Could also be the car’s owner.
Kendra was pondering this as she unlocked the door to her room and dropped her briefcase in front of the closet, recalling her brief relationship with Adam four years ago and what had happened to bring it to an end before it even had a chance to begin.
Her mother’s death had happened, for one thing.
Greg Carson had happened, for another.
Kendra had only recently begun to acknowledge the relationship between the two.
In the aftermath of her mother’s death, Kendra had been totally unanchored, numb with grief, with only the haziest memory of her mother’s funeral and none whatsoever of going to the cemetery, of placing flowers on her mother’s coffin.
For weeks after, Kendra had floated through an unreal landscape that was barren and unfamiliar. Greg, her college boyfriend, had brought the known, the dependable, back into her unstable life. An assistant in the local district attorney’s office, Greg had heard about Elisa Smith-Norton’s suicide at almost the same time that Kendra was being notified. He’d rushed to the senator’s home, and finding that Kendra was living in Smith’s Forge, drove there himself to bring her back to Princeton so she would not have to be alone through the ordeal until her stepfather arrived. Greg helped them to deal with the funeral home, the press, and the florist, and made phone calls to family and friends on her behalf. He’d held her hand in the receiving line at the funeral home and offered his shoulder as often as she needed it. When a mere six weeks later he’d been offered the opportunity to start a firm with a classmate from law school, only the thought of leaving Kendra alone made him think twice about moving to Washington state. His solution was to offer marriage. Kendra, still shell-shocked, had said yes.
The wedding had been small and intimate, attended only by a few close friends and the groom’s family. Kendra’s reluctant stepfather had given her away. While he liked Greg and held him in high regard, Philip Norton had made no secret of the fact that he believed the marriage was a mistake, that Kendra was in no condition to make such an important decision. He feared that, feeling adrift, Kendra reached out for whatever mooring she could find. Time had proven him right.
Greg had been a fine husband, had tried everything he could to help Kendra overcome her grief and to find some happiness in life again. She was the first to praise his efforts. And the first to admit that she’d been a poor excuse for a wife.
Gentleman and genuinely nice guy that he was, Greg had never blamed her for being less of a marriage partner than he deserved. It was to his credit that he’d let Kendra go when she insisted that his life would be better in the long run with a woman who loved him with her whole heart. It hurt Kendra terribly to know that she’d never be that someone, but they were close enough as friends that she believed she owed him her total honesty. It had been with much regret that she’d left Washington to begin the long ride back across the country, alone.
On her way east, she drove into Montana, searching for the place where her family had camped during the last trip they’d made together before her father succumbed to his illness. Jeff Smith had wanted one last wilderness trip with his wife and children, had insisted on it, and Elisa, understanding that this would be their last time alone as a family, had made certain that he’d had that trip. They’d hiked into the hills and made camp along a stream that moved smartly over rock, underscoring the time there with a constant rippling of water rushing around stone.
They’d lain under the stars together, lined up like sentries beneath the big sky that rose over the landscape, before retiring to the tent they had shared. They hiked and fished for trout in mountain streams and told ghost stories around the campfire at night. They followed cougar tracks—from a distance, of course—one afternoon and awoke one morning to a rainstorm so fierce the hail blew a hole in the roof of the tent. Every day, Jeff grew a little weaker, and every day, Elisa remained determined that he have the best of his family while he could still enjoy them. It was only when she knew he would only have a few more days to make it home that she agreed to leave.
Their ten days had been filled with poignant moments, many of which Kendra had caught in photographs. But few were more touching than the one capturing Elisa’s struggle to help her husband down the mountain. Years later, when she ran for the Senate, those photos had surfaced, and the image of the small, fiercely determined dark-haired woman supporting the tall, gaunt man down a dusty trail, his arms around her shoulders, had said all there was to say about Elisa’s strength and courage. Later, the picture had appeared in the local papers, and later still on the cover of a national newsmagazine in their issue on women in the Senate. The framed original now stood on the mantel in the front room of Smith House, where Kendra could see it daily, along with other beloved family photographs.
Driving into the hills had been a lonely journey for Kendra, but a necessary one. It was there that they’d last existed as a family, there that she’d first begun to understand the bonds between herself and her parents. Coming back so many years later had the feel of a sad pilgrimage. She couldn’t remember exactly where they’d camped or what streams they’d forded, but with the weather just starting to change, it wouldn’t have mattered. She’d have had to have a death wish to venture up into the mountains alone when the first of the winter storms was brewing. She went far enough to find a winding stream, sat on an outcropping of rock, and watched the water rush below her feet. The sun had been warm on her back and shoulders, and she tried to remember everything she could about that last trip. The way the coffee smelled and tasted first thing in the morning. The way the breeze blew up from nowhere and cast the scent of wildflowers from the hills across the meadow where she and Ian, still a toddler, chased butterflies. The stories her father had told them at night, huddled together around the fire as the air chilled, about his youth, about his hopes and aspirations, about his love for his family and the Pines where he’d grown up . . . about his dreams for his children . . .
