The Cabin (34 page)

phony witness. Jack didn’t know about the change

purse, but he suspected she hadn’t told him everything

about her and Rachel McGarrity. He didn’t believe it

was sheer incompetence that had driven her to contam-

inate the crime scene, trample on evidence. But when

she plea-bargained, playing on everyone else’s desire to

put a police corruption case behind them, she hadn’t left

him much room to maneuver.

At least he didn’t think she was so stupid as to not

follow basic police procedure when coming onto a mur-

der scene. That was something.

But she’d never become a Texas Ranger now, that

was for darn sure.

She eased around the boulder, coming to a steep em-

bankment. If she got to the bottom without breaking a

leg, it looked as if the going would be easier, and there

was a point that jutted out into the lake where she might

get a better fix on which direction she should go. She

needed to get out of the elements. She’d read about peo-

ple digging snow caves and surviving that way. She had

no idea how she’d even start.

She grabbed hold of a thin sapling, anchoring her-

self, and edged sideways down the hill, then let go and

half scrambled, half tumbled the rest of the way, drop-

ping to her butt for the last few feet.

When she came to a stop, she sat there in the snow,

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her feet pressed up against thick lake ice. She was

breathing hard, fighting tears. She was hungry. A nice,

hot bowl of Jim Haviland’s clam chowder would do her

fine. She’d even eat the clams.

A light came on further along the shore, about

twenty-five yards from her. A flashlight. It bobbed to-

ward her, and Alice got unsteadily to her feet. She snif-

fled. “Destin?”

She doubted whoever it was could hear her. Destin

wasn’t the sort to be prepared with something as prac-

tical as a flashlight—or to wait for her out in the cold.

Maybe it was a winter camper, someone who’d heard

her thrashing around. The Johnsons had mentioned that

people camped in the Adirondacks year-round.

Alice watched the light moving toward her, unable

to make out the dark silhouette of the figure behind it.

She could see the snow bright under the arc of light, tree

trunks, a stretch of ice and jutting rock, and squinted as

the light found her, settled on her. The figure stopped,

raising the light to her face, shining it in her eyes. She

shielded them, but made out the man’s face and imme-

diately thought hypothermia must have set in. “Beau?

Is that you?”

“Hello, Alice.” His voice was cold, steady. “You’ve

had a tough time out here.”

“I sure have. I’m glad to see you—”

“You were supposed to meet Destin Wright.”

She tried to lick her lips, but her tongue felt dry.

“Have you seen him?”

McGarrity shifted the harsh light off her face. He was

properly dressed for the frigid temperatures in a high-

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285

end parka, the hood up, and wind-resistant gloves and

pants. He didn’t look cold at all. “I caught up with him

after he broke into Susanna Galway’s cabin.”

“I sent him after the tape—”

“Alice.” Beau’s voice was ice. “I have the tape.”

The tape was in her suitcase in her car, parked at the

rich people’s house through the woods. Except Beau

had it. “You found my car?”

“Mr. Wright said you two had planned to meet at the

teahouse. It made sense you’d leave your car at the main

house.”

“I got lost.”

“Yes, I know.” He took a step toward her, his de-

meanor still calm, but with a menacing undertone that

kept her sitting in the snow, unable to move. “Your

friend didn’t know anything about a tape.”

“He wouldn’t know he could tell you—”

“Alice, if you haven’t seen him since you got lost,

how did the tape end up in your bag?”

She cleared her throat, wishing she could think faster.

Even warm, she wasn’t a fast thinker. “I lied to him.”

“No, Alice. You lied to me.”

Her entire body convulsed into uncontrollable shiv-

ering, and she staggered to her feet, her teeth chatter-

ing, her hands shaking. She’d lied to Beau McGarrity.

He knew it. He’d shot his wife in the back, and now he’d

kill her. She was dead. She’d never see Texas again.

She’d never make it to Australia.

And Destin. He was a self-absorbed jerk, and he’d

had no idea what he was up against in Beau McGarrity.

Alice hadn’t warned him.

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Carla Neggers

She didn’t want to think about Destin.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, but she

didn’t think she’d ever get warm again.

Beau McGarrity had a gun pointed at her in the hand

not holding the flashlight. Destin’s Heckler & Koch. It

was an expensive gun. He’d showed it to her the other

night in the motel in New Hampshire. He was very

proud of it, but he barely knew how to hold the thing.

He should have brought it with him when he broke into

Susanna’s cabin, just so he could have it on him when he’d

run into Beau. Instead, he must have left it in his pack,

and Beau had found it when he’d searched Alice’s car.

“You’re a former police officer, Alice,” Beau said, al-

most amused. “You should know not to leave a weapon

in an unoccupied vehicle.”

“It’s Destin’s—I don’t have a gun.”

Not that it mattered. Her brain felt dull and mushy,

and she knew she was putting together the pieces of the

mess she was in slowly, some floating away before her

mind could quite grasp them and put them in place.
Ra-

chel Tucker McGarrity, interior designer, a woman with

fine manners, a lover of fine things…her friend…dead…

murdered…gone forever…

“I should have left well enough alone with Destin.”

Alice spoke absently, hunching her shoulders as her

teeth chattered. Her eyelids were heavy. She desperately

wanted to sleep. “I’m very cold.”

“The teahouse is just up this way.”

At least he wouldn’t shoot her out here on the ice

and snow. He’d take her inside the teahouse, and shoot

her there.

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287

He stood back and motioned with his flashlight, the

H&K held steady. “After you, Officer Parker.”

He left her in the teahouse.

