Hidden Motive (7 page)

D
uring breakfast, Murph sat at the end of the long, beautifully carved dining table. As he passed the gravy boat, the sausage, the eggs, he studied the others surreptitiously. In the past six weeks he'd been forced to teach himself a few spy techniques. He'd learned to watch people from the periphery of his vision instead of staring straight at them. He'd also learned to tune out chatter, to focus on one conversation—or one voice—at a time.

That was how he overheard Craig telling fifteen-year-old Bryce about all the neat things in the attic, and it was how he overheard Audry remark to Jerri that the biscuits could have used a little more baking soda.

Tomorrow he'd have
her
cook breakfast, if they were all still here. Although, hopefully, she would be gone with the rest of the passengers.

“Delicious biscuits and gravy, Sable,” Perry remarked as he selected two more biscuits from the platter.

Sable wrinkled her nose at him. “Murph's the cook. I'm the flunky.”

“Many men can cook better than many women.” Perry said, splitting open a biscuit. “Look at the great chefs on the cooking channels. They're mainly men. Emeril is my favorite.” He raised his fork in the air like a baton. “‘Pork fat rules!'”

“I beg your pardon,” Audry interjected, “but that kind of fat does not rule, it kills.”

“But you must admit, fat adds flavor,” Perry argued. “Fat-free cooking just hasn't caught on in America.”

“Obviously not for
some
of us,” she chided.

Simmons nearly choked on his scrambled eggs.

“That's right,” Perry said. “Take it from me, the lard expert. Gaining weight is America's most popular pastime.”

Jerri sat down at the other end of the table. “So is that what you packed in that suitcase of yours?” she asked Perry. “That thing has to weigh at least forty pounds.”

“Forty-five,” Perry said matter-of-factly. “And the contents of my personal luggage are my own business.” He broke up a sausage patty and crumbled it atop his biscuit, then spooned a generous dollop of gravy on top of that. “Pork fat
does
rule,” he said almost reverently.

He picked up his fork and scooped some of the gravy onto the tines. Like a connoisseur he touched the gravy to his tongue and smacked his lips, inhaling the steam rising from his plate. “Mr. Murphy, my compliments. I must get your recipe before we leave here.”

“We'll have time for that,” Murph assured him. “Without a thaw, we'll be stuck here for a while.”

“Then perhaps I need to check out that attic, myself,” Perry said. “I didn't have a change of clothing with me.”

“No change of clothes in that case?” Jerri asked.

“It's nothing you need to be concerned about.” Perry relished another bite.

They ate in silence for a moment, then Simmons pushed away from the table and picked up his plate.

“Before anyone gets away,” Sable said softly, “I need to warn you that we'll need to use the outdoor privy until we get electricity. Our water pump is electric.”

Perry's slightly protruding eyes widened. “How far is it from the house?”

“Only about a hundred feet,” Sable said.

“In case you hadn't noticed,” Perry said, “I'm not elegant on ice.”

Simmons snickered. “You're not the one who went over the cliff last night.”

Craig stopped eating. “What are you talking about?”

“Sable took a fall,” Jerri told him.

“Where?”

“Over the cliffs near the highway,” Sable told him.

“If not for the admirable length of my belt,” Perry said, “we might not have rescued her.”

“Well, hooray for you,” Simmons muttered as he left the dining room.

“Is there another way out of here, in case of emergency?” Jerri asked.

“Yes, but it's no better,” Craig said. “Sable, you're okay now?”

“I'm fine.”

He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “If I was you, after all you've been through, I'd leave this place and never look back.”

Sable took her plate and stood. “I notice
you
haven't left.”

Murph got up to help Sable with the dishes.

Craig brought a stack of dishes to the sink. “I need some help chopping wood for the furnace, Murph. Want to join me?”

“I will in a few minutes,” Murph told him.

Perry offered to pump water and carry it upstairs.

One by one the others left, until only Murph and Sable remained. They worked for a few moments in silence. Murph had discovered over the past few weeks that he enjoyed working close to Sable.

“Nice little family atmosphere we have, isn't it?” he remarked as peaceful silence enveloped the kitchen.

“Cozy,” she drawled. “I'm glad this house is so—”

An angry shout interrupted her. A moment later, Perry burst back through the kitchen door. “Someone has rifled through my suitcase!”

 

Sable's tension returned in force. “Was anything missing?”

Perry swallowed and took a deep breath. “No, but my belongings were rearranged. I detest a snoop!”

“Maybe someone was just curious,” she soothed. “We
were
discussing the contents of your luggage.”

Perry glanced toward the door, then leaned toward them. “Simmons,” he muttered. “He left before the rest of us, remember? After all that talk about my heavy suitcase and my…sizable presence, the man decided he could get away with invading my private space. I despise a snoop!”

