The Cabin (9 page)

much you’re worth, have you?”

“Why would I? He pays attention to money even less

than you do.”

“Susanna, you have to tell him!”

Susanna returned to her desk, feeling stubborn now

that they were talking about her husband. “Why?”

“He’s going to find out, you know. That’s what

you’re afraid of, isn’t it? He’s a guy’s guy. He might not

like having his wife sneaking around making millions.”

“It’s his money, too.”

“Uh-huh. And he’s a Texas Ranger. You’ve always

said it’s all he’s ever wanted to do, even when he was at

Harvard. Suppose he’ll think you’ll want him to quit?”

Susanna frowned. “I’d never tell him what to do,

anymore than he’d tell me.”

“Yeah, what about all the other Texas Rangers? What

will they think if one of their own’s suddenly worth

eight million?”

“Ten,” Susanna corrected.

“Ten million? Damn, Susanna. Maybe it’s time to

hire bodyguards—or make peace with your husband.

Talk about armed and dangerous.”

“Nobody knows how much I’m worth. You, my ac-

countant and my attorney.” Susanna could feel her heart

pounding, but she kept her tone breezy, as if none of this

really bothered her. She knew Tess wasn’t fooled. “It’s

not as if I’ve radically changed my lifestyle.”

“Moving to Boston, buying a cabin in the Adiron-

dacks. That’s not radically changing your lifestyle?”

Susanna dropped onto her chair in front of at her

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computer. “I was only worth five million when I left San

Antonio.”

Tess swooped to her feet. “God, you’re impossible.

If you get kidnapped and held for ransom, don’t expect

me to come here and figure out how to fork over the

money.” She hoisted her microfiber satchel onto her

shoulder. “I’ve got to run. I have one more devil of a cli-

ent meeting.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Susanna,

please—you’ll think about what I said?”

“Tess, you know I will—I appreciate your concern.

Thanks for stopping by.”

“Come up sometime. Bring the girls. I know it’s win-

ter, but the ocean’s still beautiful.”

After Tess left, Susanna stood at the tall, arched win-

dows overlooking historic Old Granary Burial Ground,

snow drifting against its thin, centuries-old tombstones.

No radical changes in her life. Who was she kidding?

Tess was right.

As if to prove her point, the doorman buzzed her and

announced Destin Wright was there to see her. Susanna

dropped back onto her desk chair and felt an instant

headache coming on. She’d been putting Destin off for

days. She sighed. How could telling her husband about

ten million dollars and a murder suspect showing up in

their kitchen be any harder than dealing with Destin

Wright? She said into the intercom, “Send him up.”

He would take the old elevator, she knew, not the

stairs, and he’d find a way to irritate her within twenty

seconds of arriving in her office. She got up and un-

locked the door, just so she wouldn’t have to let him in.

He didn’t knock. He pushed open the translucent

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glass door and grinned at her. “Yo, Susanna. How’s it

going? Was that Tess I just saw leaving the building?”

“Yes, she stopped in for a visit—”

“I wasn’t invited to her wedding, you know.”

Susanna felt the blood pulse behind her eyes. “Des-

tin, you and Tess aren’t even friends.”

“What? We grew up together.”

“You’re ten years older than she is.”

“So?”

Susanna gave up. Destin Wright had grown up on the

next street over from her grandmother’s house, never,

apparently, making a secret of his desire to get out of the

neighborhood at his first opportunity. He was in his mid-

forties and fit the stereotype of the preppy Harvard grad

with his blond good looks, except he’d quit a local ju-

nior college after one semester. He’d started an Internet

company a few years ago and made millions, then went

broke almost overnight. He’d had a fun idea, but no real

business plan, no profits—and wildly expensive tastes.

Now he wanted to start over. With Susanna’s help.

“Destin…”

He held up a hand. “No, wait. Hang on. I’m not here

to pester you about money.” He grinned sheepishly, as

if he’d known he’d pushed her too far with his various

comeback schemes. He was charming, energetic and in-

credibly self-centered, with a sense of entitlement that

knew no bounds. He had on an expensive camel coat left

over from his high-on-the-hog days. “I just wanted to

tell you I followed your advice and wrote up a business

plan. The whole nine yards.”

“Good for you, Destin.”

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He scratched the back of his neck, eyeing her. “I was

thinking you could take a look at it. As a favor.”

Susanna shook her head, adamant. “You know I’m

not getting involved in this project. I’ve told you. This

isn’t what I do, even if I thought it was a good idea to

help out someone from Gran’s neighborhood.”

“One little look?”

“No. I’m sorry. I can recommend people—”

“I can’t pay anyone. Come on, Suze, you know the

score. I need to do a deal, barter a little. I’ve downsized

as much as I can. Hell, I’m about to have my BMW

repossessed.”

How he’d ever pulled together the attention span and

backing to start a company in the first place was beyond

Susanna. Luck, guts, flare, charisma, just enough skill.

If he’d come to her sooner, she might have been able to

help him save some of his personal wealth when the dot-

com craze came crashing back to earth, but the same re-

lentless optimism that had drawn Destin Wright into

starting a risky business made him stick with it too long.

He just hadn’t seen the bottom coming. When he hit, he

hit hard.

“I just need some angel money,” he said, unable to

resist.

“If you have a good idea, you’ll get it. But not from me.”

“A hundred grand would get me off the ground—”

“Not a dime, Destin.” She’d learned from hard expe-

rience that she had to be very clear and very straight

with him. Subtle didn’t work with Destin. “I’m not

changing my mind.”

