Cold River (19 page)

Charlie spoke as if they were all personal friends, but that was the way he was. Grit dipped a finger into a pool of syrup on Charlie’s plate and licked it. “It’s not tupelo honey, but it’s not bad. Yeah. Sean and the Shay brothers are in California. Hannah’s here. So?”

“Think they’ll see stars? I don’t mean stars in the sky.” Charlie ate another forkful of dripping pancakes. “I mean celebrities.”

“I need to warn you. You haven’t seen Jo Harper since you shot her in the butt with airsoft pellets. She and the Camerons have had a rough time since then.”

“I know. My cousin Charlie helped figure out a network of killers was behind Drew Cameron’s death in April.”

Grit decided it was just as well Charlie kept up the charade that he was his cousin Conor and not the son of the vice president of the United States. He could claim he thought he was talking to Conor Neal. Not that anyone would believe him. But he could. “My point is, Jo’s still a Secret Service agent. Badge, gun, no sense of humor when it comes to your prince-and-the-pauper antics.”

“
Any
of my antics,” Charlie said. “Not that I’m always the one responsible. Conor does his share of damage.”

“What, Charlie, giving up on pretending to be your cousin?”

He shrugged. “I tried. Agent Harper had no sense of humor even when she was assigned to my sister Marissa. Marissa’s never any trouble. She’s the history teacher who was almost burned to death a few months ago—”

“An accident. Don’t reach for problems.”

“You met Marissa, remember?”

“I do.”

Marissa was the eldest of Charlie’s four sisters. Grit had run into her in November when he’d dropped her little brother—her only brother—at his private school in northern Virginia, where she taught history. Myrtle had been with him. Neither woman had wanted details on just what all Charlie had been up to out on his own on the streets of Washington. He had, in fact, provided information that had led police to a critical eyewitness to the hit-and-run that had killed Ambassador Alexander Bruni.

Grit hadn’t had a brotherly reaction to Marissa Neal. He’d forgotten about that. It had to be a good sign.

He stayed focused on Charlie and prompted him. “Southern California.”

“Marissa is suspicious. I tried to get her to take me to Beverly Hills with her to see the stars. She has an ex-boyfriend in Los Angeles. He’s an actor. He dumped her when our dad was elected vice president. He didn’t want the scrutiny, which I can understand, can’t you?”

“No.”

“You really can’t?”

“I’m not judging. I just don’t understand why you’d dump someone because you didn’t want scrutiny.”

“That’s because you’ve been through SEAL training.”

“It’s because I grew up in a swamp,” Grit said. “What do you want?”

If Charlie was worried about Secret Service agents descending on him, he didn’t show it. He slid a CD case across the table to Grit. “I wanted to give you this information. I told you when we spoke a few days ago. I’ve been doing research.”

“You could have e-mailed it to me.”

“I don’t have your e-mail address.”

“You could have asked for it. You could have set one up
for me. You’re a genius. You could have figured out something besides sneaking on a train and checking yourself into a cheap motel.”

“It’s not that cheap. I paid cash. Conor and I—”

“Enough.”

The kid could be a real pain. Grit drank some ice water. Charlie wasn’t chastened at all. It wasn’t how he was wired. “If you’ll recall,” the vice president’s son said, “in November I put an arson investigator named Jasper Vanderhorn on the list of potential victims of our assassins’ network.” He soaked up syrup with a piece of his waffle. “Don’t say it’s not ‘our’ network. I’m not being literal.”

“Police are investigating any suspicious deaths that even remotely could be connected to these killers.”

“Vanderhorn died in a fire in Southern California this past June. The fire was supposed to be out, but it wasn’t. It flared up and he was caught in the flames and burned to death. Rose Cameron happened to be in Southern California doing a training session.”

“Did she participate in a search for Vanderhorn?”

“Not that I know of, but she was on the scene.”

“Did she and Vanderhorn know each other?”

Spots of color appeared high in Charlie’s smooth cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s possible. He’s on my list because his death fit the parameters of my search. Then I found out about Rose, and I learned Sean Cameron and his business partner are smoke jumpers.”

“Were Sean and his partner at this fire?” Grit asked.

