Cold Dawn

by Carla Neggers

  “Twenty-one. I’ve been based in Washington for thirty years, but I’ve traveled a lot, spent long stints overseas. A tumbleweed.” She seemed to make an effort to pull herself out of the past. “I told the police to find out if Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan were in Washington around the time of the fire at my house.”

  Rose felt a sense of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. “What do you think is going on, Myrtle?”

  “No idea. I just keeping asking questions. I know I won’t relax until I find out who set my house on fire.”

  “It’s a leap to get to Derek or Robert as the arsonist.”

  “It was a leap to get to Lowell as the mastermind of a network of killers.” Myrtle sighed and looked out the window, the snow and ice on the river cast in late-afternoon shadows. “I’ve been trying to think back to that week in November. Grit was in town. We ran into each other outside the hotel where the ambassador was killed in the hit-and-run—on orders from Lowell Whittaker, we now know. The same two who killed your father did that hit.”

  “We know Melanie Kendall and Kyle Rigby didn’t set the fire at your house,” Rose said. “Is there any concrete evidence that could point to Derek or Robert?”

  “Not that I know of. Have you talked to Beth since she and Grit found the woman in Beverly Hills?”

  “Dom and I both have.”

  “Dom’s a mess. This is all finally getting to her. She’s been so cool, cooking, keeping the café running while you all hunt killers.” Myrtle picked up the oxford-shirt square that Rose had abandoned but immediately placed it back on the table. “I hope that didn’t sound callous. Gallows humor is sometimes my way of coping. Scott Thorne stopped by just before you got here. He’s hurting. I can see it, but he won’t say anything.”

  “Neither will Beth,” Rose said.

  “Ah, yes. So true. I don’t have to be born and raised in Black Falls to see that. Do you know what happened between the two of them? They seemed to be getting along great. Then all of a sudden, he comes back from Beverly Hills without her.”

  Rose shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe Scott doesn’t have a lot of room in his life for someone else with a demanding job.”

  “Not to mention someone whose sister is a Secret Service agent,” Myrtle said.

  “I suspect Jo’s been an issue, too, if not the main one. Scott’s solid and decent, but he’s insecure.”

  “Who isn’t these days? Does he want a woman who’ll worship him?”

  “I don’t think that’s what he’d say, but Beth—”

  “The Harpers all say what’s on their minds. Dominique’s convinced Beth and Scott have been on the skids for longer than most of us realize. They got together after your dad died. In my opinion, they talk shop too much. Their work’s become the focus of their relationship. It’s all they have in common.”

  “Jo’s a federal agent and Elijah’s a soldier.”

  “Totally different worlds. They’ve also known each other since you all were kids. Didn’t she cut the rope on his tire swing? When they’re together, you can see they’re for real. Scott doesn’t have that depth of history with Beth.”

  Rose thought about Nick. They had no history. She’d seen him maybe a dozen times on her trips to California. She’d always envisioned herself with someone from Vermont, or at least from New England. But a former submariner? A smoke jumper? Her brother’s best friend and business partner?

  Myrtle waved a hand, her nails bright red. “Scott and Beth can figure out their own relationship. I’m lucky I know where I’m sleeping tonight. By the way, I talked to the owners of the gallery across the hall. They’d love to get out of their lease and move to a smaller place down the street. I’ve been trying to convince the ‘sisters’ into expanding and starting a dinner service.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Rose said, welcoming the change in topic. “Dominique’s for it.”

  “She’s not sure Hannah will want to stay involved in the café.”

  “Sean still owns the building.”

  “He’ll approve of my plan,” Myrtle said confidently. “He’s a businessman. I more or less ran it past him in January and again last week. O’Rourke’s would benefit from bringing more people into town at night. The lodge, too. People like a lively village.”

  “You have big heart,” Rose said with a smile.

  “More likely I’m meddling in matters that don’t concern me. Where’s Nick Martini off to? Didn’t he come in with you?”

  “He’s in the cellar last I checked.”

