Stonebrook Cottage (24 page)

But he was too late, and before he could react, he felt the wallop to the small of his back. A stick, a pole, the toe of a boot. He lost his footing and fell onto his side, kicking out for something to latch on to, reaching up at a tuft of field grass, a tree root. But he was moving too fast, and the drop was too steep. He slid down the dirt embankment, hit a jutting rock with his ribs. He groaned at the pain, kept fighting to find his footing, but he picked up more speed, rolling, flailing. Then, free-fall-ing.

He hit more rock, and he screamed out in pain, still falling.

Fifteen

H
enry interrogated Sam on all matters Texas Ranger as the four of them walked through the woods for lunch with the Stockwells. Kara listened with amusement, Henry's ideas about Texas's elite investigative unit rooted in television, old movies and his limited understanding of Texas. Sam, however, was patient, prompting her one contribution to the conversation. "The Ranger motto is ‘Courtesy, Service, Protection.'"

Sam glanced at her sideways, as if he wasn't sure she was being sarcastic. But she wasn't. Henry seemed slightly disappointed in such a polite motto. "Didn't the Texas Rangers used to hang horse thieves?"

"There's a Texas Ranger museum in Waco," Sam said. "I'll take you over there next time you come to visit."

Lillian skipped across rocks in a low, muddy stream. "Not me. I'm
never
going to Texas again. People eat frogs and snakes and alligators there."

Sam sputtered into laughter. "Lillian, I think you and I need to have another talk. You're getting some peculiar ideas about Texas." He glanced at Kara. "Did you put up with this kind of talk when you lived up here?"

Kara smiled. "You should have heard Big Mike."

Henry followed his sister across the stream, but was still clearly entertaining his fantasy. "Do I have to go to college to be a Ranger?"

"It helps," Sam said.

"Maybe I'll join the FBI or the CIA, instead, since I don't have a Texas accent."

Sam let that one go. "You don't want to go into politics?"

"No way. I can't now, anyway, after I ran away and forged a letter from my mom—"

"
You
didn't forge the letter," Lillian said. "I did. You just helped me with spelling. It was your idea to say Mom knew we were in danger—"

"
Lillian!
Shut
up!
" Henry, white-faced, splashed the rest of the way across the stream. "You're going to get us arrested."

Kara recognized at once Lillian's mistake in mentioning the word
danger
. So, of course, did Sam. He took the stream in one long, easy stride and offered Kara his hand, but she refused it. He was being cocky now that the kids had slipped up. She'd changed into a decent pair of pants and a fresh top for lunch at the Stockwells' and had on slides, but she made it to the other side of the stream on her own. Sam was right there, anyway, placing a hand on the small of her back, steadying her as she regained her balance.

"Sam isn't going to arrest you," she told Henry and Lillian. "He has no jurisdiction in Connecticut, but no one here is going to arrest you, either. So don't worry about that." She hesitated, met Sam's dark look and sighed. "But I think you should tell Sam what's in the letter, what parts are true—everything."

"It's all true!" Lillian was indignant, slapping at a mosquito on her wrist. "We
are
in danger."

Sam's silence was deadly. Kara waved at a mosquito buzzing around her head and frowned at him. "It's complicated."

"Try me. I bet I can figure it out."

She turned to Henry, who stood sullenly halfway up a gentle hill with his arms folded on his chest. Her heart broke for him. He was trying to be so strong, but he couldn't do it anymore. He needed adult help. "Henry—Sam needs to know. If something happens, he's the one with the experience." And the gun, she thought. "You can tell him."

"I can't. And Lillian, you be quiet."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I don't take orders from you."

Henry scowled at her, then shifted back to Kara. "Aunt Kara, please—what if something happens to Mom because we said anything?"

"That's it." Sam started up the hill. "If these kids believe the governor of Connecticut is in danger—"

"It's not that simple, Sam," Kara said, not moving. "Trust me."