“I think so. So far Vanderhorn is our only California victim.” Charlie pushed his plate to the center of the table. “Check what I gave you on the CD. It’s nothing the police need to see. I mean, it’s not official evidence.”

“If it is, I’m turning it over to the authorities.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“If Jo catches me, she’ll peel it off me. She’s tough. She carries a badge. I only have one leg.”

“You rescued Myrtle Smith from her burning house. You only had the one leg then. You’re a hero, even if—”

“Myrtle’s the one who gave you up to the Secret Service.”

“She’s a frustrated mother, don’t you think?”

“I think she’d rub your face in syrup if she heard you say that. Would you say she was a frustrated father if she were a man?”

“She’s not a man.”

“True.”

Charlie was thoughtful. “Grit—Petty Officer Taylor, I mean. We have a firebug.”

Grit didn’t say a word. His cell phone rang. The screen indicated it was a private number. He picked up, and a soft female voice said, “Are you with my brother?”

Marissa Neal. Grit pictured her on the manicured campus of the school where she taught and which her no-account brother and cousin Conor attended.

No point lying. “Someone who looks just like him is sharing his waffle with me.”

A sigh of relief. “Thank God.” She sighed again. “I want him back here safe and sound, and I don’t want him to become the butt of media jokes. Do you understand, Petty Officer Taylor?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Then make it happen.”

“Aye-aye.”

“If it doesn’t, I will hold you both responsible.”

Charlie was mouthing the words “my sister?” Grit nodded, and Charlie said, “She’s threatening to choke you and me to death, isn’t she?” He leaned over the table. “Love to you, too, sis.”

“Don’t encourage him, Petty Officer Taylor,” Marissa Neal said.

“Or you’ll choke me to death?”

“That’d make your day, wouldn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

She gasped and disconnected. Grit pocketed his phone.

“She won’t rat me out,” Charlie said, confident. “Here they come now.” He motioned toward the window overlooking the parking lot. “Listen. The fire at Myrtle’s house was a professional job. It was made to look like an accidental electrical fire. That took skill. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t Kyle Rigby or Melanie Kendall, either.”

“Mice chewing the wires?”

“Our firebug.”

Grit narrowed his eyes on the boy across from him. He didn’t care if Charlie Neal had a genius IQ, he was still a kid. “There is no ‘our,’” Grit said.

Charlie ignored him. “I did some more research. Have you run into a stonemason named Bowie O’Rourke in Black Falls?”

Leaning back in his chair, his shoe no longer feeling tight, his left foot not aching, Grit didn’t respond.

“Ah,” Charlie said. “You have. O’Rourke pled guilty to simple assault and was sentenced to time served in county jail—sixty days—and a couple years’ probation. The assault occurred in Black Falls, at a bar owned by his cousin who, by the way, is the one who called the police.”

“I know about the bar fight.”

“It was a couple weeks before Drew Cameron was killed.”

“So was April Fool’s Day. What do you have on me?”

Charlie waved a hand. “It’s not easy to find out about you. Too many top-secret missions. I wouldn’t have that kind of access.”

Which meant he knew everything.

The kid didn’t miss a beat. “Sean and Elijah—Sergeant Cameron—were both in Black Falls for the bar fight. Not long after, Drew Cameron visited Ambassador Bruni and Jo in Washington.”

“Agent Harper,” Grit corrected.

“Right, right. Agent Harper. Do you think she missed anything when Drew—Mr. Cameron—visited her?”

“I think she worries about it.”

“That’s not the same,” Charlie said thoughtfully. “Hannah Shay’s father was an ex-con. Did you know that?”

“Nope. Makes no difference to me.”

“It might to her.” He licked the last of his syrup off his fork. “I’m missing something. It’s like I have a two, a four and an eighty-three, and I’m supposed to come up with the formula for a rocket to land on Venus.”

“You don’t have to do anything but be a kid. Go play basketball or flirt with girls.”

“Girls still scare me.”

Grit smiled. At rock bottom, Charlie Neal was just a sixteen-year-old boy. “Girls will always scare you.”

