The Cabin

by Carla Neggers

  But he saw it clearly now—Beau McGarrity walking into their kitchen was the catalyst for Susanna to move north. It wasn't the cause. The dry tinders were there already for McGarrity to ignite. She'd already made millions and started keeping her secrets from him, and he'd already let himself drift into silence.

  He hadn't liked the idea of her making so goddamn much money.

  He was an enlightened man. Harvard-educated, for God's sake. But he'd let the fact that she'd made millions eat at him, let it undermine Susanna's trust and confidence in him—her satisfaction with a job well done.

  The money wouldn't change his life unless he allowed it to. And he had.

  Ten million. Damn.

  Today he was reminded that his wife had her own hardheaded and unyielding side, a toughness that he sometimes forgot.

  Even so, he knew what he had to say. He brushed wood chips off his jacket, still feeling the cold from outside. Destin Wright and Alice Parker had checked out of the Blackwater Inn. No one knew where they were.

  "I want you all to come back to San Antonio with me," he said to his wife and daughters. "I can protect you better there until we get this mess figured out."

  He hadn't mentioned this idea to Susanna ahead of time. She threw off the blanket, jumped to her feet and stormed into the kitchen, opening cupboards, pulling out food for dinner, generally slamming around in there.

  Maggie rolled her eyes at him. "Dad."

  Iris got up from the table, where she'd been nursing a mug of hot cocoa, and patted his arm. "You go on and help with dinner. The girls and I will work on the puzzle. We'd just gotten the topiary garden put together, but that sneaky bastard this afternoon wrecked it."

  The girls reluctantly followed their great-grand-mother's lead and moved to the puzzle table, but they were clearly more interested in telling their father what he'd done wrong. But he knew. He'd told Susanna something she didn't want to hear.

  He went to the kitchen counter and took over peeling carrots and chopping onions on a worn wooden cutting board. "You know I'm right."

  She hacked at chicken on the other side of the sink. "I have a sharp knife in my hand."

  "Maggie was going to take on the burglar today all by herself," Jack said. "I think she gets that from you."

  "Which? That she's a fighter or doesn't know her limits?"

  He chopped off the end of a carrot and smiled at her. "Both."

  "We're up here on vacation." She dragged out a pan for the chicken and smacked it down on the counter. "The local police are investigating the break-in here. Alice and Destin probably realized they went too far and took off—or Alice just doesn't want to talk to you."

  "Alice has to talk to me," he said simply. "She withheld critical information in a murder investigation."

  Susanna laid the chicken pieces in the pan. "Ah. Yes. That sums it up. 'She withheld critical information in a murder investigation.' It just happens to involve a rich real estate developer stalking your wife in the days before his wife turned up murdered in their own damn driveway."

  He peeled his carrot, using a cheap paring knife. It was dark outside, the window over the sink reflecting his own image back at him. "I consider that understood."

  She reeled around at him, her green eyes hot and angry—and scared. "That's because you're a law enforcement officer. You can distance yourself from what you do. You spend your days rooting around in crime and misery and violence—"

  "Do you think that means what I deal with doesn't have an impact?" He turned on the water and rinsed off his peeled carrot, knowing he meant what he said. "Susanna, the day I don't hate what I see on the job really is the day I quit."

  She seemed stung. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant that you're a professional at this and I'm not. Jack, I know you love your work. It's what you do, it's who you are."

  "You're half right. It's what I do—it's not who I am."

  She put the pan of chicken in the oven and washed her hands, tearing off paper towels to dry them. "You're not thinking of giving it up?"

  "Would it shock you if I did give it up?"

  She narrowed that smart, incisive gaze on him. "No," she said quietly. "No, you'd quit if I asked you to. That's one of the things that's had you on the defensive these past months—you were afraid that I would ask you, now that we could afford it. But that would be wrong, just as wrong as if you asked me to give up my ten million."

  He set down his carrot and moved closer to her. "I thought it was our ten million."

  "Well, it is, but you don't pay attention to money."

