The Waterfall

by Carla Neggers

  “Colin left you with two small children and a life you didn’t want to lead. Then your parents retired to Costa Rica when you needed them most. And Jack Swift was no good to you, wrapped up in his own grief, his work, his ideas about how you should raise his grandchildren.” Sebastian paused, but Lucy didn’t jump in to correct him, agree, tell him to go to hell. “If I’d shown up for the funeral or had seen you afterwards, I would have wanted to take that anger on.”

  “I wish you had,” she said quietly. “I would have loved to have dumped it on someone else. I guess in a way I did dump some of it on you, in absentia.”

  “Cursed me to the rafters, did you?”

  She smiled. “Pretty much.” She wiggled her hand free and gave him another pat. “You’re right. I was angry. I didn’t know it at the time—I had so much to do, so many emotions to sort out. Anger seemed like the least of my worries. And I felt so guilty. I still do.”

  “I know.”

  “Yes. You do, don’t you?” She got to her feet, and as he looked up at her, he noticed her slim body, the muscles from her paddling and hiking. She took a deep breath. “It’s a gorgeous day. Well, off to Barbara’s with you. If you find any dead animals tucked away, you have my permission to haul her to the police station.”

  “You want to lay odds she’s the one?”

  “Not me. I’ve always liked Barbara, and I’ve always thought she liked me.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “A dead bat in my bed?”

  Sebastian nodded, rising. “You’re right. That has everything to do with you.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, and he could see she was nervous, rattled at the idea—however far-fetched—that her father-in-law’s longtime personal assistant could wish her ill.

  “I’m jumping ahead of the facts,” he said. “Barbara Allen isn’t even a suspect. She could have an airtight alibi, for all we know—or information that could point us in the right direction.”

  “Well, watch your back. I don’t want to have to scrape you off the rocks again.”

  Twelve

  “I want out,” Barbara said. “I want out now.”

  Darren Mowery smirked at her from his chair in front of the cold stone fireplace. He’d shown up ten minutes ago, without warning. “Barbie, Barbie.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m Barbara, or Ms. Allen, or Miss Allen. I’m not ‘Barbie.’”

  She was on her feet, pacing, trying to look calmer than she felt. He’d swooped in so silently, so unexpectedly, catching her coming from the shower. Again, she’d detected no physical interest in her. He was single-minded, totally focused on his mission: the blackmail of a United States senator. Of her boss. She shuddered, horrified.

  “Okay, Barbara.” He drew it out, sarcastic, laughing at her without humor. He wore tan chinos and a white polo shirt, nothing that made him stand out. “You won’t call the police.”

  “I will. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the Capitol Police. I never should have gone along with you. I wasn’t thinking.” She’d been caught up in wanting to lash out at Jack, force him to acknowledge his love for her. But this was an unholy alliance. There were other ways to get to Jack.

  Darren scratched the side of his mouth, looking unworried. “I warned you, if you’ll recall. No cold feet, no surprises.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Oh, it is. You see, Barbie, if you go to the police, they get my pictures of you stalking Lucy Swift.”

  At first she didn’t understand what he meant. Pictures of her stalking Lucy? What was he talking about? She wasn’t a stalker. Then she digested his words. Understood. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She could feel him watching her with satisfaction.

  “You don’t understand—” Her voice cracked. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

  “Oh, no, I understand. It’s simple. You hate her guts, and you took it upon yourself to scare the shit out of her. I tell the Capitol Police how I’ve been on your case for the past month. I tell them everything, start to finish.”

  “Jack will know the truth. He knows you’re a blackmailer.”

  “And he’ll know you’re a stalker, a nutcase lurking in the bushes to get at his daughter-in-law. It’ll all make sense to him. He won’t say a word about me. You know he won’t, Barbie. He’s too scared. He doesn’t care what I do so long as I don’t squeal about Colin and his little shenanigans.” Mowery smiled smugly. “I’ll be the hero.”

