Cold Ridge

by Carla Neggers

  His dark eyes warmed slightly. "The police want to talk to me again today. I'm cooperating. If I don't, they'll probably find a reason to throw me in jail sooner rather than later."

  "Why at all?"

  "They have to do their thing." He leaned over to refill his coffee cup from a silver service set on the low table in front of him. "You know what's good about staying at a fancy place? You can pick out the cops. They fit in about as well as I do."

  "There's a police officer here?"

  "I'm under surveillance. I think it's supposed to be covert."

  "Manny!" Carine found herself glancing around at the occupied seats, noticing an older couple, a middle-aged man reading a Wall Street Journal, a young woman tapping at a PalmPilot. "The woman?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Manny, doesn't this bother you? Having the police waste their time on you, when you know you had nothing to do with Louis's death?"

  He sipped his coffee. "Getting bothered isn't going to change anything."

  "So, what're you going to do, sit here and do nothing?"

  "Sure, why not? Enjoy the fancy digs while I can. Rancourt hasn't told me to clear out yet. So long as he's footing the bill, I can—"

  "You can what, drink coffee out of a silver pot?"

  His eyes didn't leave her. "I have to tell you, drinking coffee out of a silver pot suits me just fine."

  She immediately regretted her words. Manny wouldn't bring it up, but he and North had been in Afghanistan and Iraq. Manny's last mission before he retired was to recover an aircrew killed in a training accident. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "Actually," he added with a hint of a smile, lifting his pinkie finger from the too-small handle of his cup, "I'm drinking out of a china cup, not a silver pot."

  Carine didn't know what to say. She could feel tension and frustration eating away at any calm she'd found during her walk in the Public Garden. "What can I do to help?"

  "Nothing. Go back to Cold Ridge." He looked at her over the rim of his cup, his dark eyes unrelenting. "For all you know, I could be guilty. I could have killed Louis Sanborn."

  "You had no motive."

  He was motionless for a split second. "I had motive."

  "What?" She lowered her voice, aware of the cop and her PalmPilot. "Manny, what are you talking about?"

  "Why do you suppose the police have me under surveillance but not you? Come on, Carine. You don't know what I was doing at the Rancourt house yesterday."

  She sat back, irritated with him for playing games with her. "I don't care. I don't care if you didn't think Louis was a nice guy or what you're doing in Boston, it's impossible—Manny, I'm your friend. I know you didn't kill him."

  "You're my friend's ex-fiancée. That's a little different."

  Carine's mouth snapped shut, and she stared at him. He'd obviously meant to sting her, and he'd succeeded. "All right. Why tell me Louis wasn't a nice man?"

  "Because he wasn't."

  "That's not an answer."

  "I thought it'd be enough to scare you into going home. A minute ago I thought telling you I'm under police surveillance would scare you into going home. Now I'm telling you I had a motive—"

  "Stop saying that!"

  "Listen to me, Carine." He set down his cup again. "I don't need your help."

  "You're being an ass just to get rid of me."

  He smiled faintly. "It's not working very well, is it?"

  "What about Ty? Have you talked to him? He'd help you. You know he would."

  "Ty's on a mission, not that I'd ask him for his help. He's still on active duty. He doesn't need to get mixed up in a murder investigation." Manny sat back, studying her for a moment. "That's what this is, Carine. A murder investigation. A man was killed yesterday. You need to back off."

  "Yes," she said, "I'm well aware a man was killed."

  His expression softened. "I'm sorry. I haven't forgotten you were the one who found him. How're you doing?"

  "Okay."

  "Sleep last night?"

  "Not much."

  He winked at her. "Now you're looking for trouble to distract yourself, aren't you? I know it's hard to figure what to do after something like yesterday."

  "It was hard enough getting shot at last year. This—"

  "Give yourself some time. And don't worry about me, will you? I'll be fine. If I need help…" He shrugged, deliberately not finishing.

  "If you need help, you won't turn to a nature photographer, not with all the tough types you know." She gave him a quick smile and got to her feet. "Just stating the facts, not putting myself down. You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

  "The police asked me not to talk to anyone."

