Stonebrook Cottage

by Carla Neggers

  Lillian flipped her braid over one shoulder. "Henry arranged everything on the camp computer—he even printed out a form we needed. The driver thought we were meeting Mom. When we got to the airport, we pretended to see her and jumped out with our backpacks. It was easy."

  "It's not like we're little kids," her brother added.

  Kara stared at the two of them. "You mean you conned your way out here. At the very least you owe this poor driver an apology." She could think of two Texas Rangers who'd be interested in the kids' story. "How did you get from the airport to my house?"

  "Taxi," Henry said.

  "When?"

  "A little while ago." His chin was thrust up at her, as if he was daring her to try to pin him down to an exact time or tell him he'd done anything seriously wrong.

  Kara paced in her small living room, its cozy fabrics and woods having no soothing effect on her. The kids' backpacks were leaning up against her couch, unzipped, water bottles and CD players poking out. Who wouldn't believe anything they said?

  "Did the cab take you to my door?" she asked.

  Henry stretched out his legs and dipped his hand into his popcorn bag. "We had him drop us off on the corner."

  That wouldn't divert Jack and Sam for half a second. "You left a hell of a trail. I'm surprised I got here before the police. You know they're bound to be looking for you by now, don't you?" She groaned at the mess these kids had made for themselves. And they no doubt thought they were so smart. "You're calling your mother right now."

  Lillian glanced at her brother, and his mouth drew into a straight, grim line. "She knows we're here."

  "No, she doesn't. I talked to her earlier—"

  "Then she lied to you because someone was listening and she couldn't tell you the truth." Henry gazed up defiantly, Lillian following his lead. Given her years as a criminal defense attorney, Kara could sense fear behind defiance, bravado, loud, false protests of inno-cence—and she did now, with her godchildren. There was a quaver to his voice when Henry went on. "Mom told us we had to get out of the ranch as fast as possible and go to you. She couldn't come for us. We had to get away on our own. She knew we could do it."

  "Henry. Lillian." Kara continued to pace, her head pounding. The smell of popcorn turned her stomach. "Your mother would not have asked you to run away like that. No one in their right mind would. She'd call me and have me go pick you up—"

  "She didn't," Lillian said.

  Kara sighed. "You two have put me in a hell of a position," she said, not unkindly.

  "We know." Henry spoke softly, but his eyes—a clear, pale blue almost identical to his father's—grew wide and serious. "Aunt Kara, we're in trouble."

  Lillian nodded, gulping for air. "Big trouble."

  There was no bravado now, no pride in having slipped off to Austin on their own, with no one the wiser. Kara stopped pacing, staying on her feet as she waited for them to continue. Their fear was palpable.

  "That's why Mom's acting so weird," Henry said.

  Lillian reached into her backpack and withdrew the first of the Harry Potter books, its cover greasy and torn. She opened up to a page marked with a twig and stared down at it, her braid flopping down her front, hands greasy from the popcorn.

  "Mom sent us a letter to give to you." Henry unzipped the outer pocket of his backpack and pulled out a grimy water bottle, a CD player, two fruit-bar wrappers, a compass and, finally, a limp, rumpled envelope. He handed it to Kara. She noticed it was sealed, no postmark. He said, "She put it in with other stuff she sent down for us. We didn't read it."

  Kara sat on the edge of an overstuffed armchair a few feet from her godchildren. She'd gone to a store decorator with the dimensions and style of her living room and said go to it. She liked to think she'd have time one day to fuss with proper renovations and decorating, but this was her life, she thought. Here she was, listening to two middle-schoolers defend their inexplicable actions.

  Henry had always been precocious and quiet, skilled at getting people to do what he wanted them to do without them even realizing it. He wasn't manipulative so much as an effective negotiator, always certain of what he wanted the outcome to be. In this case, apparently, it was to convince his godmother that he and his sister had run away with their mother's permission because they all were in big trouble.

  Kara recognized the heavy cream-colored stock and dark green ink, the elegant lettering, of Allyson's personal stationery. Nice touch. The letter inside was handwritten. Smart. If it had been typed, she'd have nailed Henry and Lillian immediately. The handwriting was similar enough to Allyson's to pass initial muster, and whoever had done the writing had even thought to use her signature black fountain pen. Kara still wasn't willing to declare the letter genuine. She read skeptically: Dear Kara,

  I know this will come as a shock, but you're the only one I can trust right now. Henry and Lillian are in grave danger. We all are. I'll explain everything when I see you. Please take them to Stonebrook Cottage and wait for me there. Tell no one! Don't call me. It's too dangerous. I'll come to you. Please, Kara. I'm trusting you with my children. I have no other choice.

  Please believe what they tell you and do as they ask. I'll see you soon. Love, Allyson

  When she finished, Kara quelled any sense of panic or urgency she felt in response to the dramatic words she'd read. She had to stay calm and reasonably objective, and above all, she had to think. At the very least, she had a tricky situation and two troubled kids on her hands. But if the letter was genuinely from Allyson, it was a dangerous situation, confusing, mystifying, il-logical…and, still, she had two troubled kids to see to.