  Barbara tried to stand up straight. “You followed me? You’ve known all this time—”

  “Barbie.” He was chastising, indulgent, arrogant. “You forget what I did for a living for the better part of thirty years.”

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  Darren crossed one leg over the other, as if to emphasize that he was relaxed, in control. “If I talk, you lose everything. Your job, your reputation, any hope you have of snaring your boss. At best, you get sent to the loony bin for a little head-shrinking. If the jury’s like me and doesn’t buy a nutcase plea, you’re up the river for a good, long stay.”

  Barbara ignored the pain that swept through her. “There’s nothing wrong with my mind.”

  “So you go for a plea bargain. Barbara Allen, the stalker.” He yawned. “I thought the bullet on the car seat was goddamn brilliant, myself. Made Lucy’s skin crawl, I bet.”

  Barbara sniffed, regarding him as if he were an insect on her carpet. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I was merely trying to shock her into doing right by Jack’s grandchildren.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m hardly the first woman to despise a phony like Lucy.”

  “Yeah, right. You hate Lucy because she’s everything you’re not.”

  “That’s not true.”

  He ignored her. “She married a Swift, she has Swift children, she has a fun, challenging career, she has a house. You hate her, Barbara, because she has a life and you don’t.”

  “I do have a life! It’s Lucy who has no life.”

  “When our buddy Jack told you to take a hike, you let your obsession with her get away from you.” Darren smiled, supercilious, almost enjoying himself. “It relieves the pressure, doesn’t it? Upsetting Lucy, throwing her off her stride. Makes you feel better, at least for a little while.”

  Barbara held up her chin, summoning every last shred of pride she had. “I gave up everything for Jack. I’ve worked night and day for him for twenty years. I’ve put his interests ahead of my own. Lucy’s not half the woman I am.”

  “But she signs her checks ‘Swift,’ and you don’t.”

  “Bastard.”

  “See? I know these things, Barbie. I’m an expert.”

  She tried to swallow, but her throat was too constricted. He could never understand. No one could. “I just want out.” God, she sounded pathetic.

  Darren dropped both feet to the floor and leaned forward. “Get this straight, Barbie.” He enunciated each word precisely, as if he were talking to a dunce. “I don’t care about your dirty little secret. You can turn Lucy Swift into a babbling lunatic for all I care. You are in this for the long haul. Understood?”

  “I hope Sebastian Redwing finds you and kills you.”

  Mowery grinned. “That’d be kind of fun, wouldn’t it? He tried to kill me once. I’d like to see him try again.”

  “Darren,” she said, sinking onto the floor in front of him, knowing she looked pitiful—the obsessed spinster in love with the boss. God! But somehow, some way, she had to get through to him. “Listen to me, I don’t care about my share of the money—I don’t care about any of it. You can do whatever you want to do. I won’t say a word. I just want to stop.”

  “Barbie.”

  “Please go on without me. Please.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  So cocky, so arrogant. She got to her feet, hoping she wouldn’t crack, throw up, cry. Her stomach hurt. She pushed back her hair with both ha
nds and went to the windows that looked out on the woods, the brook. Lucy should have stayed in Washington. None of this would have happened if she’d stayed.

  “I’ve gotten all the satisfaction I want from hurting Lucy,” she said, and added in a small voice, “And I can wait for Jack.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  She turned back to him. “I’m done. I won’t say a word to anyone about what you’re doing. Just go on about your business and leave me out of it.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Either way.”

  She started to shiver. He would see it as a sign of weakness. He had used her, manipulated her. Now there was no way out. It was Lucy’s fault. All of it, Lucy’s fault. Barbara could feel a fresh wave of rage building. She was trapped, and it was Lucy’s fault.

  “All right,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Right now, you’re doing fine just being up here.” Mowery walked over to her, stared out the windows at the picturesque scenery. “Vermont gives me the fucking creeps. I hate the woods. You okay, Barbie?”

