Homeport

one who would discuss such matters—flaunted his mistresses in public and conceived several illegitimate children he refused to acknowledge. My grandfather carried on that lofty tradition.”
    “The Joneses of Jones Point are many.”
    She waited for the insult to sink in, then shook her head. It was amusement she felt instead. “Yes, I suppose so. In any case, my great-grandmother chose to ignore his habits and spent most of the year in Europe, avenging herself by squandering as much of his money as was possible. Unfortunately, she chose to travel back to the States on a luxurious new ship. They called it the Titanic .”

    “Really?” Ryan was close enough to see the rusted lock on the thick wooden door. “Cool.”
    “Well, she and her children boarded a lifeboat and were rescued. But she caught pneumonia from the exposure in the North Atlantic, and died of it a few weeks later. Her husband mourned by taking up with an opera singer shortly thereafter. He was killed when the opera singer’s husband, being somewhat displeased with the arrangement, set the house where they were living in sin on fire.”
    “I imagine he died happy.” Ryan took a Leatherman knife kit out of his pocket, chose his tool, and went to work on the lock.
    “Don’t. I have a key in the house if you want to see the inside.”
    “This is more fun, and quicker. See?” He replaced the knife, opened the door. “Damp,” he said, and took out his penlight to shine it around the large lower room. “Yet cozy.”
    The walls were paneled with old-fashioned knotty pine that reminded him of a suburban rec room from the fifties. Various shapes were tucked efficiently under holland covers, and a small fireplace, layered with cold gray ash, was built into the far side.
    He thought it was a shame that whoever had designed this area had chosen to build in the walls to square them off rather than going with the round.
    “So, is this where Grandpa entertained his ladies?”
    “I imagine.” She pulled the jacket more securely around her shoulders. The air inside was chilly and stale. “My grandmother detested him, but she stayed in the marriage, raised my father, then nursed her husband through the last two years of his life. She was a wonderful woman. Strong, stubborn. She loved me.”
    He turned back, skimmed the back of his hand over her face. “Of course she did.”
    “There’s no of course when it comes to love in my family.” Because she saw the flicker of sympathy in his eyes, she turned away. “You’d see more in here if you wait for daylight.”

    He said nothing for a moment. He remembered he’d once thought she had a cold streak. It was rare for him to be so completely wrong when analyzing a mark. She’d been a mark then, and now . . . That was something to think about later.
    It wasn’t coldness inside her, but a well-built defense against hurts of a lifetime. From neglect, indifference, from the very coldness he’d believed lived in her.
    He walked around, pleased when he spotted both an oil lamp and candles. He lighted both, appreciating the eerie glow they gave the room. “Spooky.” He put his penlight away and grinned at her. “You ever come in here as a kid and look for ghosts?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “Honey, you had a deprived childhood. We’ll have to make up for that. Come on.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “Going up.” He was already climbing the metal tight-winder stairs.
    “Don’t touch anything.” She scurried after him as the lights he carried sent bobbing glows and shadows against the walls. “It’s all automated now.”
    He found a small bedroom, with little more than a stripped mattress that looked inhabitable and a scruffy chest of drawers. The grandmother, he decided, had likely pirated the place of any valuables. Good for her.
    He walked over and admired the view from the porthole-style window. The sea raged, sliced by the light, churning under it, through it. Small islands, like humped backs, brooded off the ragged coastline. He caught the sway of buoys, heard the hollow bong of them punch through the sweeping crash and suck of sea.
    “Great spot. Drama, danger, and challenge.”
    “It’s rarely calm,” she said from behind him. “There’s a view of the bay from the other window. “Some days, or nights, the water there is as smooth as glass. It looks as though you could walk on it, all the way to shore.”
    He glanced over his shoulder. “Which do you like