Cold River (16 page)

Lowell reminded himself that he’d succeeded. Bowie’s arrival at the cemetery had caught him by surprise, but he’d managed to hide in time, then thought quickly, acted decisively, and knocked the rocks and debris on him and dealt with Hannah. He’d escaped down the wooded hillside without her or Bowie or Sean Cameron spotting him.

He hadn’t intended to take such an enormous risk. It’d just worked out that way. He’d seized the first clear—or what he’d thought was clear—opportunity to retrieve the copper wire he’d stored in the crypt. Now it was safely tucked in his woodshed.

By itself, the wire wasn’t incriminating. With black
powder, gunpowder, a pile of cell phones—then it would be a problem.

He’d never meant to be an operator, but he’d done what he’d had to do. He’d proved to himself a thousand times in the past year that he could step up to the plate and get the job done himself when necessary.

He was strong, too. Yes, he was a survivor.

S
ean came to a crooked stop at a meter down from Three Sisters Café and didn’t bother to straighten out the truck. He didn’t feed the meter, either. He was too impatient, and he had no intention of staying in the spot for long. He’d pay the damn parking ticket if he got one.

He launched himself up the sidewalk. The café lunch crowd had geared up, people ordering sandwiches on twelve-grain bread, wraps, quiches, the homemade soup of the day and servings of shepherd’s pie, chili and chicken pot pie.

He didn’t care. He went in through the main door and headed down the center hall, under the sweeping stairs to the kitchen.

Dominique Belair came at him, her fists clenched, her brown eyes wide with emotion. “I can’t believe you let her go out there alone.”

“I didn’t let her go alone.”

“She went to see Bowie O’Rourke, didn’t she?”

Reluctant to give an answer, Sean saw that Dominique didn’t need one.

“She did,” Dominique said with a sigh of resignation. “She sees a childhood friend where the rest of us see a man with a temper he can’t always control.”

“Where is Hannah now?”

Her friend clamped her mouth shut without responding. Dominique was the most private of the three “sisters” and, not being a Black Falls native, was an outsider to the good and the bad that came with growing up in a tight-knit small town.

Finally she pointed to the kitchen door that led to the mudroom. “Back there.”

Sean left her alone in the kitchen and headed back out into the hall. He saw Hannah’s jacket hung neatly on a peg in the mudroom and heard the scraping of a chair or stool across the floor in the adjoining pantry. He had no idea what it’d been back in 1835. A place to hang meat, for all he knew.

Hannah had her back to him as she stood on tiptoes on a wood chair and grabbed a can of tomato puree from a high shelf. “I know you’re here, Sean,” she said without looking around at him.

Holding the can in both arms, she stepped down from the chair. The bruising on her wrist stood out in the storage room light. Sean saw that she had tears in her eyes, but her protective shield was up, too, and he wondered if the emotions she was fighting were more than she could handle. He suddenly wasn’t sure he could handle them, either. Best, he thought, to keep an objective distance and focus on what he was there to do.

“Jo called me on my way back here,” he said. “She took a good look up at the crypt. She’s impressed you and Bowie weren’t hurt worse yesterday.”

“Did she find anything new?”

“No.”

“Frustrated?”

“We’d all be smart not to provoke her right now.”

“If you mean by going to see Bowie on my own, I’m not under arrest. Neither is he.” Hannah set the tomatoes on a shelf behind her. “You’re not afraid of Jo, are you, Sean?”

He grinned. “Jo? I can see her cutting the rope on the tire swing on Elijah when we were kids. She was so mad at him, she climbed up the tree and had at it while he was in the swing.”

“And you watched her and let her get away with it.”

“She did it before A.J. and I knew what she was up to.”

Hannah laughed, tightening the tie on her evergreen apron. “I remember that tire swing. I’d see it when we drove past her house. I was never…” She reached for another can on a lower shelf. “Dominique uses locally grown and canned tomatoes when she can. Beth doesn’t care.”

“I wish I had memories of you in a tire swing, squealing with laughter, hair flying.” Sean felt a pang of regret that caught him by surprise. “We grew up just down the road from the Harpers. It was natural for us to get together as kids.”