  “Yes. Certainly.” No more being mealymouthed. It hadn’t gotten her anywhere with him. She would hold her head high. “I have no apologies for what I did to Lucy. She deserved it.”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “You’ve known from the beginning?”

  “Why do you think we’re in this gig together?”

  “You had to have something on me so you knew you could manipulate me when the time came.”

  “So I could use your fucked-up little mind to my advantage.” He winked at her. “So far, so good. You forget, Barbie. I’m better at this than you are.”

  “That was my mistake.”

  “There’s only one man who’s ever outsmarted me. He’ll be knocking on your door before too long.”

  “Sebastian Redwing,” she said.

  Darren winked at her, patted her on the butt and left.

  Fifteen minutes later, as he’d predicted, Redwing walked up onto the deck where Barbara was still contemplating her options. She had few.

  Darren knew. Darren would have his way. So, what did she want? Jack. At the very least, satisfaction. Lucy suffering. Lucy miserable.

  Sebastian introduced himself. He was, Barbara thought, breathtakingly sexy. He wore jeans and a faded polo shirt, but it would be impossible for him to blend into a crowd, even if he wanted to. She was aware of her own prim attire, simple slacks and a blouse, casual yet still professional.

  “I’m staying at the house with Lucy and the kids,” he said. “It belonged to my grandmother. I sold it to them after Colin died.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  His eyes were an unusual mix of grays, she saw. He seemed to take in more of her than she’d have liked—an unsettling quality. But even if he knew she had secrets, he would never guess what they were. That was what was so unnerving about Mowery: he knew, only because he was incapable of trust.

  “Do you mind if I talk to you a minute?” Sebastian asked.

  “No, of course not.” She recovered, reminded herself she wasn’t a woman who played up her physical attractions to manipulate men; that was for weaker, less intelligent and capable women. She smiled, poised, professional. “I suppose Madison told you I was in Vermont renting a house for her grandfather?”

  “She didn’t plan to tell anyone anything. She got caught sneaking up here this morning and came clean.”

  Barbara nodded. “I never meant for her to lie for me. I suppose asking her not to say anything was bad enough. A sin of omission rather than commission. I hope Lucy isn’t too annoyed with me.”

  “Madison’s fifteen. She knows the score.”

  In other words, Lucy was punishing her daughter. Acid rose in Barbara’s throat. The woman was disgusting. “How long do you plan to stay in Vermont?” she asked, keeping her tone conversational.

  “I don’t have any firm plans. Lucy stopped in when she was in Wyoming, and I decided to come on out, see my old haunts.”

  “Had Colin mentioned anything about buying your grandmother’s house and moving to Vermont one day?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Not Colin. He loved Washington.”

  “Madison’s like that,” Barbara said, smiling to take the edge off her words.

  “That’s what I understand. I didn’t get to see a lot of Colin in the four or five years before he died.”

  “It’s easy to take the young for granted.”

  Barbara couldn’t help the subtle criticism in her tone, but Sebastian didn’t react. She was thinking of herself and Jack, too, and how he’d taken her for granted for years…and years. She was always there, always capable, always willing to do whatever he asked, without complaint. Unlike too many of his senior staffers, he could rely on her without worrying about her stabbing him in the back.

  And what had her loyalty gotten her? Nothing.

  Jack had to love her.

  “When do you go back to Washington?” Sebastian asked.

  “In a day or two. I’m open. I’ll have to help Jack tie up a few loose ends before he comes up for August.”

  “I’m surprised he can manage without you right now. Isn’t this a busy time of year in Washington?”

  “Usually, yes.”

  He didn’t comment, and she wondered if he could see through her. Did he know? Did he suspect? Lucy, the sniveling coward, would have told him about the incidents by now. That was why he was here, of course. Not to see his grandmother’s house, but to protect her. It was sickening.

  Barbara didn’t need a man to protect her. Maybe that was why Jack was afraid to admit his love for her—he knew she didn’t need him for protection, an income, all the things an ordinary woman wanted in a man. She was different. Stronger.

