The Cabin

by Carla Neggers

  "It's corn chowder," Davey said, "but Jimmy put curry in it. Tastes like shit. He's trying to please the vegetarian graduate students."

  Jim sighed. "I tried a new recipe. God forbid." He turned to Susanna. "What time you leaving in the morning?"

  She grabbed her soda and took a sip, hoisting her handbag higher onto her shoulder, pretending not to be paying attention.

  Davey wasn't fooled. "Well, well, Jimmy. Our Suziecue is skipping out on Jack Galway, Texas Ranger." He clicked his tongue behind his teeth. "I'll be damned, Suzie, I never took you for a coward."

  "Never mind the soup," Susanna said, pushing her still half-full glass toward Jim Haviland. "I'll pick up fast food on the road." She slid off the bar stool, her knees faintly weak under her. "You can tell Jack whatever you want to tell him."

  "Don't tell him a damn thing, Jimmy," Davey said. "He might shoot up the place."

  Susanna buttoned her coat. She'd never taken it off, which probably had clued Jim and Davey in that she planned to deliver her message and sneak out, not chance having Jack show up early. "For once," she said, "Davey has a point. Jack won't shoot up the place, but I have no right to ask you to do my dirty work for me. Don't tell him anything. He can find out on his own."

  Davey glanced over at her, his big handlebar twitching as he shook his head at her. "You know, kid, sometimes discretion's the better part of valor."

  "You mean I should give in and do as Jack says, meet him here?"

  "Oh, horse hockey, Susanna, you know damn well this has nothing to do with getting your back up because your husband asked you to meet him here. This is about you not wanting to confess."

  "Confess? Well, there you go. That says it all. Like he's the interrogator and I'm the guilty perpetrator—"

  Davey shrugged. "Yeah, that's it."

  No, it wasn't it, Susanna thought. She was rattled by Alice Parker's presence in her neighborhood—her sub-terfuge—and completely and totally undone by Jack showing up in Boston. She couldn't think straight. She was so rational in every other area of her life. When it came to the safety of Gran and her daughters and her relationship with Jack, sometimes she had to act on basic survival instinct. Or thought she did. Maybe Davey had a point.

  "Come on, Davey," she said, struggling to smile, "you know I can't stay."

  "Why not?" He picked up his beer glass, his bowl of curried corn chowder still full. "What have you got to lose?"

  Jim grunted knowingly. "An hour's head start."

  Eight

  Alice was sweating inside her parka, hat and gloves. Destin had already shut off the heat in her car, which didn't work that well, anyway. She pulled off her gloves, aware of Destin fidgeting next to her. They'd cooked up a hell of a scheme, but so far he hadn't gotten cold feet.

  They were parked across the street from Iris's house. Susanna had just left with Iris and the girls, off to the mountains for a week. Iris had talked to Alice about whether she should go or not go—she hadn't been back to Blackwater Lake since she left with her son over fifty years ago.

  "We can't just go into this blind," Alice said, not looking at Destin. "We have to have good information. Susanna'll blow us off if we screw up one little thing."

  Their plan was sketchy at best. Now that Susanna, her grandmother and daughters were safely out of town, Alice figured she and Destin could sneak into their house and have a look around. They could plow through Susanna's financial records. Destin would know what to look for, and then they could decide on the best approach to take with her—and how much they could squeeze out of her and still have her think it'd be easier to give them the money instead of going to the authorities. The pain had to be enough, but not too much. Des-tin wanted to know what "leverage" they'd use with Susanna, but Alice figured she'd think of something once they had more information.

  The car was cold again, and Destin started fiddling with the heat. He had already complained about not being able to buy a new car because he couldn't afford to replace his BMW. "You don't know what it's like to have a BMW repossessed," he said.

  "No, Destin, I do not," Alice told him. "That's for darn sure."

  "I mean, you watch your stock go into the tank and all those zeroes in your net worth disappear—but getting your Beemer repossessed, that's reality. That's concrete."

  The man was making her head throb. A locked cell was reality, Alice thought. A year in the slammer as a corrupt police officer was concrete.

