Cold Dawn

by Carla Neggers

  Scott watched her closely, expressionless. Zack cleared his throat, as if Rose had suddenly gone too far. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nick calmly cross his arms over his chest and continue to take in the conversation. She had no illusions that he wasn’t paying attention to every word.

  “Time to pull back, Rose,” Scott said finally, serious but not surly. “Let us do our jobs. You just be sure you’ve told us everything.”

  She couldn’t tell if he suspected she hadn’t. “What about Robert Feehan? Have you all caught up with him, yet?”

  Scott sighed but answered her. “Not yet. He hasn’t been in touch with you, has he?”

  She shook her head. “I saw him and Brett Griffin going into O’Rourke’s one night a couple of weeks ago. Otherwise I haven’t seen or talked to him in months.”

  Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Derek Cutshaw wasn’t with them?”

  “No.”

  “What were you doing in town?”

  “It was cleaning night at the café. I was helping.”

  Rose thought she saw a flicker of pain in Scott’s face but whatever it was didn’t last. He would never let his relationship with Beth interfere with his work.

  Zack squatted down to pat Ranger. “Hey, fella,” he said, rising as he glanced at Rose. “Did you ever refer ski clients to Cutshaw, Feehan or Griffin?”

  “No, never,” Rose said. “Did you?”

  “I’d have to know someone who couldn’t ski,” he said good-naturedly. “I have to roll. Tell A.J. to put the coffee and doughnut on my tab.”

  “They’re on me,” Rose said.

  A.J., Lauren and their two children entered the lodge. Her brother regarded the gathering in the lobby with obvious displeasure. Scott took the hint and followed Zack out. A.J. glanced at Rose, then silently retreated with his family into the office behind the front desk.

  “I don’t blame A.J. for being annoyed,” Rose said as Nick stood up straight. He was intense but not, she thought, easily ruffled. “I should have moved us to a less public spot. What are you doing today?”

  “I might take a cross-country skiing lesson. You?”

  “You aren’t taking a skiing lesson. Never mind. Right now I just want to put yesterday behind me. Black Falls is a safe, quiet little town. Lowell Whittaker bought a house here, and we all suffered the consequences of his warped thinking and violence.”

  Nick tilted his head back, studying her with those dark eyes. “What aren’t you telling Trooper Thorne and Zack Harper?”

  She pretended she hadn’t heard him and fought an urge to lay her head against his thick, warm sweater and feel his arms around her. But where would that get her?

  Nowhere good, she thought, and finished her doughnut. Nick watched her but said nothing as she headed outside, leaving Ranger asleep on the warm hearth.

  Zack Harper was waiting for her at the edge of the parking lot. “So what are you holding back, Rose? An affair with Derek Cutshaw or with Nick Martini? You found Cutshaw yesterday. Martini was with you.”

  “Nick wasn’t with me. He came on his own.”

  “Yeah, to see you. What was that all about?”

  “I’ve answered all the questions the police asked me.”

  “I’m not a cop, Rose. I’m a friend.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, then changed the subject. “Have you talked to Beth lately? How’s she doing in Beverly Hills?”

  Zack looked out toward the mountains, the sky cloudless, the air cold. “She called last night. She’s trying to enjoy herself, but it’s hard. First Scott leaves her out there, and now this thing yesterday.”

  “Did she and Scott have a fight?”

  “All I know is that Scott planned to stay longer and didn’t.” Zack shrugged, his jacket open over a worn sweatshirt. “I liked Beverly Hills just fine, but it’s good to be back.”

  “I hope you told Beth to enjoy her break and not worry about us.”

  “Pretty much. I suggested she and Hannah go shoe shopping on Rodeo Drive.” He grinned. “Beth’s even cheaper than you are.”

  “Ha-ha. How’d she sound?”

  “You know Beth. She’ll never let anyone see she’s hurting.”

  “Did you see Nick while you were out there?”

  “Yeah, briefly,” Zack said. “He didn’t mention he was planning to come to Vermont.”

