The Cabin

by Carla Neggers

  "Yes, it is."

  "But I don't want you burying me here. I'll have to put it in my will. I want to be incinerated and my ashes scattered in Florida."

  "Florida?" Susanna shook her head in disbelief. "You've never even been to Florida!"

  "Yes, I have. I went with Muriel in 1963. I remember, because it was right after JFK was assassinated. Her family stuck her in a cold grave in Malden."

  "Gran, are you serious?"

  She smiled then, breathing in the cold, dry Adirondack winter air. "Yes, by God, I think I want my ashes scattered on Miami Beach."

  Fifteen

  Jack fell three times cross-country skiing before he figured out he was leaning too far back and throwing off his center of balance. Maggie and Ellen thought it was hysterical to watch him fall. They were on a groomed trail at a cross-country ski center a few miles from the cabin. No lesson. He thought he'd remember enough, and the girls said they could show him what to do. Overreach on both counts. They weren't much better on skinny skis than he was.

  They rounded a curve, Maggie and Ellen ahead of him. "I don't laugh when you fall," he commented.

  Ellen glanced back at him and grinned. "That's because it's not as funny when it's us."

  Probably not.

  Their beginner trail looped through an evergreen forest on a rare stretch of flat land. They had to stay far enough apart to keep from crashing into each other, which created a sense of separateness and allowed them to experience their surroundings without having to be out there all alone.

  The rhythmic gliding over the snow helped his thoughts settle, simmer, refocus.

  The call from Sam Temple had flipped this situation into a higher gear. Alice Parker contacted Beau McGarrity before she moved to Boston, and now he'd left town. Jack had already learned that Alice was a mix of good intentions, guile, loyalty, strong survival instincts and romantic ideas about herself—all of which, together, had landed her in prison.

  This was no longer about a nonviolent ex-convict showing up in his wife's neighborhood. However provocative, it wasn't illegal. It was also about an open, if cold, murder investigation.

  Beau wouldn't want the tape of him coercing a Texas Ranger's wife to intervene on his behalf to go public. If it wouldn't convict him of murdering Rachel McGarrity, it would certainly reveal him as a desperate man who'd stepped over the line. Public opinion would shift right back against him. He could kiss his social and political comeback goodbye.

  Was Alice trying to blackmail him with the tape? Extort money from him to finance her dream of a new life in Australia?

  Where the hell did Destin Wright fit in, if anywhere?

  And his wife. Where did Susanna fit in? The tape would be more valuable if she'd kept it. It wouldn't be tainted by Alice's misconduct in the Rachel McGarrity investigation. Was Alice trying to make it look as if Susanna had never given her the damn thing?

  Shaking down a murder suspect was just the kind of complicated, dramatic, dumb-ass scheme that would appeal to Alice Parker. Jack had investigated her—she was dedicated and well-liked, but law enforcement wasn't a good fit for her personality and abilities. Another woman on the town force described her as drawn to the idea of law enforcement, not its reality.

  Jack tucked his poles under his arms and coasted down a long, gentle slope, not feeling the cold after ninety minutes of cross-country skiing. He, Maggie and Ellen made their way to the warming hut, leaning their skis against a rail fence and heading inside for hot cider. The cider was in a big pot on a woodstove, and Jack filled three mugs and brought them back to the small, rickety table where the girls had plopped down, flushed from the exercise and the cold.

  "Mom would love this place," Maggie said, blowing on her steaming cider. "She told us we could forget any notions of sitting in the cabin all week, reading books and watching the fire—we were to get out and ski, snowshoe, enjoy the great outdoors."

  Jack leaned back in his wooden chair, smiling. "Is that a note of sarcasm I hear?"

  She smiled back. "Dad, she bought us snowshoes."

  He shrugged. "This vacation means a lot to her."

  "I think she fell in love with it up here," Ellen says. "What if she moves up here? I know it's beautiful and everything, but, Dad, she'd go bonkers."