Alice didn’t know where he was. She was alone,

huddled into a corner of the crumbling, gazebolike

structure on the lake front. He had thrust a sleeping bag

at her and told her to climb inside, and she’d thought he

meant to smother her. Or maybe he hoped the down

feather lining would muffle his gunshot. But once she

was inside, Beau handed her a bottle of water and told

her to keep it in the sleeping bag with her or it would

freeze.

“You’ll survive until morning,” he told her. “If you

don’t, you don’t—but you will.”

“Why won’t I crawl out of here and get help?”

“Because you don’t have the strength. Because

you’re desperate. And because you might run into me.”

“Destin—”

“He’s no help to you. It was a mistake on your part

ever to think he would be.” He’d stared at her behind that

flashlight, so still she thought he might have turned to

ice. “I know why my wife was interested in Susanna

Galway. I understand the connection now.”

“Jesus,” Alice breathed, “you don’t care about the tape.

That’s not why you’re here. You don’t want it to get out

to the public, but it’s Rachel’s interest in Susanna—”

“Sleep well.” His tone was without inflection, and he

started out, stopping at the gazebo door and looking back

at her, the flashlight pointed at the floor. “You should have

told me the truth. Instead, you tried to double-cross me.”

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Carla Neggers

“We can still do a deal.”

“Maybe.”

And he’d left her like that. She took a few sips of

water and shoved the bottle to the bottom of her sleep-

ing bag, and now she was hunkered down deep. She’d

sealed off any gaps where the cold air could seep in. She

could feel her breath hot against the slick fabric. Freeze

or suffocate. What a choice. She thought of the idiots

who climbed Mt. Everest. What did the women do when

they had to pee in the middle of the night?

Even if she didn’t run into Beau, she’d die of expo-

sure if she left the teahouse. She had no flashlight, no

compass, no provisions. She already knew she had no

sense of direction in these woods. And her socks were

wet. She wouldn’t get far in wet socks.

Her only hope was to stay alive until morning and try

to work out some kind of deal with Beau.

I loved my wife, Officer Parker. I loved her very much.

She couldn’t remember when Beau had said that.

Tonight? The night of Rachel’s death?

It’s your fault she’s dead. Yours and Susanna Gal-

way’s. You’re the ones responsible.

Had he
ever
said that? Alice shut her eyes, her cheeks

and lips burning from the wind and the cold. If Beau had

said that, she should have told Jack Galway.

Maybe Beau hadn’t said it. Maybe this was one of

her prison dreams, and she’d wake up on her cot in her

cell, sweating and hyperventilating.

She’d never had much luck in life.

She rolled onto her side, trying to get comfortable on

the rotting, loose floorboards. She imagined Iris Dun-

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289

ning as a young woman, her chestnut hair flowing, shin-

ing in the moonlight as she made passionate love to a

rich, married man out here on a hot summer night.

��

Eighteen

Sam Temple sat at the oak table drinking coffee and

eyeing Susanna, who was showered, dressed and accus-

tomed to being in the company of Texas Rangers and

therefore not intimidated. Sam, however, had already

made it abundantly clear that he was not happy with her.

It was morning and a storm was brewing. Clouds had

moved in from the west, and the wind was picking up.

Susanna pictured them all trapped in the cabin for days

on end in a major blizzard. She couldn’t imagine Sam

building jigsaw puzzles and playing Scrabble.

Jack was in the shower. Maggie and Ellen were in

their room taking turns reading
Pride and Prejudice.

They’d rebounded well after yesterday. Gran was on the

couch in front of the fire, pensive, uninterested in work-

ing the castle puzzle.

“My life would be easier if you’d just come on back

to Texas,” Sam said.

Susanna leaned back in her chair. “And just how

would your life be easier?”

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291

“Well, I wouldn’t be up here in the frozen north freez-

ing my ass off.”

“That’s a stretch, Sam. It was your choice to come

up here. I had nothing to do with it.”

He shook his head. He was chiseled, dark and very

handsome. “You have everything to do with why I’m

here. Beau McGarrity turned up in your neighborhood

when he told his cleaning woman he was going hunt-

ing. I don’t like that.”

“He’s after Alice Parker, not me.”

“That’s what we regard in my line of work as a leap

of logic. There are two detectives back in Boston keep-

ing an eye out for McGarrity, and Jack and I will be talk-

ing to the local and state police up here. Mr. McGarrity

has some explaining to do.”

“You need an articulable reason for picking him

up—”

“I know what I need. We have good reason to believe

he broke into Alice’s apartment and your grandmother’s

house.”

“But it wouldn’t matter,” Susanna said. “You’d pick

him up for having a beer at Jim’s Place.”

“It’s provocative conduct.”

“You don’t like it.”

He almost managed a smile. “That’s right, Mrs. Gal-

way. I don’t like it. And if McGarrity’s after Alice Par-

ker, she has a right to protection, as well.”

“Courtesy, service, protection.”

He winked. “That’s our motto.”

Susanna stared out the window at the white and

gray landscape. “Sam, I’m sorry. If I’d known Beau

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McGarrity had hunted me down before his wife was

killed—”

“You didn’t. I’ll give you that one. If we’d known

about his visit after his wife’s murder, we might have

pressed him more, we might have pressed Alice more—

but she copped to the witness tampering right off, so

who the hell knows?” He shifted in his chair, and if he

felt out of place in an Adirondack cabin, he’d never

show it. “Never mind McGarrity and Alice Parker. My

life’d be easier, period, if you came home. Jack hasn’t

been in a good mood since you took off to Boston.”

“Give me a break, Sam. I was sleeping with Jack

when you were in the ninth grade.”

His black eyes flashed with amusement. “Sleeping

with Jack that tough, is it?”

She gave him a steady look, refusing to let any color