“You could be a founding partner. Suze, you’re

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bored, you know you are. This’d be exciting, a new

company, your business experience and smarts hooked

up with my ideas and energy.” He paused, obviously

waiting to see if his words were having any impact on

her. When they didn’t, he sighed. “Okay, okay. You’ve

got a full well, and you don’t want me dipping in my

rusting, leaking bucket. I understand.” He was remark-

ably good-humored for a man who’d been told no for

at least the fourth time. He grinned suddenly. “I’ll just

have to work harder to convince you. If you could take

two seconds and peek at my business plan—”

“I can offer you cookies and a cup of bad coffee,” Su-

sanna said. “That’s it.”

He dropped a shiny black folder on her desk. “If you

get a chance,” he said, leaving it at that. He started for

the door. “I’ll see you around the neighborhood. You

know, people are starting to talk about how much money

you have. I heard one guy say he thought it was at least

five million.”

“People like to talk.”

“If you’re worth five million, you wouldn’t miss a

hundred grand, even if you threw it down the toilet,

and I’d—”

“Destin.”
She shook her head, unable to suppress a

laugh. “Look, I’ll talk to some people. If this idea

doesn’t work out, another one will. You’ll be okay.”

But he barely heard her. He hadn’t come for a pep

talk from her. He wanted free advice and money. He

headed out, and Susanna sank back against her chair,

wrung out. Destin never knew when to quit—and some-

times she wondered if she quit too soon.

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Carla Neggers

She thought of Jack, what he might be doing late on

a Thursday afternoon. Would he quit on her? Had she

already quit on him?

Her eyes filled with sudden tears, and she quickly

shut down her computer and packed up her briefcase,

turned off the coffeepot. It had been a lousy day, but at

least tonight was chowder night at Jim’s Place.

��

Five

Jack unlocked the door to his empty house and stood

in the kitchen, staring at a picture of Maggie and Ellen

on the refrigerator. He’d taken it over the holidays. They

had their midwinter break coming up, but they were

spending it in the Adirondacks at Susanna’s new cabin.

Snowshoeing. Cross-country skiing. “Freezing our butts

off,” Maggie had said less than enthusiastically in their

last conversation.

He could join them. He had that open invitation from

his wife to see the cabin.

He smiled, thinking of what Susanna would do if he

turned up out of the blue with a pair of snowshoes

strapped to his back. He’d made it clear it was up to her

to come home and figure things out here, not up to him

to go there. It wasn’t just a matter of digging in his

heels and forcing her to toe the line—it made sense.

Maggie, Ellen and Iris would all be distractions. He and

Susanna needed time alone, on familiar turf.

So far, that strategy wasn’t working. Whatever time

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they’d managed to have alone during this endless stale-

mate, they’d spent in bed. That suited him, but it wasn’t

getting the job done—Susanna was still living with her

grandmother in Boston. And he had to admit he was

using his work to distract himself, taking the hardest

cases, working the longest hours.

He got a beer from the refrigerator and went out onto

the patio and found a spot in the late afternoon sun.

There’d been nothing on Alice Parker since she’d

cleared out of San Antonio a month ago. Her former po-

lice chief boss said he hadn’t heard from her. She had

no family left in the area. Her parents were drug addict

transients who hadn’t been heard from in years. They’d

abandoned Alice to the care of her paternal grandmother

when she was twelve, a good woman by all accounts,

but she died five years ago.

“She’s probably feeding the kangaroos in Australia

by now,” the chief had told Jack.

He wasn’t so sure. Alice Parker had unfinished busi-

ness in south Texas, and he’d be happier knowing where

she was.

Jack stared up at the vibrant, golden sunset. He sup-

posed he should get some supper, but he didn’t want to

move. He wanted to sit here a while and think about the

Rachel McGarrity murder investigation, Beau McGar-

rity, Alice Parker, a contaminated crime scene, a fabri-

cated witness and his wife.

He had a mind to check with a travel agent in the

morning and see about flying into the Adirondacks.

What was the closest airport? Albany? Montreal? Bur-

lington, Vermont? He’d rent a car, and he’d drive out to

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79

Blackwater Lake, find this damn cabin and surprise the

hell out of one Susanna Dunning Galway.

Susanna slid onto a stool at Jim Haviland’s bar and or-

dered a bowl of clam chowder. The girls were with

friends, and Gran had already been in and was home

watching a game show, still trying to decide whether she’d

come up to Blackwater Lake with them on Saturday.

“Destin was in earlier asking for you,” Jim said, set-

ting the steaming chowder in front of Susanna.

She groaned. “I hope you told him I never come in

here anymore. He’s driving me nuts. I’m tempted to in-

vest in this new idea of his just to shut him up.”

“Is it a good idea?”

“I don’t know. I won’t let him tell me about it. Jim, I

just can’t give him the kind of money he’s asking for—”

He held up a big hand. “Hey, you don’t have to ex-

plain to me.”

She sighed. “Destin’s not a bad guy.”

“He’s an asshole,” Davey Ahearn blurted from the

other end of the bar. He shrugged, apologetic, when

Susanna looked at him. “Excuse my language. Ask Des-

tin how much he gave back to the neighborhood when

he made it big. See what he says. You’re rich, Suzie-cue.

You give back.”

She tried her chowder, which was thick and

creamy—perfect. “What makes you think I’m rich?”

Davey grinned. “I’m a plumber, remember? I hear

things. I know what you pay for your office in town, and

I know what you gave to the family of that firefighter

who got killed over Christmas.”

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She frowned at him. “That was supposed to be an

anonymous gift.”

“One or two less zeroes in it, it might have stayed

anonymous.”

Jim Haviland tossed a white bar towel over his shoul-

der. “Tess told me she stopped by your office a few

weeks ago and gave you a lecture. She called this morn-