Wrong Place, Wrong Time (4 page)

“In other words, whoever was inside that cabin was burned beyond recognition,” Devon heard herself say. “In which case, we don’t know who the victim or victims were. It’s possible my mother wasn’t even there at the time.”

“Possible, but unlikely.” He fell silent, clearly uncomfortable about divulging too much detail. As an officer in a small rural community, he rarely dealt with violent loss of life.

Well, he was dealing with it now.

“Go on, Sergeant,” Devon pressed. “I want details. This is my mother we’re talking about.”

“I realize that.” He blew out a breath. “Look, as I mentioned, the location of that cabin is fairly isolated. We’ve combed the area, by car and by foot. We even did an aerial search. No sign of your mother. We did find a set of footprints leading into the village of Lake Luzerne. We followed them. We spoke to every single shop owner and employee. The baker and the coffee-shop proprietor remembered your mother. She was in the village around seven thirty. The baker said she’d stopped in, and mentioned being on her way back to the cabin. There were footprints confirming that.”

“Surely there were other sets of footprints in the village.”

“Yes, ma’am, but none that led back to the cabin. Just hers.”

“What about the car? Maybe she — ”

“The Mercedes she came in was still parked in the driveway. There were no new tire treads. The car hadn’t been moved. We traced the license plate. The vehicle belonged to Pierson & Company, which was no surprise. We’d already spoken with the owner of the cabin, who’s a business associate of Frederick Pierson’s. He confirmed that he’d loaned the place to Mr. Pierson and a lady friend for the weekend. So there’s little doubt that he and your mother were there. I just notified the Pierson family. They gave me your mother’s contact information.”

Devon didn’t want to talk about the Piersons. She wanted to talk about her mother. “What was the cause of the fire?”

“Undetermined. Maybe a cigarette. Maybe a candle. Maybe even a spark from the fireplace. A thorough investigation to determine the origin of the blaze is under way.”

“So you’re not convinced it was an accident.”

“We have no reason to believe otherwise.” He paused. “Do you?”

Devon gritted her teeth. “I’m not acquainted with Mr. Pierson, so I can’t speak for him. But, as for my mother, she doesn’t have an enemy in the world.”

“And yet you’re wondering if the fire was intentionally set.”

“I’m a police detective’s daughter, Sergeant. I ask questions.”

“Fair enough. I’ll try to answer them. Like I said, the cause of the fire is undetermined. The fire investigation unit is conducting its search. The coroner is on his way to the scene. Should anything suspicious be found, the investigation division of the sheriff’s office will take over. Given the loss of life, the state police will probably get involved. If need be, they’ll bring in specially trained dogs to sniff for accelerants. No stone will be left unturned. I hope that helps ease your mind.”

“Nothing will ease my mind except hearing that my mother wasn’t in that cabin.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Montgomery — pardon me,
Dr
. Montgomery,” he corrected himself. “I wish that were the case. But it doesn’t look good. I’d suggest you advise your family.”

“I intend to.” Devon was far from ready to accept what she was being told. “Sergeant Jakes…” She grabbed a pen and pad. “Please give me your contact information.”

“Of course.” He gave her his office and cell-phone number, and she scribbled them down.

“And your address?”

“We’re on Route Nine in Lake George. But — ”

“I’ll let you know if I decide to drive up.”

“Dr. Montgomery, I’d strongly recommend you stay put,” the sergeant advised her. “There’s nothing you can do here. Not yet. We’ll give you a call as soon as we’re finished at the scene and know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Devon didn’t respond to his not-so-subtle hint. She merely gave him her cell-phone number and her direct line at the clinic. “Please keep me posted on every detail,” she requested. “I’ll be in touch.”

With a shaking hand, she dropped the phone in its cradle.

She sank back on the sofa, tunneling her fingers through her hair. Lane. She had to call Lane, get him on the next plane to New York. And Meredith. She’d be a wreck. She was so sensitive, and so attached to their mother. On top of that, she was in Albany, halfway to Lake Luzerne. Restraining her from rushing up there to try to find their mother was going to be a near-impossible task.

Dozens of thoughts tumbled through Devon’s mind as she considered what had to be done.

But when she picked up the phone again, it wasn’t either of her siblings’ numbers she punched in.