  “Your Nick’s another macho, testosterone type.” Myrtle grabbed the corner of a square of faded fabric at the bottom of the pile. “Gingham. My goodness. I haven’t thought about gingham in years. So, Rose. Any idea why Grit Taylor is in California?”

  It wasn’t an idle question, Rose thought. Idle questions weren’t in Myrtle Smith’s nature. “Beth says he’s there on navy business. He arrived late last night.”

  “What kind of navy business brought him to that apartment this morning?”

  “I haven’t talked to him. Beth said he had Sean take him to the spot where an arson investigator died in a fire last summer.” Rose added quietly, “His name was Jasper Vanderhorn.”

  “Charlie Neal,” Myrtle whispered, then waved her fingers again at Rose. “Forget I said that.” She patted the pile of fabric squares. “I’d love to know the history of these pieces, wouldn’t you? They look as if they’re all from men’s old shirts, ladies’ dresses. Well. They won’t have belonged to anyone I know.”

  Nick entered the café through the center hall door. He tucked his cell phone into a jacket pocket, and Rose envisioned him making deals while he paced. He clearly wasn’t used to small-town life and her fits-and-starts work schedule. He was used to being on the go all the time. She could work for long stretches, at home or in the field, but she appreciated her downtime—her solitude, she thought.

  He walked over to the window by her table and looked down at the river. He obviously had no interest in quilting, and Rose doubted he was particularly curious about the building since it wasn’t a Cameron & Martini property.

  Myrtle stood up. She had on one of the café’s evergreen canvas aprons over a white shirt, slim, pricey jeans and impractical boots. “You’re a suspicious sort, aren’t you, Mr. Martini? I’ll bet we’re all under your scrutiny. I wouldn’t be surprised if you suspect me of setting fire to my own house.”

  “Has it been ruled arson?” he asked.

  “Suspicious in origin,” Myrtle said curtly.

  Nick glanced out at the river, more shadow on the ice formations now than sun. “It must bother you that the police have no idea who started that fire.”

  Myrtle grunted. “This all bothers me.”

  He was silent a moment before finally turning to Rose. “I’ll be outside.”

  Myrtle waited for him to cross the hardwood floor and go out the main door before she spoke. “He’s stir-crazy. I get that. Think he’ll stay here through your winter fest? Get him to demonstrate swinging an ax.”

  “Ha, right,” Rose said, although she could picture it.

  “He is a bit of a rogue, isn’t he? I imagine he can be ruthless, too. Is he reckless?”

  “Sean wouldn’t continue to fight fires with him if he were.”

  Myrtle nodded, thoughtful.

  Dominique burst out from the kitchen, still in her hat and coat, her face red from the cold. “Ever have one of those days you just want to bury yourself in work?” She pulled off her hat, her dark hair filled with static. “I stopped by my house for a few minutes. I don’t know what possessed me to choose the bathroom tile I did. I’m installing it myself. It’s a total pain and looks so…wrong.”

  “Sounds like a case of cabin fever to me,” Rose said with a smile. “Don’t change a thing until the maple sap is running full force. It’s a rule I swear by.”

  Dominique laughed. “It’s a good one.” She unbuttoned her coat. “I’m going to make something
with lemons. Cheerful, yellow lemons. Pie, pudding, cupcakes, chicken, salmon. Something.”

  “You miss having Beth and Hannah here,” Myrtle said, retying her apron. “Nothing bothers Beth. She’s like a mood stabilizer, unless she’s fighting with Trooper Thorne. Then it’s not so pretty.”

  Rose debated how to raise the subject of Dominique’s presence at the Whittaker guesthouse that morning and decided the only choice was to be direct. “Dom, Zack Harper says he saw your car and Bowie’s van at the Whittaker place this morning.”

  “Zack must have happened along at just the right moment.” Dominique walked over to a window, adjusted a lock that probably hadn’t been touched since cold weather had settled in for the winter. “I saw Bowie and stopped to say hi. I didn’t stay long.”

  “What were you doing out there?” Myrtle asked.