  Not with the kind of money she had in the bank, Jack thought. If she got bored, she could afford to do something else—like rent a villa in the south of France for a month. Although he had strong opinions on where his wife should live, he decided a measured response was called for. "Your mother will figure out what she wants to do. We can have our opinions, but we can't do it for her, anymore than she and I can decide for you what college you ought to attend."

  "But she's almost forty," Ellen said.

  Jack smiled. "And?"

  "She should already have her life figured out."

  "Maybe it needs refiguring."

  Maggie stretched out one leg, wincing as she ran her hand along an obviously stiff muscle. "Do you think Mom's having a midlife crisis?" she asked. "Maybe she got herself in a panic about Ellen and me not being around. Our guidance counselor at school talked to us about how our parents might have problems of their own with us leaving for college. We're not the only ones experiencing change."

  "I thought guidance counselors were supposed to talk to you about grades and colleges and not screwing around in the lunch room."

  "They do," Maggie said, "but that's not all."

  Jack drank some of his hot cider while he debated how to get off this subject. If he said the wrong thing, Susanna would hear about it. If he said the right thing, she'd hear. And this was about Maggie and Ellen's relationship with their mother, not with him, not with both of them. "So what do they do, tell you to keep an eye on your parents in case they get depressed when you go off to school?"

  Maggie nodded, stretching her other leg. "It can happen even before we leave. Pre-empty nest syndrome."

  He stared at her. "You're serious?"

  She and Ellen both nodded.

  "Do they do this in Texas, too?" he asked, teasing.

  They laughed, but Ellen's laughter didn't last. "Dad," she said, avoiding his eye, "maybe if you'd tell her what you want—if you said you wanted her back—" She let it go at that, leaving the rest to her father to interpret.

  His first instinct was to tell Ellen that she'd stepped into territory that was none of her business, but her concern was palpable. Maggie was drinking her cider, pretending not to care as much as her sister did. Jack knew he was on tricky ground. Whatever happened with his marriage, he and Susanna were these girls' parents. This was their immediate family, the four of them. They deserved his care and attention in addressing their concerns.

  But he'd rather go through the whole business about Beau McGarrity and Sam Temple heading to Boston than to negotiate this emotional minefield.

  "Ellen, I never wanted Susanna to leave." He spoke carefully, thoughtfully. "But it's not her fault she did. It took both of us. Relationships are complicated, and right now ours is probably more complicated than most."

  Ellen seemed relieved that he'd treated her question seriously. "Because you're a Texas Ranger and she's a financial planner?"

  "That's one reason."

  "She's rich, you know," Maggie said.

  Ellen nodded. "She won't tell us how much she's worth. She says we have no concept of money."

  "She's right," Jack said.

  Maggie, who felt she was entitled to know everything, made a face at him. "Do you know how much she's worth?"

  He'd had enough cider and pushed his mug away. The one-room warming hut was filling up with people, not the best place to have a heart-to-heart family discussion. "We're off the subject."

  "You should have called instead of just turning up in Boston," Ellen blurted.

  That he didn't regret. His life with Susanna had always had its sparks. He shook his head. "She's still paying for the time she let the air out of my tires when we were in college."

/>   Maggie's eyes lit up. "She didn't."

  "Why would she do that?" Ellen asked.

  Because she'd lost her virginity to him the night before, and when he put it that way to her, she got pissed, said it was old-fashioned and male to say something like that. Which was beside the point. She was in love with him. She knew he'd be a force in her life forever. It scared the hell out of her. So, she let the air out of his tires. He saw it as her way of asserting to him that she was smart, strong, independent and not incapable of sneak attacks.

  The minute he saw his tires, he knew she was the guilty party, but it took him months to drag the truth out of her.

  No shrinking violet, this love of his life. And now she was rich. They were rich.

  But he told their teenage daughters, "I guess it seemed like the thing to do at the time."

  "Gee, Dad," Ellen said, "Mom's always had guts, hasn't she?"

  "Don't you two get any ideas. I could have had her arrested." Except she'd covered her tracks well. But he knew he wasn't finished with this conversation, and after they returned their skis to the rental counter and started back to Davey Ahearn's truck, Jack made himself go on. "Your mother got caught up in one of my cases through no fault of her own, and she ended up fearing for your safety—for her own. It rattled her down deep."

