Cozie decided not to tell him where Ex-Major Daniel Foxworth had spent the night. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A gust of wind made her shiver. “Good luck, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, and disappeared through the narrow opening into the drystone monk hut, root cellar, or whatever it was.
The fog had already started to burn off, and Cozie crept back up the hill to the farm road, soaked and cold and not eager to face Daniel Foxworth. Would he be able to guess she’d found her brother? It’d be tough to explain why she looked as if she’d been rolling around in pine pitch and dead leaves.
But when she came down the sloping yard toward her barn-red toolshed, she saw he’d taken her advice and cleared out. His truck was gone. She found a note in the back room: Be careful what you wish for. DF.
“Heard your Texan spent the night up at the house,” Aunt Ethel announced when Cozie arrived at her office less than two hours after leaving her brother.
She groaned. “What, can’t I do anything without half the town knowing by noon the next day?”
“I’d say the whole town was in on this one by eight this morning.”
“Should I run an extra edition of the Citizen? NOTHING HAPPENED! TEXAN SLEPT IN DIFFERENT ROOM!”
“No need. Thelma said she thought someone saw a light on in Seth’s old room about midnight.”
“We had a bat.” Cozie didn’t explain further. She’d already decided, on her way into town, not to mention Seth’s whereabouts to her aunt, or even, right now, Meg. She owed her brother a little discretion, and Meg and Aunt Ethel were just the type to grab him by the ear and march in down to Will Rubeno. “And what was one of Thelma’s pals doing out at midnight?”
“I didn’t say it was one of her friends.”
“Who else would know which one was Seth’s room?”
“She had them draw her a diagram of the house and point out which room had its light on,” Aunt Ethel said matter-of-factly. She eyed the warm cinnamon bagel slathered with maple-walnut-raisin cream cheese Cozie had taken from a paper bag. “You got another of those?”
“You don’t deserve it, listening to such gossip.”
“Nonsense. You should thank me for keeping you informed of the current talk about you and your affairs. Myself, I prefer to keep abreast of what people are saying behind my back.”
Of course, Cozie had seldom had opportunity to generate one of the juicier stories circulating in town. If the “talk” had been about a newcomer to town or one of the transplanted New Yorkers or a part-timer like the Vanackerns, that would be different. But Cozie was a Hawthorne. Her family had been in Vermont’s upper valley for generations, and the locals had ideas about who she was, how she ought to behave, indeed how she would behave in any given situation. Having a mysterious Texan—with scars, for heaven’s sake—camp out at her house turned their neat little idea of her right on its head.
Her neat idea of herself, too.
Before she headed into her own office, she relented and handed her aunt the bag with the extra bagel. Aunt Ethel thanked her by informing her the coffee in the pot was fresh, which, in the frugal halls of the Vermont Citizen, was by no means always the case.
Work proved a welcome, if fleeting, distraction. There was copy to check, layouts and headlines to approve, photographs to choose among, assignments to make, advertisers to reassure. She rewrote her column and sent it upstairs. After lunch her agent called.
“You’ve got to make a decision, Cozie.”
She knew. Oh, she knew.
“Syndication can give you a national audience on a regular basis. We can try to work something out so your columns originate in the Citizen, but it’s a Vanackern paper…”
“I’ll keep thinking. It’s nice to have options.”
“Cozie, you wowed folks on your television appearances this last trip. The invitations to have you on as a commentator are starting to come in. You need to think about that, too.”
She thought of Daniel’s note to her. Indeed, indeed: Be careful what you wish for. But she was proud and pleased, even grateful, if also somewhat unnerved. She thought of her anonymous caller’s voice, of her brother hiding in the monk hut. “I’ve got a few fires to put out. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
A restored Austin Healey that just about everyone in Woodstock recognized as Julia Vanackern’s pulled into a vacant space in front of the Citizen. Julia slid out, dressed for town. A two-piece sweater-knit skirt and top in ice blue, hair pulled back, face perfectly made up with subtle, natural-looking cosmetics. Cozie watched her glide up the sidewalk. After her harrowing night in the company of Daniel Foxworth and her jaunt in the woods to find her brother, she herself had bypassed her country-newspaper-editor wardrobe in favor of chocolate-brown jeans and a curry-colored cotton turtleneck sweater.
