Wrong Place, Wrong Time (3 page)

Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe it was too soon for Lake Luzerne. Maybe it would always be too soon.

She wriggled onto her side, wishing life weren’t so complicated, wishing the answers were as clear as she’d thought them to be when she was a younger, more naive woman — a woman who believed love could conquer all.

It couldn’t.

After a few hours of tossing and turning and a few more of fitful sleep, Sally climbed out of bed. She was used to rising with the roosters, and today was no exception.

The icicles hanging outside her window told her not to be fooled by the relative warmth of the heated wooden cabin. It was freezing outside. But she’d come prepared. She yanked on thermal underwear, a micro-fleece pullover, alpine ski pants, and waterproof hiking boots. Then she went out to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee, taking her cup out onto the screened porch.

The world was quiet. Time to breathe in the cold air and think.

And to remember.

She gazed across the snow-covered mountain scene, a myriad of past winter vacations at Lake Luzerne flashing through her mind. Lane and his skiing, progressing from his first wobbly time on the beginner slope to feeling his oats, speeding down the black diamond trail. Devon and her ice skating, zipping around the pond and trying to teach a few local dogs to do the same, helping them use the pads of their paws as skates. And little Meredith, sledding down hills with her daddy, squealing all the way, then building her first snow man — also with her daddy’s help.

Pete Montgomery was the center of the kids’ universe.

And of Sally’s.

Whoever coined the expression
opposites attract
must have had the two of them in mind. An outdoor girl from a sheltered, home-and-hearth family, and a tough, daring Brooklyn cop who was so integrally tied to his career that it was impossible to know where the cop ended and the man began.

They’d met at a Queens deli. Sally had just finished up that evening’s night classes; Pete was off duty and on his way home from the NYPD’s Seventy-fifth Precinct. They’d both stopped for a cup of coffee. They met at the counter. Two hours later, they were sitting in a booth, still talking. Part of it was fascination; part was sexual attraction. The rest was a mystery. But whatever it was, the combination was enough to lead them to the altar in four months flat, and then to create and adore three wonderful children.

And, oh, how Sally loved Pete. Enough to put her education on hold and defer her career as a nursery school teacher when Lane came along right away. Enough to give up her dreams of a big stone cottage in the country, a barnful of horses she’d teach her kids to ride, and acres and acres on which to do so, and instead to settle down in a semiattached house in Queens because of Pete’s crazy schedule.

Enough to replace old dreams with new ones.

All those things she could do.

But how many nights could she pace around their tiny bedroom in Little Neck, praying Pete would come home alive? How many days could she sit by the living room window, wondering what dangers he was facing while working the homicide or narcotics divisions? How many news reports could she see about a cop being shot down on the streets of Brooklyn without dying inside because she was sure it was him?

It got to the point that whenever the doorbell or the telephone rang, she’d brace herself, heart pounding, terrified it was
the
phone call — the one that would take Pete away from her forever.

Heaven help her, she wasn’t cut out to be the wife of a police detective. And the kids, God — the kids. What was this lifestyle doing to them? Lane was already becoming frighteningly like his father — a daredevil who thrived on danger and was rattled by nothing. Devon worshiped the ground Pete walked on, hanging on to his every word, wide-eyed, when he told her stories about his day — stories that made Sally cringe. Meredith was her mother’s daughter. She begged for a real house to live in, a pony to ride, and a school with trees and grass to play on, instead of a fenced-in blacktop playground.

Then there was the arguing. That tore the kids apart. They loved both their parents. Watching what was happening between them brought a whole new level of tension into the house.

The whole thing was too much.

Finally, Sally snapped. And ended it.

But at what cost?

She took a huge gulp of coffee, wincing as it scalded her mouth. Enough of Memory Lane. Time to work off her emotional energy.

She went back into the cabin, which remained utterly still. Then again, it was barely seven. The sun was just rising. Hardly an hour for Frederick to be up and about on his weekend away. Let him sleep. Sally would take a short hike and be back before eight. He’d never even know she was gone.

She shrugged into her goose-down parka, tugged on her insulated gloves, and headed out.