“Yes, and there’s a bond now among you all that was formed during your childhood.”

“Just as there is between you and Bowie.”

“All this drama, Sean,” she said, turning back to him with the second can of tomatoes. “No wonder you’re a millionaire. Who can win against you?”

He winked at her. “Now you’re with the program.”

“You’re afraid Bowie will hurt me, and I’m not.”

He nodded to her injured cheek and wrist. “Maybe he did hurt you.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said quietly. “I’m not so sure you do, either. If you thought he was dangerous, why did you come barreling across the cemetery? You saw his van. How’d you know Bowie wouldn’t attack you?”

“I didn’t know. I was only thinking about getting to you.”

Color rose in her cheeks, and she quickly picked up her other can. “Something you might want to keep in mind when you all start in on me about being impulsive and reckless. I guess we’re both lucky things worked out the way they did.”

“You don’t think I could have taken on Bowie?” Sean asked, amused.

“That’s not what I said. If he and I both were attacked, then someone else was out there.”

“All the more reason for me to have been there with you.”

Hannah held her tomato cans close to her chest. She was slim, smart and one who prided herself on not needing anything from anyone. Maybe it was the tension of knowing she was holding back on him that had him noticing everything about her—had him wanting to keep her safe. He’d never met anyone more capable or self-reliant, but she looked so small standing there with her can of tomato puree. Even back in high school, she’d had a way of tying him in knots.

He’d never liked being tied up in knots. He liked having things straightforward, and he liked being in control as much as she did.

“You went out there this morning because you think Bowie knows something,” Sean said, forcing any gruffness out of his voice. “But you’re not sure, and you don’t want to focus attention on him if you’re wrong—”

“I already got all you Camerons focused on him.”

“He got us focused on him himself.”

“How, by returning home?”

“You’re not naive,” Sean said. “You know that Bowie’s…”

“What? From the wrong side of town? Yes, Sean, that I do know, because I am, too.”

He fought a surge of exasperation at the same time he wanted to take her into his arms and carry her upstairs to her apartment. Toby and Devin could be there, and Dominique was down in the café kitchen with her knives and doubts about him and his motives.

Was Hannah ever alone—and how long had it been since she’d had a man in her life?

Sean watched her, acknowledging a disturbing thought.
Had she gone to O’Rourke’s in March in part because she’d hoped Bowie would turn up? Now that he was back in town, was she tempted to strike up a relationship with him?

Just as well he was heading back to California in the morning. As clear-eyed as he was in business and on a fire call, he’d never been clear-eyed where Hannah Shay was concerned.

“All I’m asking,” he said, noticing a few strands of her hair slipping from her ponytail into her face, “is for you to trust me. We’re not on opposite sides.”

She looked down at her bruised wrist. “I do trust you, Sean.” Any anger and defensiveness seemed to have drained out of her. “I appreciate what you’re doing for Devin. You’ve worked hard and done well. Good for you.”

“Feel even less guilty about sending me the bill for the repairs to the cellar?”

Her eyes finally sparked with humor. “I never did feel guilty.”

“I should have known.” He laughed and tucked the stray hairs behind her ear, the bruising on her face a reminder of what was at stake if she were wrong about Bowie O’Rourke. “I’m going up to the lodge if you decide to—”

“Come clean?”

He smiled, dropping his hand back to his side. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I have work to do here. I also promised Devin and Toby we’d do something special for dinner on their last night here.”

She seemed determined not to dampen her brothers’ excitement, but Sean saw how much she’d miss them. He wished he could think of something to say to make her feel better but just left her to her work and returned to the café dining room.

The lunch crowd had dissipated, but Rose was there, in
front of a riverside window, staring down at the snow and ice. She didn’t look up as he stood next to her. “You’re a bastard, Sean, you know that?”

“That seems to be the general consensus today.”

She turned and glared at him. “Hannah’s been half in love with you since ninth grade, and you and A.J. and Elijah are all playing on that because you think she’s got some insight or information about these killers.”