  Maggie nodded with understanding. "The classic fight or flight impulse. Normally Mom'd fight—that's always her first impulse. Or she'd resist either impulse and think things through, analyze, choose her next move. That's what she's always telling us what to do. But this time, she fled." She gave her father a small smile. "I took psychology last semester."

  "You could be right, Mag, I don't know. But I might have handled things differently if she'd run up to Boston just because she was bored with me—"

  "Mom's never bored with you," Ellen said. "She tells us that all the time—your father's never boring. But, Dad, be honest, it's not just this Alice Parker thing. It wouldn't hurt if you—well, you know you're about as romantic as a rock."

  "Aren't you two being old-fashioned? All this talk of wooing, flowers, fancy soaps—"

  Maggie shook her head. "If you needed a break from Mom because she was an uncommunicative lunkhead, we'd tell her to be more romantic."

  "I'd get flowers and fancy soaps?"

  "Dad." Ellen smothered a laugh, trying to be serious. "We know Mom's a hardheaded businesswoman. We've had her go MBA on us, just like you go Texas Ranger on us."

  Her sister nodded in agreement, and Jack saw their pride in their mother's accomplishments. Ellen said, "We're not being retro. We're just—I mean, who doesn't like to be romanced? You and Mom need more flowers and silk nighties and jewelry and stuff like that going on."

  "Less murder and money," Maggie added.

  Jack knew he was beat. There was nothing to do now but concede and get the hell off this subject. He was supposed to give Susanna flowers, silk nighties, fancy soaps and jewelry—and he couldn't even get a decent blanket off her.

  "Point well taken," he said, neutral.

  "If it's any consolation," Maggie said, "whenever Mom calls you a rock-headed son of a bitch, she always apologizes and says she didn't mean it that way."

  He cast his daughter a look. "What way do you suppose she did mean it?"

  But they all laughed, and he knew it was tough treating Maggie and Ellen like adults—damn tough. Probably would take him a few more years to get used to it.

  They piled back into Davey's truck. Maggie made exaggerated gagging noises at the stale smell of cigarettes, as she had when she'd climbed in the first time. Ellen brought up Davey Ahearn, Tess Haviland and the dead body in Tess's dirt cellar last spring, another reminder of Susanna's life without him. Jack remembered she'd called and checked with him about how long it took a body to decompose. He should have known something was up.

  When they got back to the cabin, Susanna's car was still gone. All in all, Jack preferred taking Maggie and Ellen cross-country skiing to escorting Iris to a cemetery. As they charged into the cabin, nestled cozily amidst the trees and lake, he could feel the ache, knew he wanted to stay here and break in his new snowshoes, maybe try a little ice-fishing. He wanted to spend time with his family. But he had to check with Sam and see about Beau McGarrity, Alice Parker and, perhaps, Destin Wright.

  "Dad! Oh, my God!"

  Maggie. Jack ran for the cabin. Ellen was yelling now, panic raising the pitch of her voice. "Dad, Dad— no, Maggie, don't! What if they're still here?"

  He grabbed a ski pole in the mud room. Ellen, white-faced, burst from the kitchen. She was hyperventilating. "Dad, Maggie went upstairs. Someone—someone's—"

  He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. "Call the police."

  She was blinking rapidly, gulping in air. Purple and white blotches had broken out on her face. "They took the place apart. Maggie…" Suddenly she was a little girl again, hanging on to his hand. "Daddy."

  Jack curled her stiff fingers around the cell phone. "911. Go."

  She nodded, damn near passing out, and headed outside.

  The kitchen was tossed. Cupboards opened, drawers pulled out, towels, food and utensils thrown on the floor. In the living room, the couch cushions were off, the throw blankets scattered, the bookshelves dumped. Half the castle puzzle had ended up on the floor.

  "Maggie, where the hell are you?"

  "It's okay, Dad." She appeared at the top of the stairs, as pale as her sister, but glaring down at him with a greater, more immediate sense of indignation. She clenched the handrail. "Whatever bastard did this is gone."