Audry came rushing into the room, tendrils of gray hair falling across her forehead, face flushed. “Perry Chadwick, what's all the yelling about? I nearly fell down the stairs, you startled me so, hollering and shouting like a house afire.”

“Someone searched my suitcase,” Perry said. “It was a mess. Nothing was in place.”

“So?” Audry said. “My stuff was a mess, too. Even my purse. We were all over that road. Everything shifted.”

“Yes, but—”

“Admit it,” Audry interrupted, “you hadn't even opened your case until just now.”

“Well…I don't think—”

Audry placed a hand on his arm. “I should never have made those comments about your weight, and I apologize. There. I'll take the blame for everything, okay? It's bad enough we're going to be stuck here together for who knows how long, we need to try to cooperate. Come on upstairs and leave poor Sable alone. She's had a rough time of it.”

Perry hesitated. He took a deep breath, as if attempting a swift attitude adjustment. He forced a smile that didn't go past the tight corners of his mouth. “Of course you could be right, Audry. I'm sorry I've upset everyone. I suppose I could have jumped to the wrong conclusion. I'm just ill at ease because of the ice storm.”

“We're all uncomfortable,” Sable said. “Believe me, if I knew a safe way out of here, I'd show it to everyone.” And she would feel much safer in the house without these bickering strangers.

“I'm sorry.” Perry really did look contrite. He dabbed beads of moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I'm not accustomed to staying in a room with no locks.” He paused. “I don't suppose it would be possible for me to move into another room…the attic, perhaps, if there's a lock on the door.”

“There isn't, but you can have my room,” Sable said. “I'll move a cot—”

“Forget it,” Murph said.

“That's right.” Audry rested her stern gaze on Perry for a long moment. “I'd be ashamed, asking a young woman to give up her room like that.”

“But I didn't—”

“Give it up,” Audry insisted. “You're more of a man than that. If you want, you can barricade your door with a chair. I've found that works as well as anything.”

Perry gave Sable a look of chagrin, spreading his hands in surrender. “Of course you're right, Audry. How could I be so insensitive?” His voice held a heavy thread of sarcasm. “Sorry, Sable. I was a bit overwrought.” He hoisted the band of his pants over his portly belly as he left the room with Audry.

Sable leaned against the counter. Silent questions haunted her, and she turned to find her own uneasiness reflected in Murph's eyes.

“Do you think Audry's right?” she asked.

“It's possible.”

“You don't sound convinced. And I didn't imagine being pushed into that ravine.”

“I know.”

“But I can't be sure it was intentional.”

“We need to assume it
was
intentional, and we need to treat Perry's concerns seriously, as well.”

“Murph, what are we going to do? We have no phone line to the outside world, no cell reception, not even the radio, since the batteries have died.”

“For now, I think we should continue as we are. Maybe that will lure someone into a sense of security. When you're alone in your room, keep the door locked. If we tell the others about what's going on, it'll terrify them, and possibly force someone—whoever it is—to make another move on you.”

“Or you, Murph. I was standing right beside you last night. What if you were the intended target?”

“You're Josiah Kessinger's granddaughter.”

“But if you're out of the way—”

“We'll both remain watchful.”

She gazed out the window at the frozen landscape.

He stepped up behind her. “We're not helpless, Sable. Never forget Who is with us.”

“But sometimes I feel I've suddenly been abandoned.”

“That won't happen. You belong to Him.” He lay a hand on her shoulder. “That's a comfort we both need to remember a little better.”

T
he beam of Sable's flashlight made cobwebs glow in the corners of the attic as feminine laughter drifted up from the hallway. Audry and Jerri sat in Jerri's bedroom with the door open, unknowing lookouts. Sable felt secure with them nearby.

This attic was filled with good memories. Tall bureaus, fashionable when Grandpa and Grandma had first bought this place, loomed to the ceiling, sentinels over a collection of other furniture and endless boxes of old clothes.

She remembered being afraid of this place as a small child, until Grandma assured her there was nothing scary up here. Today there were no assurances. Two dear people were already dead, and the reason behind their deaths might lie somewhere in this house, or at least on this property.

“Grandpa, why didn't you talk to me about this?” She gazed around the attic at the boxes of family treasures, pictures, albums, old letters.

She began a search and found tax records, photographs, broken appliances, clothing. And then she opened another box. It held letters from Grandpa to Mom dated last December. Sable took out the contents of one envelope and scanned the pages.

