THE SECRET OF CHEROKEE COVE (15 page)

Nix smiled faintly. “Cal Massey?”

Pitts nodded slowly. “Lester said he treated her real nice.”

“You didn’t keep up with her after that?”

Pitts shrugged. “She got a better job and left the bait shop. I didn’t have any way of tracking her after that.”

“What makes you think she was telling the truth about the baby?”

“Because Tallie Cumberland wasn’t a liar. She might keep a secret or two—never did tell anyone who the baby’s daddy was, as far as I know. But she didn’t tell lies. The girl looked me in the face and told me the baby that died wasn’t her baby. That she found her baby two doors down, in the room with Nina Hale. And God help me, I believed her.”

“Why didn’t you do anything to help her?”

“What could I have done?” Pitts asked. “I wasn’t that much older than the girl myself. Fresh on the force, just tryin’ to make a life for myself and Martha. Benton was on the way then—Martha had just found out.”

Nix supposed he could understand a man not wanting to make waves when all he had was his belief in a teenage girl’s word. “I guess everybody else believed the Hales.”

“You guess right.”

“I’m surprised Tallie gave up. From what I hear about her, she wasn’t a quitter.”

A weak smile creased Pitts’s face. “She didn’t give up for a long time. Drove folks around here crazy with it, if you want to know the truth.”

“I thought she left town soon after the birth.”

“Oh, no, son. It was nearly a year later before she went. By then, the Hales were talkin’ restraining orders and defamation lawsuits.” Pitts shook his head sadly. “They’d made life miserable for her folks and everybody who knew ’em. The folks in Cherokee Cove practically drove the Cumberlands out of town because of the feud between Tallie and the Hales. They were afraid the Hales and Sutherlands would call in loans and put pressure on their places of business if they didn’t shun her and her family.”

Which explained a lot, Nix realized, about the stories he’d heard about the Cumberlands his whole life.

“Is that what made Tallie give up finally and leave town?”

Pitts looked out across the woods, his gaze distant, as if he was watching the past play out in his mind. “She saw the boy with Nina Hale,” he answered. “She ran across them at Little Creek Park in Edgewood. I reckon she’d gone there to try to talk to Nina alone, without Paul or old Pete there to run interference.”

“She was stalking her?”

Pitts shrugged. “Some folks might call it that.”

“Did she talk to her?”

Pitts shook his head. “She watched them a little while. Just watched Nina playing with that little boy. Tallie told me afterward it was like watching her heart rip to pieces and stitch itself back up, all at once.”

Nix wasn’t sure he understood. “All she did was watch?”

“I reckon it was all she had to do. I might have my suspicions about old Pete Sutherland, and I might agree Paul Hale has it in him to rip a baby out of his mama’s arms for his own reasons, but I don’t for a second believe Nina Hale knows that boy ain’t her son. She’s done nothin’ but love him and take care of him like a mama bear since the day she left the hospital with him in her arms. I reckon watchin’ her with that child a few minutes convinced Tallie of the same thing.”

“So she decided not to take him away from the only mother he knew.”

“She came to me cryin’ like a baby. Told me she’d seen a different way to love her little boy.”

A hard shudder of sympathy rocked through Nix, settling deep in his chest. “But she couldn’t bear to stay around and see what she couldn’t have?”

“Exactly.” Pitts sighed. “So I helped her leave.”

Nix rubbed his jaw, wondering if he would have had as much strength as that little mountain girl who’d chosen her son’s happiness over her own. “Just one question, then. Why would anyone have wanted to hurt her and her husband fifteen years ago? She’d left town, stopped making a stink. What kind of threat would she have posed?”

“You don’t know why she came back here to Bitterwood?”

Nix looked at the grizzled old former cop and realized the only possible answer. “Fifteen years ago, Dalton Hale had just turned twenty-one.”

“He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was old enough to hear the truth,” Pitts said with a nod. “She and her husband came to talk to me. I reckon they might have talked to some other people, as well.”

“They were going to tell Dalton the truth,” Nix realized.

