Cold River

by Carla Neggers

  Lowell looked uncomfortable. “You know I have no romantic interest in anyone in Black Falls—or anywhere else, for that matter.”

  “Who do you prefer, Hannah or Rose Cameron?” Vivian thought a moment, ignoring her husband’s obvious discomfort. “Hannah, I believe. She’s the safer choice, for certain. Her brothers are just teenagers. Rose’s brothers are all in their thirties and very competent—true New England mountain men.”

  Lowell leaned back in his chair and glanced at his own reflection in the window.

  “Are you still pestering Rose about dogs?” Vivian asked him.

  “We’ve talked, yes.”

  “A dog won’t protect us. You just want one because you’d feel more like a country squire with a golden retriever at your side.”

  Her husband’s interest in getting a dog and Rose Cameron’s work with search-and-rescue dogs had preceded the violence in Black Falls, anyway, and had nothing to do with protection. Vivian no longer believed she was without enemies. Everyone had enemies. She wanted to install an alarm system and a panic room, but Lowell argued that it would destroy the sense of refuge he felt being in Vermont. She was adamant about not having guns in the house.

  She rose and took her teapot and mug to the counter. “I spoke to Ginny Robinson earlier. She wants me to get involved in the local historical society. I think that’d be fun, don’t you? Even if they are just looking for a donation.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “They say all the right things. I figure it’s a way to be let into the community, assuming we don’t give up and sell this place.” She set the dishes in the porcelain sink; she was still cold. “The Robinsons have invited Sean Cameron to dinner, too.”

  “Is that right?” Lowell didn’t meet her eye.

  “I wonder if Hannah will be there. I understand that Ginny and Everett have been very good to her over the years. She’s had a considerable amount of help from people in town, but from the way she behaves, you’d think she did everything on her own. Sean seems to look after her.” Vivian walked back across the hardwood floor to the table and picked up her book, standing over her husband. “Do you suppose he’s attracted to her?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “She’s definitely attracted to him. I can see it when he’s at the café. She’s so fetchingly self-conscious, don’t you think?” Vivian didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.

  Lowell stared at the table. “I haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, of course you have, Lowell. Sean’s handsome and rich. He’s a self-made multimillionaire. He’s also skilled in mountain rescue, and he fights wildfires out west. He’s an elite smoke jumper.”

  Lowell traced a circle on the table in front of him. “Yes, dear, I know.”

  “He has to stay incredibly fit even to work on a voluntary basis.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Hannah’s pretty, even if she doesn’t know how to dress, and she has grit and intelligence, but she’s also vulnerable. Every man’s fantasy.” Vivian watched Lowell for a reaction. “Men want to take care of her.”

  “Is that what you think? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Vivian wanted to scream. Just once she’d like to see her husband display some real backbone, but he never would. He’d never stand up to her or anyone else. If Kyle Rigby had decided to cut their throats in the middle of the night, would Lowell have protected her?

  What a ridiculous thought. Her husband would have expected her to protect him.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sudden image of Lowell cowering at her side in bed. She knew she was being unfair and irrational. He was a good man and a good husband. He was sophisticated, civilized and decent. She’d never have been happy with someone like Bowie O’Rourke or A.J. or Elijah Cameron.

  But Sean Cameron?

  Vivian shook off the thought. She accepted that she was drawn to him because of the vulnerability she’d been feeling since November. It was understandable, even inevitable. She wasn’t as happy about being in Vermont as she had been before Alex Bruni’s death. She had to admit she’d enjoyed the prestige of being friends with an intelligent, respected ambassador more than she’d liked Alex himself. He could be abrasive and arrogant. He hadn’t been one to suffer fools gladly. Nonetheless, he hadn’t deserved to be deliberately run over and killed.

  When his stepdaughter had dropped out of college and wanted to move to Black Falls, Alex had hinted that he’d appreciate any help Vivian and Lowell could offer. They’d invited Nora to stay at an apartment in their guesthouse. Lowell would have let her stay with no strings attached, but Vivian had insisted the teenager do odd jobs around the property and run errands, if not pay rent. It would be good for her character. Nothing in this life was free, was it?

