The Cabin (19 page)

sive ice formations and rush of clear, cold water. It was

a natural waterfall, not one of the dams left over from

the industrial revolution that still choked rivers and

streams all over the northeast. Here, the river tumbled

freely out of the mountains, carving its way through

rock and earth.

She didn’t feel the cold. As Iris maintained, the air

was different in the High Peaks. Susanna had bundled

up in her north country layers. Moisture-resistant long

underwear and leggings, wind pants, fleece vest, heavy

duty anorak, hat, gloves, socks, boots. The high-tech

fabrics and design kept everything from weighing a ton.

Gran still preferred wool.

On the day Beau McGarrity had walked into her

kitchen, Susanna would never have imagined herself

here in the mountains of upstate New York, in the dead

of winter.

She remembered how absorbed she’d been in her tai

chi tape, doing the movements, the breathing, the con-

centration and balance. She’d knocked off work early,

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Carla Neggers

the girls were at school and Jack was out on an investi-

gation. Police corruption. He hated corruption cases,

and she knew few of the details about this one. He had

been more silent and uncommunicative than usual in re-

cent weeks. She was preoccupied with how she’d tell

him about their growing net worth, not with stories of

the terrible murder of a woman in a small town not far

from San Antonio.

While she’d practiced her tai chi—she wasn’t very

good—she didn’t think about anything that bothered

her. She didn’t worry about how money could change

her relationship with her husband, if he’d resent her be-

cause the millions were her doing—if the money might

affect his work when word got out. He was a Texas

Ranger. It was all he’d ever wanted to be.

Oddly enough, it was her parents who’d helped her

make her first big investment, when they’d introduced

her to a woman who’d just bought artwork from their

gallery and owned an Austin computer firm. Jack knew

about that investment. But Susanna hadn’t told him how

well it had done, providing the bulk of the ten million

they were now worth. She’d also timed her entrance into

and her exit out of technology stocks well. Not all luck,

but a lot of it.

None of that was on her mind while she was doing

her tai chi.

The sound of the patio door opening and shutting had

broken her concentration. She assumed it was Jack or

the girls coming in early and hit the pause button on the

VCR to go check.

The tall, gray-haired man she’d seen downtown and

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157

then again the other day at the high school was stand-

ing in her kitchen, on the other side of the table with its

vase of small sunflowers. She’d tried to tell herself he

hadn’t actually followed her. She hadn’t mentioned him

to Jack, because she knew she was just being paranoid.

Of
course,
he wasn’t following her. Who would follow

her? Now he was in her kitchen.

She’d managed a quick smile. “Just a sec,” she said,

as if he were a neighbor who’d stopped in for a chat,

and slipped into the family room. She spotted Maggie’s

tape recorder and set it on a bookcase on her way back

to the kitchen, hitting the record button. She’d consid-

ered running out the front door, but it, she knew, was

locked. She didn’t think she had enough time—she

needed to stay calm.

At least if this man did anything to her, her husband

would have it on tape.

“You don’t recognize me,” he said.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Look—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He had a twang to his

accent, making him seem folksier than he was. He ran

a finger over the back of a chair. “I didn’t knock because

I wasn’t sure you’d let me in, and I need to talk to you.”

“Why? What do you want?”

“Your husband has to know I didn’t kill my wife. I’m

being framed by an overzealous police officer.”

Suddenly Susanna knew who he was. Beau McGar-

rity, the wealthy real estate developer and political as-

pirant whose wife had just been shot to death in their

driveway.

No wonder she’d thought she’d seen him before.

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Carla Neggers

“You have to make him understand.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him carefully, “I don’t get in-

volved in my husband’s work.”

“Of course you do. You provide comfort to him. You

make it possible for him to give his work the focus and

attention it requires to be done well.” McGarrity stepped

around the table, coming toward her. “Your husband

couldn’t make the lives of the criminals in this state a

living hell without your cooperation.”

“Jack’s a Texas Ranger. He follows the law. He’s not

out to make anyone’s life a living hell. Mr. McGar-

rity—that’s who you are, isn’t it? Beau McGarrity? I

want you to leave. It’s really not a good idea for you to

be here.”

His gaze was steady, absolutely determined. “The

witness against me is lying. Your husband needs to un-

derstand that.”

“All right. I’ll give him your message—”

“As if dealing with Rachel’s death weren’t enough—

” Some of the fierceness went out of his expression, and

he ran a hand through his gray hair, as if he were sud-

denly tired. “Susanna, Susanna… you don’t believe I

killed my wife.”

Her instincts—her fear—told her not to make a move

for the knife rack or do anything that might provoke

him to violence. He had size and position on her. The

smartest course of action was to get rid of him as fast as

she could.

She remembered what she told her clients about

money. Listen to your fear. Your fear can protect you if

you let it.

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159

“I’ll talk to Jack. I promise.”

McGarrity smiled in approval, perhaps a touch of re-

lief. “I know I must sound desperate. There’s no need

for your husband to know I was here.” His tone was con-

trolled now, self-assured, that of a man convinced of his

rightful place in the world. “Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I do.”

He stood back on his heels, watching her through

half-closed eyes. He said casually, as if it were a non se-

quitur, “Your daughters finish up play practice in ten

minutes.”

Susanna stopped breathing. He knew their sched-

ules. He knew where they were.