  Her tone was light, but when he put one hand on the counter on either side of her, he saw her teeth come down on her lower lip, knew what she was thinking— what she wanted. "That was when we didn't have any money." He took another step toward her, pinning her against the counter. Not that she minded. "Susanna, if we were dealing with a money problem right now, I'd listen to you, because you're the one with the expertise. I wouldn't feel patronized or bossed around or left out because—"

  "Fair point."

  He brushed his lips against hers. "Then what's wrong?"

  "If it were just the two of us, if Gran and the girls weren't here. Jack, I feel such a sense of responsibility—"

  "I know."

  Her eyes widened slightly, as if he'd said something she hadn't expected, and she nodded. "You do, don't you?"

  He touched her chin. "You've been carrying this thing with McGarrity on your own for too long. Let me in, Susanna. Let me take some of the load."

  "That makes it serious. If you're not involved, I can pretend—" But she stopped herself, sighing as she shut her eyes a moment. "I can't pretend anything, not after the past few days."

  "But you're not going to San Antonio?"

  "That's your fight or flight impulse kicking into gear, as Maggie would say. Get us home, under your protection—"

  "That's my professional opinion."

  "It's your opinion as a husband and a father."

  "And a Texas Ranger."

  She managed to put up both her palms and shove him in his midsection. "You were doing well there for a minute, Lieutenant Galway, not reminding me of what you do for a living. Here we were, a normal couple having a heart-to-heart discussion—"

  "We're not normal, Susanna."

  She smiled. "This is true."

  He stood back from her and resumed his place at the cutting board, tackling another carrot. He grinned. "I thought I did okay with the heart-to-heart."

  "You did," she said softly. "Except for pitching me into a snowbank."

  "You deserved it. You should tell Maggie and Ellen I did okay."

  "Nope. I like it when they get on your case about not communicating, being more romantic—they get on mine for not cutting you more slack. As if that'd make any difference."

  "They think I should buy you silk nighties." Jack picked up the paring knife, watching the color rise in his wife's cheeks. "I might after that getup you had on last night."

  "That was my mountain woman nightshirt." She glanced at him, the spots of color deepening. "As I recall, it didn't seem to bother you at the time."

  "That's because it ended up on the floor." He winked at her. "Are you blushing again, darlin'? I think you're becoming a bit of a Yankee prude."

  She threw a towel at him and ran him out, saying she'd finish a hell of a lot faster without him distracting her. He liked that. He wanted to distract her. But he checked on Iris and the girls and their puzzle building, then headed out to the porch overlooking the lake and tried Sam Temple for the dozenth time.

  This time, his call went through. "Can you hear me?" Sam asked through the static.

  "Barely. Where are you?"

  "Some godforsaken place with mountains and snow. Mass Pike, a few miles past the last toll booth. I got your message." Jack had given Sam everything he'd learned in a succinct, brutal message on his voice mail. "I should warn you—I'm coming after your wife. I'm duly authorized, and I intend to drag her a
ss back to Texas for withholding evidence in a murder investigation."

  "I already considered it. It won't hold up."

  "It's a bad sign, a woman not telling her husband about a murder suspect showing up in her kitchen."

  "It's our kitchen, not just her kitchen."

  "Jesus."

  "What do you have?" Jack asked.

  "A Somerville apartment rented by our Audrey Melbourne, aka Alice Parker, was broken into and searched. A neighbor called it in earlier today. No leads. I went over to the grandmother's house. Likewise. They went in from the back porch. Really tore up Susanna's room." A little humor crept into his voice. "I know it was her room because there were no pictures of you in it."

  "McGarrity."

  "Probably looking for the tape. My guess is Alice is blackmailing him with it and told him Susanna still has it. More valuable that way. It's crazy, until you realize this is Beau McGarrity and Alice Parker we're talking about."

  "There's more," Jack said. "I just don't know what it is."

  "I hear you." But Sam didn't waste time on more speculation. "McGarrity was within earshot when the plumber and the bartender mentioned Susanna was in the mountains. Local law enforcement on the case?"

  "More or less."