“Good morning,” Julia said from the doorway, “may I come in?”
Cozie pushed her chair back from her computer. “Sure.”
“I’m not here on business; Father would never let me near one of his papers on business, even the Citizen.” She flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“It’s okay. The New York Times we’re not. Would you care to sit down?”
“Thank you, but I’ll only be a minute.” She paused, a cautiousness coming over her that had to be an unfamiliar feeling for someone as freewheeling and self-confident as Julia Vanackern. “I’ll just get right to it: Dad’s discovered more things missing at the house. Jewelry this time.”
“Jewelry? Seth wouldn’t—”
Julia pretended not to hear her. “A diamond necklace, a couple of rings. We don’t keep much of that sort of thing here in Vermont, just a few favorite pieces. My parents—” She broke off, sighing. “Understandably they’re frustrated and upset.”
Cozie remained outwardly calm. Inwardly, her stomach was churning. “Seth swipe rings and necklaces? Come on, Julia, that just doesn’t wash. A couple of black walnut seedlings, maybe. But not diamonds and rubies. He’s just not the type.”
“They’re quite valuable. He could get a fair amount of cash for them.”
“Well, he’s not your culprit. He’s not even in the area.” She lied—as she almost never could manage—with a straight face.
Julia averted her eyes. “That’s just it. Dad says he saw Seth skulking about last evening in back of the house, after you left.”
“Skulking about? What’s that supposed to mean?” Cozie was ready to jump out of her chair and toss Julia Vanackern out, never mind who owned the building and who just worked there.
But Julia showed no sign of taking offense at Cozie’s tone. “His choice of words, not mine. He says he called out, but Seth just ran off—and with guests around, and the rain, Dad couldn’t very well chase after him. So I don’t think…” She cleared her throat, and her blue eyes fell on Cozie. “It doesn’t seem he’s on a hike.”
Her words didn’t have the impact she was looking for because Cozie already knew that much, if by different means. She kept her mouth shut. As Seth himself had said, hiding in the monk hut allowed him easy access to the Vanackerns—something they would pounce on if she told them. She bit her lower lip, despising herself for the twinge of doubt she felt. Whatever his faults, her brother wasn’t a thief.
“Julia, do you think Seth is stealing from your family?”
“I don’t know!” Julia placed one hand on her temple, her self-control evaporating. “I only know that if he is, I’m partially responsible. I should never…our relationship…” She dropped her hand from her temple and said boldly, as if she were uttering her first swear words, “I should never have slept with him.”
Cozie refrained from comment.
“Seth took what we had together more seriously than I did,” Julia went on in a clear, even voice. “I should have known he would. He’s a Hawthorne. Everyone knows Hawthornes are all relentless, monogamous—hard on people they feel betray them, never mind the circumstances.”
Cozie wa
s mystified. Monogamous? How would Julia Vanackern know if all Hawthornes were monogamous? And hard on people—where’d she get that idea?
Julia smiled, amused. “Is this news to you, Cozie? I don’t believe that. You Hawthornes are all so goddamned honorable it’s enough to make us lesser mortals feel inadequate. You’ve made a virtue of your financial troubles. It’s going to be different now, of course, with your success.”
“You think we’re a bunch of prigs?”
“That’s a pejorative term.” She was oddly pensive as she paced back and forth on the worn Oriental carpet; Julia Vanackern had never been known as a deep, analytical thinker. “I would say you’re idealists. Look at Elijah Hawthorne, taking on the king of England, and then later pressuring George Washington for a bill of rights. Alonzo Hawthorne volunteered for the Union Army and died in the Civil War to defend an ideal. Your grandfather Willard Hawthorne was a model of civic virtue.”