  "Maggie." Jack started up the stairs with his ski pole. "Go outside with Ellen. She's calling the police. Then call your mother. Wait for me." He thrust the truck keys at her. "If anyone but me comes out of this cabin, get out of here."

  "Dad, I checked up here—there's no one—"

  "Downstairs. Outside. Now, Maggie."

  Her mouth snapped shut, and she complied, her feet barely touching the steps as she slid past him. No ski pole for her. She'd done her checking unarmed, which Jack knew was just as well given her inexperience.

  Whoever had tossed the place had lost steam by the time they reached the second floor. Given his daughters' level of neatness, Jack couldn't tell what all had been dumped and gone through in their shared bedroom and what they'd done themselves.

  In Iris's room, the mattress was askew, and her clothes were hanging out of her dresser drawers, her empty suitcase upended.

  The sofa bed in the loft was similarly roughed up.

  An amateur. Someone who wanted to make it look as if he'd done a thorough job.

  Jack checked Susanna's bedroom downstairs. The same thing.

  He went back outside and found the girls in the truck, both doors wide open. Ellen was behind the wheel, calmer now but still shaken. "I got through to the police," she told him. "It took a couple of tries. They're on their way. Dad…"

  "Are you two okay?" he asked, standing at the open driver's door.

  They nodded. Maggie looked at him, her dark eyes serious, angry and scared, even if she'd never admit to being afraid. She was like her mother in that. "This is about Alice Parker and that murder investigation, why you and Sam are here, isn't it?"

  "I don't know what it's about," Jack said. "We can guess, but that won't do any good. It could be a coincidence for all we know."

  "Is that what you believe?" Maggie asked.

  He shook his head. "No."

  Ellen started gulping for air again. "Dad, what about Mom? What if whoever was here went after her?"

  "Let's not get ahead of herself. Your mom's with Iris. They're looking at old tombstones. I'm sure they're fine."

  Maggie hunched her shoulders. She'd taken off her coat and had to be cold. "Mom and Gran'll be pissed at the mess we have to clean up."

  Jack knew both girls would be all right. "Do you two mind if I take a look around out here?"

  They shook their heads. Ellen managed a wan smile. "No, Dad, go ah
ead. Go be a Texas Ranger."

  * * *

  When she arrived at the cabin and found Jack building a snowman, Susanna knew something was wrong. He had the bottom done and was working on the middle, and he didn't stop when she and Gran got out of the car and he told them about the break-in. The local police had been and gone. He'd told them about Alice Parker and Beau McGarrity. And Destin Wright. They were nonetheless inclined to believe it had been a local scrounging for cash, probably thinking the cabin, only recently sold, was still on the market.

  Iris, her blood up, retreated inside to help the girls with the cleanup.

  Susanna scooped up a handful of snow, which was just wet enough to hold together. "Alice Parker is staying with Destin at the Blackwater Inn," she said. "Gran and I just talked to her. I should have come straight here and told you, but I'd promised to take Gran to the cemetery. It's just as well, I suppose. We could have walked in on this guy tossing the cabin."

  Jack remained silent as he carefully patted more snow onto the middle section of his snowman.

  "She said Beau McGarrity checked me out before his wife was killed."

  Jack stopped then, his dark eyes boring into her. "Jesus, Susanna."

  "She never told the detectives. I don't know if she didn't think it mattered—he parked across the street and watched me in the front garden. One day he followed me out to the school."

  "And this was before his wife was murdered?"

  "That's what Alice said. Jack, I don't know what to believe. I don't know if she's up here to get under my skin, or if she's after McGarrity somehow, thinks I can help convict him of murder. I don't know."

  "You don't have to know. It's not your job."

  His tone wasn't antagonistic, which somehow only made Susanna feel worse. "And Destin—who knows what he and Alice have cooked up?" She watched a chickadee perch on the very top branch of a spruce tree, then swoop off into the woods. "If I did anything to cause that woman's death—if she died in any way because of me—"