  Stonebrook Cottage was located at the end of a dirt road on the southern border of Stockwell Farm. Allyson owned it, and Kara had stayed there a number of times during her years up north.

  "Henry, Lillian. Listen to me." Kara refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. "If this is a forgery, I'm not going to be happy about it. Do you understand?"

  They nodded solemnly, their expressions serious, frightened, tired.

  Kara was unmoved. These were her godchildren, and she loved them, but she couldn't let that lower her defenses. "What grades did you get in English?" she asked. "You first, Henry."

  He gave her a blank stare. "What?"

  "Language arts, English, writing—what were your grades?"

  "A's."

  "He got a D in math," Lillian said without looking up from her book.

  "What did you get in language arts?" Kara asked her.

  "A's."

  Henry and Lillian are in grave danger. We all are.

  The letter didn't make any sense. Allyson was the governor of Connecticut. If she thought her children were in danger down in Texas, why not call Texas authorities? Or send a couple of state troopers to fetch them? At least why not call Kara and ask her to intervene? Why take such a huge risk and have them sneak off to Austin on their own?

  If she didn't want to involve law enforcement, Allyson was rich—she could hire a private bodyguard.

  Nothing in Allyson's call had prepared her for this development. Her friend had sounded genuinely near panic.

  Kara knew how to shoot and had taken a couple of self-defense classes, but that was it. She didn't have the training, the expertise, the weaponry or the mandate of the Texas Rangers, the Austin police. Allyson had to know the entire state of Texas—including Kara's brother—would be on alert for the two missing kids of a New England governor. How did she expect Kara to get them out of Texas on the sly? Allyson's actions defied logic.

  For two middle-schoolers to engineer such an elaborate plan and think it made sense—that might not defy logic. The trauma of Big Mike's death, homesickness, isolation and a natural sense of drama could have gotten Henry and Lillian plotting, but there had to be more. Something else had to be going on.

  What?

  Suddenly hot and frustrated, Kara shot to her feet and turned the air-conditioning up a notch. She heard it hum, felt the rush o
f cooler air. It was almost ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock in New England. She recalled her brief conversation with Allyson. "I have a million people around right now, so I can't talk, but Kara— please, keep an eye out. I know you're a ways from the ranch, but maybe they'll turn up."

  Was that a hint?

  Not bloody likely, Kara thought. Henry and Lillian's story had to be bogus. It was the only reasonable conclusion, and it meant their mother and the people at the dude ranch were still worried sick about them. It meant the searches for them would continue. It meant all hell would be breaking loose in Texas and Connecticut until someone tracked them to their godmother's doorstep— or until Kara called her brother and told him what was going on.

  Lillian yawned, her book looking heavy on her skinny thighs.

  "Don't you two want to call your mother and tell her you arrived safely?" Kara asked.

  Henry seemed to know she was trying to trip him up. "She told us not to call. You're supposed to take us to Stonebrook Cottage and wait for her there. Doesn't she say that in the letter?"

  He'd know if he wrote it, wouldn't he? Kara tried to keep her skepticism from showing. Her godchildren had gone through a lot of trouble to get her to believe them—it was important to them. She needed to be very careful about how she unraveled their story.

  Lillian lifted her thin shoulders. "We're just doing what Mom told us to do."

  Kara returned to her armchair, sinking into its soft cushions. She was still hot, the cooler air making little difference, and she was tired and torn about how to proceed.

  One thing she knew for certain. The kids' story had a million holes.

  "Aunt Kara, you're a lawyer, right?"

  She narrowed her eyes on her godson, wondering what was coming next. "Yes, why?"

  "I was just making sure. If you're a lawyer, that means everything we tell you is confidential. You can't tell anyone. Right?"

  Kara stared at him. "Henry, I'm a lawyer, but I'm not your lawyer."

  "But that's why Mom sent us to you! She said we can trust you because you're our lawyer. Aunt Kara, you can't tell anyone! We trusted you!" He balled his hands into fists, his mouth set, his face screwed up with determination. "We wouldn't have said anything if we didn't think you were our lawyer."

  "You mean you told me this whole story believing I was representing you? Henry, Lillian—I'm your godmother. I can't be your attorney! Well, I can be, but I'd need explicit permission from your mother, or a court would have to appoint a guardian ad litem for you and then you could hire me." Kara groaned, her head screaming now. "I'm not your lawyer, so get that out of your heads."

  Henry was near panic. "But that's the only reason we told you—"

  "Hold on—relax." Kara got back to her feet, wondering who was in control of this situation, her or the kids. "If you told me this whole tale believing I was acting as your attorney and it was privileged information, then that's what it is. Privileged information. I can't tell anyone."

  "We're not fugitives." Lillian was blinking back tears, clearly exhausted. "We didn't break any laws."