A strand of hair fell across Cozie’s face as she got to her feet; she wasn’t feeling a model of anything. “Grandpa Willard was pretty much an old grump.”
Julia turned to her. “And you, Cozie. Your observations and commentaries are in the same tradition of optimism and idealism that have seen your ancestors through the past two centuries. You’re down-to-earth, honest, frank, and witty—but you’re never cynical. That’s why you’re so popular. People are tired of cynicism. They read your columns and come away feeling your hope and energy for the future.”
“I just write what I think,” Cozie said.
“But like all Hawthornes,” Julia pressed on, as if Cozie hadn’t even spoken, “you’re hard on those who are weaker than you are. The selfish, the petty”—she gave a small, self-deprecating laugh—“the rich girl who’d come to town and sleep with a local just for fun.”
“So we’re a bunch of self-righteous prigs?” Cozie was more nonplussed by Julia’s view of her and her family than insulted.
“Let’s just say Hawthornes set a high standard for themselves and everyone around them.” Julia’s smile, the gleam in her deep blue eyes, took some of the edge off her words. “The rest of us aren’t all so honorable as you are. Ask your aunt how your father felt when my mother broke their engagement because she had fallen for another man. He never forgave her, Cozie. Never.”
Cozie blinked, surprised. “You don’t think so?”
“I know so.”
How could she know? Neither of them had even been born when Frances Tucker broke her engagement with Duncan Hawthorne. “Pop always maintained that your mother giving him the boot was just one of those things meant to be. If she hadn’t, he’d never have met my mother and had us and the life we had together. Of course, he knew Mother already. They just hadn’t got around to noticing each other.”
“That’s not the point,” Julia said impatiently.
“Then I don’t get the point.”
“Duncan Hawthorne went on with his life, but he never again trusted my mother—never allowed her to be a friend.”
Cozie thought that one over a moment, then shook her head. “I honestly believe you’re projecting an attitude onto my father that he simply didn’t have. But look, if it makes you feel any better about what’s going on or what’s gone on between you and Seth, go ahead and analyze us Hawthornes however it suits you. Just don’t expect me to agree. And you can regard my father and brother and me and all Hawthornes back to the beginning of time as a bunch of holier-than-thou sourpusses if you want, but it doesn’t make Seth a thief.”
Julia’s look was cool, even supercilious. “I never said he was. Neither have my parents. We just want to help.”
Didn’t they always. But Cozie wasn’t about to turn the table and start analyzing the Vanackerns. “I’ve got some calls to make. Anything else?”
Two bright spots of color rose in Julia’s pale, polished cheeks. She swallowed visibly. “I hope you’re not angry with me. I—I never said you were a sourpuss. You’re too witty, Cozie, to be a sourpuss.”
“Okay, scratch sourpuss. Are your folks going to report the thefts to the police?”
“I don’t know,” Julia said softly.
“Tell them that as far as I’m concerned, they’re not doing us any favors by holding off. If they don’t want the publicity, that’s one thing. But I’m not afraid of what the police will find. Seth isn’t your culprit.”
“Perhaps you could find him,” Julia said, the color receding from her cheeks, “and we could all sit down and discuss this problem together, as friends.” She tried to smile. “And that’s not an order, Cozie. It’s a hope. Everyone in Vermont knows one never orders a Hawthorne to do anything.”
She started toward the door but turned back once more. “By the way, I understand Daniel Foxworth spent the night at your house.”
“Julia, don’t think—”
She held up a hand. “I know it’s none of my business. I just wanted to warn you, as a friend, to be careful. I met his family while I was in Texas. He’s not—the Foxworths just aren’t what you’re used to.”
“Tell you what, Julia, if you’ve been listening to gossip around here, you know I’m not used to much of anything in the romance department.” She kept her tone light, ignoring her own general uneasiness.
Julia just smiled knowingly and departed, leaving the light scent of her perfume behind. Cozie went across the hall to her aunt. “Is Julia Vanackern in therapy?” she asked.