  “Maybe you inspired him.” Rose glanced at her watch. “Lauren and I are meeting out at the sugar shack in a little while. We’re opening it up again. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”

  Zack grinned at her. “Sounds like work.”

  “It is—more than I thought it’d be. We want to get it done in time for winter fest.”

  “Because of Vice President Neal?”

  Rose almost winced when he said the name aloud, but she knew it was just agitation and adrenaline on her part. Nothing in the investigation into Lowell Whittaker and his killers suggested the vice president or his family had ever been targeted by them. She relaxed somewhat. “Apparently the Neals love the idea of collecting maple sap and boiling it down. Opening up a historic sugarhouse will help take everyone’s minds off the mess of the past year. A fresh start.”

  “I hope so, Rose,” Zack said dubiously.

  “I’m sure Jo and her Secret Service friends will go over all our buckets and pans to make sure they’re safe. Bugs and bacteria are my biggest worries.”

  “Let me know what I can do to help get things ready.”

  “You could help tap trees. Anyway, I should get over there.”

  “Sure, Rose. Martini going with you?”

  “No idea,” she said. “I’m leaving Ranger by the fire.”

  “Golden retriever. California smoke jumper.” Zack shook his head, amused. “Two different animals, Rose.”

  She felt another surge of heat, but he was already on his way to his truck.

  Eight

  Five minutes later, Rose walked down Ridge Road in the opposite direction she’d taken on her run, checking for tap-worthy maple trees. Ranger loved being out on the ridge and had moved well earlier, but her aging golden retriever could miss this trek.

  She turned onto a short, dead-end lane across from a trail up to the falls. It was plowed but just barely. She’d have at most a hundred yards of slogging through snow in her boots to get to the sugar shack through the woods. Lauren would head across the meadow on snowshoes, pulling the kids on a toboggan, and meet her there.

  As Rose navigated icy ruts on the lane, she wondered where Nick might be, what he was up to, but knew that would only frustrate her. She’d focus on her routines and her work and let him go about his business.

  She paused, noticing the sun was higher in the sky, the early promise of spring. She peered down the steep hill on the side of the lane, past a cluster of white pines, and took note of mature, healthy-looking sugar maples that would be perfect for tapping.

  She heard a whooshing sound and spun around, just as Robert Feehan jumped out from behind a hemlock and dropped next to her. His dark hair fell into his face and curled out from under his wool knit hat, hanging almost to his shoulders. He was thin, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept, with shadows under his eyes and a gray cast to his skin. He had on a black ski jacket, wind pants and heavy cold-weather boots but no gloves—they were stuffed in a jacket pocket, despite the temperature.

  “Rose,” he said, gulping in a breath, “I have to talk to you.”

  “You need to talk to the police.”

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  She didn’t like his panicked tone, and took a step back toward the lane. “All right. Let’s go back to the lodge.”

  “No, we talk here.” He grabbed her wrist, clamping down hard on bare skin. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want—”

  “Let me go, Robert. Then we can talk.”

  He tightened his hold on her wrist and nodded down the hill. “I’m going to take you down there. Out of sight.” He was agitated but seemed to have himself
under control. “Then you can go.”

  Not a chance, Rose thought, quickly debating her options.

  He yanked her into the deep snow under the tall, gnarly hemlock. Shaking visibly, he lifted her wrist and pressed her forearm against her chest, pushing her into the prickly boughs of the hemlock. “What happened? Why is Derek dead?”

  “There was a fire—”

  “I know there was a fire. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “The police think I was involved, don’t they?” He sniffled but didn’t ease his hold on her. “This damn town’s been nothing but bad luck for me.”

  “Robert,” Rose said, forcing herself not to tense under his grip and waste energy, “you have to let go of me. Don’t make things worse for yourself. I know you’re upset. I know you and Derek were friends.”

  “He cared about you. He never would have hurt you.”

  Rose didn’t argue with him. “We hadn’t had anything to do with each other in a long time.”