Myrtle, Jo and Elijah walked into the little free-breakfast room together. If Jo could have taken Charlie Neal and his waffles out of the motel at gunpoint, she probably would have, but she just addressed him through clenched teeth. “Give Elijah the key to your room. He’ll check you out and get your stuff.”

“It’s good to see you, Special Agent Harper,” Charlie said cheerfully. “I gather you’ve recovered—”

“On your feet. Let’s go.”

Charlie remained in his seat and gave Grit a plaintive look. “No wonder my cousin Charlie complains about her. He says she has no sense of humor.” He shifted back to Jo. “Charlie’s a pain, isn’t he?”

Jo’s eyes darkened but she didn’t speak.

“He felt bad about the airsoft prank. You know. Shooting you in the butt. Those pellets sting, don’t they?”

Grit leaned over the table. Charlie wasn’t hoping Jo didn’t recognize him. He was deliberately playing games with her. “I did tell you she’s armed, didn’t I? And her gun is loaded with real bullets? You’re smart. Figure out when you’re beat.”

“People used to think my cousin and I were identical twins.”

“You’re not,” Elijah said.

Jo turned her Secret Service face to Grit. “What are you doing here, Petty Officer?”

Definitely not in a happy mood. Grit said, “I told Mr. Neal here that I’d listen to what he had to say.”

“And?”

“I listened. He’s a kid. He has a lot on his mind.”

Charlie started to protest, but seeing how he had a 180 IQ, he finally figured out that Jo was looking for an excuse to shoot him. “I’m finished with my waffle,” he said instead, not exactly meek but not argumentative, either. He handed Elijah a key card. “Room 17.”

Before Elijah could leave, Mark Francona entered the motel. Charlie didn’t wither at all. Francona breathed in through his nostrils before he spoke. “Special Agent Harper and Mr. Neal here can come with me.” He pointed at Myrtle, then Grit, then Elijah. “You three can find your own way home.”

“Mr. Neal wants me to go back to Washington with him,” Grit said. It wasn’t in him to leave the kid to the feds for such a long trip, even if he deserved it.

Francona looked at him. “Yeah? I want to read a book by a fire. Neither is going to happen.” He turned back to Charlie. “Let’s go.”

Charlie got to his feet and put his hand out to Grit.
“Thank you,” he said, shaking hands as if he were about to have his last cigarette and go before the firing squad.

Jo fell in with her boss and the vice president’s son and headed out.

“Francona’s mad,” Myrtle said after they left.

Elijah shrugged. “He’s always mad. His sense of humor just covers it up most of the time.”

Myrtle sputtered. “What sense of humor?”

“Come on,” Grit said, rising. “Let’s go back to Black Falls and pack. You and me on a road trip, Mom.”

“Call me Mom again and I’ll run us off a cliff. I’m driving.”

Elijah was quiet. Grit understood why. Jo was gone. He said, “She’ll be back.”

“Maybe we went too fast,” Elijah said, half to himself.

“Myrtle and I will look her up in D.C. and figure out what’s going on. Jo needs to be back in her old life. She needs to be sure that who she is and what she wants will be the same when she’s back in D.C.”

“What did Charlie want?”

“To help find these killers. It’s past time, Elijah.”

Elijah didn’t budge. He’d had his own dealings with Charlie Neal. Charlie had called him about paid assassins in November, after Ambassador Bruni’s murder. “Charlie didn’t make the effort to come up here without specific intel,” Elijah said. “You know what he’s like.”

“Your brother Sean and his partner are smoke jumpers. They fight some bad wildfires.”

Elijah’s eyes narrowed, and he showed no emotion whatsoever.

Which told Grit that he had his friend’s full attention. “We have a lot of dots. Not all of them will connect.”

“Did Charlie mention Bowie O’Rourke as well as my brother?”

“Jo leave you out here in the cold? Need a ride? We can talk on the drive back to Black Falls.”

January 2—Beverly Hills, California

D
evin Shay fished debris out of the pool with a long-handled net while Sean stood on the patio of his Beverly Hills house and buttoned his jacket. Another black-tie event tonight. He hoped it’d be a distraction. It was all wrong that he was in California. Yesterday he and Devin had dropped Toby off at his host family’s house outside Malibu. The place was spectacular, but all Toby had wanted to do was get out on the trails with his bike.

