Cold Ridge

by Carla Neggers

  "I understand. Given what's happened, I think it's best I quit my job. Jodie has all the pictures I've taken so far. I really appreciate the opportunity you and Jodie gave me—"

  "As you wish, Carine. Anything else?"

  She took a breath. "No."

  Rancourt tipped his head back slightly, studying her, but Ty wasn't fooled by his outward calm or superior manner. The other shoe about to drop—the guy was debating how big a jerk he was going to be to her. Payback. Carine had gone off the reservation. She hadn't turned over the disk to him when asked or consulted him about what to do once she realized what was on it. He'd had no control over what she did. He'd been powerless over her and the entire situation, and he didn't like it. To Ty, it was real simple.

  "A bit of friendly advice before you leave." Ran-court's tone was anything but friendly. "If you want to make it in the real world in a big way and not limit yourself to taking pretty pictures of birds and flowers, you'll needto learntoget along with people.You're too independent."

  Carine didn't go after him, but Ty saw her hands tighten into fists and knew she wanted to. He wanted to. But it was her show, so he kept still and let her handle the bastard. "You're upset," she said calmly, "and you've had a shock, so I'm not going to argue with you."

  "I'm not trying to be harsh, but we live in a harsh world." Rancourt wasn't going to back off. "You've been lucky, Carine. You've lived up here in Cold Ridge most of your life. Sheltered, protected."

  Right, Ty thought. That was how she'd ended up an orphan at three. Every fiber of his body focused on not interfering, not pounding this prick into the dirt for taking his humiliation and anger out on Carine. But she didn't say a word, just went pale again, as if she'd taken a body blow.

  It didn't stop Rancourt. "If you want to achieve the kind of success I think you do. You'll have to change your ways."

  She stiffened, but took the hit. She'd always been something of a hothead when it came to him, Ty thought, but she wasn't letting this guy get to her. Maybe she was cutting Rancourt some slack because she'd just given police pictures of his wife with another man. Maybe she didn't have the strength to fight him at the moment. Ty did—he could cheerfully knock Sterling Rancourt on his rich pompous ass.

  "Ty," Carine said quietly, "we should leave."

  But Rancourt wasn't ready to give up. "I'll take it on faith that you didn't take those pictures on Wednesday, Carine, but there's no proof, either way."

  Ignoring him, she started back down the stone walk to the truck.

  "It's never easy when you know what someone needs to do." Rancourt had shifted to Ty and spoke in a patronizing man-to-man tone. "I can see the mistakes she's making, not because I'm more brilliant or talented, but because of my circumstances, my experience—"

  "You don't know anything about her work or her life."

  "Perhaps you're right. But I'm in a position to help her, if she chooses to break from the course she's on—well, that's her call. Not everyone wants to play in the big leagues."

  Carine reached the truck and sank against the driver-side door, facing the house. "Ty—whenever you're ready."

  Rancourt smiled nastily, his attention still on Ty. "It's not easy to tell her what she needs to hear, is it? You've been there."

  Ty felt every muscle in his body coil, but Rancourt suddenly slumped against the doorjamb and put up his hand, as if to ward off a blow he knew he deserved. "I'm sorry. I—Christ, I'm so sorry. It's been a terrible day. I don't know what I'm saying."

  "Yeah. Okay." Ty didn't know what the hell to do. "Carine's right, we should leave."

  Jodie Rancourt eased beside her husband. She looked tired and drawn, self-conscious, but also, Ty thought, curiously elegant, as if she was trying to maintain some level of dignity. "Please accept my apology, too. You and Carine. It's been a very difficult few days for all of us. I'm sorry I put you all in such an untenable position."

  "Mrs. Rancourt—"

  She smiled politely. "Jodie, please. I knew I was taking a risk, just as I knew we were taking a risk last November when we tried to hike Cold Ridge. As then, the consequences have been far worse than I ever imagined." She averted her eyes, her voice lowering, almost as if she were talking to herself. "That's something I'll have to learn to live with."

  Her husband positioned himself in such a way that she had to step back into the entry or take an elbow in the cheek. She withdrew, and Rancourt shut the heavy door without another word.