“I think that’s exactly what they were going to do.” Pitts met Nix’s gaze, his expression grim. “And someone made damned sure they didn’t get the chance.”

Chapter Fifteen

Dana had never been any good at waiting for news. She preferred to take action, make things happen, rather than sit around and let things happen to her. Waiting for the phone to ring was a terrible way to spend her time, she decided, so she left her car at the police station and walked down Main Street toward the small business district to look for that engagement present for Doyle and Laney she’d never had the chance to purchase.

There weren’t many shops in Bitterwood that sold anything appropriate as a gift for a pair of soon-to-be newlyweds, she quickly discovered. Why she hadn’t taken full advantage of the shopping opportunities back in Atlanta, she didn’t know.

Check that—she
did
know. She’d been working right up to the last minute, trying to come up with a reason to postpone her trip to Bitterwood and cancel her vacation days. Work had become the only thing that made any sense in her life in the past few years, maybe because anything approaching a personal relationship scared the hell out of her.

Look what she’d done here in Bitterwood. She’d met an attractive, interesting, intelligent man who clearly found her appealing, and she’d turned their relationship into work. Although, in her defense, it
was
a crime that had brought them together in the first place.

But nobody had forced her to use the attempt on her brother’s life as a barrier between her and Nix. She’d come up with that excuse all by herself. She’d been the one to put on the brakes when things between them had started to heat up. Not Nix.

Over the past few years, she’d been doing a lot of hiding behind walls, hadn’t she? Because of losing her parents and David? Because of a few less-than-happy endings in her own love life?

She’d never thought of herself as a coward, but she was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t fear that ordered her life these days. Had she gained her reputation as a tough, hard-driving deputy U.S. marshal only because she’d rather take risks in her job than take any risks with her heart? Had she used her job as another wall to protect herself from what really scared her?

The trill of her cell phone felt like a giant reprieve from her uncomfortable bout of introspection.
Please be something I can do,
she thought as she looked at the unfamiliar phone number on her cell phone display
.
“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Massey.”

It took a moment to place the cultured drawl. “Mr. Sutherland. How did you get my number?”

“I spent years as a newspaperman, my dear. I have my ways.” His voice was tinged with amusement and a friendly sort of charm. “I’ve arranged for you to meet my daughter and her husband.”

She blinked with surprise. “Really.”

“I understand you were trying to reach them earlier today. As you can imagine, they were hesitant to readdress the unpleasantness of the past, but I assured them you were a reasonable and civil person. They have nothing to fear from you, do they?”

She supposed it depended on whether or not she came to believe they were complicit in the abduction of her half brother, the murders of her parents and the attempted murder of her brother. But she wasn’t stupid enough to say so out loud. “Of course not. I’m just trying to fill in all the blanks my mother’s death left for me. There was a lot about her past she never told us.”

“Perhaps you should honor her wishes and let the past lie undisturbed,” Pete said gently.

A part of her wished she could take his advice, even if she questioned his motives for offering it. If what she’d learned already meant what she thought it did, she had a lot of hard decisions to make.

But letting the past lie undisturbed wasn’t something she could do, no matter what happened. Not if it meant turning a blind eye to murder.

“I can’t do that,” she said.

There was a long pause. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” Pete sounded both resigned and a little regretful. “My daughter and her husband are understandably hesitant to meet you in a public venue. This is a small town and people talk.”

A finger of unease traced a cold path up her spine. “Where do they want to meet?”

“They have a cabin on Copperhead Ridge. A small place they use in the summer. It’s private and well away from curious eyes. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk about a quarter mile past where vehicles can travel. Will that be a problem for you?”

“No,” she said, even though she didn’t like the sound of where the Hales wanted to meet her. Secluded and accessible on foot wasn’t anywhere near an optimal choice. “I’ll be bringing someone with me.”

“I don’t think Nina and Paul will agree to that.”

What were they negotiating here, she wondered, an international treaty? “You can understand
my
hesitation.”

