Cold River (8 page)

Rose gave him a cool look. “As you wish.” She smiled at Grit and the other two women. “My brothers want to confer on their own. I vote for going back to the lodge for hot chocolate with real whipped cream over checking out a crypt, but it’s up to you.”

“I had warm apple pie at lunch,” Myrtle said, her Southern accent more pronounced than Grit’s. “If I indulge in whipped cream, I’ll have to go cross-country skiing or
something at the crack of dawn and burn it off. It’s supposed to drop below zero tonight.”

“Best weather for investigating a crypt,” Grit said.

“A first time for everything,” she said without enthusiasm.

Rose’s golden retriever flopped in front of the entrance as Grit and then the three women entered the crypt. Sean didn’t notice any indication of stiffness or a limp in Grit’s gait. He’d had a long, difficult recovery, but he was almost back to his pre-injury fitness level, a remarkable achievement given what that had been as a SEAL.

Once Rose and the non-Camerons were inside, Elijah narrowed his eyes on Sean. “What the hell’s going on? Bowie turns up at the café. Hannah hikes up to see Pop’s cabin. Now this.” Elijah lifted the shovel and stirred the heap of debris, jagged chunks of rock, bits of mica catching the beam of the flashlight. “As far as I know, Bowie hasn’t been in trouble since he got out of jail. He’s only been back in his house for a few days, and already there’s a drama involving him.”

“Where did he stay while he worked on the culvert?” Sean asked.

“He roomed with a cousin in Ludlow.” Elijah blew out a breath at the charcoal-colored sky. “The guy’s good-looking, rugged and familiar, and he knows how to knock heads together. He and Hannah share a past that we can’t understand.” He turned to Sean, the cold having no apparent effect on him. “No wonder she’s defensive about him.”

Sean hardly noticed the cold, either. “She’s on the defensive. It’s not easy to get through to her when she’s got her shield up.”

Elijah managed a half smile. “Threaten to send in Jo.”

Rose stepped out of the crypt, not giving any indication she’d overheard her brothers. “I’m not stepping foot into another crypt until I’m embalmed.”

Elijah grinned at her. “And you think you’re tough.”

“You’d sleep in a crypt, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I have.”

Ranger got up onto all fours and yawned. Rose scratched his head. “We should go home, huh, boy? Get away from these macho brothers of mine.” Still bent down over her dog, she looked up at Elijah. “I’ve had a lot of requests for information on dogs since that business went down in November. I tell people if they want protection, a puppy isn’t it.”

Sean couldn’t read his sister—her tone, her attitude, her feelings—but now, with the biting cold and the situation at the crypt, wasn’t the time to push her about whatever was going on with her.

Jo had her cell phone out as she joined them. “The local police and Scott Thorne are on the way. They’ll take a look around here. They’ll want to talk to you, too, Sean.”

“No problem.”

“And Hannah,” she added.

It was an unnecessary comment, which told him Jo had wanted to see his reaction.

“Devin was framed as well as nearly killed a few weeks ago,” she went on. “Hannah could think people were too willing to believe he was guilty.”

“Meaning you, Jo?” Sean asked quietly.

“Keeping an open mind isn’t the same thing. Hannah has to be angry, Sean. Anyone would be. We’re all angry.”

“She’s used to holding her emotions in check.”

Jo slipped her cell phone into her jacket pocket. “Bolting up a mountain by herself in twenty-degree weather isn’t holding her emotions in check. Neither is looking for Bowie O’Rourke in a cemetery.”

“I get your point,” Sean said, careful to keep his tone even.

“I just want to be sure you’re seeing this situation clearly.”

“It’s not your problem, is it, Jo?”

“Don’t make it mine.” She softened, rubbing her gloved hands together. “Damn, it’s cold. Sean, you know what I’m getting at. You were at O’Rourke’s in March when Bowie got into trouble. Now you were at…whatever this was here. If he has his eye on Hannah and sees you as a threat—well, I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? You’ll be back in Beverly Hills soon.”

“You should come out, Jo. Get some sunlight. It’ll cheer you up.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if one Cameron man isn’t enough to deal with, Elijah comes with two brothers.” She looked at the pallet holding the granite blocks. “Did your dad have much to do with Bowie before his arrest in March?”