He stopped, glancing back at her, the shade darkening his black eyes, making them seem even more unyielding, and she knew this all was black-and-white for him. Every bit of it. "I'd trust you with my life in a courtroom," he said. "You're a damn good lawyer from all I hear. This is a law enforcement matter. Time to trust me, Kara."

Her head pounded, and she was aware of Henry and Lillian looking intently at her, barely breathing, waiting for her to come up with a solution. She wished she knew what they were holding back, what else had happened to them that day in the tree house, or the day they'd decided to run away from the dude ranch. What
didn't
she know about their troubles?

Frustrated, she pushed up the hill and tried to think. She didn't understand why they wouldn't at least tell Sam about the man who'd followed them in Texas, unless he was as fictitious as their letter. She wondered if some of what they claimed they saw from the tree house was imagined or exaggerated, a psychological response to the shock of Mike's death, then the sudden isolation of Texas, coupled with their mixed emotions about their mother becoming governor. Saying they saw Big Mike drown could be a way for them to fill in the blanks and make sense of what happened.

But it didn't matter. Sam would want to know everything.

If he had his way, Kara thought, he'd put an asterisk by attorney-client privilege and say it could be violated if it involved the minor children of the governor of Connecticut.

Her shoulders slumped, and she realized there was just no easy way out for her. Or the kids. "I'll sit the kids down with Allyson as soon as possible," she told Sam. "This afternoon. We'll talk. But it's up to Henry and Lillian to reveal what they told me. It's not up to me."

He didn't like it. She could see his displeasure with any sort of compromise in the stiffness of his spine, the hard set of his jaw. "This isn't a courtroom. We're out in the damn woods."

"It's the best I can do."

He clenched his teeth visibly. "Fair enough."

Henry and Lillian seemed satisfied at what must have sounded like a compromise to them and ran up the hill together, Henry yelling at his sister about her big mouth until she hauled off and belted him. He turned to complain but met with Sam's unsympathetic look and gave up, renewing his solidarity with Lillian.

But Kara knew there'd been no real compromise. Sam fell in beside her and, with his attention on the path ahead of him, said his piece. "You have until five o'clock. Then I go to the state police with what little I know."

Madeleine Stockwell had set up lunch on the patio and greeted her grandchildren with her usual starchy reserve. They were polite, but Kara was relieved when no one brought up how they'd ended up back in Connecticut. She introduced Sam and noticed Madeleine perk up. "I met Kara's brother several years ago," she said. "Do you know him?"

"He's my superior officer."

"Ah. That could be awkward, couldn't it?"

Sam didn't answer.

Kara went down toward the pool and intercepted Allyson on her way to the patio. She smiled, but was so obviously drawn and tense that Kara winced at the idea of having her friend hear more troubling news. "I need to talk to you later. With the kids."

"Sure." She spoke smoothly, vestiges of the Allyson of old. "I was hoping to go swimming with them—"

"After that would be fine." She had until five o'clock, Kara thought with a sudden flash of irritation mixed with resignation. Sam wasn't going to be a passive participant. She'd known that the minute he rang her doorbell and detected the smell of popcorn in her living room.

Henry and Lillian followed Madeleine into the kitchen to help bring out lunch. There was no hired help today. Allyson excused herself, hurrying inside to join them, passing Hatch and Billie at the door. Billie was red-faced, arguing with her half brother. "We
can't
cancel. That'd be a red flag. People'd think it's either because your mother doesn't trust me after the bonfire accident or this thing with the kids is a bigger deal than you've let on."

Hatch wasn't backing down. "I just don't think it's a good idea to go forward with a cocktail party under these circumstances."

Billie threw up her hands. "What circumstances? The kids took off from a stupid dude ranch in Texas and ended up an hour or two away at their godmother's. Big deal. Kids do shit like that. They're fine. If you ask me, it'll look worse if you don't go forward."

"You'll be paid for your trouble."

"Hatch, you are such an asshole. I'm not talking about the damn money." She stormed off the patio, her too-small shirt stretched across her breasts, and stopped abruptly, oblivious to anyone else around her. She flew around at her brother. "Anyway, this is your mother's gig. It's up to her to cancel."