  “Curiosity.” Dominique stood back from the window, her dark eyes impossible to read. “Aren’t we all curious about what happened there? It’s a beautiful spot. I hope one day it’ll be filled with life instead of memories of violence and death.”

  Myrtle scooped up a paper napkin that had fallen onto the floor. “I imagine the Whittakers or someone acting on their behalf will put it up for sale as soon as possible.”

  Dominique moved to another window, adjusted another lock for no apparent reason except to have something to do. “The police came by here first thing this morning and asked me if I’d seen or heard from Robert Feehan. I hate the idea that the violence isn’t over—that there’s still someone out there….” She finally shrugged off her charcoal wool coat and draped it over one arm. “Business was slow. I knew Myrtle could handle things. I so seldom get involved in anything in town. I cook. I work on my house.”

  “Dom,” Rose said, “I’m not criticizing you for going out there.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She gave a feeble smile. “I just know how a little thing like being seen with Bowie O’Rourke at an isolated guesthouse can get blown into something it wasn’t. Never mind. I’m not making any sense. By the way, he said he’d be stopping back there this afternoon. He wants to get the last of his stuff cleared out.”

  Before Rose could respond, Dominique bolted back across the café and swung behind the glass counter and into the kitchen.

  “Maybe she has a soufflé in the oven,” Myrtle said drily. “Everyone adores Dom, but she is something of a mystery, isn’t she? Any chance she and Bowie are seeing each other?”

  “I guess there’s a chance, but I’d be surprised if they were.” Rose got to her feet and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. “Even if Bowie didn’t tell me—and I think he would—he’d have told Hannah.”

  “Not if Dom wanted to hide their relationship. I swear there are more secrets in this one little town than in all of Washington, D.C.” Myrtle nodded out to the street. “Mr. Southern California is pacing. He’s too rugged to admit he’s cold. He’ll just say he’s impatient.”

  “I have to put away the fabric.”

  “I’ll get it. You go on.”

  Rose thanked her and went out into the center hall, Ranger already up and eager to get moving. He led the way down the steps to the sidewalk. Nick had stopped pacing and was leaning against her Jeep, his jacket open, his arms crossed on his chest. Rose sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him, the sun glinting on his hair, the casual, sexy way he stood. All day, she’d kept remembering him making love to her. It might have been yesterday instead of eight months ago.

  “Myrtle can run you up to the lodge,” she said as she opened up the back for Ranger. “I have something I want to do.”

  “You’re going back out to the Whittaker place to check on Bowie. I’m going with you.” Nick eased up next to her and reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out her keys. “My turn to drive. It’ll be fun navigating all the potholes and curves around here.”

  “What if I want a private moment with Bowie?”

  “You can have one. I’ll make myself scarce.”

  “Oh, sure. Make yourself scarce where? Behind a snowbank?” Ranger hopped up into the back of the Jeep. “All right, Nick. Go right ahead. Drive.”

  Nick had no trouble with her Jeep or the roads, not that Rose had expected he would. When they reached the Whittaker estate, he continued down to the guesthouse turnaround and pulled in next to Bowie’s van.

  Rose released Ranger from the back and let him run off into the snow, down to a small, frozen pond. “This is such a beautiful place,” she said as Nick joined her. “I hope the Whittakers weren’t here long enough to ruin it for someone else.”

  “People will remember the good more than the bad.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You all rose to the occasion and rooted them out.”

  They went around to the other side of the van. Bowie had the side door open and was rummaging in a wooden box on the floor. He stood up, watching Poe charge down to the pond with Ranger. “Maybe Ranger will rub off on him. Better than the other way around, I guess. What’s up?”

  “Dom said you’d be out here,” Rose said.

  He glanced at Nick, then at Rose again. “I haven’t seen Feehan, if that’s what this is about. I’m not getting sucked into this business. I want to get my stuff and be gone.”

  Nick watched the two dogs roughhouse with each other, but Rose knew his attention was focused on her and Bowie. She wasn’t even sure why she’d come out there. Maybe Bowie had a point. Maybe she was worried he’d get sucked into whatever was going on. “Actually,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d like to help with winter fest at the lodge.”