“Rose, what the hell’s the matter with you?”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “You’re going to break her damn heart, Sean.”

He frowned at his sister and said nothing.

“You, Elijah and A.J. are taking your frustrations with the slow pace of the investigation out on Hannah. She’s an easy target.” Rose shifted her gaze back to the river. “You’re all bastards. All three of you.”

“Anything else?”

“You’re leaving tomorrow and taking her brothers with you. Hannah will be here alone.”

“She won’t be alone. She has you, Dominique and Beth and half the cops in town are here on a daily basis. Come on, Rose. Get a grip. Hannah’s never been alone.”

“I mean alone here. In this building. At night. She’s never lived by herself. Even when she rented a room at Judge Robinson’s, he and Ginny were around.”

“You live by yourself.”

“That’s different.” She inhaled, glancing up at him with a directness that immediately struck him as feigned, as if she were desperate to have him think she had nothing to hide. “I’m used to it.”

“Rose, what’s going on with you?”

“Other than Pop getting murdered and people blown up and shot and more killings likely in the works?”

Sean felt a jolt of fear for his sister. “Rose…what’s wrong?”

She looked back out the window, softening ever so slightly. “What’s your big hurry to get back to California?”

“I only came out here for Christmas. I stay in touch with the investigation. If I need to be back here, I’ll get on a plane. I have responsibilities there.” He tried to smile and ease the tension between them. “And it’s cold here.”

“But Hannah—”

“She’s tougher than most people think.”

His sister angled her eyes at him, still combative and tense. “So that means you can lead her on for your own purposes and then dump her?”

Sean settled back on his heels. “Who are we talking about here, Rose?”

“I’ve said my piece. You know where I’m coming from.”

She bolted across the café, nearly knocking over Myrtle Smith, who had on a down vest, a heavy wool sweater and pants and boots with thick soles. No gloves. She waved her fingers, the nails painted a deep red, as she joined him at the window. “I just had a manicure here in town. Not bad. It’s all that saves me from turning into a mountain woman. I swore I wouldn’t cave and invest in a parka, but I hit the lodge shop today. I noticed your brother sells the pricey stuff there and wears Carhartt himself.”

Sean had come to appreciate Myrtle’s crusty charm, as well as her keen, uncompromising instincts as a reporter. “The lodge offers a range of prices.”

“Very diplomatic of you. You own this building, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Here’s what I think. Get rid of the gallery across the hall. It’s struggling, and the owners just need a nudge to move to a cheaper place. Then expand the café and add a dinner service on that side of the house. There’s a working fireplace over there. It could be nice. Intimate.”

“I don’t run either business—”

“But you have influence.” She gave a small moan. “Listen to me. I’m desperate. I’m bored out of my mind.”

“You could go home to Washington.”

“I could,” she said without looking at him.

He was silent a moment. “It’s still hard, isn’t it?” he asked.

She turned to him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ever wish you’d taken a different path in life? Never mind. You’re too young.”

“Grit tells me you’re not a romantic and I shouldn’t be fooled.”

“He’s suffering. The leg’s bad, but the friend he lost in Afghanistan still weighs on his mind. Moose Ferrerra. He was a SEAL, too. His wife had a baby boy after he died and named him for Grit and Elijah. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I’ve seen a lot of tragedy in my work, but that one…” She sighed again and turned back to the window. “Grit’s just a kid. I should quit complaining.”

“You had a friend who was killed by this network.”

“Andrei. He was intense, interesting. One of my flings. It wouldn’t have lasted, but he didn’t deserve to have his toothpaste poisoned. Someone paid someone to make it happen.” She glanced up at Sean, her lavender eyes shimmering with barely suppressed anger. “I want them all. Who paid to have him killed, who arranged for someone to kill him, who did the killing.”

“The police know Rigby and Kendall were in London when Petrov was killed.”

“What if they met another killer there? I want everything. Every detail.” She resumed staring out the tall window. “What about you? Anyone else besides your father who could be a part of this thing?”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

Her eyes were a dark lavender as she glanced sideways at him. “Think about giving the gallery the boot. You’d be doing them a favor.”