And Kendra realized that the last thing her father, or her mother, would have wanted for her, would have been half a life. And that was exactly what she’d been permitting herself.
Survivor’s guilt, Kendra’s friend Selena, a psychologist, had suggested after she’d returned to the Pines the previous October.
“Not anymore,” Kendra had vowed on that autumn day, and she set about to renovate Smith House to accommodate her taste and her requirements. At the same time, she vowed to restructure her life, to set a new agenda for herself, one that would focus on her work and her personal commitments.
Her house was a joy to her now, she reflected as she stripped off the navy suit jacket she’d worn that morning and dropped it onto the bed that housekeeping had so neatly made up while she was gone. It had been worth every bit of time and effort and money she’d put into it. Smith House was truly her home now.
And working again was a joy as well, she acknowledged. She’d felt more alive over the past few days than she had in years.
Working with Adam Stark seemed to be just the icing on the cake.
She debated on whether to take him up on his offer for her to drive his car home, which of course would then require Adam to make a visit to the Pines to pick it up. Kendra lay back across the bed and closed her eyes. She had no trouble calling up his face. It was right there, in the forefront of her mind. Strong jawline, sculpted cheeks, and wide-set blue eyes. A mouth that drifted easily into a smile, a deep dimple on the left side. Dark hair just slightly longer than the Bureau liked.
The last time she’d gone out with him, they’d had dinner at a small Thai place that Adam had found in Georgetown. He’d brought her back to the hotel room she’d been staying in while she worked the case the Bureau had given her, and had kissed her goodnight, cupping her face in his hands and moving his mouth across hers as if he owned it—
The ring of the telephone startled her, and she sat up with a jolt and reached for it.
“Hello?”
“I’m sor
ry,” the pleasant male voice on the other end of the line apologized. “I must have dialed the wrong room number.”
“That’s all right.” Kendra hung up the phone, then looked down at her watch. It was close to six.
She snapped on the remote and pulled up the channel menu, searching for the local news. She wanted to see how the case had been presented and how her sketch looked.
The pretty blond reporter led with the story, and, Kendra nodded, did a fine job with it.
There was the press conference with the state police, the FBI, and the chiefs of police from several local towns who’d been brought in to assist in the search of the park in Walnut Crossing. Kendra could see Adam standing off to one side, slightly behind Miranda Cahill. He leaned over and whispered something in Miranda’s ear, and she tilted her pretty head slightly, nodding solemnly without taking her eyes from the speaker.
A little surge of something—something mean and green—shot through Kendra. She swatted at it and tried to ignore it as best she could.
Adam doesn’t owe me anything, she reminded herself sternly. We’re friends. Just friends. We work on an occasional case together. That’s all.
“Damn it,” she couldn’t help but add aloud.
The tape that had been shot earlier of Kendra holding her composite drawing now took center stage, and she pushed aside her pique and leaned forward to see the face she’d drawn as others would see it. She was grateful that the camera had not lingered on her. She hadn’t realized how severe, how businesslike she appeared in her dark blue suit and crisp white cotton shirt. Only the small gold cross resting in the hollow of her neck lent any touch of warmth to her image.
It was a good sketch, though, she acknowledged, and true to the images the witnesses had presented to her. As true as her art could make it. And that, not how she looked on camera, was the only thing that really mattered.
She wondered if he—the man whose face was held on the screen—was watching, wherever he was. If he recognized himself in the sketch. If he was surprised by the accuracy of the likeness. If it frightened him to know that his secret—his face—had been revealed for all to see. Would it make him careless now? Angry?
The joint task force that had been formed to investigate the matter was announced. Four FBI agents were named. Adam and Miranda were the only ones Kendra recognized.
She turned off the television and picked up the phone, dialing the front desk, and requested assistance in renting a car.
“Yes, tonight . . . whatever you can get on short notice would be fine. Yes, I’ll be here.”
Next she called Adam’s room and left the message that she’d rented a car to drive home and had left the keys to the Audi at the front desk in an envelope.
“Thanks anyway,” she added, lest she sound too strident. “I appreciate your offer, but it’s probably a waste of your time for you to drive all the way to my place just to pick up your car. It isn’t as if you don’t have other things to do. Well, I guess I’ll see you next time. Thanks again . . .”
What was the point in staying another night? she asked herself as she began to pack her things. The job she’d been hired to do was done. And Adam? Well, he had more important things to do. Driving his car to Smith’s Forge was silly when he’d have need of it here. The fact that she had gotten the impression he wanted to see her again, well, she could be wrong about that. So all in all, it was better that she leave, alone, now, before she got in the way of the investigation.
And besides, she thought as she tossed her belongings into her suitcase, if Adam found his way back to Smith’s Forge, she wanted it to be for a reason other than to pick up his car.
“Hey, Selena!” Kendra called from her kitchen window. It had been less than forty minutes since the rental agent had picked up the car and less than twenty since she’d phoned her friend and neighbor Selena Brennan to let her know she was home.
Selena waved to Kendra at the same time she whistled for Lola. The dog had taken off for the stream behind Kendra’s house and was eagerly investigating something on the ground.