There was nothing new here. He mentioned the buck Boswell had shot on their hunting trip here in November, and how Boswell had gloated about Grandpa falling into a sinkhole and breaking his ankle. He complained about Boswell nagging him to sell the place. For as long as Sable could remember, Boswell had wanted to buy this place. According to Grandpa, he'd increased the pressure since November.

She was returning the letter to its envelope when the bottom step creaked on the attic stairs.

She froze for a second, then realized that Audry and Jerri had fallen silent. When had they stopped their chatter? Had they left the bedroom? Why had she dropped her guard?

She turned off her flashlight and stepped behind a bureau, fighting the panic that shot through her. Someone came slowly—stealthily?—up the staircase. She edged around the bulky bureau and glanced toward the attic steps. They were dark. The intruder wasn't using a flashlight. Why not?

As the form came closer, Sable took an automatic step backward. The floor creaked.

“Who's there?” demanded a familiar male voice. Craig.

Sable started breathing again as she stepped from behind the bureau. “I wish you wouldn't sneak up on people like that.” She turned on her flashlight and saw his startled expression.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Looking for something?” No reason to be afraid of Craig. She needed to stop overreacting.

“I thought I heard someone up here.” He came up the last step and ambled toward her, the light from the gable windows casting the dark line of his eyebrows and hair in sharp relief against the winter paleness of his skin.

“I didn't realize I was making noise.”

“What're you doing up here in the dark?” he asked.

She replaced the box lid she held. “I turned off my light when I heard you. I didn't know who it was. Instinctive reaction. I always was a little nervous up here alone.”

“So why come up here at all?”

“What's it to you? It's
my
family home.”

“Whoa. A little cranky, are you?” Craig paced along a row of boxes. He picked up the bowl of an old butter churn. “Your company isn't the most congenial group, is it? That would make me cranky, too. I heard Audry and Perry arguing about his case being searched when I came in from chopping wood.”

“Are the limbs still falling like rain?” Sable asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“It's not as bad as it was. Bryce helped some, but I didn't let him stay out long. Murph's out chopping now.”

“Where are the others?”

“Bryce is lying in front of the fire with the dog. Audry's examining the antiques in the family room. No telling where Simmons is. Perry's probably in his room, guarding his case.” Craig replaced the churn. “You have to admit it's curious. You should have felt that case last night. Heavy. I picked it up once to put it out of the way, and Perry watched me like a mother watching a stranger hold her baby. What do you think he's carrying in that thing?”

“It's none of my business,” Sable said. Or was it? “Maybe he's carrying a laptop and doesn't want it stolen.”

“A forty-five pound laptop? Get real, Sable.” Craig's eyes flashed with curiosity. “Like you said, it's your home. I'd watch everybody a little closer.”

Sable dusted her hands together and bent over another box.

“Uh, Sable?” Craig took a slow step closer to her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

He stepped around a box. His candid brown eyes narrowed. “Why did you turn around and come straight back home? You've had a wreck, you nearly died on the cliff this morning, and today you're as jumpy as a buck during hunting season. Is it money?”

“Money?”

“Look, I know this place cost a lot of money to fix up, and it's not bringing in any income since it isn't being farmed anymore.” He hesitated, glancing around the attic. “I wasn't going to bring this up yet, but…well…when your family decides to sell, I want to be first on the list, before you call a Realtor.”

“Sell?”

Craig cleared his throat. “Now, don't turn me down just like that. I have more money than you think. The boat dock brings in a good living. My expenses aren't much, and I've stuck a lot in the bank. Enough to pay half down on the asking price.”

“Asking price? Craig, Grandpa's not even cold in the grave yet, and you're already after his property?”

“Hey, don't get mad. I just offered to buy the place, not burn it down. My parents got an offer for their property—they need the money to help fund Dad's campaign. I've always liked this place. You know that.”

She straightened to scan the rear wall with her flashlight beam. “You sound like Otis Boswell—or didn't you know he was trying to buy Grandpa out, too?”

There was a long silence, and she turned to look at Craig, whose brows had drawn together in a scowl. “Josiah didn't sell, did he? Not to that goon.”

“No, but do you have any good reasons why we shouldn't? Boswell's got the funds.”

“Filthy money.”

“I know you have personal grievances against him,” she said. “I've just never known why.”

Craig looked at her for a moment in the dim light, then sighed and stepped over to the dormer window. He stood looking outside for a long moment. Sable had almost concluded the conversation had ended when he turned around.

“Dad's running for state senator, you know.”

“What does he have to do with Otis Boswell?”

Craig shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and turned to stare out the window again. “Dad's a good man.”

She softened her voice. “I know he is. He's always been a good neighbor, and he'll be a great senator.”

Craig hesitated again. “How…how loyal are you to Otis Boswell?”

“I'm not.”

