The Cabin (16 page)

into the room. He felt along the wall for the light switch.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and knew he was

too late. He turned in a defensive move, automatically,

deflecting the blow slightly as he was struck behind his

left ear. Pain erupted in his head, spreading into his jaw

and down his neck. Acting on training and instinct, he

shot out one arm and snatched the weapon before his

attacker could strike again.

It was a stick, a pole, something long and thin. He

jerked it hard, trying to knock his attacker off balance,

but whoever it was had already made off down the hall.

There were panicked footsteps on the stairs.

Jack sank forward onto his knees, fighting to stay

conscious.

He could smell lavender in the dark bedroom. He rec-

ognized it because it was Susanna’s favorite scent.

Voices now. Whispers in the front hall.

He stifled a wave of nausea and staggered to his feet,

finding the switch for the overhead. The light was an-

other blow. His face tingled, and he saw black spots, his

head throbbing.

He’d been hit with one of Iris’s walking sticks—that

was what he’d snatched from his attacker. He still hung

on to it. Burglars, taking advantage of an empty house?

They could have seen Susanna, Iris, Maggie and Ellen

pack up and leave and decided to seize the moment.

Plausible, but unlikely.

He felt along his hairline, behind his ear. Some blood.

A nasty lump.

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131

He took the walking stick and made his way down

the stairs, through the hall to the back of the house.

Ahead of him, he heard a door shut hard. He pushed

back the pain and nausea and moved quickly into the

kitchen, then out onto the small, open porch.

The winter cold slapped him in the face. He could hear

a dog barking in the neighborhood, music playing, cars

out on the street. The yard was quiet, lights from nearby

houses creating eerie shadows on the drifting snow.

The sharp pain in his head settled into a persistent,

pounding ache. He ignored it and followed the sanded,

shoveled walk out to the front of Iris Dunning’s old house.

Nothing. Whoever he’d come upon upstairs had got-

ten the hell out of there.

Jack scooped up a handful of snow, placed it on the

lump on his head and retraced his steps to the kitchen.

He put a couple of ice cubes in a plastic sandwich bag

and noticed the stack of college handbooks on the table.

His wife and daughters and eighty-two-year-old Iris

Dunning were on the road alone.

He placed the ice on his head and checked the house,

quickly and efficiently, room by room. Nothing was ob-

viously missing, ransacked, searched or vandalized.

That could mean anything. They’d known where to

find whatever they were looking for and didn’t need to

wreck the place. They weren’t after anything concrete.

He’d interrupted them before they could finish.

Jack didn’t take the time to do a thorough search of

Susanna’s room. He’d find Blackwater Lake and her

cabin on his own. He didn’t need precise directions.

He locked up and headed down the street to Jim’s Place.

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Carla Neggers

It was crowded, an argument raging between Davey

Ahearn and a group of construction workers about the Red

Sox chances this year. Jack didn’t take a seat. He briefly

told Jim what had happened at Iris’s house. “Blackwater

Lake. Can you give me a general idea where it is?”

“High Peaks Region,” Jim said. “You want an ice

pack for that head?”

“That’d be good. Thanks.”

Jim took Jack’s sandwich bag of melting ice cubes

out back and returned a half minute later with a proper

ice pack. “I can call the police,” he said.

“I don’t want to get delayed. I’ll call once I’m on my

way. They won’t like it.” Jack placed the ice pack on his

lump and gritted his teeth in disgust. “I never saw the

hit coming. Damn. There was no forced entry. The win-

dows and doors checked out. Who else has a key?”

“To Iris’s place? The world.”

Jack nodded, which he regretted immediately, pain

spreading into his teeth, pounding behind his eyes. “Au-

drey Melbourne?”

“I don’t know. She and Iris have been tight the past

few weeks. Maybe Iris asked Audrey to look after the

house while she was in the mountains, before Susanna

found out about her.” Jim Haviland spooned curried

corn chowder into a heavy bowl and shoved it across the

bar. “You’ll need to eat something before you hit the

road. I’d pour you a shot of whiskey, but it’s a long drive

up to the Adirondacks.”

“She’s not an easy woman,” Jack said.

Jim seemed to know he meant Susanna. “No, she’s

not.”

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133

“That’s a goddamn understatement,” Davey Ahearn

said. He lumbered over with a map, spreading it out on

the bar next to Jack’s soup. He thumped a callused fin-

ger on upstate New York. “In summer you could take

the ferry across Lake Champlain. Can’t in February.”

“I know. My in-laws have a place on the New York

side of the lake.

“Kev.” Davey shook his head, sighing in commiser-

ation. “I hope he never hears about this little escapade.

Susanna’s always given him fits. I guess none of us’d

like her if she were too easy. Anyway, I’d take I-93 to

New Hampshire and pick up I-89, then go across Ver-

mont on Route 4. When you hit New York, pick up the

Northway in Fort Ticonderoga.”

“Nah. That’s too complicated this time of night,” Jim

said. “He’ll end up in Montreal or Maine or some damn

thing.” He pulled out a red ballpoint and put on his read-

ing glasses, examining the map. “I’d take the Mass Pike

and pick up the Northway in Albany.” He drew a red line

along his preferred route.

“Which route is the one Susanna most likely took?”

Jack asked.

Davey sighed. “The Pike,” he acknowledged.

Jim continued his red line north into upstate New

York. “Get off at the exit for Lake Place, Keene Valley

and Saranac Lake. It’ll be another forty-five minutes,

minimum, out to Blackwater Lake from the interstate.

I haven’t been up that way in years, but I doubt it’s

changed. Darker than the pits of hell, twisting roads. At

night when you’re tired—”

“I won’t be tired,” Jack said.

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Carla Neggers

“You might have a concussion.”

Jack said nothing.

