back looks like dancing.”

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