  "Right. Like you needed their say-so to keep your mouth shut."

  He rose, and she could see the lines at the corners of his eyes, the strain. He'd just gotten his son back on his feet, and now he was in the wrong place at the wrong time when a murder was committed—but he didn't let any of that show. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and admonished her one more time. "You don't have a dog in this fight, Carine. Stay out of it."

  When she got back out onto the street, she made herself take three deep cleansing breaths before she decided what to do next. Her hands were shaking. Her stomach muscles were tight to the point of soreness, but at least she didn't feel as if she'd throw up—minor progress, but progress nonetheless.

  She fished out her cell phone and dialed Gus's number. "Gus? It's me. The police have Manny under surveillance. Can you believe it? They think he killed Louis. Why don't they think I killed him?"

  "What the hell were you doing talking to Manny Carrera?"

  "Relax. He's at the Four Seasons having coffee." She sighed, starting down Tremont Street toward the intersection of Arlington Street, the Public Garden across from her, people passing her on their normal routines. "Manny's in trouble, Gus. He won't admit it, of course. He's going to have ulcers and heart disease in a few years from keeping it all under such tight control."

  "Carine—"

  "I'm thinking about calling Ty. Do you know where he is?"

  "Why do you want to call him? Manny can take care of himself."

  "Manny's not taking care of himself. You should see him. Maybe Ty can talk to him. He must have heard about what happened."

  Gus hesitated. "He heard."

  Carine stopped abruptly, a man in a suit nearly crashing into her as he rushed past. Gus was being evasive, and that wasn't his nature. He'd been evasive earlier, and she'd let it go. Normally he was the most straightforward person she'd ever encountered. "Gus?"

  "What, honey? You sound stressed out—"

  "Gus, where is Tyler? Is he on leave? Manny said he was on a mission."

  "You haven't seen the news, have you? Well, you'll find out sooner or later—North and I pulled three prep school seniors off the ridge yesterday."

  "So, he's there. I'll call him at home."

  "Try his cell phone."

  She frowned. "Gus? Gus, what is it you're not telling me?"

  "Ah, shit, honey, I'm losing the connection. I can't hear you. Can you hear me?"

  "I can hear you fine."

  "What? Carine? Are you there? These goddamn cell phones."

  "Gus—"

  He disconnected.

  And she knew. Ty was en route to Boston or already there. The fact that Gus didn't want to tell her meant North had come because of her. Gus wouldn't like it either way—Ty in Boston, her there on her own.

  "Mission, my ass."

  Manny had to know. He must have contacted Ty and put him up to keeping an eye on her—probably to take her back to Cold Ridge, since that seemed to be the general consensus of what she should do with herself. Go home. Stay out of trouble. Don't cause any trouble.

  She didn't feel warm and safe and less isolated, less vulnerable, as if her family and friends were trying to do right by her after she'd had a shock.

  "Ha," she muttered. "I know better."

 
She'd been conspired against by her own uncle, by Manny Carrera—and North. They'd obviously believed she couldn't resist meddling.

  She could see herself standing in the library door yesterday and relived the jolt of awareness that had warned her something was wrong. She saw the blood. Louis's hand. She felt herself running in panic out of the house, into Manny Carrera's arms.

  If she hadn't been there, would Manny have slipped away before the police arrived?

  Was it her fault he was under suspicion?

  Louis Sanborn was not a nice man.

  Maybe not. But Manny hadn't shot him in cold blood.

  She dialed Gus's number. "When did Ty leave for Boston?" she asked him.

  "Can't hear you," her uncle said, and hung up.

  Seven

  Antonia had already tracked Ty down on his cell phone and given him an earful about leaving her sister on the loose in Boston, and now he was getting it from Manny Carrera. Ty just listened. They didn't realize what it was like to watch Carine do calf stretches on her porch—watch her as she sipped tea and tried to eat a scone on her way to a murder scene.