Frederick’s black Mercedes was parked in the frozen driveway. An S500 luxury sedan. The Pierson & Company standard issue, driven by all the business’s executives. Definitely frivolous, but the kind of status symbol that meant the world to Edward Pierson.

To each his own, Sally mused. In her eyes, the scenic beauty sprawled out beyond the sedan was far more valuable than any car. Nature at its miraculous best.

Glancing around, she took a few deep breaths of clean, mountain air, relishing the predawn quiet. She was tempted to pick up the Dude Ranch Trail and hike toward Lake George, but that would take too long. Instead, she’d walk into the village of Lake Luzerne. She’d stop at Rockwell Falls, which was breathtaking in its majestic plunge into the Hudson, then stroll a few local streets and head back to the cabin.

She took off briskly through the powdery snow.

HALF AN HOUR later, a car eased off the local road that led to the cabin and maneuvered into an alcove that was concealed by dried brush and icy tree branches. The hum of the motor went silent. The driver climbed out, scanning the ascending driveway and spotting the quaint little wooden cabin at the top of the hill.

Time for an unwelcome surprise.

IT WAS JUST after eight when Sally returned to the cabin. She felt invigorated. Her blood was pumping. Her face was tingling. And her endorphins had kicked in, filling her with renewed energy and optimism. New chances. New beginnings. New resolve.

She paused at the front door, shaking off the excess snow from her boots and smiling as she wondered how Frederick would react when he awakened to a big, homemade breakfast.

Yanking open the door, she stepped inside — and froze.

The wrought-iron coat stand was overturned in the living room, lying on the floor and creating a barrier between the living room and the front hall. Outerwear was strewn everywhere.

Behind it, Frederick was sprawled on his back, blood oozing from his forehead.

He wasn’t moving.

“Oh my God.” Sally vaulted over the mess, kneeling beside Frederick and groping for his wrist so she could feel for a pulse. “Frederick! Are you — ”

She never finished her sentence.

A rustle of motion sounded behind her. Before she could react, something heavy and solid struck the back of her skull.

Shards of pain shot through her head, and she crumpled to the floor.

IT WAS THE coughing that wrenched her back to consciousness. She couldn’t stop choking, her entire body racked with spasms. And her eyes. They burned unbearably.

She jerked upright, fighting to curtail the choking as knives of pain sliced through her head. Her fingers found the massive bump at the same time as she realized what was going on around her.

The cabin was on fire.

Flames had already engulfed the drapes, and were licking their way around the room, swallowing up the cabin in record time.

Frederick.

Sally crawled over to him, shouting his name and shaking him as hard as she could. No response. She pressed her fingers to his wrist, then his neck, to feel for a pulse. Nothing. Frantic, she pulled apart the sides of his bathrobe, pressing her ear to his chest. Not a flutter. And the blood. There was a massive amount of it still pouring from the gaping wound on his head, pooling all around them. Beneath the wound, Sally could see that his entire forehead was bashed in. And his eyes were wide-open and unseeing.

Dear God, he was dead.

A wooden beam crashed to the floor, sparks erupting next to Sally.

She struggled to her feet, feeling dizzy and close to fainting. There was so much smoke in the cabin now that she could hardly breathe, much less see the front door. If she didn’t get out of here now, it would be too late.

She turned around and grabbed Frederick’s legs, trying desperately to drag his body with her. It wouldn’t budge. Her conscience warred with itself, sickened by the inhumanity of leaving him here to burn to ashes. But she had to be practical. He was gone. She had to save herself.

Pulling the collar of her parka up over her mouth, she flipped up the hood and staggered for the door. She shoved it open with her gloved fist.

A blast of cold air struck her, and she tumbled out, swaying on her feet and falling to her knees in the snow. Her head was throbbing horribly, but she didn’t dare give in to the urge to collapse. She’d die. Either from hypothermia or from being devoured by the flames. Plus, she had no idea where the son of a bitch who’d done this had gone. He might be coming back to make sure his handiwork was completed.

She had to get out of here — now.

