Cold River (14 page)

H
annah checked Bowie’s place on the river first, but his van wasn’t in the short driveway. He lived in a wreck of a house that he claimed to be renovating. Wood was stacked neatly under a homemade lean-to, smoke curling out of a stovepipe chimney. This wasn’t the romanticized Vermont of postcards, nostalgia or tourists. There were a few houses strung along the river on what was now a back road, a stone wall running along one side of what used to be a more traveled road.

Keep going, and she’d end up back at the logging road at the base of the north side of Cameron Mountain where Sean had parked yesterday. Could Kyle Rigby and Melanie Kendall simply have had Drew Cameron under surveillance and followed him up the mountain? The April snowstorm would have covered their tracks. No one was sure of Drew’s exact route, but he hadn’t parked at the old logging road at the bottom of the short, steep trail down from the north side of the mountain. As near as anyone could figure, he’d taken one of the main trails that started out by the lodge.

The police didn’t believe the two killers had followed him. They believed they’d waited for him in his cabin.

Which meant they’d known about it in advance.

The wind stirred up snow as Hannah got out of her car.
The river was frozen, the silence almost eerie. The landscape seemed so desolate. Or maybe it was her mood.

She didn’t linger and headed back down the road to the open stretch of the river that was light-years from the narrow, isolated hollow where she had spent the first twenty years of her life. The house where she’d grown up had been condemned and torn down. Her mother used to joke about setting fire to it, but she’d loved its quiet, pretty location. She’d commuted from home to Castleton State College, until she finally saved enough money to rent a room at the Robinsons’ house. She’d just graduated from college when her mother died, leaving Devin and Toby underage orphans. Foster care had loomed if Hannah hadn’t gone to Judge Robinson and begged him to help her figure out how to become their legal guardian.

She came to the Whittaker estate, which had always been owned by out-of-staters. Bowie’s van was parked in the turnaround by the stone guesthouse. It had been divided into two side-by-side apartments. Hannah followed an icy walk to the front porch and called to him. He didn’t answer, but she went inside anyway, finding him in the apartment where Nora Asher had lived briefly. All her belongings had been removed, and Bowie had already moved furniture out of his way and covered it up with paint cloths.

His face had blossomed into purple splotches. The bandage on his hand seemed to be free of blood. “Hey.” He barely looked up from a small tub of Spackle set out on newspaper. “What can I do for you, Hannah?”

“Just wanted to check on you. How’s your head?”

“A handful of ibuprofen does wonders.” He stood up with a dab of thick white paste on the end of a small putty knife. “Crazy to paint this place if you ask me. Doesn’t it look fine to you? Just a few nail holes to patch. There’s some minor work to do on the chimney, too.”

“Hard to believe Melanie Kendall and Kyle Rigby had the gall to stay here right under everyone’s noses. Did you run into them at all in November or back in April?”

“I told the Cameron boys and Jo Harper
and
Scott Thorne yesterday that I saw Kendall with Thomas Asher at the Four Corners church when they were up here in October. They were taking pictures. I only saw her that one time.”

“What were you doing in town?”

“Looking at a potential job.”

“The culvert?”

He glanced over at her. “Does it matter? I don’t recall ever running into Rigby. Jo showed me a picture of him, but I’d seen his picture in the newspaper and on television. I’d remember him if I’d seen him.”

Hannah watched Bowie work for a moment. “I imagine your probation officer wants you to stay as far away from this business as possible. That mishap yesterday…”

He slapped the Spackle onto the living room wall. “Bad timing.”

“Bowie, when I was up on the mountain yesterday, I got a good look at part of the foundation to Drew’s cabin. The original foundation would be almost two hundred years old. You can imagine the damage done over the years. He must have rebuilt it entirely.”

“I imagine so,” Bowie said.

“Even if he could have done the actual work on his own, I don’t know that he had the expertise in stonework to manage without help of some kind. What do you think?”

“You asking me from a technical point of view?”

She let his suspicion slide past her. “I’d appreciate your expert opinion, yes.”

“I could do the job on my own. Drew could if he knew what he was doing and had the right equipment and materials.”