“I don’t know.” Sean wasn’t fooled by Jo’s show of interest in the pallet. Jo’s focus was entirely on interrogating him. “I wasn’t around much then, either.”

“Pop was a trustee for the cemetery and the Four Corners church,” Elijah said, standing close behind her. “He recommended Bowie for a job at the church last winter.”

“That doesn’t mean anything by itself,” Jo said. “Bowie’s a natural for any mason work. If I had any that needed doing at the lake, I’d call him, but right now I just think I need a sledgehammer.” She glanced up at the two brothers and grinned. “For those old cabins. Not for you boys.”

A town police cruiser pulled in behind Myrtle Smith’s rented car.

“They’re going to be thinking what I am,” Jo said. “Bowie’s a question mark. We don’t have anything that points to him, but this—it won’t help ease any suspicion.”

“He was in police custody when Pop was killed,” Rose said.

Jo nodded. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. I’m not suggesting he was, but it’s not a good idea for Hannah to be around him right now. Bowie’s too much of a loose cannon.”

Elijah settled back on his heels. “You’re not used to
having a personal stake in an investigation. You can’t control what we all do. And you can’t protect us.”

She pulled her jacket hood up over her head. “You’re right. I can’t.”

Grit and Myrtle stepped out of the crypt, shutting the creaky door behind them and replacing the stick in the latch. “I’m going for that hot chocolate and whipped cream,” Myrtle said, giving an exaggerated shudder. “I believe in ghosts, you know.”

Grit sighed. “Of course you do.”

A town police officer headed down the lane. Sean recognized him from high school. His life in California suddenly seemed distant, surreal, as if he’d never get back there—as if he’d never left Black Falls and it was his home and always would be.

Jo eased in next to him, away from the others, her gaze narrowed on the dark woods. “Some days I feel like a stranger here,” she said with some sympathy, then angled her turquoise eyes at him. “What do you think, Sean? Did Hannah really hear someone whispering her name?”

He considered her question a moment. “Yes.”

“Was it Bowie or her imagination?”

“If I’d gotten here ten minutes sooner,” he said, “I’d know.”

A cruiser arrived at the end of the lane. Scott Thorne got out and joined the town officer. Sean put up his own jacket hood, aware of Jo falling in next to Elijah by the crypt, automatically, casually. However she felt about being in Black Falls, she was no stranger to his brother.

Sean thought of Hannah, then decided maybe it wasn’t a good idea to think of her, and he walked out the lane to meet the two officers.

V
ivian Whittaker felt a draft and looked up from the book she was reading at the kitchen table, a pot of hot English Breakfast tea at her side. “Lowell, please,” she said sharply. “Close that door. I’m freezing.”

Her husband set a bag of groceries on the granite counter. “It’s already closed, dear. It took a moment for the cold to reach you.”

She tightened her sweater around her. It was a cast-off, store-brand black cashmere cardigan she kept here at their Vermont country house. She was chilly and had thrown on the sweater to warm her up, but she’d take it off before leaving for dinner later with Judge Robinson and his wife. Vivian was already dressed in a cream silk top and black wool slacks. She was pleased with the invitation. She had been trying to cultivate friendships with the locals, although this was the first time since November she was truly looking forward to anything in Black Falls.

She always seemed to be cold these days, but she loved their rambling farmhouse with its beautiful, established landscaping and stunning, updated interior of polished wood, stark white walls and modern art. It was located among rolling fields and woods on a branch of the Black
River, with several small outbuildings and a classic Vermont stone guesthouse. Large windows in the kitchen overlooked the backyard and the river, frozen and dark now, with no ambient light or stars or even a sliver of moon to illuminate it. After the horror in Black Falls—the horror
here
, Vivian thought, on this property—they’d spent Thanksgiving in New York, but had returned for Christmas. Their children, both young singles, had joined them, but she’d insisted they not bring any friends. Family only this year.