  Ty gave a low whistle as he walked back to his truck. "Yep. That went well."

  Carine took her hands out of her pockets and breathed out in a long, cathartic sigh, then managed a halfhearted smile. "Some deterrent you were."

  "Think of how much worse it would have been if I hadn't been there. He might have slugged you."

  "I don't know, a black eye might have been easier to take."

  Ty stood close to her, aware of her hurt, her lingering anger. It was cold on the exposed hill, the wind blowing up from the valley in gusts, penetrating his flannel shirt. He thought about zipping up his jacket, but Carine still had her barn coat unbuttoned. He had to keep up his image of strength. But his attempt at private humor didn't catch hold, and he knew all he wanted to do was get her out of there. "A few days in the mountains," he said. "It's still an option."

  "Maybe I'll go take pictures of stupid birds and flowers."

  "You're not going to let him get to you, are you?"

  Her mouth twitched, her eyes sparking with sudden irreverence. "If I did, would you fly through the door and kick his teeth in?"

  Ty shrugged. "Sure."

  "Probably get in trouble with some general, wouldn't you?"

  "Nah. I'd get a medal."

  She sighed, releasing some of her tension. "He was rude and obnoxious, but he's hurting."

  "He's not hurting, Carine, at least not in the way you mean. He's pissed that someone else played with his toy without his permission."

  "Shoot-the-messenger time."

  "Yep. And he doesn't like not being able to control you."

  She gazed out at the beautiful view, the seemingly endless cascade of mountains—blue, white and gray against the November clouds. "Maybe it was selfish of me to come. I didn't make anything better."

  "Not your job."

  One of the garage doors hummed open, and Gary Turner walked out onto the parking area. "I failed in my mission, so now I'm on clean-the-SUV duty," he said with a self-deprecating smile, gesturing back to an expensive white SUV parked in the garage. But his smile didn't last, and he shook his head regretfully. "I overheard you all. Obviously I should have handled this situation differently."

  "It's okay," Carine said. "At this point, what's done is done."

  Ty opened his truck door, hoping Carine would take the hint and realize it was time to go, but she didn't. "Did Jodie Rancourt use my key yesterday and search my apartment for the disk?" she asked casually, as if it was only of passing interest to her. "The locks are tricky. She must have gotten frustrated or nervous, because she left the door open."

  Turner gave an almost imperceptible nod. "She didn't take anything? No one took advantage of the situation?"

  Carine shook her head.

  "Then I hope we can leave what she did as an act of poor judgment on her part, nothing more. Since you did give her a key—"

  "How did she know there were pictures?"

  "I can't say. I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can tell you. The police asked us not to discuss our statements with anyone else."

  "I understand."

  She probably did, Ty thought, but it wouldn't stop her from listening if anyone wanted to talk. But he kept his mouth shut and climbed in behind the wheel. Turner led Carine around to the other side of the truck and opened the door for her. Ty noticed the missing fingers, mentally ticked off various possibilities of how people lose fingers. But mostly he noticed Turner's attentiveness toward Carine. He knew it shouldn't make a damn bit of difference to him, but it did.


  "Coming up here was a mistake," Turner said, still very focused on Carine, edging in close to her as she climbed in the truck. "I'll encourage the Rancourts to head back to Boston as soon as possible. We all need to be patient and let the police conclude their investigation. Then we'll know what went on the other day."

  "The Rancourts have as much right to be here as I do," Carine said.

  "You could use the peace and quiet. I'll see you sometime. Take care of yourself."

  "You, too. Thanks."

  He shut her door, and Ty started back down the mountain way too fast. He almost two-wheeled it on a curve and slowed down, aware of Carine getting quieter and paler beside him. "You're not going to be sick, are you?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Good, because I just cleaned my truck."

  She lifted her eyes to him, but it was obviously an effort to pull herself out of her thoughts. "You did not. It's filthy."

  "It's not filthy. I got out all the wrappers and crud—"

  "Look at the dashboard. Dust, grime. And you didn't vacuum."