Jim and Davey both seemed to know arguing was fu-

tile. In his shoes, they’d do the same. “The adrenaline’ll

keep you alert,” Davey said, returning to his stool.

The soup was spicy and hot, but it turned Jack’s

stomach. He ate all the crackers as he studied his route.

The Pike, the Northway, Blackwater Lake. He could do

it without passing out.

“Watch for moose up there at night,” Davey said.

“You hit them in the legs, they fall onto your wind-

shield and crush you to death.”

Moose. Hell. “Thanks for the warning.” Jack folded

the map neatly and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll

need to rent a car.”

Davey waved a hand in dismissal. “No problem

there. Transportation I’ve got. I bought a new truck—

I’m still trying to unload the old one. It’s yours for as

long as you need it.” He dug the keys out of his pants

pockets, grinning over at Jack. “Sometimes I think if

I’d chased after an ex-wife or two instead of saying

the hell with it, I might not be sitting here every

night.”

Jim Haviland shook his head in mock despair. “He’s

deluding himself, Jack. Davey’s wives chased him off.

They were glad to be rid of him and vice versa. Mar-

ried life doesn’t suit him. His truck’s in good shape. He’s

charging an arm and a leg for it, which is why it’s still

available.”

“I’m asking a fair price,” Davey said.

The construction workers, who’d apparently checked

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135

out the truck themselves, hooted in protest from their

table, and a fresh argument was on. Jack managed to

get the keys and a sense of where the truck was parked,

then left.

The puddles from the melting snow and ice had fro-

zen over, creating treacherous patches of black ice. The

houses and streetlights glowed brightly in the cold. Jack

made his way across the street. Susanna had to be re-

ally pissed to have left tonight.

And scared. Except she never liked to admit when

she was scared, tried not even to acknowledge it to her-

self. Better to be angry and stubborn, to keep secrets.

To run.

Davey Ahearn’s truck smelled like cigarettes but oth-

erwise was immaculate. The engine started on the first

try. It seemed to run fine.

Susanna would calculate the projected return on her

investments down to the last damn dime, but she

wouldn’t think to calculate what would happen if she

stood him up in a Boston bar and took off for the wil-

derness without telling him.

And now he’d been hit on the head.

It was a five- to six-hour drive to the Adirondacks,

but Jack doubted he’d be in a better mood when he

got there.

Susanna paid the toll at the end of the Massachusetts

Turnpike and continued west into New York State. She’d

turned her cell phone back on, and she’d told Maggie

and Ellen about their father turning up in Boston.

Ellen sighed from the back seat. “We told him not to

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Carla Neggers

go all tight-lipped Texas Ranger on you. He knows it

makes you mad.”

“I was mad,” Susanna admitted. “I’m not so mad now.”

“No,” Maggie said, “because
he
is. That’s a phenom-

enon we studied in psychology class.”

One semester of psychology, and she was an expert.

Susanna glanced over at Gran, who was staring out her

window at the dark landscape, removing herself from

this discussion.

“I can’t believe you stood him up,” Ellen said in

amazement. “Geez, Mom.”

“I wasn’t trying to goad him.” Susanna sighed, not

sure she could explain her motives to herself, never

mind her daughters. “This wasn’t just about him show-

ing up unannounced. Frankly, I’m unnerved about this

Alice Parker thing.”

Ellen didn’t get it. “But, Mom, Dad
is
a Texas Ran-

ger. He can help figure out what’s going on, why she’s

here, why she lied to us. He’s the one who put her in

prison.”

“Ellen has a point,” Maggie said sagely. “Alice Par-

ker is Dad’s responsibility. If this were about money or

one of your clients, you’d want him to listen to your ad-

vice and respect your expertise.”

“This doesn’t just involve you father,” Susanna said

steadily, ignoring the twist of fear in her gut. “It involves

all of us. Normally his work doesn’t affect our lives this

way. Look, your dad and I will work this out.” She

smiled into the rearview mirror at both girls. “Don’t you

two worry about it. Let’s concentrate on having a good

time in the mountains.”

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137

They stopped for gas just north of Albany. While Iris

and the girls fanned out to the rest room and snack

shelves, Susanna ducked into a corner with her cell

phone and dialed Jack’s number.

He answered on the second ring, and she took a sharp

breath at the sound of his voice. Even his hello didn’t

sound pleased or patient. In his place, she supposed

hers wouldn’t, either. “It’s me,” she said. “We’re at a

quick-stop about ten miles north of Albany.”

“Not too far ahead of me.”

“What?”

“Davey Ahearn loaned me a truck.”

“Jack, there’s no reason for you to come to the Adi -

rondacks with us. Alice Parker is in Boston—”

“I have directions to the lake, not to the cabin. Are

you going to tell me how to get there or do I have to fig-

ure it out for myself?”

Susanna opened a glass door and pulled out a bottle

of cold water, her knees shaking under her. Something

was wrong. She could hear it in his voice. He wasn’t just

short-tempered and irritated with her for bolting—he

wasn’t following her for payback. There was an edge.

Worry, not just frustration with her for sneaking out on

him. “Has something happened? Jack—”

“I’m losing the signal. We can talk later.”

She quickly gave him directions. “Jack—”

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

The connection went dead, and Susanna grabbed a

bag of chips and joined Gran, Maggie and Ellen at the

checkout counter. “Did you reach Dad?” Ellen asked.

“Yes, he’s on his way.”

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Carla Neggers

Ellen laughed. “You mean he’s following us to

Blackwater Lake? Oh, cool. I can’t wait to see him on

snowshoes.”

Maggie narrowed her dark eyes on her mother.

“Mom, is everything okay?”

“As far as I know, yes, everything’s fine.”

Gran was plainly suspicious, but said nothing. They