All Sean wanted to do, then and now, was to get back to their sister.

Her brothers clearly missed her. They didn’t want to show that they did, but it was obvious. Whether or not any of the Shays—including Hannah—would admit it, she was a second mother to them. Given the gap in their ages, the bond between them would have been different, anyway, but Devin and Toby had lost their mother as young boys and Hannah had stepped up to keep them together as a family.

Sean had been so preoccupied with what she was up to with his father’s cabin and Bowie O’Rourke, with the force of the sudden, surprising, no-win attraction he had to her,
that he hadn’t fully considered the emotional turmoil this separation would cause for her and her brothers.

Meanwhile, he was in close touch with A.J. and Elijah. Jo hadn’t let up on finding out exactly what had happened in the cemetery, but she was on her way back to Washington. Elijah was being circumspect and was obviously miserable.

Devin reached out to the middle of the sparkling pool with his net. “I’m worried Hannah’s going to end up a spinster hanging judge,” he said abruptly.

Nick Martini, stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, nearly spit out his beer, but after three days with Devin as a houseguest, Sean had come to expect such blurts from the eighteen-year-old. He’d start work tomorrow at the Cameron & Martini high-rise offices on Wilshire Boulevard, which, Sean thought, should prove interesting. Nick had turned up fifteen minutes ago in shorts and a T-shirt. He was the son of a navy submarine captain and a former submariner himself, with prematurely gray hair that suited him in a boardroom, a ballroom or the middle of a wildfire. They’d met ten years ago as young smoke jumpers and formed a partnership that had profited them both and suited their personalities.

“Careful, kid,” Nick said. “Spinster? Those are fighting words.”

“I know. I don’t care. Facts are facts.”

“Her marital status shouldn’t matter. Being a hanging judge, though…” Nick gave a cheerful shudder. “That matters. Wouldn’t want to step out of line with her.”

Devin nodded eagerly in agreement. “You’re not kidding. She likes telling Toby and me about Royall Tyler, this Vermont judge who sentenced a pirate to execution. Cyrus Dean. Ten thousand people showed up for his hanging.”

“I don’t sympathize with pirates,” Nick said.

“Not my point,” Devin said, his attention apparently
focused on a tiny leaf a few yards out into the blue water of the pool. “Hannah looks mild-mannered. Kind of mousy, even. Like Donna Reed in
It’s a Wonderful Life
. You see that movie? Hannah makes Toby and me watch it with her every year at Christmas. She makes butter cookies.” Devin paused a moment, staring at the water. “They’re good. Her butter cookies.”

“That’s the movie with Jimmy Stewart and the town who takes him for granted after he sticks around and helps them, and then he ends up thinking he was happy?” Nick drank more of his beer. “I hate that movie.”

“Donna Reed didn’t end up a spinster because of him.”

“She’d have been better off.”

Sean grinned. “What about their kids?”

“Now you’re getting too complicated.” Nick nodded to the pool and said to Devin, “Take a swim. It’ll get your mind off hanging. You’d have to chip ice to swim in Vermont.”

Devin rallied with a smile. “That’s true.”

Nick sighed. “Quit worrying about your sister. She’s smart. She’ll be fine.”

Devin slowly dragged his net back across the water toward him. “Sean, you talk to Hannah lately?”

“Not since we left Black Falls. Why?”

“I worry about her being there alone, without both Toby and me.”

“She’s a grown woman, Devin. She can take care of herself. Worry about getting on with your own life.”

“It’s not that.” He lifted the net out of the water and shook out the contents onto the tile next to him. “If she doesn’t start doing something fun once in a while, I don’t know. I’m serious. She’s going to end up being a hanging judge or one of those prosecutors that goes for the jugular every time.”

Nick shrugged, philosophical. “Maybe that’s what she wants.”

Devin glanced at Sean. The teenager’s eyes were flat, but it wasn’t hard to see his pain. “Since we left Vermont, Bowie’s been coming by at night to work on the cellar. I called a little while ago and Beth picked up, and she told me. Hannah and Bowie aren’t seeing each other. I don’t mean that. Just—there’s just something about him.”

“Is Beth concerned?” Sean asked, his collar suddenly feeling tight.