“And surely you can understand theirs. This matter was closed decades ago, as far as my daughter and son-in-law are concerned. Meeting with you is a kindness on their part.”

Unless she found evidence to force them to talk to her in an official capacity, Sutherland was right. If she wanted to speak with the Hales—and she most definitely did—she would have to deal on their terms.

But she’d still try to get Nix to be there, even if he stayed in her car. She didn’t want to take any stupid chances if she didn’t have to.

“What time?” she asked.

“They’ll be at the cabin after four this afternoon. Can you be there?”

“I’ll have to get directions.”

“No directions necessary,” he said with a hint of humor. “Bitterwood is not a large place, and you can almost certainly see Copperhead Ridge from where you’re standing. You need only to follow Main Street until it becomes Edgewood Road. The Copperhead Trail marker is obvious. Turn left at the marker, park in the lot by the trailhead and follow the trail until you reach the first trail shelter. From there, you should see the path to the cabin on the right. Would you like me to have Nina or Paul meet you there?”

“That might be a good idea,” she said. He spoke as if the directions he was giving her were simple enough for a child, but this might be her only chance to ask the Hales about what had happened at Maryville Mercy Hospital all those years ago. She didn’t want to blow it by getting herself lost.

“I’ll arrange it,” he said. “I wish I could be there, but I have business to attend to.”

“Thank you for arranging it, Mr. Sutherland. It’s very kind of you.” Assuming he had no ulterior motives, she added silently after she’d said goodbye and hung up the phone. After all, these were the people she still considered reasonable suspects in the deaths of her parents and the crash that had landed her brother in the hospital for a couple of days.

Doyle would probably chew her out for not calling him for backup, but she’d seen how tired and pale he was at the office. He’d talked his way out of the hospital earlier than was probably wise, and the last thing she was going to do was tell him where she was going and what she was doing. He’d probably grab his crutches and try to follow her up the mountain, a bad idea on every conceivable level. And even if, by some miracle, he proved himself levelheaded enough to stay put and let her handle the meeting, he’d worry himself sick waiting to hear back from her.

No, she’d wait until after the meeting to tell Doyle what she’d learned. But she didn’t plan to go up that mountain without some sort of backup.

She dialed Nix’s number, hoping she wasn’t catching him at a bad time, and growled a soft curse when the call went straight to his voice mail. “Nix, it’s Dana. I’ve just received a call from Pete Sutherland. He’s set up a meeting between me and the Hales up on Copperhead Ridge. I have to be there at four—if you get this message before then, please call me. And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Doyle. He’ll want to limp up here or something. Listen, they don’t want me bringing anyone to the cabin with me—suspicious, I know, but I can’t let this opportunity go by without giving it a shot. But I sure could use someone to watch my back from down in the parking lot—”

The message beeped, cutting her off. She considered calling back, but a glance at her watch nixed that idea. It was already three-thirty, and she had a hike up the mountain ahead of her. She’d call him one more time from the mountain with more details.

* * *

N
IX
PULLED
OUT
his phone as soon as he got back in the Ford. He had a lot of new information for Dana and the chief, thanks to his talk with Alvin Pitts, and at least one solid new avenue for investigation.

Dana’s phone went straight to voice mail, so he tried the office. Ellen Flatley, the chief’s assistant, informed him that Chief Massey had left for the afternoon, at his fiancée’s insistence. “Can Captain Parsons help you?” she asked with prim officiousness, even though he’d known her since he was a gap-toothed kid on the Bitterwood P.D.–sponsored community baseball team. She’d been a tough third-base coach, but she’d never come to a game without a pocket full of bubble gum.

“I really need to talk to the chief, Mrs. F. Are you sure he went home?”

“He was with Ms. Hanvey, so I can’t assure you of anything at all,” she said with a hint of humor in her otherwise steely voice. “I can forward a message to his cell phone if you wish.”

“Not necessary. I have his number. Thanks anyway.” He wasn’t happy about disturbing the chief now that Laney had apparently coaxed him out of the office to rest, to tell the truth. The man had looked a little pale and shaky at the office, and all the information Dana had imparted must have felt like body blows.