  "McGarrity won't be happy with Alice for lying to him about the tape, shaking him down—if that's what's going on."

  Jack knew no comment from him was necessary. "What are you driving?"

  "I broke down and rented an SUV."

  A huge sacrifice for Sam Temple, who hated most trucks and SUVs and all rentals, period. Their crackle-filled connection worsened. Jack gave him directions to the cabin. "Crank up the heat and don't get lost. It's dipping below zero here tonight."

  Sam swore and disconnected.

  Jack looked out at the night sky, lit up with stars above the lake. Maybe Susanna was right, and there was something about being here that was meant to be. He shook off the thought, decided the cold air was addling his brain and retreated into the warm cabin.

  Iris got up from the puzzle table and stood next to him in front of the big windows that looked out onto the lake. "You look tired, Iris," he said, swinging an arm around her and giving her a hug. She'd never been a frail woman, but he could feel her age. "It's been a long day."

  "Blackwater Lake is bad luck for the Dunnings." She stared out into the darkness, past her reflection in the window. Her voice was quiet, calm, convincing. "I hate to think that way because it's so beautiful here, and I have so many wonderful memories. But it's true."

  "Because of Jared Herrington?"

  She smiled. "Jared Rutherford Herrington. Isn't that a name?" Her smile faded, but there were no tears in her eyes. "I've experienced such tragedy here. I should have warned Susanna not to buy this place—to pick another lake."

  "You love this lake," Jack said. "You can't hide that, Iris. You do."

  "I'm a part of its past. Almost a century. I've been gone for sixty years. My Lord, when I was in my twenties, I thought I'd be old and shriveled up in sixty years. And look at me. I am!" She patted the hand he still had over her shoulder, hanging on to it. "Yes, Jack, I love Blackwater Lake with all my heart and soul. I should have come back long ago and made my peace with it."

  "Gran, that's not what this is about—"

  "Yes, it is. On some level, yes, that's exactly what it's about."

  She was adamant, and Jack planted a kiss on her white hair, smelling the mountains in it. "I'll bet you were hell in a pair of hiking boots, tramping up these hills, catching trout in your teeth and taking a rich Ivy Leaguer for a lover."

  "I was very independent." This time, her smile reached her eyes, reminding him of her granddaughter. "It was no surprise to me when Susanna ran off with a Texas Ranger."

  "I wasn't a Ranger then. I was a Harvard grad. Another Ivy Leaguer."

  "Oh, no. You were a Texas Ranger then, too. You just didn't have the badge yet."

  When dinner was served, she claimed she wasn't hungry and took a glass of milk up to bed with her. Jack could see the fatigue in her as she mounted the stairs. Susanna watched her grandmother uneasily, and if there was any good in these past months, he thought, it was for these four women he loved—Iris, Susanna, Maggie and Ellen—having this opportunity to be together.

  But he wanted it to end. He wanted his family back. And somehow he didn't think Iris would want him under her roof for more than a few days at a time.

  Maggie and Ellen fought at the dinner table. They were tired, too. Ellen was mad at herself for "freaking out" when she found the place torn apart, which made her mad at Maggie for charging upstairs to check under the beds—and Maggie obviously thought she was very courageous for having done so.

  Jack told them they both had screwed up. Ellen should have stayed calm, and Maggie should have gotten the hell out of there.

  "Gee, Dad," Maggie said, "like you could have taken on an armed burglar with your stupid ski pole."

  Before he could articulate who'd been in law enforcement for twenty years and who wasn't even eighteen, Susanna intervened. "We all handle stress in different ways," she said. "What's important is to learn something about yourself from this experience and work on what you want to change." She eyed her husband across the table. "Right, Jack?"

  He smiled at her. "Does that mean next time you're stressed, you won't beat up on my snowman?"

  Seventeen

  Alice pushed through a butt-deep snow drift and came out on the other side of a stand of naked trees, the snow only knee-deep here. She was breathing hard, and it was dark, with only the quarter-moon and the glow of the snow to relieve the blackness. She would come upon the teahouse or run into Destin soon. She had to. Either that or just trip over a rock, hit her head and die a quick, clean death.