  Vivian couldn’t stand the terror that suddenly gripped her. Tea, a book—distractions hadn’t worked to calm her. “I want the police to find their bomb-maker and be done with this,” she said under her breath.

  “I know, Vivian,” Lowell said. “We all do.”

  “The Camerons won’t rest until they have the answers to every last question they have about who hired these killers, who else they killed, who else might be out there—additional killers, potential victims. Jo Harper, either. She’s as driven as the Camerons are.”

  “Given what they’ve all been through, one can see why.”

  Vivian didn’t know why, but his comment annoyed her. “We need to see these people as they are, Lowell, and not romanticize them and their lives here in Vermont. You agree with me, don’t you?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  His response increased her annoyance. She glared at him. “Lowell, I’m serious. I don’t want us to get caught in the middle again.”

  “Nor do I,” he said, rising from the table. “I’ll check my e-mail and then head to the guesthouse to meet Bowie.”

  She didn’t respond, and Lowell left her alone in the kitchen. She rinsed the dishes in the sink. When she turned off the faucet, she stared out the window into the darkness. She couldn’t move. It was as if she were paralyzed, trapped by the memory of meeting Drew for the first time more than a year ago. She’d run into him in front of the library in the village. He’d been so sure of himself—so rooted and content in this small, picturesque northern New England town. Black Falls wasn’t an escape for him. It was home.

  It’s become a nightmare for me, she thought.

  How she wished she could pick up their estate and put it down somewhere else. Black Falls wasn’t one of the more prestigious towns in Vermont for second-home owners. One had to truly want a life in rural northern New England to live there.

  Vivian headed down the hall to the study. She had overseen its decorating, but it was Lowell’s space. Lined with dark wood shelves, the room had deep mountain colors that were a deliberate contrast to the brightness of the rest of the house. She remained in the doorway. Her husband was at his massive, solid oak desk, his back to her. She knew he was wishing and hoping this network of killers the police were after would just go away. That was what he’d always done when faced with any difficulty. Wished and hoped and left the hard decisions to her.

  “Don’t bother building a fire now,” she said, startled at how loud her voice seemed in the quiet house.

  Lowell pivoted to her in his oak chair. He didn’t seem startled. “Yes, I suppose there’s no reason to start a fire now, since we’re leaving for dinner soon.”

  Why suppose? Why not just say there’s no point? She wanted to scream at him. Why couldn’t he be decisive and strong?

  She checked her temper. “You’re not going to the Robinsons dressed like that, are you?”

  He gave her a blank look. “What?”

  She pointed at his barn jacket and wide-wale corduroy pants. “You’re wearing your wannabe mountain man clothes, Lowell. People will think you’re trying to pretend you’re a Cameron.”

  “Oh. I’ll change if there’s time after I talk to Bowie. I’d hoped to stock the
wood box before I got ready for dinner.”

  “There’s no time for the wood box. These aren’t fancy people, but at least put on a sweater and a sport coat. You don’t want Sean showing you up.” She waited a half beat, but Lowell didn’t respond. Of course he wouldn’t. She felt a ripple of irritation. He was so damn annoying these days. “There doesn’t seem to be anything the Camerons can’t do, does there? Of course, you have your virtues, too.”

  Lowell turned to his computer, an old desktop from their home in New York. Vivian felt dismissed, but she didn’t leave. She watched as he flipped on his computer, its sudden hum the only sound in the quiet house.

  “Lowell,” she said finally.

  He looked back at her. “Yes, Vivian?”

  She sighed. “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll see you after you meet with Bowie. Let me know if either of you has any questions.”

  He didn’t even seem to notice when she withdrew from the doorway. They planned to celebrate New Year’s in Vermont and stay through the following week. She hoped overseeing the work on the guesthouse would prove to be a welcome distraction and the fresh start she needed.