  Sebastian smiled, and it was spine-melting. It would be so easy for someone as weak as Lucy to turn her problems, her individuality, over to a man like Sebastian Redwing. Barbara was more self-reliant. Tougher. “Well,” he said, “I don’t pretend to know the workings of Washington. Lucy asked me to invite you to dinner tonight.”

  “How sweet. Please thank her for me, but I have other plans.” Of course, Lucy would think Barbara was up here longing for her company, incapable of managing on her own. “And I hope she won’t be too hard on Madison. I put her in a difficult position.”

  “No problem.”

  He started down the steps, but stopped halfway and glanced back up at her. His expression was impossible for her to read, and she was very, very good at reading people. “A former colleague of mine might be in the area. Darren Mowery. Know him?”

  So this was the reason for his visit. Not Madison, not Lucy. “I’ve heard of him.”

  “He went bad last year. It’s a long story. I hope I’m wrong and he’s nowhere near here. If he tries to contact you, find me or call the police.” His gaze leveled on her, probing, uncomfortable. “He’s dangerous. I can’t emphasize that enough.”

  “I understand. Thank you for the warning.”

  Lucy, Madison and J.T. had sorted the quilt pieces by color. Now they had three hundred little hexagons in piles on the dining room table. The colors were faded, the fabric worn. “It’ll look like an antique quilt when we’re done,” Madison said happily.

  “It’s called a ‘grandmother’s garden’ quilt. It’ll be pretty.”

  “It’ll be perfect.”

  Lucy fingered a blue-and-white striped broad-cloth, imagining Daisy carefully cutting her dead husband’s shirts into hexagons. Had the work helped her make peace with his death? Or was it frugal Daisy Wheaton making use of what was at hand? “Joshua died sixty years ago. This fabric’s old.”

  J.T., who’d given up on sorting after the first hundred pieces, wandered out to the front porch with a couple of his Star Wars Micro Machines. He was making war noises, totally into his own twelve-year-old world.

  “Mom!” he called excitedly. “Someone left flowers!”

  M
adison dropped a stack of hexagons. “Flowers? Oh, cool. I wonder—”

  Lucy stopped her in mid-sentence, grabbing her arm. “Stay here.”

  “Why? Mom, you should see your face. You’re white as a sheet! Over flowers?”

  “Just stay put.”

  Lucy ran to the front door and banged it open, catching J.T. by the arm before he could pick up the bouquet of flowers. Black-eyed Susans, daisies. They were scraggly, wilted. If she’d spotted them first, she’d have thought they were from J.T. or Georgie. “Go inside with your sister.”

  “Mom, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me!”

  “It’s okay, J.T. Just go inside.”

  He started to cry, but did as she asked. Lucy could feel her legs giving way. She had to make herself calm down. She was scaring her children, scaring herself. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the flowers were Georgie’s doing, even if he hadn’t been around today. Maybe he’d stopped by while they were inside sorting hexagons and had just wanted to surprise them.

  The flowers were tied with a string. There was a note. Lucy plucked it out carefully, unfolded it.

  To Lucy,

  I love you with all my heart.

  Forever,

  Colin

  It was as though the words reached up from the paper and choked her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. She tripped on her own feet, stumbled down several steps, reeling.

  “Lucy.” Sebastian’s voice. His arms came around her. “Lucy, what is it?”

  She gulped for air. “The son of a bitch. The son of a bitch!” Every muscle in her body tensed. She glared up at him. “Is it Barbara? Is it? Because if it is, I’m going up there now and—and—” She couldn’t get the words out. “Goddammit!”

  Sebastian half carried, half pushed her to the porch steps. “You’re hyperventilating. If you don’t stop, I’m getting a paper bag and putting it over your head.”

  Hyperventilating. Too much oxygen in the blood. She knew what to do. She snapped her mouth shut, counted to three, breathed through her nose, let it out slowly through her mouth.

  “Two more times,” Sebastian said.