“I told you that you didn’t have to bring the mail down, that I’d walk up later and pick it up,” Kendra said as she came out into the yard.
“I know, but I have appointments this afternoon in town and wanted to leave a little early to run a few errands, so I thought I’d drop your mail off before I started getting ready to leave. Besides,” the young woman grinned as she tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, “Lola missed you. She made a beeline down the road as soon as I opened the door.”
“Where’s Lola?” Kendra frowned, looking around. She spotted the dog down near the edge of the stream. “What’s she got there?”
“Oh, who knows? She’s always picking up something.” Selena and Kendra walked across the yard to where the big dog stood, sniffing happily and wagging her tale with anticipation.
“What is that thing?” Selena bent over and picked up the remains of a sandwich, Lola lunging to grab a bite or two in passing. “Looks like one of the canoeists threw away their lunch.”
“Here, give it here,” Kendra reached for it, “and I’ll pitch it in the trash, unless you’re going to let Lola have the rest of it.”
“No, I don’t like her eating people-food. She gets plenty of doggie treats at home and, I dare say, here as well.” Selena followed Kendra to the back of the house where she lifted the lid of a trash can and dumped the sandwich in. “I did notice the box of extra-large Milk Bones on your counter.”
“Lola’s extra-large, aren’t you, girl? She’s my buddy.” Kendra rubbed the dog behind the ears, and Lola’s sorrow at watching the sandwich disappear vanished. “So what’s new in the neighborhood?”
“There were some canoes through last night. Several in a group, and later, one loner passed the back of my house, though I doubt he’ll be back anytime soon, since Lola took off after him something fierce.”
“She must have been having a guard-dog moment.”
“Well, she’ll have to get over it. It seems that every weekend there are more and more visitors.”
“A sure sign of spring, when the canoes start again in force.” Kendra nodded. Starting in the spring, weekends brought a steady stream of nature lovers to the Pines to explore and to enjoy the scenery. Kendra had never minded sharing the woods and the waterways with others who admired them, but her welcome ended at her property line. “I guess it’s time to put up new ‘No Trespassing’ signs, just in case someone else decides that my yard would make a good picnic area.”
“Actually, I think someone may have been down here the other night.” Selena paused, remembering. “Lola was barking to beat the band after dinner, but I couldn’t tell exactly where she was. I whistled for her, and eventually she came running back from this direction. I figured someone might have been passing by on their way back to the car lot up by the lake.”
“I’ll make a new sign and nail it up this afternoon. In the meantime, come on in and have some tea with me.”
“Can’t. I have patients coming at one and I’m booked steadily through till six.” Selena had a thriving therapy practice. Not only was she very good at what she did, but she was a Piney, born and raised, and proud of it. Troubled locals who would never dream of seeking help from a stranger would agree to counsel with Lem and Ida Brennan’s daughter in the office she had built off the back of the family home if they couldn’t get to her office in Reedsboro, the nearest real town.
Like Kendra, Selena had left the Pines to go to school, and like Kendra, as an adult, she had been drawn back to the simplicity and beauty of the Pines, and chose to make her life there. The two women had known each other since childhood, and had, with Kendra’s return to the Pines, rekindled their friendship.
“By the way, I saw Father Tim on Monday. He wanted me to remind you about dinner at the shelter on Tuesday and that he was hoping for something a little more than salads and chicken sandwiches from the fast-food restaurant out on Route Nine.”
“It made for a good story.” Selena was laughing, too.
“One Father Tim still enjoys telling, apparently.”
“You can redeem yourself by showing up with something really good next week.”
“I was thinking simple, like spaghetti and meatballs and a salad. Something good for dessert.”
“Great. I still have about two dozen jars of sauce that I made last summer. We can use some of that,” Selena offered.
Kendra rolled her eyes.
“Of course you do. And I suppose you have some homemade pasta in the freezer as well?”
“Don’t ask unless you really want to know.” Selena grinned.
“Okay, I guess I can pick up some garlic bread and dessert. No, I’ll make dessert. I’ll bake a cake.” She frowned. “How many cakes should I make for . . . how many men in the shelter this week?”
“There were twenty-two as of last night, but as you know, that changes from day to day. Plan on two cakes—something not too sugary, maybe a pound cake—and a fruit salad.”
“Does pound cake come in a mix?”
“Yes. So does fruit salad, but I recommend that you make that yourself.”
“I promise I’ll go to the market Tuesday morning.” Kendra laughed good-naturedly. “Can you think of anything else we’ll need?”
“No, that should be fine.” Selena glanced at her watch. “If I don’t get moving I’ll be late for my one o’clock. Now, where is that dog . . .”
“She’s around somewhere. Why not leave her here? You can stop back to get her after your appointments. Maybe have dinner with me.”
“Sounds like a plan. I should be back around seven.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
Kendra watched Selena pull out of the drive, then walked around the side of the house, calling Lola’s name. She heard her, coughing and sputtering, before she saw her.
Until Dark Page 8