Finding You

by Carla Neggers

  It was about the reaction Daniel expected, given Julia’s attitude toward her near-miss in Texas. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

  “I don’t care why you came. Just get out.”

  “Thad,” Frances Vanackern said in a soft, pleading voice, “at least let’s hear what he has to say.”

  Her husband sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze still locked on Daniel. “I’m quite certain your father and grandfather haven’t sanctioned this fishing expedition of yours. You’re here to stir up trouble, that’s all. You could have killed my daughter with your recklessness, your lack of consideration for her safety or anyone else’s—”

  “Father,” Julia interjected, embarrassment—or something—clouding her sapphire eyes.

  Frances was visibly taken aback by her husband’s vehemence. “Thad, isn’t that a little extreme?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not.” He sounded very sure of himself. “I know his reputation. He’s always been a seat-of-the-pants player. It’s why he stalled in the air force at major, and it’s why he’ll never run Fox Oil. Don’t look so surprised, young man. Your grandfather and I had quite a conversation about you when we were in Houston. He was smart to let you go off to fight oil fires.”

  Daniel refused to rise to the bait. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  But Thad wasn’t finished with him. “Your helicopter crashed and you and your partner were nearly killed for one reason and one reason alone: you were negligent in your responsibilities as pilot. Thank God Julia wasn’t on board with you.”

  “That’s one of the questions I have: why did she change her mind?”

  “She—”

  “I can answer for myself, Dad,” Julia said quietly, without any hint of irritation. She turned to Daniel. “There was really no reason. I just decided at the last minute I didn’t want to go. I’m afraid as intrigued as I was about what you do, I don’t like helicopters all that much.”

  No mention of Seth Hawthorne and their argument. Was she protecting him or protecting herself? Had he warned her not to mention his visit to Texas? What Julia left out of her story, Daniel thought, could be as informative as what she included.

  “She was still forced to witness the crash,” her father said.

  That one got to Daniel. “Who forced her?”

  “Oh, yes,” Thad sneered. “I suppose you think she could have just looked away from a helicopter going down. I suppose, in her place, you would have turned your head.”

  “I wasn’t in her place,” Daniel said. “I was flying the damned thing.”

  “That’s right: you were flying it. And now my daughter can’t stop thinking about how close she came to death—to witnessing the death of others. It was a shattering experience for her. I don’t care to have you here, reminding her of what she saw, dredging up what we would all prefer to forget.”

  Daniel considered throttling Thaddeus Vanackern. Maybe just shoving his snotty ass up against the wall and giving him a damned good scare. It would serve the bastard right.

  It would also accomplish nothing.

  “My apologies for disturbing your morning.” Daniel didn’t know how sincere he sounded and didn’t care. He nodded to the two women. He’d been taught manners. “Have a good day.”

  Without waiting for a response, he walked back through to the foyer and pulled open the front door, but he couldn’t resist turning back to the Vanackerns. “You all wanted to see what an oil fire was like. You wanted a taste of adventure. Don’t complain to me because you got more than you bargained for.”

  He was outside on the brick walk, breathing the cool Vermont air, even as the memory of J.D.’s screams and the stifling heat of that hot Texas morning swarmed over him. Daniel—what the fuck did you do? Jesus! What did you do?

  A small explosion had taken out their tail rotor driveshaft, and they’d autorotated into the gulf. It was, at the root of it, as simple as that. Vermont, Seth Hawthorne, Julia Vanackern—maybe they didn’t matter. Maybe Cozie Hawthorne and her threats didn’t matter. Maybe all that mattered was that Daniel had taken up a helicopter and it had crashed. Period. End of story.

  “Daniel—Daniel, please wait.”

  Frances Vanackern caught up with him at his truck. He had the door open. He could see a little of Julia in her mother’s eyes, the delicacy of her nose and mouth.