  Dinner tonight would be pleasant. She liked the Robinsons, and she looked forward to spending an evening with Sean Cameron. Whatever his faults might be, the man definitely wasn’t hard to look at, and he was strong, fit, competent and utterly masculine, as well as a self-made multimillionaire.

  Perhaps her husband would learn a thing or two from him.

  Eleven

  Hannah had forgotten she still had Sean’s scarf and draped it over her coat and hung both on a hook in the mudroom. She kicked off her boots, changed into her sneakers and headed to the café kitchen. Her brothers weren’t home. She’d left messages on their cell phones letting them know that she’d had a slight accident at Four Corners and the police might be stopping by but that they shouldn’t worry.

  And why should they worry? If it hadn’t been Bowie O’Rourke in the cemetery, would Sean have bothered to call Jo and Elijah? Would she have reacted the way she had?

  When she entered the kitchen, Dominique and Beth were there, still working. They’d laid out a dozen chocolate and vanilla cupcakes on the worktable and had piles of assorted decorations and little bowls of icings in different colors.

  Beth eased off her high stool. “Yikes, what happened to you?”

  “I fell up at Four Corners cemetery. It’s a long story. I just need some ice.” Hannah opened the freezer and grabbed a handful of ice cubes, tucking them in a flour-cloth towel, which she put to her swollen cheek. “You’d think ice is the last thing I’d want after being outside most of the day.”

  “Hiking up Cameron Mountain,” Beth said. “We heard. Is that how you hurt yourself? Here, let me take a look.”

  “I didn’t get hurt on the mountain.”

  “Sean followed you up there,” Dominique said.

  Hannah could see that her friends had been kept in the loop, at least up until the incident at the crypt. “Yes, he did,” she said, feeling the cold from the ice penetrate the towel. “A.J. and Elijah were at the lodge when we got back, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to them.”

  “Chance?” Beth snorted skeptically. “You mean you got out of there before they could pin you down about what you were up to, hiking up to their dad’s cabin by yourself.”

  Hannah smiled. “Yes, that’s what I mean. I stopped at Four Corners to give the McBanes the goodies, and I had a bit of an accident at the cemetery. Bowie was there checking on the culvert. He had some rock and debris piled up….” She noticed that her hands shook. “That’s how I got hurt.”

  Beth’s eyes narrowed. “You’re leaving a lot out.” She sighed. “Might want to put some ice on your wrist, too.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

  “Not now, maybe. Later it will. Clean it, too.” Beth sighed. “And pour yourself a stiff drink. The Camerons on your case. A fall in a cemetery at dusk. Damn. Pour two drinks, one for me.”

  Hannah set the ice pack on the counter and turned to the sink to wash her hands. Her wrist was puffy and turning multiple shades of blue, but she doubted it would bother her for more than a day or two. Beth stood next to her. “Indulge me. You’re so damn stoic, Hannah, you could have a broken wrist and just not notice your pain.”

  “Or not want to trouble anyone,” Dominique added quietly behind them.

  “Have a look, then.” Hannah leaned back against the sink and let Beth examine her wrist. “Thank you.”

  “Sean took a look, too? He’s an EMT.”

  “You’re assuming he was at the cemetery.”

  “Was he?”

  It would be a mistake, Hannah knew, to think that Beth’s good nature meant she wasn’t as sharp, skeptical and relentless as her federal agent sister. “Yes.” Before either Beth or Dominique could respond, Hannah continued. “So, what’s the verdict on my wrist?”

  Beth grinned at her. “Bruised. Ice is the best thing.”

  Hannah washed her hands and retrieved her ice pack, putting it on her wrist, figuring she could alternate with her bruised cheek. “What’s with all the cupcakes?”

  “Myrtle Smith suggested we have New Year’s cupcakes,” Dominique said. “We’re experimenting with designs. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s one of the few reporters left in town but she has a personal stake in the investigation. I suppose we all do.”

  “I should tell you,” Hannah said, “Jo might be stopping by. In fact, she probably will be stopping by.”