  He banged the heat controls. "I fucking hate winter! A year ago, I could pop down to the islands for a weekend and get a break. Now—" He slumped against his seat. "I have to put everything into getting back on my feet."

  "That's right, Destin. Let's focus on that."

  Her cell phone rang, and she fished it out of her parka, knowing it was Beau McGarrity. No one else had the number. Her throat tightened, and she could feel her hands getting clammy, the fear gnawing at her insides. She couldn't let Destin see it. He needed to believe she was tough and in control, up for the course they were setting out on. She couldn't afford to have him weasel out or, even worse, think he needed to run things.

  "I've decided you're not going away," Beau said.

  Alice licked her lips, chapped from the cold and the dry heat in her old car. "I wouldn't say that. Once I get the money, I plan to go all the way to Australia."

  "Jack Galway left for Boston today. You're in Boston. I've got Sam Temple, another Texas Ranger, sniffing around." Beau's tone was matter-of-fact, but Alice knew better than to think this was a casual call. "If you're trying to trick me—"

  Alice stiffened. "You're one to be talking. You tried to pin a murder on me, Mr. Beau. I don't appreciate that. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones—"

  "For fifty grand."

  "That's right."

  He paused, not saying anything for three whole seconds. Alice counted. She thought the connection had cut out, but then he said, almost distracted, "I've never trusted Susanna Galway."

  Alice could feel the car heat blowing hot on her face, drying her skin, her nostrils. Destin was still fidgeting, tapping his kneecaps and staring out the window. She'd rubbed snow and dirt on her Texas tags, in case Jack Galway walked down the street. She'd spotted him earlier knocking on Iris's door.

  "Look," she said, "maybe it was a bad idea, me stopping at your place that day. I was fresh out of the joint, and I wasn't thinking—"

  "Get the tape." Beau's voice was steady, thoughtful.

  "I want to know why Mrs. Galway didn't destroy it or give it to her husband. I want to know why she kept it."

  "Answers aren't part of the deal. Look, Mr. Beau—" Alice tried to sound cheerful, full of bluster and self-confidence. "You don't owe me a thing until I produce on my end." She didn't want to say she was after a tape, in case Destin was actually listening for once. He usually didn't tune in to a conversation unless it was about him. She hadn't told him about Beau and the tape—she didn't want to scare him off. Destin could be her way out of this mess. "For all I know, she did get rid of it, and this has all been a waste of my time. But I'll find out for sure, okay?"

  "You do that."

  He clicked off, and Alice breathed out, the sweat trickling down her back. She shut off the car heat. She wondered how long she had before Beau McGarrity took matters in his own hands now that Jack Galway was here on her trail. She glanced at Destin. "I don't know if we can wait until Susanna's back from the mountains. We might have to go on up there and press our case. Time's getting critical. You've got your monkeys on your back, and I've got mine."

  Destin nodded, excited. "The Adirondacks are awesome. I thought about buying a place in Lake Placid, but I opted for a condo in the White Mountains instead—I had to sell it to raise cash. Took a loss. What I want's Aspen."

  What Alice wanted was to belt the guy. "Iris gave me a key to her house. I was supposed to water the plants and bring in the mail while she was gone. She must have forgotten I have it. She didn't ask for it back."

  "Oh, ye
ah, so that's good." He grinned, looking less and less as if he would bolt any second. "We can just unlock the door and walk in. It wouldn't even be breaking and entering."

  Well, it would be if they tossed the place, but Alice kept that to herself. "You game?"

  Destin didn't even hesitate. "You bet."

  * * *

  Even before he entered Jim's Place, Jack knew he'd made a tactical error with Susanna. Several, in fact. He hadn't called ahead to tell her he was on his way to Boston, he hadn't made love to her in her office, and he'd given her that order to meet him. All of which, together, had to have her head spinning and her defenses on overdrive.

  He did know his wife.

  He stood at the bar. "She gave me the slip?"

  "I'm afraid so," Jim Haviland said.

  Davey Ahearn shifted on his stool at the end of the bar. Jack thought the plumber had been sitting in that same spot twenty years ago, when he'd first checked out the neighborhood. Davey ate most of his suppers there but never seemed to have more than one beer a night. That he and Jim Haviland remained pals with Kevin Dunning, Susanna's artsy father, amazed Jack.