  “I hope you’ll forgive Thad.” She smiled weakly at him. “He’s very protective of Julia, and she’s only just begun to get over what happened in Texas. I know it’s nothing compared to what you and your partner have had to endure, but it’s been difficult for her. How is Mr. Maguire?”

  “Holding his own.”

  “He’ll make a full recovery?”

  “He’ll live,” Daniel said.

  “I’m sure this has all been a tremendous ordeal for you and your family. If I thought…” She hesitated, ill at ease; hers wasn’t a world of sabotaged helicopters. “If I thought we were responsible in any way for what happened…if our being there distracted you from your job, made mistakes more likely—”

  “I wasn’t distracted, Mrs. Vanackern. I never saw you or your husband, or even your daughter.” But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have made a mistake.

  “But then I don’t understand….” She trailed off, looking to Daniel. She was used to having other people do her confronting for her. “Then I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I’m just looking for answers that for all I know you can’t provide. Maybe no one can. Good day, Mrs. Vanackern.” Without further explanation, he climbed into his truck.

  But before he could shut the door, Frances Vanackern shot forward. “You saw Seth Hawthorne with Julia, didn’t you?”

  She seemed to know the answer already. “My partner did,” Daniel said.

  She twisted her fingers together, clearly unaccustomed to the role she was playing. “He—Seth does outdoor work for us on occasion. He’s had a difficult time, and his father’s death hit him very hard. They’d been restoring the orchards together. Seth seemed to be getting himself straightened out.” She sighed, pained. “We’ve tried to help, but he became infatuated with Julia this summer. When she realized it, she tried to stay away from him, hoping he would understand she didn’t return his feelings and just give up. But when she came here for Labor Day weekend, he pressed his case, and she had to tell him in no uncertain terms there could be nothing between them. Then he followed her to Texas. Julia had to be very frank with him, Mr. Foxworth. I can’t imagine it was easy for either of them.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Julia never reciprocated Seth’s feelings for her or encouraged him in any way.”

  Daniel remained noncommittal. “I see. Does he still work for you?”

  She pursed her lips. “We have nothing for him right now.”

  A diplomatic, if transparent, answer. “I was just over at his place. Any idea where he is?”

  “No. None.” She looked away a moment, hesitating, then turned back to Daniel. “Mr. Foxworth, I’m afraid there’s something else you should perhaps know. We’ve discovered money and valuables missing from our place here.”

  “A lot?”

  “Several thousand dollars’ worth, yes. The cash is insignificant—a few hundred at most.”

  From what Daniel had seen of Seth Hawthorne’s finances, a few hundred wouldn’t be insignificant to him.

  “Frankly, we suspect Seth,” Frances Vanackern went on. “His trip to Texas must have been very expensive, impulsive as it was, and he could very easily have decided we ‘owed’ him a kind of reimbursal, because of Julia. He’s had difficulties with the law in the past.”

  “Have you gone to the police?”

  She shook her head, continuing to wring her hands together as if that would somehow change the nature of her words. “We would like him to come to us. We’ve always had a soft spot for the Hawthornes. But they’re self-reliant people; they don’t like asking for help. It hasn’t been easy for them s
ince Duncan died. He tried to ease their burden by selling the paper—but there were so many debts. For a while we thought they would lose the land, too. Fortunately, the success Cozie’s had with her writing saved it.” Frances backed away from the truck. “I’m sure at times Seth must feel left behind.”

  Daniel pulled his door shut. “Thanks for the information.”

  “I hope we can count on your discretion, Mr. Foxworth. Julia—well, she wouldn’t want to see Seth hurt. None of us would.”

  “Mrs. Vanackern, you can count on me keeping an open mind until I get the answers I came for. After that, I make no promises.”

  She gave a curt nod, somewhat offended, and moved back onto the plush green lawn. Some of Seth Hawthorne’s work? Daniel headed off down the dirt road, seeing no sign of life at the sagging red farmhouse. He figured he might as well scoot on down Hawthorne Orchard Road and make sure Cozie didn’t have her little brother tucked up a tree or stuck in a closet.