  Bowie’s eyebrows went up. “Quick thinking, Rose. All right. What could I do?”

  “You could help with sugaring. We have trees to tap and more to do on the shack. There’s an old stone fireplace you could look at for us.”

  He slid the van door shut. “Yeah, sure, put me to work.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I’m serious. I can do sleigh rides, too.”

  Rose smiled. “I thought you’d find a way to be out of town that weekend.”

  “That was the old Bowie.” He grinned back at her. “The new Bowie is downright sociable.”

  “Does that mean we’ll see you at the dance at the lodge?”

  “In a suit with shiny shoes?” He laughed. “Well, you never know.”

  “I’ve seen Dominique’s dress. It’s gorgeous. She has a great sense of style.”

  Nick headed onto the walk to the stone guesthouse. Poe charged for him. “Poe!” Bowie yelled. “Get your four-legged self over here!”

  His dog abandoned Nick and came running. Rose made a hand signal for Ranger to come, too. He responded immediately. Bowie just shook his head in amazement, opened up the van’s front passenger door and got Poe inside.

  Bowie sighed and nodded toward Nick. “What’s with you and this guy?”

  “Nothing.” As if that explained everything. “I assume you have a key to the guesthouse?”

  “Yeah. I’m leaving it for the lawyers after I clear out trash and a few tools and supplies I left behind.”

  She followed him onto the walk and mounted the steps to the guesthouse porch. The strong winds had blown snow into the corners. Shades were pulled on the front windows.

  Nick had the storm door open and tried the solid main door, which wasn’t locked, either. He glanced back at Bowie. “You didn’t lock up after you left this morning?”

  “I never went in,” Bowie said, moving to one side of Nick. “Dom distracted me when she stopped by. I only had a few minutes. I had to get out to the lake. I figured I’d come back this afternoon.”

  “What about Dom?” Rose asked. “Did she go in?”

  “No. We both were here and gone within fifteen minutes.”

  “Wait out here,” Nick said, entering the guesthouse.

  He stiffened, stopping abruptly in the entry. Bowie grimaced. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  Rose slipped past h
im into the entry. Nick grabbed her and pulled her close to him. The guesthouse had been divided into two side-by-side apartments, the door to the one on the right half-open. She could see a sleeping bag unfurled on the hardwood floor. Arranged next to it were packets of freeze-dried camp food, a water bottle and a small camp stove.

  Next to it was a metal canister of liquid fuel for the stove.

  White gas.

  “My stuff’s all in the other apartment this morning,” Bowie said, stepping inside the guesthouse. “I didn’t do any work in here.”

  Rose eased back from Nick’s embrace and turned to Bowie. “There was snow overnight,” she said. “Did you see footprints when you and Dom were here this morning?”

  “I don’t remember. I was focused on making a quick stop and getting to work.” Bowie pointed at an old, dusty glass kerosene lamp on the floor just inside the apartment. “Some sick son of a bitch set Derek on fire.”

  Nick directed his hard gaze at the stonemason. “If you know anything else, now’s the time.”

  “Rumors. That’s it.” Bowie rubbed the back of his thick neck. “I’ve heard talk that Derek and Robert have been providing illegal prescription drugs to some of their ski students. Pain pills, mostly.”

  Rose bit back her shock. “Bowie, you’re not—”

  “No. I’m not involved. I told the police everything I know.”

  Nick pulled her even closer, his dark eyes intense. “We need to get them back out here.”

  Sixteen

  Wind howled down from Cameron Mountain, as if Drew Cameron himself were up there, trying to warn his only daughter—about dangers, Nick wondered, or about him? It was dark by the time they arrived back at the lodge. Small white lights draping the evergreens along the walk twinkled, casting long shadows as he and Rose headed to the main entrance.

  “Do you trust Bowie?” Nick asked quietly.

  Rose seem startled by his question. “Yes, I trust him. Did you think I didn’t?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it one way or the other.”

  “Do you trust him?”