  "Vacuum? Babe, if I vacuumed, I might suck out something this thing needs to keep running. There's a certain balance of nature at work here. It's my New Hampshire truck. My truck on base is spotless."

  She let a small smile escape. "Isn't there some general who can call and send you somewhere?"

  He grinned. "Am I getting under your skin?"

  "Underfoot," she said, "not under my skin. Maybe I miss Boston."

  "The cockroaches or the kitty litter in the front hall?"

  "There are no roaches in my building."

  "I saw one the size of an alligator."

  "Watch it, North. Once I've mastered the PAST, I'm going to become a marksman. Try my hand at tactical maneuvers."

  "Soon the generals'll be calling you."

  She shook her head. "You didn't hear me say I was planning to take up parachuting, did you? That's an unnatural act, jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft." She settled back in her seat, watching the passing scenery—rocks, evergreens, birches. No wild turkeys. Wherever they went on late November afternoons, presumably they were there. "At least I don't mind helicopters. Antonia hates them."

  "And here she is married to a helicopter pilot."

  "Life can be funny that way, can't it? She still says she's never going to be the doctor in the helicopter with the patient, not if she can help it. She'll be the doctor waiting at the hospital for the patient."

  "Have you been on a helicopter?"

  "A number of times, on various photography assignments." She sighed, adding dryly, "But I guess that wasn't in the 'real world.'"

  "You don't have anything to prove," Ty said, slowing down for a series of ruts and potholes, "you or your sister."

  She glanced over at him. "Neither do you."

  Seventeen

  In the village of Cold Ridge, November was a time between seasons. The leaf-peepers had gone, and the winter sports crowd hadn't yet arrived, leaving the shops and restaurants more or less to the locals for a few short weeks. When Ty parked his beat-up truck in front of Gus's outfitting shop, Carine jumped out first, although by now she knew she wouldn't go far without him. He was definitely in Musketeer mode, her own personal d'Artagnan shadowing her wherever she went—because she'd found a dead man, because his friend had asked him to.

  But it didn't seem fair. He was on leave after months leading his pararescue team in combat and training missions that were the subject of speculation and rumor around town but seldom got fleshed out with specifics. Special operations, unconventional warfare. It was all something that happened far away, removed from their northern New England village.

  Except Tyler North was one of their own—even if, Carine thought, he didn't see himself that way, but as the outsider, the boy with the weird mother.

  Regardless, he should be hiking and fishing, sitting by the fire with a book, puttering in his rambling house, not traipsing around after her.

  But they'd had that discussion on the way into town. "Relax, babe," he'd said. "I haven't fared too badly hanging out with you."

  Meaning the sex and the kisses.

  That'd teach her to open her damn mouth.

  The alternative to having him on her tail—running around on her own—had its appeal, but Carine thought if she could just make the leap to Tyler North as a Musketeer, she wouldn't feel so hemmed in. But it wasn't just his presence, it was that every time she looked at him, a part of her remembered that he was the man she'd loved so much last winter and almost married.

  She eyed him as he joined her on the sidewalk and wondered what they'd think of each other if they were meeting for the first time now. He was thirty-seven, she was thirty-three. They weren't kids. She tried to look at him objectively, pretend she hadn't known him forever—hadn't gone to bed with him just yesterday. She took note of his superfit physique, his military-cropped tawny hair, his green eyes and bad-road face. The jeans, the battered brown leather jacket.

  She'd be attracted to him, no doubt about it.

  Just as well she knew better, experience ever the hard teacher.

  He seemed to guess what she was thinking and grinned at her. "Just think. Manny could have asked Gus to keep you out of trouble instead of me."

  "Do you see now why I've always hated you?"

  "If I'd known what you meant by 'hate,' I could have started sleeping with you when you were sixteen."

  "Gus would have killed you."

  "Hang on. He might yet."

  It was in the fifties in the valley, warm by Gus's standards. He had the wooden front door of his store propped open with a statue of a river otter, the afternoon breeze blowing in through the screen door. Carine went in first, the old, oiled floorboards soft under her feet. Her uncle had started the business, now one of the most respected outfitters in the valley, when she was in the second grade, and he called it Gus & Smitty's. There was no Smitty and never had been, but he insisted that just Gus's was too prosaic. It was located in a former Main Street hardware store. Customers liked the old-fashioned atmosphere, but they came for the state-of-the-art equipment and unparalleled services.