“
Did
he know what he was doing?”

Bowie worked the paste into the nail hole with his thumb and smoothed it out with the side of his uninjured hand. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Your guess?”

“I’m not guessing, Hannah.”

“Cutting down trees, trimming them, constructing the cabin itself—I can see Drew handling that part on his own. But the stonework…”

Bowie didn’t look back at her as he spoke. “If he had help with any of it, not just the stonework, that means someone else knew about the cabin. Is that what you’re getting at, Hannah?”

She watched him dip his putty knife back into the Spackle tub. “Bowie…”

He stood up with fresh paste on the end of his knife and gave her a cool look. “I didn’t help Drew. If I had, I’d have said something by now.”

“Did you help him find that old cellar hole?”

“No. What about you? Your dad’s hobby was looking for old cellar holes. I went with him a few times. So did you. Did you two ever run into the old Cameron cellar hole?”

“My father had an idea it was on the north side of the mountain. We looked for it a few times. Drew had been looking for it on and off for years. That wasn’t a secret.” She stepped back as he slapped the Spackle onto the wall. “Did you point him in the right direction?”

“We talked about possibilities from time to time,” Bowie said, obviously reluctant to talk. “I gave him pointers on what to look for—trees, shrubs, groundcover, abandoned wells, the lay of the land. That’s it. I might be able to find it on my own now, but only because of what I’ve heard since November.”

“There’s no love lost between you and the Camerons.”

“I may have a short fuse, but I don’t hold grudges. Drew mellowed some. He’d come by and talk when I was doing a job at the Four Corners church the winter before he died.”

“About what?”

“Stonework, mostly.”

By then, Drew had already had Devin haul supplies up the back side of the mountain for his secret project building his small post-and-beam cabin on the site where Camerons had first settled in Black Falls.

“Did you know Drew was missing in April?” Hannah asked. “You were in jail—”

“I know where I was,” he said, not harshly. “I didn’t know until after Devin had already found him. It wouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t know about the cabin. If I had and I’d realized he was missing and had probably gone up there, I’d have said something. I sure as hell wouldn’t have left your brother to find him.”

“Bowie,” Hannah said, “you know what I’m getting at.”

“Yeah. I’m going to end up on the cops’ radar. I guess I’m already there.”

“On Cameron radar, too. Especially after yesterday.”

“I don’t need you looking after me.”

She picked up a pebble-size piece of dried Spackle. “What about Alex Bruni, Nora Asher’s stepfather? He was the ambassador who was killed in the hit-and-run in Washington.”

“Yeah. I know. I saw him in town a few times. I knew who he was, but we never spoke.”

“How did you know who he was?”

“People talk.”

“What people?”

“People who stop at O’Rourke’s for a beer after a hard day’s work.” He sighed at her. “Who put you on this investigation?”

“I’m not on the investigation,” Hannah said, keeping her tone neutral.

He shook his head at her. “You’re a hound on a trail,
Hannah. Drew never took me up the mountain with him, but I knew he was up to something. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. He obviously didn’t want to talk.” Bowie turned and smoothed the Spackle with the flat of his knife. “Something I can respect.”

She ignored his gibe. “If you had information that would help the investigation, you’d tell the police, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t wait to be specifically asked—”

“I already told you as much.” He continued with his work without looking at her. “Ever wonder if Sean or A.J. or Elijah killed Melanie Kendall? Elijah managed to get Nora Asher out of the car in time. How? What if he knew A.J. would trigger the bomb? What if he knew his friend Grit would—if he’d called Grit before heading out to the parking lot?’

“You don’t believe that.”

“What if a Cameron’s your killer mastermind? Ever think of that?”

“No.”

Bowie finally stood back from the wall and turned to her. “Anything else, Hannah?”

“Are you mad at me for being at O’Rourke’s that night?”

“Nope. You had a right to be there.”

“The insults—”

“Those guys are dolts. They deserved what they got, but I was stupid to give it to them. Derek Cutshaw, especially, is an idiot.”

“What he said…” Hannah hesitated. “The prejudices about how I grew up I’m used to. The rest. The really personal stuff. You kept them from going into detail.” She licked her lips, awkward now, but also determined to learn the truth. “Bowie, were those comments about me?”