  He'd lost her on the subway, picked her up again on Beacon Street. It wasn't as if he didn't know where she was going. He'd reminded Antonia of the promise she'd extracted from him last night not to make things worse for her sister. Hell, he was trying.

  But as a practical matter, Antonia wanted Carine back in Cold Ridge, out of harm's way. Everyone did. It was the only reason Gus had let him out of town alive—because he figured Ty would come back with Carine, one way or another. She didn't like it that people worried about her, but they did. And not without cause. A year ago, she unwittingly disturbed a smuggling operation and came under fire while she was off taking pictures. Then she'd gone and fallen in love with him. Now it was out-and-out murder that had her life in an uproar, her family wanting to keep her safe.

  She'd surprised him, sneaking into the Four Seasons and tracking down Manny. As usual, Manny's instincts were right on target—she wasn't going to back off. But that was Carine. She never backed off. Ty had seen her lie in wait for the perfect shot of a spruce grouse. She had focus, commitment, inner reserves. He remembered her making a break for it from behind her boulder last fall, zigzagging from tree to tree, launching herself down the hill, out of the line of fire. She might have made it out of there just fine if he hadn't been around.

  Manny exhaled, looking out at the busy street. "I hope I put the fear of God in her. She was all set to jump in headfirst and prove my innocence."

  "She likes you."

  "Big deal. And that's not it. She has this strong moral compass. You know, this acute sense of right and wrong—as in, it was wrong for you to skip out on her a week before your wedding."

  Ty didn't squirm. Nobody had liked what he'd done. "It was wrong for someone to murder this man, Louis Sanborn. If she wants to do the right thing, she should back off and let the police do their job."

  "Not if she's not convinced they're going after the real killer. She'll feel it's her duty not to walk away."

  "Because she found Louis," North said.

  "Because she thinks she could have saved his life. He offered her a ride, and she refused. If she hadn't—"

  "Then we'd have two dead bodies instead of one."

  "Carine doesn't see it that way. And," Manny added, with obvious reluctance, "she thinks it's her fault the police are sniffing my trail."

  "Is it?"

  "Not really. She went screaming out of the house, and I was there. That put me on the scene, but—" He shrugged. "The police have more than that to go on."

  North didn't ask what that was. If Manny intended to tell him, he'd already have done it. "Carine sees things the way she wants them to be, not necessarily the way they are. She has a rosy-eyed view of the world. You don't ever see her taking a picture of an osprey ripping apart a baby duck, do you?"

  "Christ, North. I just had breakfast."

  "You're making too much of her reasoning. She's just bored."

  "Maybe. I don't know." Manny leaned back against the soft cushions of the couch and frowned at his longtime friend. "Why haven't you gotten her out of here by now?"

  "Timing. She had to go back to the scene. Maybe she had to see you, too, but I should have prevented that. By the time I realized what was going on, she was sitting across from you."

  "I should have told you where I was staying."

  Ty didn't comment. "If I grabbed her too soon, she'd be impossible to keep still. She'd be back down here in a flash. Now—" He sighed, picturing her as she'd left the hotel. He knew her so well, her body language, the way she thought. "There's a chance."

  "You're not giving yourself enough credit. Toss her butt in the back of your truck and beat a path to New Hampshire. You know how to hold a prisoner if you have to."

  It had been a long night in his truck, Ty thought. He'd had to move it several times, and he was stiff. "I'm still an outsider in Cold Ridge."

  "You've lived there your whole life—"

  "Doesn't matter. The Winters have been there since 1800. Figure it out, Manny. I live in their old house."

  "Your mother bought the place from a Winter?"

  "No. A Winter built it. Last one moved out in 1878. Doesn't matter. I'd be holding a prisoner in enemy territory."

  "You mean the bad-ass uncle wants you to go easy on her."

  Ty shrugged. "I'm on death row with Gus as it is."

  Manny leaned over and poured the last drops of coffee into his cup, not because he wanted more, North thought, but because he needed something to do. "You're sure you're not dragging your heels because you're afraid to face her?"