  Chapter

  9

  Will Rubeno, the Woodstock cop dispatched in response to Aunt Ethel’s call, shook his head as he inspected the Citizen’s splintered door. “I’ve been telling you Hawthornes for years to get better locks.”

  He and Cozie had graduated from high school together, and she trusted him, even if he considered all Hawthornes—particularly her—too opinionated. He was a big man, although not tall, and his hair had started to gray; he had a schoolteacher wife and two kids in elementary school.

  Aunt Ethel snorted in disgust. “Maybe if we had better police protection we wouldn’t need better locks.”

  Will opened his mouth to argue—he and Aunt Ethel had been arguing for years—but Cozie intervened. “Vanackern Media has been bugging us to put in a security system since they bought us all that new equipment. Now I’m sure they’ll insist, so no need to worry about the future. Look, Will, let’s not waste your time or mine. You’re not going to find anything that will lead us to whoever’s responsible for this, and I’m supposed to be at a staff meeting….”

  “Gee,” Will said sarcastically, “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your schedule.”

  Cozie sighed. She was, she thought, surprisingly calm after her encounter with a bare-chested Daniel Foxworth, a sight not easily put out of her mind. “That wasn’t my point. Aunt Ethel told you nothing was stolen, didn’t she?”

  He nodded, tight-lipped. “You want to do my job for me?”

  “Don’t be so defensive.”

  “Has it occurred to you, Cozie, that someone could think you have a lot of money now that you’re famous?”

  “I don’t keep cash around, and I’m not that famous. I don’t have all that much money, not compared even to a lot of folks around Woodstock. Most of what I do have is tied up in property or in the hands of the IRS. Next year I should see more—”

  Will held up a hand. “Who’s going to know all that? Consider yourself lucky this time. When you order a new door, order one that’s not so easy to kick in.”

  “Sure,” Aunt Ethel piped in. “Next time they can just come through the window.”

  Will ignored her, far more annoying to her than flat-out arguing—and he knew it. “I agree with Vanackern Media. Your security’s too light here. It has been for years. You want some advice, I’ll be glad to come by on my off hours.”

  Cozie nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Right now, though, there’s not much I can do. If someone saw anything it might help. But I doubt anyone did. Anything else?”

  Her head ached. She couldn’t seem to think straight. She needed to pull herself together before she tried to explain. “No,” she told him, “there’s nothing else I can think of right now.”

  “Better work on your security up at your house, too. No point inviting trouble. Vermont may be one of the safest states in the country, but I manage to stay busy.”

  He started out on the short brick walk to his cruiser. Cozie’s hands were clammy. Her heart was thumping so hard her chest hurt. Before she consciously decided what she was going to do, she burst down the steps after him, grabbing his arm. “Will, I need to talk to you. Not about the break-in. About something else. It might—I don’t know if it’s related.”

  His eyes narrowed on her, all cop. He nodded thoughtfully. “All right.”

  “Not here. Up at the house. Can you meet me there?”

  He sighed. “Okay.”

  “Give me an hour.”

  He made no sarcastic comment about her rescheduling her staff meeting.

  Back inside, Aunt Ethel hadn’t budged from the front hall. “So, Cornelia, when are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

  “I will—”

  “When you get around to it. Your Texan,” she said. “Does he know anything about the helicopter crash Julia Vanackern witnessed while she was down there?”

  “You know about that?”

  “I keep track.”

  Although she claimed never to repeat gossip, Aunt Ethel did listen to it, something she was ever reluctant to admit. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. Right now, I need everyone who’s here in my office in ten minutes. You’ll see about a new door?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  No, she wasn’t. Vanackern Media was the boss. But Aunt Ethel was already miffed enough without Cozie reminding her that Hawthornes no longer owned the Vermont Citizen.

  The moment Daniel entered Cozie’s back room, he knew whoever had been to her office had been to her house, probably after he’d gone back to the sawmill to shower.

  Whoever it was could be there now.