Shoving herself upright, she weaved away from the cabin.

It was rare for Devon to have a weekday morning off. When she was lucky enough to do so, she relished the event like a kid whose school was closed for a snow day. She slept late, took long baths, even went shopping or called a friend to gab over lunch.

Not today.

Today, she couldn’t even relax long enough to linger over her coffee and newspaper.

She jerked awake at seven thirty, with the vague awareness that she’d been having a bad dream. She took a quick shower, yanked on some comfortable sweats, then padded downstairs to feed, pamper, and walk her various pets. That done, she headed for the kitchen, where she gulped down a cup of coffee, swallowed a bowl of cereal, then proceeded to scrub her three-level town house from top to bottom.

She’d bought the place brand spanking new last spring. It was everything she wanted — two bedrooms, two baths, and all the amenities, plus lots of grassy areas for Terror, her high-energy, several-breeds-in-one terrier, to run around in. It was also in central Westchester, just a fifteen-minute drive to the clinic. That made responding to veterinary emergencies much easier.

The house was pretty tidy, with more clutter than dirt — thanks to her three very active pets. Terror’s chewed socks, Convict’s chase-and-destroy squeaky mice, and Runner’s food pellets were everywhere.

“You’re a slob,” Devon informed Runner, who was watching her restore his cage. “You may be a ferret, but you’re still a man.”

He returned to eating his breakfast. He didn’t look the least bit offended.

“I rest my case,” Devon proclaimed. She pivoted around to Terror, who was tugging at the sock she’d just picked up, trying to reclaim it. “That applies to you, too,” she told him. “Considering you go to work with me every day and wear out the staff at doggie day care, you have plenty of energy left over for the limited time we spend at home to turn this place into a laundry basket.”

Convict — a gray tabby whose appearance had earned her the name — rubbed up against Devon’s legs, meowing apologetically and trying to make peace.

“Connie, you, on the other hand, are clearly female,” Devon advised her, stooping to collect the last toy mouse and then scratch her cat’s ears. “Clever and diplomatic.”

Connie meowed again, this time distinctly pleased with herself.

“Don’t get carried away,” Devon muttered, resuming her cleaning. “I said you were smart, not neat. And the scratch marks on my kitchen cabinets have your name on them. We have to have a talk about that.”

Connie rounded the corner and disappeared.

“Like I said, smart.” Devon finished straightening up her pets’ messes, then scoured the house until it gleamed.

It didn’t help.

No matter how voraciously she cleaned, the motions of her hands couldn’t keep the turmoil of her thoughts in check. She kept thinking about her mother, and the uneasy feeling she couldn’t shake that something was wrong.

The telephone rang at a little before noon, and Devon plopped on the sofa, grateful for the interruption. It was probably Meredith, now a junior at SUNY Albany, who’d doubtless just opened her eyes and was eager to fill Devon in on the week’s academic and social highlights.

Talking to her kid sister would be good medicine.

Devon plucked the phone off its receiver. “Hello?”

“Devon Montgomery?” an official voice asked.

A prickle of apprehension. “Yes?”

“This is Sergeant Bill Jakes. I’m with the Warren County Sheriff’s Office.”

Warren County? That’s where Lake Luzerne was.

The prickle turned into a jab.

“Does this concern my mother?” Devon asked.

“Sally Montgomery. Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s been a fire. It started sometime around eight o’clock this morning at the cabin where your mother was staying. Unfortunately, that area’s fairly isolated. It took a while for someone living across the lake to spot the blaze and call it in. The air was so cold and dry that the fire spread like crazy. The cabin was already burned to the ground by the time the firefighters got to the scene. Even the surrounding woods were in flames. It took hours to bring things under control.” He cleared his throat. “We’re still searching the debris, but human remains have been found.”

Denial screamed inside Devon’s head. But she forced her thorough, analytical side to kick in. “Do you have any confirmation that any of those remains are my mother’s?”

“No, ma’am.” Another pause. “But, like I said, the fire destroyed everything. What’s left — let’s just say that it’ll take dental records to make any positive IDs.”