  She wished she'd brought Destin the damn hot coffee she'd promised. She could drink it herself. Hell, she could warm her hands and feet with it.

  She didn't want to freeze to death. She was from south Texas. Fire ants, poisonous snakes, tornadoes, heat stroke all sounded better to her than dropping face-first in the snow and freezing into a block of ice out here in the northern wilderness.

  She hung on to a thin tree trunk and caught her breath. A few bright stars had appeared in the night sky. And Venus. That had to be Venus up there, beaming down at her. When she got to Australia, she'd have to learn all new stars, not that she knew northern hemisphere stars that well.

  Right now, she liked the idea of the southern hemisphere. Anything south. Well, maybe not the South Pole.

  A gust of wind howled through the woods, scaring her, making her more cold. She wouldn't mind the mountain parka now instead of her basic parka, but it had cost more than she'd paid for her car. A damn coat.

  She coughed, then went still, listening for wild animals. What would she do if a big old moose walked up to her? What if she woke a bear up from his winter nap? She'd be pissed herself, waking up to temperatures in the single digits.

  At least it'd be an active death, fighting off a bear. This business of freezing to death was so passive. Hypothermia was a danger in Texas, on cold, rainy days when people didn't dress right, let their core temperature drop too low. Sheer stupidity, usually. She'd never seen anyone die of it, but she knew the process—the shivering, the slurred speech, the muscles getting weaker and weaker, not being able to think straight, then lying down, losing consciousness and dying.

  If she died of hypothermia out here, who knew when anyone would find her? Someone would be walking around looking for wildflowers or a place to pee, and they'd trip over her dead body, the way Iris Dunning had come upon her rich lover, the father of the baby she was carrying.

  Except, Alice thought, nobody who loved her would find her dead body.

  More stars came out, and the wind in the trees created eerie shadows on the blanket of snow. She had no flashlight, no food, no water, no sleeping bag. She'd started into the woods before dark, expecting to fetch Destin and clear out. She was late getting to
the Herrington place to begin with. After her tête-à-tête with Miss Susanna and Iris, she'd packed up her and Destin, checked out of the inn and tried to take a back way up to the north end of the lake. And got lost. It was her day for getting lost.

  With her gas tank practically on empty, she finally came upon the big, boarded-up house. A miracle. She parked at the end of the snow-covered lane that supposedly led to the teahouse and started hiking.

  She was still hiking, at least an hour later, maybe close to two hours later now, with the temperature steadily dropping. Destin must have given up and either found proper shelter or hitchhiked into town. He couldn't still be out here waiting for her. She'd called for him quietly a few times, but didn't bother now that it was dark and frigid, and she was so lost and exhausted she could barely keep going.

  She lurched from one tree to the next, trying, at least, to keep herself moving in a straight line. She didn't want to wander around in circles. Eventually she had to come to the lake or a road or a summer cottage. Even these thick, dark, remote woods couldn't go on forever.

  Above her, barren treetops clicked together in a light breeze. She gasped at the painful numbing in her cheeks and pressed her palms to them, trying to keep off the wind and the cold. The breeze died down, and she pressed on. Her chest was toasty warm, her vital organs at least protected from the frigid air. She remembered nights in prison when she'd ached for an open window, a cool breeze.

  Suddenly she couldn't remember what had possessed her to drive out to Beau McGarrity's house that day and offer Susanna's tape in exchange for fifty thousand dollars. And why the hell go all the way to Boston to implement her scheme to make it look as if Susanna had the tape all along? It would have been simpler to tell Beau she'd hid it in the wall or something in her house in San Antonio. Alice could have waited for Jack to head off to work, torn up the place and gone on back to Beau.

  Except Beau had needed time to come around, and somehow, Alice knew it required Susanna Galway to be firmly in the picture. Maybe because Beau had followed her, maybe because he had unfinished business with her. Alice was operating more on instincts than information and logic, just as she had the night she found Rachel dead—of course, her instincts that night had landed her in prison.