PETE MONTGOMERY, OR “Monty” as he’d been dubbed since his Police Academy days, lowered his binoculars and leaned back in his well-worn Toyota Corolla. He was in a foul mood. For four days now, he’d been trailing this rich Scarsdale broad who was cheating on her millionaire husband. The case was laughably easy, since the woman had sex more often and more openly than he had lunch. The pictures he’d shot were beyond incriminating. They were his client’s ticket to “bye-bye alimony.”

But something was bugging Monty. He had a gut feeling that this woman and her biceps boyfriend had something else on tap, something bigger than just milking her rich husband in divorce court, then scooting off to Rio. And when he got a gut feeling, he always went with it. Because nine times out of ten, he was right. Consequently, he wasn’t turning over these porn shots until he figured out what was really going on.

He flipped open his file and began scanning the seemingly insignificant aspects of his case notes.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, the pucker between his brows softening as he punched the send button. “Hey, sweetie. What’s the matter — you’re off a few hours and already going stir-crazy?”

“Where are you, Monty?” Devon asked.

He frowned, hearing the somber note in her voice. “Outside a motel in White Plains. Not far from your neck of the woods. Why?”

“I need you to drop whatever you’re doing and come over. Now.”

“Done.” He shoved the cell phone into its hands-free cradle, then shifted the car into drive and veered out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Devon, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…” She cleared her throat, obviously striving for control. “Let’s not get into this on the phone, okay?”

“No, not okay. You’re a wreck. Are you hurt? In trouble?”

“It’s not me. It’s…” Something inside her seemed to shatter. “It’s Mom. She’s… I just got a call….” Devon sucked in her breath. Gone was the strong, composed woman who never exposed her vulnerability. In her place was the little girl whose tears he’d dried.

“Your mother? What about your mother?” he demanded.

“I’m not sure… She might be…” Her anguish tore at his heart. “Please, Daddy, just hurry.”

Monty flinched. How long had it been since Devon had called him Daddy? And Sally — what in God’s name had happened?

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Zooming down the ramp and onto the highway, he shot into the left lane and floored the accelerator.

DEVON YANKED OPEN her town-house door the instant she heard Monty’s car screech into the driveway. He was out of the driver’s seat and up her walk in one minute flat, his dark gaze assessing her as he stalked inside.

“What happened to Sally?” he demanded.

Swallowing, Devon shut the front door and leaned back against it. With that simulated calm she’d learned from her father, she relayed the entire scenario to him, from Sally’s trip to Lake Luzerne to the telephone call from Sergeant Jakes.

Arms folded across his chest, Monty absorbed every word, his forehead creased in concentration. Then he began pacing, his dark overcoat flapping around him, his mind clearly racing from one thought to another.

Abruptly, he came to a stop. “Human remains. That doesn’t tell us much.”

“It tells us someone’s dead.”

“Yeah, but how many someones? One? Two? And who started the fire? There’s no way it was an accident. Not if Sally was there. When she’s outdoors, she’s attuned to every sound and smell. She’d realize the cabin was burning long before escape became impossible, and evacuate the place. The only thing that would prevent her from doing so would be if she were incapacitated.”

Devon felt sick. “You think whoever set the fire trapped her inside?”

“Assuming she was in the cabin when the perp got there, he probably tried. But Sally’s a fighter. And her will to live, when it comes to you kids, is strong as hell. She’d smash her way out, whether she had to shatter a window or crack someone over the head with a log.” Monty scowled. “What worries me is that she’d never leave another person in there to burn to death. If this Pierson guy was with her, she’d drag him out. So why didn’t she?”

“Maybe she did. Maybe the human remains the cops found belong to the arsonist.”

“Nope.” A hard shake of his head. “That doesn’t wash. The car was Pierson’s. He’d have the keys, either on him or in his possession. Probably not on him, or Sally would’ve found them. Anyway, if he and Sally both got out of that cabin alive, they would’ve jumped into that car and taken off like bats out of hell.”

“Point taken. Do you think Mom was kidnapped?”

“For what? Her secondhand truck and whopping alimony checks? Pierson’s the one who’s a kidnapper’s dream, not Sally.”