“Yes and no.” Devin turned back to his work, his contained emotions reminiscent of his older sister. “Hannah won’t talk about the fight at O’Rourke’s. I heard these ski bums insulted her, and you got her out of there before she could get hurt.”

“Or hurt someone,” Sean said.

“That, too.” Her younger brother scooped up debris with his net. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come out here now. I could have waited.”

“For what?” Nick asked.

“Hannah’s got too much on her mind right now,” Devin said. “That accident in the cemetery threw her.”

“Being in a cemetery at all would throw me,” Nick said.

“So did going up to see the cabin where I was almost killed. Elijah, Jo and Nora, too.” Devin’s voice was steady, low, as he eased the net back into the water. “All of us.”

Nick was silent now. He had voiced his suspicions about the death of Sean’s father early on, refusing to believe that a seventy-seven-year-old man who’d been hiking on Cameron Mountain his entire life had become lost and disoriented in a snowstorm, ultimately dying of hypothermia. Nick had been blunt: either Drew Cameron had decided to check out in a spot he loved or foul play was involved.

“Now Hannah’s talking about flying out here to California sooner rather than later.” Devin angled a look back at the two men. “My sister spending that kind of money?
Not
normal. She’s not herself, Sean. You know how tight she is with a buck. You should hear Beth and Dominique going on about how the café wouldn’t be as successful as it is without Hannah’s money sense.”

“Maybe her money sense is why she can afford to fly out here,” Sean said.

“If she comes out here and goes shopping on Rodeo Drive,” Devin said, “then I’m going to start thinking she and Bowie O’Rourke are robbing banks together.”

Nick propped up one knee, making himself at home on his lounge chair. He had a condo in Beverly Hills, but he’d spent a lot of time on submarines. He was content anywhere. “Sounds as if you’re nervous because you left your sister alone in Vermont with this guy Bowie.” He glanced up at Sean. “Is Hannah pretty, or does she look like Devin here?”

Devin managed a grin, Nick’s humor penetrating his worry. “Sean? What do you think? Is Hannah pretty?”

“She seems more vulnerable than she is,” Sean said, figuring that he needed to say something; if he took the Fifth, he was doomed altogether. Devin and Nick would know for sure he was falling for her and fighting it.

“She’s got no clothes sense,” Devin said. “Dominique could go into Hannah’s closet and come out looking great, and Hannah—you know what I mean, Sean. She ends up looking frumpy.”

Now Sean did take the Fifth. “I’m not going there, Devin.”

Nick drank some of his beer. “You and your brother shouldn’t have to worry about your sister. She wouldn’t want that.”

“She worries about us. She’s never had a life. Toby says so, too. She sacrificed herself for us. She’d argue with us if she heard us saying that, but Sean knows I’m right.”

Sean let his gaze drift to the red bougainvillea spilling over the wall behind his pool and the bright Southern Cali
fornia late-afternoon sunshine. He understood why Devin was going on about his sister. It wasn’t just idle worry, and he was very far from home. Yet this
was
his home, a buff-colored, multilevel stucco house in Beverly Hills with a pool, expensive landscaping and a three-car garage. He didn’t know why he owned three cars, but he did.

Well. Three vehicles. One was an old pickup truck he used as a smoke jumper and took up into the mountains to camp, hike, bike.

Devin had been asking him and Nick questions—mature, serious questions—about smoke jumping since his arrival in Southern California. The long route to becoming a smoke jumper didn’t seem to dampen his interest.

Sean pictured going off with Hannah into the California mountains and shook off his own worries about her. A kiss among the cobwebs and a million questions unanswered aside, his life—his work—was out here in California.

He looked at Devin. “Sure you don’t want to borrow a suit and head over to the Beverly Hilton with me?”

“Thanks, but I’ll stay here. Anything you need me to do?”

Sean shook his head. “Finish up with the pool and relax.”

“Would you mind if I used your weight room?” Devin asked tentatively.

“Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“I have to go,” Sean said. “Nick, you coming?”

“Nope. Going involves a suit. I’ll send a check.”