  "I'd be afraid to face her if I'd done something I shouldn't have done. I didn't."

  "Right," Manny said with open sarcasm. "Bet Carine looks at it that way, too."

  North got to his feet. "I should head out before she gets too big a lead on me. You know what you're doing, Carrera?"

  His friend relaxed his guard, his dark eyes showing his tension—his fear. "I came up here to recommend the Rancourts fire Louis Sanborn."

  "That's reason for him to kill you, not the other way around."

  "Suppose I got to him first, before he could kill me?"

  "I'm not speculating, Manny.You want to tell me the whole story, fine. Tell it. Otherwise—"

  "I've told you what I can. I don't have the whole story. There are gaps I need to fill in."

  "Can you do it from here?" But Manny wasn't going to answer, and Ty didn't push him. "You know how to get in touch with me. Stay safe, okay?"

  "If something happens to me and I can't—" He paused, searching for the right words, then went on, "If I can't function, remember I love Val. All right?"

  "Yeah, Manny. Sure. She knows—"

  "Just remember. I've got computer files—" He broke off. "That's all I'm saying. You'll remember."

  North turned to cross the plush carpet, noting a woman with a PalmPilot, making no bones about watching him. A cop. She must have realized she'd been made. It wouldn't be easy to conduct covert surveillance on a man with Manny Carrera's training and experience. Maybe she was the reason for Manny's cryptic comment about loving his wife and computer files.

  "One more favor," he said quietly.

  Ty glanced back at him, not knowing what to expect.

  "Eric—could you look in on my kid if you get the chance? I don't know if Val's talked to him. I haven't talked to either one of them. I don't like the idea of having to explain to the police why I called my family."

  "What do you want me to tell him?"

  "Not to worry."

  Ty nodded without argument, because there was no way to tell Manny Carrera that a fourteen-year-old boy was going to think what he wanted to think, worry if he wanted to worry.

  When North got back out to Tremont Street, he noticed the smell of exhaust fumes and the noise of the traffic speeding past him. He was used to making quick switches in his environment, but he'd never l
iked cities. Carine had been out of his sight for less than fifteen minutes, but he didn't think it'd be difficult to pick up her trail. She was on foot, and she was aimless, restless, ripe for doing something she shouldn't. The Winters were all risk-takers at heart. Even Carine, except none of them saw it.

  She was a nature photographer. She had a camera with her. Maybe she'd slipped back into Boston Public Garden to take pictures of the trees.

  Ty waited at a red light at the corner of Arlington and Tremont, debating his next move. Head to Copley Square? Turn onto Arlington and check Newbury Street? Or go back to the Rancourt house, or to Inman Square and her apartment—or chuck it and head back to New Hampshire without her. Mind his own damn business.

  He hadn't made up his mind when she swooped up from the steps of the subway station on the corner, diving at him as if he'd just tried to mug her. She damn near knocked him on his ass.

  He caught her around the middle. "Hey—babe, there are cops all over the place."

  "You've been following me. For how long?"

  He kept a tight hold on her, taking due note of her strong abdominal muscles and overall increased level of fitness. He'd followed her on her halfhearted run this morning—from the shape she was in, he'd guess she'd had better mornings.

  "Not that long," he said. "Take it easy."

  "Why should I?"

  Good point. He held her arms down, but she kicked him. He had on khakis and his brown leather jacket, too warm for the city temperatures. He'd be working up a sweat with too much more of this. He grabbed her camera bag in self-defense. "Want me to throw this under a car? Come on. Get a grip. I have tender shins."

  "You don't have tender anything. When did you get here?"

  "Last night."

  "You've been following me since last night?"

  He dodged her next kick. People passed by, eyeing them nervously, and one guy pulled out his cell phone. North smiled, trying to look nonthreatening, and Carine, apparently realizing the scene she was making, backed off. Strands of hair had pulled out of her loose ponytail. She grabbed her camera bag back and adjusted it on her shoulder, breathing hard, a little wild-eyed.