  "I saw her tear out of here about forty-five minutes ago," Davey said. "Iris up front with her, Maggie and Ellen in the back seat, the car loaded. They must have packed in record time."

  "Do you know where this cabin of hers is?" Jack asked, tight-lipped.

  "Blackwater Lake," Jim said. "That's all we know."

  Jack nodded and left the bar without another word. On his way out, he thought he heard Davey Ahearn sigh in relief.

  The temperature had dropped precipitously with nightfall, but he didn't notice the cold. He walked up to Iris's house and used his key in the front door. He should have waited with Iris until Susanna and the girls came back, then gone about his business. Instead, he'd stopped briefly at the bar, checked with the local police to see if they had anything on Alice Parker or Audrey Melbourne and called Sam Temple.

  The house was quiet and cold, the heat turned down while they were out of town. Jack turned on the hall light and headed up the carpeted stairs, figuring he'd start with Susanna's bedroom in his search for information on her cabin. He wanted an address, a number, a sense that his family was safe on Blackwater Lake. Then he'd decide if he needed to go to up there himself, or if he needed to stay here and find Alice Parker.

  He hadn't even seen his daughters yet.

  He paused on the landing and dialed Susanna's cell phone, but got a recording that she wasn't available. Bullshit. She'd turned it off.

  She had the front room down the hall, where they always stayed on their visits north. He wondered if she lay alone in the double bed, thinking of the times they'd made love there, quietly, whispering in the dark, believing nothing would ever get in the way of their love for each other—not work, not money, not kids. Nothing.

  What the hell had happened?

  He eased into the bedroom doorway. The shades were pulled, little of the dim downstairs hall light reaching into the room. He felt along the wall for the light switch.

  He heard a sharp intake of breath and knew he was too late. He turned in a defensive move, automatically, deflecting the blow slightly as he was struck behind his left ear. Pain erupted in his head, spreading into his jaw and down his neck. Acting on training and instinct, he shot out one arm and snatched the weapon before his attacker could strike again.

  It was a stick, a pole, something long and thin. He jerked it hard, trying to knock his attacker off balance, but whoever it was had already made off down the hall.

  There were panicked footsteps on the stairs.

  Jack sank forward onto his knees, fighting to stay conscious.

  He could smell lavender in the dark bedroom. He recognized it because it was Susanna's favorite scent.

  Voices now. Whispers in the front hall.

  He stifled a wave of nausea and staggered to his feet, finding the switch for the overhead. The light was another blow. His face tingled, and he saw black spots, his head throbbing.

  He'd been hit with one of Iris's walking sticks—that was what he'd snatched from his attacker. He still hung on to it. Burglars, taking advantage of an empty house? They could have seen Susanna, Iris, Maggie and Ellen pack up and leave and decided to seize the moment. Plausible, but unlikely.

  He felt along his hairline, behind his ear. Some blood. A nasty lump.

  He took the walking stick and made his way down the stairs, through the hall to the back of the house.

  Ahead of him, he heard a door shut hard. He pushed back the pain and nausea and moved quickly into the kitchen, then out onto the small, open porch.

  The winter cold slapped him in the face. He could hear a dog barking in the neighborhood, music playing, cars out on the street. The yard was quiet, lights from nearby houses creating eerie shadows on the drifting snow.

  The sharp pain in his head settled into a persistent, pounding ache. He ignored it and followed the sanded, shoveled walk out to the front of Iris Dunning's old house.

  Nothing. Whoever he'd come upon upstairs had gotten the hell out of there.

  Jack scooped up a handful of snow, placed it on the lump on his head and retraced his steps to the kitchen. He put a couple of ice cubes in a plastic sandwich bag and noticed the stack of college handbooks on the table. His wife and daughters and eighty-two-year-old Iris Dunning were on the road alone.

  He placed the ice on his head and checked the house, quickly and efficiently, room by room. Nothing was obviously missing, ransacked, searched or vandalized.

  That could mean anything. They'd known where to find whatever they were looking for and didn't need to wreck the place. They weren't after anything concrete. He'd interrupted them before they could finish.