Alex Bruni. Melanie Kendall, Kyle Rigby. Vivian shivered. Three recent guests, now dead. Two of them paid killers who had sat at this very table. Kyle Rigby and Melanie Kendall had just teamed up to run Alex down in Washington. He’d been rushing to a breakfast meeting with Thomas to discuss Nora’s concerns about her father’s fiancée. After killing Alex, they’d set their sights on Nora.

Vivian gave an inward shudder but tried not to let her anxiety get the better of her. She didn’t know Thomas as well as she had Alex, but the two had been friends since college. That Alex had basically stolen Thomas’s wife from him had to have been a terrible blow, but Thomas wasn’t one for displays of strong emotion. He’d admirably accepted his fate with a stiff upper lip, only to succumb to the charms of a clever, sociopathic killer. He’d gone so far as to ask Melanie Kendall to marry him. Of course she’d accepted his proposal.

Then she’d tried to kill her own fiancé’s daughter after Nora had become suspicious of her future stepmother. Melanie’s shocking lack of empathy and narcissism had her believing right up until the end that she and Thomas would still go forward with their wedding once Nora was dead.

Nora was back in Washington now with both Thomas and her mother, Alex’s widow, all of them attempting to put their lives together. Vivian sympathized with their situation, but she didn’t want to maintain contact with them. She was
sick of all of it, but Christmas had been quiet and pleasant, with a spark of hope for better in the future. The police had finished asking questions of her and her husband. They hadn’t had to deal with anyone in law enforcement in more than two weeks.

She warmed her hands on her mug of tea. “Where have you been?”

“Supply run.” Lowell lifted cans of soup and diced tomatoes out of the bag and set them on the counter. “The grocery store here has such a limited selection of items. I always forget.”

Vivian looked out the window but saw only her reflection. Her hair, which was fine and straight, seemed thin. She was only forty-seven but had started to notice more gray showing through her natural dark blond. She had no intention of dyeing it. Its light color helped, not that she cared. She’d never been one for such vanities.

“I don’t know how people live up here all winter.” She turned back to her tea and book with a scowl. “It’s so dark. It’s depressing.”

Lowell folded the empty paper bag. He was lanky and fair-haired, a year older than she was, but he still had no sign of gray in
his
hair. “I find the dark, cold nights up here cozy and comforting,” he said. “They make me want to curl up by the fire with a good book.”

“Yes, I suppose there’s that advantage.”

He opened a lower cupboard and placed the paper bag on a stack of other bags he’d saved. She’d have tossed them all on the fire. He loved to play the frugal country farmer, but he’d been a reasonably successful investment banker for fifteen years. Vivian had finally talked him into leaving the working world two years ago, after their younger daughter had graduated college. They could easily live off her trust fund. He had his own money, but it was for his little projects.

He pulled out a chair across the round table from her and sat down heavily, as if he’d been chopping wood all day instead of running to the grocery. Vivian abruptly pushed back her chair but didn’t get up. Having Lowell at the table immediately irritated her. She’d been enjoying her time alone, and now he was crowding her. She flipped the book shut. It was one her book club in New York had assigned, but she couldn’t concentrate on it now.

She tried to suppress her irritation as Lowell spoke. “Bowie O’Rourke is supposed to stop by. He’s obviously running a little late. I imagine he’ll be here any minute. I’m going over the work on the guesthouse with him. It won’t take long. He already has a good idea of what needs to be done. This is just a last-minute check before he starts tomorrow. I wasn’t sure at first about having the guesthouse redone, but I see your point now. Fresh paint will help erase some of the bad memories. We’ll all be happier here.”

“You do know that Bowie is an ex-convict, don’t you, Lowell?”

“He was in a scuffle at his cousin’s bar with several drunken ski bums who, from what I’ve heard, had it coming.”

“He went to
jail
. He’s on probation.”

“He didn’t really fight the charges against him. If it’d been a Cameron who’d drawn blood, I wonder if there’d even have been an arrest.”

Vivian noticed her tea was cold and decided she didn’t want it any longer. “Hannah Shay was the one the ski bums were insulting when Bowie lost control and started throwing punches. Are you sure hiring him isn’t just a means for you to get closer to her?”

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?” Viv
ian 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.”