“Not that I know of. I heard she’d been seeing one of those psychics who reads Tarot cards, though. Why?”
“She just analyzed the entire Hawthorne family from Elijah on down. I wonder if there’s a Tarot card for prigs. Maybe she drew it when she was thinking about us.” She shrugged. “How do you think Pop regarded Frances Vanackern after she broke their engagement?”
“I believe,” Aunt Ethel said as she flipped through her Rolodex, “that he regarded the entire incident as a bullet dodged.”
“Did he trust her?”
“To do what?”
“Just as a human being.”
Aunt Ethel looked up from her Rolodex. “What kind of drivel is that?”
Yeah, right: all Hawthornes were idealists. Julia should spend a day with Ethel Hawthorne. “You know what I mean.”
“Frannie Tucker became Frances Vanackern when she married. She and your father and I had known each other all our lives. We’d all grown up together. But after she married—well, she used to invite me to Vanackern goings-on in the beginning, but after a while she gave up.”
“You couldn’t maintain your friendship because she married a Vanackern?”
“That was her way of looking at things, not mine.”
“I see.” Cozie started back to her office, not sure she did see. She stopped in the doorway. “One more thing. Does everyone in Vermont know not to give a Hawthorne an order?”
“I would hope so,” her aunt said tartly.
Chapter
13
Daniel watched three fiery orange leaves drop onto the clear, still water of the sawmill’s tiny pond, the slow current drawing them inexorably toward the stone dam. Around him the trees glowed orange and red and yellow in the early afternoon sunlight, as if the woods were on fire.
Closer to the dam, the current picked up, sucking the leaves over its edge into the fast-flowing, rocky brook. He could almost smell the water’s coldness.
A car sounded in his driveway, and he turned as Julia Vanackern’s Austin Healey slid in behind his truck. She climbed out, the sunlight catching her hair, making it sparkle. “Hi,” she called. “Hope I’m not catching you in the middle of something.”
“Nothing important.”
She came toward him. “I was just wondering—you haven’t seen Seth Hawthorne, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve checked places that might have hired him to serve as a hiking guide, but no luck so far.” What he should have done, he thought, was followed Cozie into the woods that morning.
Julia scowled. “He’s n
ot on any hike. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but—” She broke off, inhaling sharply. Some of the edge came off her voice. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to keep an open mind. Dad found more stuff missing, and he’s fairly sure he saw Seth up at the house last night, and now he’s insisting on going to the police in the morning if Seth doesn’t come forward.”
Daniel, judicious for a change, said nothing.
Sudden tears shone in Julia’s eyes, and she looked up at the sky as if to keep them from spilling. “I don’t know what’s going on with him.”
“He could just be scared,” Daniel said. “Me sniffing around, your family asking questions—he doesn’t have to be guilty to feel a little intimidated.”
She looked at him, and the tears trailed down her cheeks. She didn’t brush them away. Julia Vanackern wasn’t, Daniel observed, a woman who got uglier when she cried. “Is that what you think?”
“I’m trying to withhold judgment. Would you like to come inside?”
She nodded, and Daniel lead the way up onto the porch, then into the sawmill kitchen. She perked up. “This is such a neat place, isn’t it? I’ve only been in here a couple of times. Cozie did a wonderful job renovating. It was an absolute wreck when she got hold of it but still structurally sound. There was no interior to speak of—she and her father and Seth did all this.” She folded her arms on her breasts and gazed out the kitchen window. “The setting’s so beautiful.”
“Would you like some iced tea?” Daniel asked. “I made up a pitcher, seeing how it’s not the easiest thing to find up here this time of year.”
She smiled. “I’d love some.”
He got two tall glasses down from an open shelf and added ice, then got the pitcher from the refrigerator and filled them with tea. It was from a mix. He didn’t mention that as he set the glasses on the table.
“It really is a shame,” she said, sitting down, “that we couldn’t have met under different circumstances. Does your family know you’re here?”
He leaned against the sink. “Yes, they do.”
Finding You Page 19