  Jack didn't take the time to do a thorough search of Susanna's room. He'd find Blackwater Lake and her cabin on his own. He didn't need precise directions.

  He locked up and headed down the street to Jim's Place.

  It was crowded, an argument raging between Davey Ahearn and a group of construction workers about the Red Sox chances this year. Jack didn't take a seat. He briefly told Jim what had happened at Iris's house. "Blackwater Lake. Can you give me a general idea where it is?"

  "High Peaks Region," Jim said. "You want an ice pack for that head?"

  "That'd be good. Thanks."

  Jim took Jack's sandwich bag of melting ice cubes out back and returned a half minute later with a proper ice pack. "I can call the police," he said.

  "I don't want to get delayed. I'll call once I'm on my way. They won't like it." Jack placed the ice pack on his lump and gritted his teeth in disgust. "I never saw the hit coming. Damn. There was no forced entry. The windows and doors checked out. Who else has a key?"

  "To Iris's place? The world."

  Jack nodded, which he regretted immediately, pain spreading into his teeth, pounding behind his eyes. "Audrey Melbourne?"

  "I don't know. She and Iris have been tight the past few weeks. Maybe Iris asked Audrey to look after the house while she was in the mountains, before Susanna found out about her." Jim Haviland spooned curried corn chowder into a heavy bowl and shoved it across the bar. "You'll need to eat something before you hit the road. I'd pour you a shot of whiskey, but it's a long drive up to the Adirondacks."

  "She's not an easy woman," Jack said.

  Jim seemed to know he meant Susanna. "No, she's not."

  "That's a goddamn understatement," Davey Ahearn said. He lumbered over with a map, spreading it out on the bar next to Jack's soup. He thumped a callused finger on upstate New York. "In summer you could take the ferry across Lake Champlain. Can't in February."

  "I know. My in-laws have a place on the New York side of the lake.

  "Kev." Davey shook his head, sighing in commiseration. "I hope he never hears about this little escapade. Susanna's always given him fits. I guess none of us'd like her if she were too easy. Anyway, I'd take I-93 to New Hampshire and pick up I-89, then go across Vermont on Ro
ute 4. When you hit New York, pick up the Northway in Fort Ticonderoga."

  "Nah. That's too complicated this time of night," Jim said. "He'll end up in Montreal or Maine or some damn thing." He pulled out a red ballpoint and put on his reading glasses, examining the map. "I'd take the Mass Pike and pick up the Northway in Albany." He drew a red line along his preferred route.

  "Which route is the one Susanna most likely took?" Jack asked.

  Davey sighed. "The Pike," he acknowledged.

  Jim continued his red line north into upstate New York. "Get off at the exit for Lake Place, Keene Valley and Saranac Lake. It'll be another forty-five minutes, minimum, out to Blackwater Lake from the interstate. I haven't been up that way in years, but I doubt it's changed. Darker than the pits of hell, twisting roads. At night when you're tired—"

  "I won't be tired," Jack said.

  "You might have a concussion."

  Jack said nothing.

  Jim and Davey both seemed to know arguing was futile. In his shoes, they'd do the same. "The adrenaline'll keep you alert," Davey said, returning to his stool.

  The soup was spicy and hot, but it turned Jack's stomach. He ate all the crackers as he studied his route. The Pike, the Northway, Blackwater Lake. He could do it without passing out.

  "Watch for moose up there at night," Davey said. "You hit them in the legs, they fall onto your windshield and crush you to death."

  Moose. Hell. "Thanks for the warning." Jack folded the map neatly and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "I'll need to rent a car."

  Davey waved a hand in dismissal. "No problem there. Transportation I've got. I bought a new truck— I'm still trying to unload the old one. It's yours for as long as you need it." He dug the keys out of his pants pockets, grinning over at Jack. "Sometimes I think if I'd chased after an ex-wife or two instead of saying the hell with it, I might not be sitting here every night."

  Jim Haviland shook his head in mock despair. "He's deluding himself, Jack. Davey's wives chased him off. They were glad to be rid of him and vice versa. Married life doesn't suit him. His truck's in good shape. He's charging an arm and a leg for it, which is why it's still available."