  Robert’s grip on her softened. “Rose, did someone kill him? Was he murdered?”

  “A state trooper was just at the lodge. He can’t be that far—”

  “I saw his cruiser go up the road. I waited for it to go by again.” He kept his voice low, but he practically spit his words. “I’m an outsider around here. I don’t know anyone. It’d be easy for someone to set me up, blame me—come after me.”

  “Brett Griffin’s in the same position you are. He talked to the police.”

  “Brett’s not sharing a house with Derek. He’s kept both of us at a distance since last year.” Robert glanced up at the lane, then back again at Rose. “What if someone did kill Derek? What if I’m next?”

  “All the more reason to talk to the police.”

  “They can’t help me. What’s with you and this guy from California?”

  His question took her by surprise. “Nick? What do you know about him?”

  “Nothing. Derek was all freaked out about him.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. He stopped at the house and got his camping gear and took off. What’s this Nick character doing in Vermont?”

  “He’s my brother Sean’s business partner. Why would his presence freak out Derek?”

  “He didn’t say,” Robert said, suddenly loosening his grip on her. “I have to go.”

  Rose started to pull her wrist free, but Robert shoved her backward into the hemlock and bolted up the hill. She twisted away from the tree and its sharp, dried-up lower limbs, and sprawled into the snow, breaking her fall as best she could with an outstretched arm.

  She rolled onto her hands and knees.

  “Rose!”

  It was Nick, swooping down the hill toward her. Robert must have spotted him through the woods. She scrambled to her feet, but Nick caught her by the elbows and stood her up. “I’m going after him,” she said.

  “Hold on,” Nick said, his dark eyes on her, intense. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” She shuddered at the shock of cold as snow melted on her face, into the heels of her hands, into her ankles—down her back. “Robert Feehan just shoved me and took off through the woods, toward the road. He must have seen or heard you.”

  “I saw him. I didn’t realize what was going on.”

  “I’m going after him,” Rose said again, pulling herself out from Nick’s hold.

  He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

  Rose realized her hands were shaking from cold, anger, fear—and Nick. His presence, his touch, his hard gaze. She pushed past him in the deep snow. “Lauren’s on the way to the sugar shack. You should go there. I’ll meet you—”

  “Not a chance, Rose.”

  She didn’t respond and followed Robert’s footprints past a pine tree. She heard Nick sigh and cut up the hill, intercepting her just as she reached the dead-end lane. He was in boots, too, not on skis or snowshoes, and wore his lightweight jacket from yesterday. Again no hat, but he didn’t seem cold.

  “Robert Feehan is Derek Cutshaw’s friend,” she said without looking at Nick. “The one the police are looking for. He wanted to talk to me.”

  “Did he attack you?”

  “Attack is too strong a word. He wanted to talk to me alone. I told you—he didn’t hurt me. I just got snow down my back.”

  “Now there’s an image,” Nick said, his voice husky, but his humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you want to call 911, or one of your friends in law enforcement personally?”

  “Robert was agitated—”

  “He knows the police want to talk to him and took off when he saw me. What does that tell you?”

  “Why didn’t you go after him?”

  Nick’s dark eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t about to leave you alone.”

  It was what she’d have done in his place. Rose wiped melted snow from her cheek. “Robert didn’t have to run.” She exhaled, feeling calmer. “I’ll try Scott first. I have his cell number and he was just at the lodge.”

  “Can you get a call out?”

  “I don’t know. Cell service is spotty. Robert lost a friend yesterday. He’s upset, understandably. He said Derek knew you were in Vermont and was freaked out.” She pulled off her gloves and withdrew her cell phone from her jacket pocket, her fingers stiff, red with the cold. She found Scott’s number, not looking at Nick as she dialed. “I don’t know if the call will go through. The signal’s pretty weak.”

  Scott answered on the first ring. “What’s up, Rose?”

  “Robert Feehan just paid me a visit,” she said, then briefly told him what had transpired between them.

  He listened without interruption. “Feehan pushed you?”