“Which means Mom had to have gotten away. Unless…” Devon cleared her throat, forcing herself to make a verbal observation that tasted like poison on her tongue. “Monty, you’re not even entertaining Sergeant Jake’s theory. You and I are desperate to believe he’s wrong. But what if we’re deluding ourselves?”

“We’re not.”

“You’re so sure Mom’s alive?”

“Positive.” Monty didn’t so much as blink. “If she weren’t, I’d know.”

Devon choked up. Her father was a die-hard realist, one who didn’t let emotion cloud facts. She could argue that in this case, he was deviating from that, letting his feelings make him irrational. The funny thing was, she didn’t believe that was true. There was a connection between her parents, one that was as real as any proof.

“You’re right,” she agreed quietly. “You would.” An overwhelming surge of comfort flowed through her. “Lane’s on his way to New York,” she informed her father. “I called him the minute I hung up with you.”

“Where is he? In what country?”

“The U.S. He’s home. He’s grabbing the next flight out of LAX. He’ll be here tonight.”

“And Meredith?”

Devon blew out her breath. “That call’s going to be harder to make.”

“Sure will,” Monty agreed. “She’ll book herself on the next Greyhound heading for Lake George.”

“Exactly. And I’ve got to talk her out of it.” With another sigh, Devon reached for the phone.

“Tell her to hold off buying a ticket. Tell her I can get her there faster than any bus.”

Devon’s hand paused on the receiver. “Excuse me?”

“I’m driving up to Lake Luzerne. Now. I want to see firsthand what’s going on. Jakes will talk more freely to me, cop to cop. Plus, my being there will kick their asses into high gear. There’s something about the Seventy-fifth in Brooklyn that has a macho effect on cops in the boonies. Makes them want to prove they’ve got what it takes.”

“A good old-fashioned pissing match,” Devon muttered.

“Something like that. So tell Meredith to stay put. I’ll pick her up in an hour and a half. She can ride up with me.”

“So can I.” Devon rose.

“No.” Monty gave an adamant shake of his head. “You can’t. Stay here. I’ll call you the minute I know anything.” His jaw worked. “Devon, your mother’s out there somewhere. She’s going to contact us eventually. You’re home base. Be here to hold down the fort.”

“Okay,” she conceded. “I will. But, Monty…”

“Everything’s going to be fine.” He crossed over, gave Devon a quick kiss on top of her head. “You’ll see.”

Blake Pierson sat at the kitchen counter, his fingers steepled in front of him. He’d come up to the farm to relax, to get away from all the tension in the office. Instead, he was perched here, waiting for his grandparents to show up so they could discuss the ramifications of his uncle Frederick’s death.

It was like a bizarre nightmare.

Untangling his long legs from around the stool, Blake came to his feet. He wished he could
do
something. But there was nothing to be done. Not until his grandparents arrived. Then he’d have his work cut out for him.

The immediate family had all been notified. Edward had seen to that. He and Blake’s grandmother, Anne, had been the ones who’d gotten the phone call from the sheriff. That was a lousy twist of fate. Sure, Anne was one tough bird and Edward was practically made of stone. But they were nearing eighty now, and Edward’s heart attack last year had thrown them for a loop — a frightening wake-up call that drove home the reality of their own mortality. Finding out that their eldest son was dead might be more than they could handle. At least if they could have heard it from a family member first, someone who could cushion the blow, it might have helped.

But that’s not the way it had played out. The sheriff had done his best. Ascertaining that Frederick was a childless widower, he’d tried calling each of his brothers. He’d reached neither. Niles was in Wellington, Florida, watching his son, James, compete in the winter equestrian jumping competitions. And Gregory, Blake’s father, was in Italy, vacationing with his wife at their Tuscany villa. The sheriff had even tried phoning Pierson & Company, hoping to find an available family member in the office. No luck. Having run out of options, he’d called Edward and Anne at home.

Edward had not only received the news, he’d staunchly contacted both Niles and Gregory at their respective vacation locales. Each of them was now making immediate arrangements to return home.

The only grandchild Edward had gotten in touch with was Blake.

Blake had been up here at the farm, jogging through the woods with his golden retriever pup, Chomper, when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he’d recognized his grandparents’ home number and assumed there was some business crisis at Pierson & Company. He’d never imagined this. But he’d taken it in stride. He had to. If Frederick was dead, the fallout would be monumental.