  And he thought he knew what the sneaky bastard had been after.

  A familiar tension gripped him. He’d faced difficult and dangerous situations before and understood his reactions, had learned to use them to his advantage.

  Alert to any sound, any movement, he walked past the cold cast-iron cookstove and turned down the narrow hall to the kitchen. Birds fluttered at the feeders outside the front window. Mourning doves and chickadees and a pair of cardinals, robins ready to bolt south for the winter. Way at the back of his mind, unrelated to the part that remained vigilant, he could see Cozie coming down on a cool autumn morning, alone in a kitchen, a house, meant for a family. There was a sense of permanence to the place—of continuity between the generations—that was nearly palpable. He wondered if he could feel it because of the lack of continuity and permanence in his own life.

  But his attention was directed at the open cupboards and drawers, their contents spilled out as if a mad cook had been through, hunting a missing ingredient needed quickly before the soup was ruined.

  Daniel knew better.

  He focused on the drawer next to the refrigerator. It was neatly shut. Still alert to an intruder’s presence, he walked across the scarred pine floor and opened the drawer.

  The spiral notebook “log” containing the time, place, and transcript of each call Cozie had received was gone. So was the message she’d found on her windshield. So was the cassette from her answering machine. They provided the hard evidence that she was being harassed—evidence that could possibly lead to the caller’s identity.

  He shut the drawer.

  Careful not to let his thoughts get away from him, he returned to the back room and took the cast-iron poker from beside the cookstove. Methodically, concentrating on the task at hand, he checked the cellar, then came back upstairs and checked the kitchen, the adjoining dining room, the living room at the far end of the house, and then headed up the steep stairs between the living and dining rooms. There was another set of stairs, he’d noticed, in the back room.

  He started with the bedroom to the right of the landing. Its furnishings were solid and old: a brass double bed covered in a bright quilt; two maple dressers; a small rocking chair; an unwieldy blanket chest. There were framed photographs everywhere of what he took to be a wide assortment of Hawthornes. With no intruder in evidence, he didn’t allow himself to linger.

  Across the la
nding were three more bedrooms in a row, barracks-style under the slanting roof of the narrow house, separated by white-painted doors with black wrought-iron hardware. The first was obviously Cozie’s, sun streaming in through a dormer window. The bed was unmade, a nightgown heaped on the floor, a cluttered marble-topped dresser not dusted in days. Even with her untidy habits, Daniel could see the intruder had been thorough: her mattress was askew, too many drawers half shut, too many dresses off their hangers on the closet floor, jewelry boxes dumped out on her nightstand.

  “Hope the bastard got everything,” he muttered sarcastically.

  He moved on through the two end rooms. Again, the furnishings had a sturdy charm suggesting they’d serviced more than one generation of Hawthornes. There were more photographs. But he kept moving, down the stairs into the back room. He went back out through the porch, taking the poker with him. The air was noticeably warmer, but clouds had begun to roll in from the west—not that a man could see the weather coming with all the damned Vermont hills in the way. He walked around the house, alert to footprints or someone hiding in the bushes. With the weekend over, there were fewer tourists out “leaf peeping.” He heard crows up in the field, the rush of the brook over rocks.

  Life, he thought, could get pretty damned stark out on Hawthorne Orchard Road.

  When he returned to the back room, satisfied the intruder must have made good his—or her—retreat, the phone was ringing. He picked up the receiver, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

  “Hello, Cozie Cornelia.”

  Well, well.

  “I’m glad you didn’t let your answering machine take the call,” the disembodied voice went on. “I would have hung up.”

  “Coward that you are,” Daniel said.

  There was a small gasp, then a click, and, finally a dial tone. Daniel hung up only marginally satisfied. He should have continued to listen, found out what the caller wanted this time. To crow about stealing Cozie’s evidence?

  Not two minutes later, she came through the back porch looking none too pleased to find him there. He didn’t wait for her to start griping. “You’ve had company,” he said.