Sean headed through the gate and down a stone walk to the garage. He climbed into his car and sank against the cool leather seats. It’d only been a few days since he’d left Hannah in Vermont, but at least it was a new year. No one on the task force investigating the murders-for-hire had slacked off for the holidays and they wouldn’t now, but they needed a break—a new lead. It would be easy for everyone—includ
ing Hannah—to let Bowie and old stonework and whatever had gone on at the cemetery become distractions.

Sean remembered his father railing about Hannah after her mother had died. “That girl has no business trying to raise those two boys. A foster home would be better. She’s just a kid herself. Hell, though. No one’s ever been able to tell Hannah—or any Shay—what to do.”

In March, he’d admitted he’d been wrong. It was just after Bowie’s arrest, before Sean had returned to California. “Hannah would do anything for her brothers, and they’d do anything for her,” his father had told him. “Devin and Toby wouldn’t have been better off in a foster home. I’d just like to see her smile more. Cut loose a little, you know? She’s a good soul. You should have her and her friends out to Beverly Hills for a visit.”

Sean smiled at the memory. His father had hated Southern California. The weather’s nice, he’d say, but that was it. Sean had never taken his father’s comments as a condemnation of his choice to move west. Drew Cameron had just always been a man to state his opinions. Agree, disagree, argue, don’t argue—he didn’t care.

Sean started his car. He envisioned Hannah in an evening gown next to him, smiling as they headed out together for a night on the town. Her pale blue eyes would be gleaming with excitement, and all her troubles would be behind her.

No
question, he thought. The woman definitely had him tied up in knots.

When he reached the hotel lobby, Sean dug out his cell phone and dialed A.J. Enough, already. He had to stay focused on his real mission, and it wasn’t having Hannah on his arm for a fancy Beverly Hills event. “You and Elijah keeping an eye on Bowie?” he asked his older brother.

“As best we can,” A.J. said. “Elijah’s in a bad mood with
Jo in Washington. He’s not talking, or can’t talk, about what she’s up to.”

“Bowie’s been stopping at the café at night to work on the cellar.”

A.J. was silent a moment. “I know. I haven’t said anything to Hannah. It wouldn’t do any good. Elijah and I hiked up to the cabin and took a look at the foundation ourselves. We have a fair idea of Pop’s capabilities, but who the hell knows if he had help, didn’t have help, needed any. No wonder Hannah didn’t want to say anything.”

“It does sound nuts,” Sean said, “but if Bowie advised him on rebuilding an old dry-wall foundation, then he could have put the pieces together and figured out what Pop was up to. Bowie would have had more of an idea than most people about where the old cellar hole could be.”

“He could have hiked up the mountain one day and found it.”

“Then told the wrong person. He ends up in jail, and Pop’s killed—”

“And here we are.” A.J. sighed heavily.

“I’m not out to get Bowie,” Sean said, “but I’m not assuming he’s just misunderstood, either.”

“Same here. I’m keeping an open mind.” He paused, then added, “Hannah’s not.”

Sean gripped his phone, watching well-dressed men and women pass him in the hotel lobby. What was he doing here? “I shouldn’t have come back here, A.J. I should be there.”

A.J. grunted. “Yeah, well, you’re not. I should warn you—Elijah will be calling.”

Two minutes later, he did. “Tell me about an arson investigator named Jasper Vanderhorn. And tell me about Nick Martini. We’ve never met.”

Sean stepped out of the path of two actors he recognized and their entourage. “Elijah, what’s this about?”

“Hell if I know.”

“I didn’t know Vanderhorn. He was killed in June.”

“Rose was out there then.”

“Yes, she was,” Sean said, feeling a strange coolness run down his spine.

“Jo and Grit are onto something,” his brother said curtly. “I can’t explain. I’m asking you to understand that.”

“Fair enough. Nick’s a friend. I’d trust him with my life.”

“With our sister? Scratch that. I’m speculating. I don’t know anything.”

Sean skipped his event and got back into his car. He shut his eyes, seeing in his mind every detail of the canyons, not that far from Beverly Hills, where Jasper Vanderhorn had died. A hot spot had flared up in the high winds and dry conditions and blazed out of control, jumping a fireline and trapping Vanderhorn, an experienced firefighter himself as well as an arson investigator.