  “Yes, but it was no big deal. I’m not hurt, just cold and irritated.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Nick Martini and I are on our way to meet Lauren at the sugar shack.”

  “Good. Wait for me there.”

  Rose disconnected and slipped her phone back into her pocket. She turned to Nick. “Did you see Lauren and the kids before you left?”

  “They were just starting out across the meadow.”

  “They should be there now. I don’t want Robert backtracking through the woods and harassing them.”

  She climbed over a snow bank at the end of the lane. Nick stayed with her, and she led him to a narrow path, the snow disturbed only by the occasional deer and wild turkey tracks. Just past a curve, she saw the old sugar shack through leafless, graceful deciduous trees.

  She found herself smelling for smoke, but the air was clear, clean and cold.

  Nick moved ahead of her as they came to the small field where the sugar shack, constructed of rough-cut lumber, grayed now with age, was situated above a stream, just through the woods on the edge of the expansive, open meadow behind the lodge. A few days ago, she and Lauren had shoveled out the area in front of the entrance, exposing an outside stone fireplace.

  Rose heard the happy squeal of her niece and nephew through the trees and felt her knees weaken in relief, telling her just how keyed up she was.

  Nick opened the barn-style door.

  “You can go on about your business,” Rose told him. “We’ll be fine. I’ll tell Scott—”

  “You’re my business.” Nick peeked inside the rectangular-shaped shack and asked, his tone deceptively casual, “Does Feehan know what happened between you and Derek Cutshaw?”

  She stiffened. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

  He glanced back at her. “I just saved you from being thrown down a frozen hill.”

  “You did not. Robert wanted to avoid you. He panicked.”

  “Right,” Nick said skeptically. “Ever take private ski lessons from him or his friends?”

  “No. I know how to ski.”

  “Feehan’s good?”

  “I would think so if he’s giving private lessons.”

  “But you don’t know,” Nick said
. “Do you know why Cutshaw would be upset because I was in town?”

  She shook her head. Her sister-in-law, laughing, ducked around a scraggly white pine, with little Jim and Baylee, in puffy snowsuits and mittens, clinging to the edges of their toboggan.

  Lauren pulled the sled up to the entrance and moaned, grinning at the same time. “These kids are getting too heavy for me to haul this far!” She kicked off her snowshoes, then swooped down, scooped them up and leaned them against the door frame. She clapped her gloved hands at Jim and Baylee, who hadn’t moved off the toboggan. “Up you go. Say hi to Aunt Rose.”

  They jumped up, and ran to Rose. She hugged them, but they couldn’t wait to play in the snow.

  Lauren listened quietly as Rose explained that Scott Thorne was en route and what had happened. Her sister-in-law swallowed visibly but maintained her composure. “Is Nick staying until Scott gets here?”

  “I imagine so. Lauren, I’m sorry. If I’d had any clue—”

  “It’s not your fault, Rose. Show Nick around. I’ll hang out here with the kids. I have the radio. I’ll let A.J. know what’s going on.”

  Rose started to argue but instead stepped into the shack. She and Lauren had already replaced broken panes in the windows and cleaned them, and they now let in the late-morning sun.

  Nick stood next to the old evaporating pan in the middle of the floor. “Looks like something from a postcard out here,” he said.

  “This is part of the original farm.” She pulled off her hat and gloves, wet from when she’d landed in the snow. “We’ve ordered a new evaporator. It should be here any day. This one’s ready for a museum. I’m surprised it’s still here, but I guess who would want it?”

  “Will the new one also be wood-fired?”

  She nodded. “We’re bringing in a couple of cords of wood and stacking it on the back wall. It’ll stay dry there. We’ll collect sap from trees close by and boil it down to syrup. It’s about a forty-to-one ratio—forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup.”

  “That’s a lot of sap.”

  “A lot of boiling, too. The evaporation pan speeds up the process. It creates lots of steam.” She pointed up at a vent in the ceiling. “Hence the vent.”