“Are you going back to Oklahoma?”

She relented slightly. “No, Craig. I want to come back here to live. With Grandpa gone, there's nothing for me in Freemont.”
Except arrest, maybe.

Craig looked toward the stairs, then leaned closer to her. “We've been friends a long time, right?” There was a vulnerability in his deep voice that touched her.

“Of course.”

He paused and took a breath. “Remember when Jimmy Ray and I were in the car accident that killed Tom Hall?”

“How could I forget something like that? You were a senior in high school. I was in my first year at Columbia.”

He grimaced, looking at the floor. “My blood alcohol was one point five.”

“You were
drunk?
”

“Yes, but Tom swerved into my lane—all the way over. I didn't want to hit him head-on, and I couldn't pull off the road because it was on the bridge at Eagle Rock, remember?”

“So you traded lanes with him. I know all this. But, Craig, you were drunk?”

“He swerved back at the last second. That's really what happened, Sable. It wasn't my fault, but that didn't matter. All the authorities focused on was the alcohol. I was eighteen. I could have been tried as an adult for manslaughter.”

That would have been tragic. She knew it. Craig hadn't been a bad kid, just restless at times.

“Dad was a judge then,” Craig said. “He pulled a lot of strings with his friends to keep me out of big trouble.”

“So you're saying your father used his political influence to prevent you from being prosecuted?” She heard judgment in her words and voice, felt the hard knot that tightened in her stomach.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “You can't imagine how sorry. I shouldn't have been drinking, I know that. I'll live with it the rest of my life, and believe me, it isn't easy. But I do remember the circumstances of the wreck, and I didn't cause it. You have to understand why Dad did what he did.”

“I understand he didn't trust the judicial system he'd sworn to uphold.” She hated the harshness in her voice. Hated that she was taking her pent-up bitterness out on Craig because of everything else that was happening.

“He didn't want his son to go to prison.”

“So that makes it right?”
Stop, Sable! Stop it.

“Dad doesn't make a habit of it. If I'd been caught joyriding in a stolen car, or shoplifting, or driving under the influence, he'd have let me take my knocks, but this was different. You can see that, can't you?”

If it had happened to one of her brothers, no one would have pulled any strings for either of them. But she knew Craig was living with a lot of regret.

“Dad stuck his neck out,” Craig said. “He laid his whole career on the line for me. He almost lost it, thanks to Otis Boswell.”

“What happened?” She resigned herself to hear the dirty details.

“Jimmy Ray's father couldn't keep his mouth shut. He went fishing with Otis one day, and told Otis what Dad did. A couple of years later, Otis had a chance to buy some private property in the middle of the Mark Twain National Forest. He petitioned for some zoning changes so he could set up a galena mine on the property, but his petition was blocked. He went to Dad and threatened to expose me if Dad didn't pull some strings.”

“And your father gave in?”

Craig closed his eyes and nodded. “He didn't think he had a choice. It didn't work, anyway. The land suddenly went off the market, and Otis went to Oklahoma.”

Sable leaned against the window frame as she digested this information. “You mean Otis had reason to believe there was galena around here?”

“That's right,” Craig said. He turned and started for the stairs. “I've got wood to chop. If you change your mind about selling, let me know.”

Sable listened to the sound of his descending footsteps, angry with herself for her behavior. Why couldn't she have just listened to Craig's story without hurling blame at him? He was baring his soul—risking his reputation and his father's—to warn her about Otis Boswell.

Maybe she should pay more attention to the warning—and lighten up on the judgment.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the dormer window. “Oh, Grandpa, why?”

A movement outside caught her attention, and she saw Murph several hundred feet away, splitting wood beside the creek. She recognized his size and the breadth of his shoulders. He raised the ax high into the air and plunged it into a log in a perfect split. Two more strikes, and he moved to the next log.

She enjoyed watching him work, and she was so grateful for his presence here. Until the sun broke through, or until the temperature warmed, the ground would remain encrusted with ice and all of the bus passengers would remain stranded.

Impatient with her own thoughts, she studied the thick barrier of clouds that had settled over the hills. The atmosphere in the house seemed to reflect the sky.

When she looked back down into the woods, she was surprised to see another figure moving through the trees above the place where Murph was working.

Murph handled the ax as if it were a lightweight toy, breaking away ice with a flick of his arm. The newcomer balanced on a cliff above Murph, in a thicket of tangled brush so dense Sable could barely make out the human form. At times the figure was barely visible, at times merely a part of the dark green line of cedar trees near the ledge—except for a bright, red-orange halo that seemed to bob with the person's movements. A knit cap?

Something about this intruder grabbed Sable's attention, something stealthy, as if…as if he were trying—