He grimaced. "Billie, for God's sake."

She grinned up at him suddenly, as if they hadn't been arguing. "Do you like my luminaria idea?"

Kara bit back a smile. Billie Corrigan was so irrepressible, it was difficult not to imagine what Hatch might have been like if he'd seen more of his father growing up. He sighed at his younger sister. "I'd prefer only electric lights. After the bonfire on the Fourth—"

"Oh, ye of the faint heart. Luminaria are perfect. This'll be a fun party, Hatch. Trust me." She smiled at Kara, as if just now realizing she was there, then at Sam. "My brother is paid to think the worst. I think he earns his salary, don't you?"

Kara laughed. "I'm not coming between you two," she said, then quickly introduced Sam. When he called her ma'am, Billie just about melted. Kara didn't know what it was about him and his effect on women. She turned her attention back to Hatch. "Are you and Billie staying for lunch?"

"No," he said. "Neither of us."

He was definitely in a sour mood. Billie rolled her eyes and dragged him down to the pool to press him further on her luminaria idea. Sam stood next to Kara, obviously devoid of patience for any kind of social outing.

"I'm going to take off for a while," he said. "I'll be back when you're ready to leave. Enjoy your lunch."

Kara was immediately suspicious. "Where are you going? How will you know when we're ready?"

"You can call me on my cell phone or ask one of the troopers to take you back to the cottage."

"Ground rules?"

But he was in a serious mood. "Yes."

"Well, you won't want to be later than five o'clock."

He ignored her. She was feeling argumentative, irritated that he thought he could go off without her, without explaining himself, but he didn't want her making a move without him.

Then she realized if Sam was off reconnoitering or doing whatever he planned to do, she could slip out to the gravel pit and have a look at Henry and Lillian's tree house. If they could indeed see Big Mike's pool through their binoculars, she might be able to figure out how much of their story was reality, how much imagination and exaggeration. It would help her understand and counter any further reticence on their part, and she'd know better how to advise them.

It wasn't just a rationalization. It made sense, even if she did have to violate Sam's ground rules.

"It's a beautiful day," she told him. "It's been so hot in Texas, you'll enjoy yourself, I'm sure."

"Give the Stockwells my regrets."

He wasn't past a little sarcasm, either, Kara noted. "Don't skip through the fields. It'd be bad form."

He didn't answer. She watched him head across the lawn and waited until he was over the stone wall and almost to the woods before she scooted up to the patio and excused herself from lunch. She claimed she wasn't hungry and thought they all needed some family time together. No one protested. She debated borrowing a car, then decided she didn't want to risk having a Stock-well vehicle spotted out at the gravel pit. Best to be as unobtrusive as possible.

She knew the shortest route through the woods—or hoped she did. She didn't need to get lost. Explain that to Sam, she thought. It was a warm afternoon, the air humid and still, chipmunks and squirrels scampering over the stone walls and along high tree branches, but Kara didn't linger, moving quickly, almost at a run. She forced herself to keep her attention on what she was doing, not spin it back to the past or to the future. She'd discover what was what at the tree house when she found it.

She veered off the old, overgrown logging road onto a narrow footpath, guessing from its well-worn look that it was the one Henry and Lillian had used. It led to a stone wall that put her onto Jericho land, the path nothing more than where the kids had pushed through the ferns. She came to a wide, muddy spot, probably a shallow spring, and slopped through the middle of it, wasting no time.

The woods opened up into a mass of low wild blueberry bushes, dotted with ripe fruit, and a tall pine tree, its branches sweeping the ground. She picked her way through the brush and pricker bushes, up a sloping hill, through waist-high Christmas trees and, finally, out onto the gravel pit access road. Off slightly to her left, she saw logs piled on wooden platforms and Pete Jeri-cho's rusted truck, and straight on, the gravel pit, quiet in the afternoon sun.