He steadied his dark eyes on her. “Does it matter? It’s over. I’ve got a job to do here.” He turned back to the wall
and rubbed his callused fingers over the drying Spackle. “Did Sean send you out here? Or was it a joint decision between him and his brothers?”

“No one sent me.”

“Good. I don’t need the Camerons and the Harpers on my case. Jo’s a pit bull these days.” He glanced back at her. “You don’t need them on your case, either, Hannah. Let the police investigate what they want to investigate. Do you know something they don’t?”

“About stonework, maybe.”

“Your dad taught you a few things,” Bowie said.

“Yes, he did.”

When he wasn’t in prison. It wasn’t until she was a teenager and he’d already been dead for several years that she’d finally understood that his troubled history explained the big age difference between her and her brothers.

“He didn’t kill himself,” she whispered. “I know you’ve wondered—”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“His death was hard on you, too. He wasn’t perfect. We know that, but he never laid a hand on either of us. He believed in both of us.” She fought back unexpected tears. “Bowie, he always hoped you’d stay out of jail. He didn’t want you following in his footsteps in that way.”

His eyes were half-closed again, the bruises and swelling on his face making him look even more like a man a woman alone would be smart to avoid. “I never would have hurt you or let anyone else hurt you that night at Liam’s.”

“I know that, Bowie.”

“The Camerons don’t.”

She didn’t argue with him.

“They think you have a blind spot where I’m concerned,” he said, then looked at her. “Maybe you do.”

She shrugged. “All right. Maybe I do.”

“Can you become a prosecutor with a father who was in prison?”

“I am who I am. My past, my family, my friends—I can’t change any of it.”

“Would you if you could?”

“And what, grow up on a dairy farm?” Despite her tension, she managed a smile. “Cows give me the creeps.”

He didn’t return her smile. “You deserved better than what you got. Your dad wanted to do the right thing. When you stand in judgment of someone, remember that.”

“I will, but I won’t be standing in judgment of anyone. That’s for the jury.”

“You’ll be the prosecutor. You’ll decide whether to take a case to trial or drop the charges.”

“The prosecutor is a truth-seeker.”

He laughed. “Yeah, right. You know better. Prosecutors are just like any other lawyer. They want to win their case.” His laughter faded. “What truth are you seeking now, Hannah?”

“The same as everyone else in town.”

Through the front window, she saw Sean coming up the walk, the morning sunlight outlining the uncompromising angles of his face. He mounted the steps to the porch, moving deliberately, in no apparent hurry. Hannah wondered if Bowie saw him, too.

Of
course
Sean hadn’t resisted coming after her. The man was on a mission, and she was it.

She stifled a surge of warmth and turned back to Bowie. “I want to know who’s behind these killings,” she said.

“It’s not your job to find out.”

“If you ever want to talk to me, you know where to find me.”

Sean stepped into the entry and stood in the doorway to the apartment Nora Asher had occupied for such a short time.
Bowie looked at him without expression as he addressed Hannah. “Go bake cookies and study to be a lawyer.”

She shot out the door, passing Sean without a word. He could have grabbed her and stopped her, or said something, but he just let her go. She didn’t slow her pace until she hit the icy walk. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the bright sun on the snow.

Vivian Whittaker was on cross-country skis, making her way down from the dark gray farmhouse visible on top of a long, open slope above the river. “Brr.” She gave an exaggerated shiver as she came to the edge of the guesthouse walk. She wore expensive cross-country ski clothes. Only her red cheeks looked cold. “I can’t believe how cold it is. I should have checked the thermometer. I was fooled by the sun. It makes everything sparkle and look so warm and inviting.”

“It can be deceptive,” Hannah said, a gust of wind penetrating her thin jacket.

“Are you here to see Bowie?”

“I just stopped to say hello.”

“I see. I have to admit…” Vivian looked toward the guesthouse. “He makes me a little nervous. I think he does Lowell, too.”

Hannah said nothing. What was there to say? Maybe the Whittakers were smart to be nervous and she was the one who was making no sense.