But his condition was a result of foul play, and Nix’s meeting with Alvin Pitts might have put the investigation a lot closer to a resolution. The chief needed to know the truth.

He had started to hit the contact button to speed-dial the chief when he spotted a missed call. It was Dana’s cell number—she must have called back while he was on the phone with Mrs. Flatley. She’d left a message, he saw, but he didn’t waste time checking it. He needed to talk to her anyway; might as well receive her message in person.

But when he called her number, it went straight to voice mail again. Probably on the phone with her brother, he thought, or maybe even checking in at her office. He left a quick message and hung up to call the chief.

Doyle answered on the second ring. “Nix, I can’t talk—”

The alarm in the chief’s voice set Nix’s nerves jangling. “What’s wrong?”

“I just called Dana to tell her I was heading home. She practically hung up on me.”

Nix frowned. “I take it she doesn’t cut you off that way normally?”

“Actually,” Doyle said with obvious reluctance, “sometimes she does. When she’s at work or in the middle of something important. But after the talk we just had—just trust me. Something isn’t right.”

“Where is she?” Nix asked, suddenly wishing he’d taken a second to listen to the voice mail she’d left him.

“I don’t know. It sounded like she was in her car.”

When he’d left to talk to Pitts, she hadn’t told him about any plans away from the police station. He’d figured she’d wait to hear what he had to tell them before she wandered off anywhere. “Look,” he told Doyle, “I missed a call from her a few minutes ago, but she left a voice mail. I’ll check it and get back to you if there’s anything to worry about.”

“Thanks.” Doyle hung up.

Nix punched in the voice-mail code and listened, with growing alarm, as Dana told him about the call from Pete Sutherland. By the time her message cut off, he had already pulled a U-turn, heading for Edgewood Road and the turnoff to Copperhead Ridge.

He tried Dana’s cell phone again. This time, she answered on the second ring. “Nix, you got my message?”

“Don’t go up there alone, Dana.” He bit back the urge to shout at the slow-moving pickup truck lumbering up Edgewood Road in front of him. “I heard something from Alvin Pitts you need to know.”

“If you’re going to tell me the Hales are prime suspects in what happened to my parents, I know that already. I’m armed and I’m going to be cautious.”

“Dana, there are no private cabins on Copperhead Ridge.”

She was silent for a moment on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke softly. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. The county owns and maintains the trail and environs. The only cabins on that mountain are historic sites.”

Dana muttered a soft profanity. “Okay. I’m heading back—” Her voice cut off suddenly. Almost simultaneously, Nix heard a sharp crack come across the line.

“Dana?” His voice rose in fear.

“I’m under fire,” she whispered urgently.

* * *

T
HE
SECOND
BULLET
passed
close enough that she heard the whistle of wind past her ear almost simultaneously with the report of the rifle. Clutching the cell phone with one hand, she threw herself into a thicket to her right and scrabbled for the Glock secured in the pancake holster behind her back.

She could hear Nix saying her name, the sound distant and tinny. She carefully lifted the phone back to her ear, not wanting to make any sudden moves that might betray her position to the shooter. “I’m here,” she whispered.

“Are you hidden?” he asked, his voice tight with urgency.

“For the moment.”

“I’m nearly at the parking area. Stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”

“You’ll be a target if you do,” she warned.

Another gunshot sounded. Close by, though it seemed to be aimed in the wrong direction.

“I don’t think he sees me, but he’s still shooting,” she whispered, trying to will her thundering pulse to a slower, steadier beat. She needed to focus, to keep her head.
Nerves of steel, Massey. Nerves of steel.

“Any idea of the weapon?” On Nix’s end of the line, the motor noise died away. Apparently he’d reached the parking lot.

“Rifle. I didn’t get a visual of the shooter, which probably means he’s not that close. I don’t think a pistol round would have gotten nearly as close at such a distance.” She tried to remember the way the shots had sounded. “I’d say a .223 round. Nothing any bigger than that.”

“Maybe a hunting rifle?”