  Beth tapped a fingertip onto a little pile of edible silver stars, three of them sticking; she carefully placed them atop a vanilla cupcake with bright blue icing. “With my sister on the way, does that mean that whatever happened to you could be considered a criminal act?”

  Hannah transferred her ice pack to her cheek. “It means what Dominique just said. Everyone’s restless.”

  Beth tapped more stars. “And Jo would know something happened at the cemetery because…”

  “Sean called Elijah.” Hannah sank onto one of the stools at the worktable. “Cell phone.”

  Dominique dumped out chunks of black licorice. “I don’t care for licorice,” she said, then sighed at Hannah. “Will you just tell us what happened?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want anyone to worry, because it was nothing.”

  “If it was nothing,” Beth said, “you wouldn’t be sitting here with an ice pack on your face and my sister would be out at the lake with Elijah.”

  “Fair point,” Hannah said, relenting. She told her friends the basics of how she’d ended up with a bruised, scraped cheek and wrist.

  Dominique shuddered. “You heard someone whispering your name in a cemetery? I’d have passed out on the spot.”

  “I could have been mistaken.”

  “Whatever the case,” Beth said, “Jo probably grabbed Scott and maybe a local guy and went to talk to Bowie first. That gives us a few minutes before she swoops in here in federal agent mode.” Beth added more stars to her blue-iced cupcake, then sat back and assessed her handiwork. “What do you think?”

  “Pretty,” Hannah said.

  “People might not think the stars are edible,” Beth said.

  Dominique added a hunk of the black licorice. “There. That looks real. It’ll cue people everything on the cupcake is edible. Hannah?”

  She appreciated their obvious but sincere attempt at normalcy. “I like the sparkle, but not everyone likes licorice…including you.”

  Dominique sighed. “All right. Next.”

  “Do you think my crazy sister will actually marry Elijah?” Beth was teasing, but there was a note of concern in her voice, too. “He can be called back for some secret mission at any time, and she can’t stay up here forever. What would she do? She’ll have to go back to D.C. or get a new assignment, or quit the Secret Service altogether. There’s no guarantee this’ll work now any more than it did when they were teenagers.”

  “Jo’s still wearing
the ring he gave her,” Dominique reminded her friend.

  The same ring he’d bought at nineteen for her. “A sentimental Cameron,” Hannah said, trying to keep her tone light. “Hard to believe one exists.”

  “Deep down, all the Camerons are sentimental.” Beth pointed to the middle row of cupcakes. “Buttercream frosting with gold sprinkles—delicious but not special enough.” She lifted a cupcake with white frosting and a bright red number one, for the first day of the new year. “This one. Oh, my. It’s perfect.” She peeled off the paper wrapper. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “Hannah?” Dominique asked.

  She nodded. “A series of simple, elegant and delicious cupcakes will go over well.”

  “All right, then.” Obviously satisfied, Dominique jumped off her high stool. “I’ll do more designs along these lines. Three should do it.”

  Beth took another bite of the cupcake. “All the cops and such hanging out here will love some happy cupcakes. We’ll cheer them up yet.”

  Dominique untied her apron. “Hannah, why don’t you take some of these sample cupcakes for Devin and Toby? An occasional treat, especially this time of year, is good for the soul.”

  Hannah picked up one of the cupcakes, peeled off the wrapper and bit into the rich, sweet cake and icing. She smiled at her friends, despite her fatigue and dread at having to face Jo Harper. “Who needs ice when there are cupcakes?” She reached for two chocolate ones decorated with white buttercream frosting and sprinkles. “I’ll take these. You can both head on out. I’ll be fine on my own with Jo and whoever else turns up.”

  “Scott’s working tonight,” Beth said, peeling off her canvas apron. “I promised I’d help Jo clean out one of the cabins. She’s tackling them one by one. I think the work helps her process the investigation—and her life. How about you two?”

  Hannah set the two cupcakes on a plate. “The Robinsons invited me to dinner, and if Bowie’s up to it, he’s stopping by to take a look at the water in the cellar—”