Beau McGarrity touched her then, a feathery brush

across her chin. “You should be running along to pick

them up. You’re a good mother. That’s what good moth-

ers do. I know,” he added, “I’ve seen you.”

He slipped out the patio door, and Susanna popped

the DAT out of the recorder, her hands shaking. She was

reaching for the phone to call Jack when a police offi-

cer knocked on her front door. Alice Parker. She intro-

duced herself as the officer working on Rachel

McGarrity’s murder and asked if Jack was there.

Susanna told her about Beau McGarrity and gave her

the tape.

Then Maggie and Ellen came home, and Susanna

didn’t tell them anything. She decided to wait for Jack,

but he came home late, short-tempered and obviously

distressed. Alice Parker had been arrested for witness

tampering. She’d screwed up the crime scene. The Ra-

chel McGarrity murder investigation was a mess. There

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Carla Neggers

wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it now. His

role in the whole business was over.

When he didn’t mention the tape, Susanna assumed

it was worthless. Alice Parker wanted to nail Beau Mc-

Garrity for murder to the point of fabricating a witness.

If there’d been anything on that tape they could have

used against Beau, surely she’d have given it to Jack, at

least to prove to the world McGarrity was a threat and

she wasn’t so awful for having tried to make sure he was

caught for his wife’s murder.

Not that anyone would have believed anything, com-

ing from a corrupt police officer.

With or without the tape, prosecutors wouldn’t have

touched Susanna’s tale of possible stalking and veiled

threats. A good defense lawyer would say it only proved

Beau McGarrity had been so upset by Alice Parker’s

conduct that he’d inadvertently scared the hell out of the

wife of a Texas Ranger.

Even if Susanna couldn’t prove it, Beau McGarrity

had followed her
twice.
He’d walked into her
kitchen.

She didn’t know what Jack would do if he found out.

He was a professional, but his work had never come this

close to his family.

She’d never felt so completely paralyzed.

It was simpler to say nothing. Simpler for him, as

well, that she did nothing. So, that was what she did.

And for that and a thousand other reasons that seemed

to make sense at the time, she’d packed up and joined

her daughters heading north.

A few weeks to clear her head had turned into

months, and now she’d bought a cabin in the mountains.

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161

But it was beautiful here, she thought. Stunning and

invigorating, and she meant to enjoy her week here.

With any luck, Alice Parker had cleared out and last

night was just an innocent mistake, Jack stumbling

across a burglar or one of Iris’s legion of friends.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered, turning back to her car.

“Who do you think you’re kidding?”

��

Ten

It had been a very close call with Ranger Jack.

Alice tried not to think about how she’d almost hy-

perventilated into passing out when she’d sneaked up

behind him with Iris’s walking stick and whacked him.

He’d come within a hairsbreadth of grabbing her, and

his defensive move had kept her from knocking him out.

Once he had the walking stick, she’d grabbed Des-

tin and cleared out.

Now they were almost at Blackwater Lake, driving

right back into the lion’s mouth. Well, what else could

they do? Alice couldn’t think of anything that’d get Jack

Galway and Beau McGarrity off her tail, put her on the

road to Australia and stop Destin from whining about

his repossessed BMW and the lousy heat in her car. The

man needed a hundred grand. The world would be a hap-

pier place if Destin Wright had money in the bank again.

He’d panicked when she’d hit Jack Galway.
You at-

tacked a Texas Ranger? Shit!

He’d also wanted to go back and explain, tell Lieu-

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163

tenant Galway they’d just been checking on the house

for Iris and mistook him for a burglar. Alice had asked

him how they’d explain the papers he’d pulled out of Su-

sanna’s files and the directions they’d found to her place

in the Adirondacks. Jack would want to know what they

were doing with those. Destin had seen the light.

He was riding shotgun, navigating. He had a map

they’d picked up at a gas station in New Hampshire

spread out on his lap. Driving across New Hampshire

and Vermont had been his bright idea. They’d spent the

night in a fleabag roadside hotel, sharing a room but not

a bed. He had no interest, and Alice sure as hell didn’t.

The bright sun hitting the pristine snow and ice hurt

her eyes, but she had to admit the scenery was stunning.

Destin told her to turn down a steep, unpaved driveway

that led to the Blackwater Inn, a rambling old building

with slate gray clapboards, white trim and burgundy

doors. Iris Dunning had grown up here, fallen in love,

known tragedy. She’d told Alice about skinny-dipping

all alone on a hot summer night.

Alice didn’t want to think about how she’d betrayed

and manipulated an old woman and now was trying to fig-

ure out how to pry a hundred grand off her granddaughter.

The inn was owned by a young couple who intro-

duced themselves as Paul and Sarah Johnson and looked

as if they spent a lot of time trekking up and down

mountains. Alice asked for separate rooms. Destin mut-

tered something about money, but she shot him a look

and he shut up.

Both rooms were on the second floor overlooking the

lake. Alice’s was decorated with country quilts that re-

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Carla Neggers

minded her of her grandma’s house back in Texas, al-

though the four-poster bed and cherry dresser were

more expensive than anything her grandmother could

ever afford.

Destin lingered in the doorway. “We can get some

lunch and settle in, but I want to get this show on the road.”

“I’m not hungry. You go on.”

She dumped her battered suitcase on the floor and

looked back at him. He seemed to be waiting for her to

tell him what to do next. This was what she wanted, but

it was unnerving, too, because she wasn’t sure she knew

what to do next—and she didn’t want to screw up his