  Carine wove through the racks of winter hiking and camping gear to the back wall, where Gus, in a wool shirt and heavyweight chinos, had a map of the Pemigewasset Wilderness opened on the scarred oak counter. They'd hiked in the Pemigewasset countless times. It was a sprawling federally designated wilderness area resurrected from shortsighted logging-and-burning operations that had nearly destroyed it between the mid-nineteenth and the mid-twentieth century. Now it was protected by an act of Congress, and human activity there was strictly regulated.

  "Planning a hike?" Carine asked.

  He peeled off his bifocals and looked up from his map. "Nah. Just dreaming."

  Stump wagged his tail but didn't stir from his bed at Gus's feet.

  Ty whistled at a price tag on an expensive ski jacket.

  "Only the best," Gus said.

  "At that price it should come with its own search-and-rescue team." Ty emerged from the racks, joining them at the counter. "Just add water."

  "You come in here to make fun of the merchandise?"

  "No, sir. We're here to invite ourselves to dinner."

  Gus folded up his map and tucked it back in a drawer. He sold a wide selection of maps, guidebooks, how-to books and outdoor magazines. "I'm cooking a chicken in the clay pot. You two can go over to the house and put it in the oven if you want. I'll close up here in a bit."

  "I never can remember what to do with a clay pot," Carine said. "What part you soak in cold water, for how long, if you're supposed to preheat the oven—"

  "Instruction book's right in the pot. How'd it go at the Rancourts?"

  Ty leaned over a glass cabinet of sunglasses, sports watches and jackknives. "Sterling was frosty, Jodie was hangdog and Gary Turner drooled over Carine."

  She groaned. "Gus, that's not how it went."

  "It's the short version." North pointed to a p
air of Oakleys. "Let me see those."

  Gus shook his head. "I'm not wasting my time. You've never paid more than twenty dollars for sunglasses in your life."

  "Twenty bucks? When have I ever paid that much for sunglasses?"

  "Go to hell."

  Ty put a hand to his heart in mock despair. "Is that how you treat a paying customer?"

  "The key word is paying." Gus dismissed him and turned to Carine, his tone softening. "You don't ever have to see the Rancourts again, you know. You quit, right?"

  She nodded. "If I'd just taken my camera with me during lunch—"

  "If Jodie Rancourt and Louis Sanborn had just behaved themselves."

  "I promised Sterling we'd be discreet."

  "Too bad his wife wasn't."

  "It's water over the dam at this point," Carine said. "I hope the Boston police will be here soon. I just want to get it over with."

  "Go put the chicken on. Cooking'll help keep things in perspective."

  The screen door creaked open, and Eric Carrera wandered unexpectedly into the store, making his way back to the counter. Flushed and out of breath, he spoke first to Gus. "My friend and I are in town collecting leaves for earth science class," he said. "How's it going, Mr. Winter?"

  "Not bad, Mr. Carrera," Gus replied.

  Ty, eyes narrowed as he took in the boy's appearance, stood up from the glass cabinet. "No trees on campus?"

  Eric shifted, deliberately avoiding contact with his father's friend. "Yes, sir, there are, but not any ginkgoes and larch trees. There's a ginkgo in front of the Cold Ridge library…." But the boy's voice trailed off, and he sniffled, coughing as he adjusted his backpack and pretended to look at a rack of lipbalms. He had on his habitua lcargo pants, today's too-big hooded sweatshirt from Amherst College. "I saw your truck out front, and I—I was wondering if you'd heard anything from my dad."

  "Not today." He stepped toward Eric, forcing the boy to face him. "You have your meds with you?"

  Eric nodded. "I'm okay. I'm just—" He coughed, a sloppy sound in his chest, but he waved off any help, although Ty hadn't made a move in his direction. "My dad…the dead guy…that's not his real name. Louis Sanborn. You know about that, right? It was on the news."