  Kara studied the two tired, frightened children. Something was wrong. Their story didn't add up, but they hadn't run off just because they were bored. Maybe Big Mike's death was too much for them—maybe they'd overreacted to innocent events and created some wild scenario involving secrets and grave danger and were so wrapped up in it that, at this point, they couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.

  Regardless of their motives, however real their fear, they were here now, and they were her obligation. Her sole obligation. Nothing else mattered. Connecticut politics, bluebird theories, concerned authorities in two states, not even their mother. If Allyson wrote the letter, she had to be out of her mind. If she didn't write the letter, she would expect Kara to do her best to sort out the situation and get Henry and Lillian safely home as soon as possible.

  "We could call your mom on her cell phone—"

  "No!" Henry yelled in panic, and Lillian almost cried. "We can't call her. She told us not to call. We're supposed to have you take us to Stonebrook Cottage and wait. Aunt Kara, please, you have to believe us!"

  "All right, all right. Look, you two need baths and a good night's sleep. I only have one bedroom, but you can share my bed. I'll sleep out here on the couch." Kara hugged them, one arm around each one, as they got up from the couch. "Let's get some rest and come at this fresh in the morning."

  Henry looked up at her, his thin face etched with concern. "Then what?"

  "I don't know, but I'm on your side. Okay? Do not doubt that for one second." She thought a moment, the bare bones of a plan coming together. One way or another, these kids were going back to Connecticut. "Unless I have good reason to do otherwise—you tell me it's a forgery, or I find out by other means or get new information—I'm going to do what it says in your mother's letter and get you to Stonebrook Cottage." She thought of the trail they'd left and didn't imagine they had much time if they were going to keep this little adventure among themselves and out of the public eye. But she needed to think. Staying a step ahead of Jack and Sam now that she'd enlisted their help—and aroused their suspicions—wouldn't be easy. "Don't be surprised or scared if I have to wake you up in the middle of the night."

  Lillian's eyes widened. "Why would you have to do that?"

  "Her brother's a Texas Ranger." Henry whispered as if the place was bugged. "Everyone at the ranch probably got nervous when they couldn't find us and called the police or something."

  His sister gasped. "Oh! Does that make us fugitives?"

  "It doesn't matter. Aunt Kara will help us. Big Mike used to say she was the best defense lawyer he ever knew."

  "Big Mike exaggerated," Kara said. "Go on, you two. Get cleaned up and get some sleep. I'm not worried about my brother."

  Well, she was, but she was more worried about Sam Temple. He'd made it plain he hadn't liked the call from Zoe West. When he found out the missing Stockwell kids sneaked a ride to Austin—and he would—he'd be in full Texas Ranger, by-the-book law enforcement mode. Kara didn't object to him doing his job, but his interests weren't necessarily compatible with her sense of obligation to her godchildren. She needed to get them back to their mother as soon, and as quietly, as possible.

  There was nothing by-the-book about this situation.

  She led Henry and Lillian down a short hall to her bedroom and the bathroom. Lillian was the first in the tub, Henry next, and twenty minutes later, the lights were out and they were asleep.

  Kara cleaned up their popcorn mess and flopped onto the couch, rereading the letter purportedly from Allyson. You're the only one I can trust right now… don't call me…I have no other choice.

  It had to be phony.

  And Henry not mentioning attorney-client privilege until after he and Lillian had told Kara everything— what a ploy.

  "Smart-ass. He knew what he was doing."

  She ground her teeth and placed her palm on her lower abdomen, but her nausea had finally abated. It had to be seafood tacos, the heat, her still-palpable grief over Big Mike's sudden death—she wasn't pregnant. She tried to remember any slips she and Sam had made, but stopped herself short because it entailed replaying every move, every caress, and that was pure torture.

  She thought of her towheaded godchildren asleep down the hall. They were so damn young. How could Allyson have sent them on such a crazy trip?

  She didn't.

  But something was wrong—very wrong. Henry and Lillian weren't bad kids. They wouldn't deliberately scare their mother and manipulate their godmother if they weren't frightened themselves. But of what?

  Kara knew she had to think. She didn't have much time, and she had to get this one right. Too much was at stake.

  Four

  Fatigue clawed at Sam and had already had an adverse effect on his judgment—after all, he was in Austin, not home in bed—but he continued up Kara's walkway and onto her porch, anyway. A light was on. It was almost midnight, but he doubted he
was getting her out of bed. Not that it mattered.

  Henry and Lillian Stockwell had apparently conned their way to the Austin airport. Now, why could that be? It wasn't to fly. No flights had taken off with them on board, and their mother was up in Connecticut still sounding the alarm.

  Just as Sam started to ring the bell, Kara pulled open the front door. "Sam—scare the hell out of me, why don't you?" She held up a pottery vase and smiled. "Consider yourself lucky. I was going to bonk you on the head. I don't normally get visitors at midnight."

  "You don't own a gun?"

  "No way. I hate guns." She hadn't changed out of the work clothes she'd worn down to San Antonio earlier in the evening. Sam noticed her crisp blouse was a little rumpled. She set her vase on a small hall table. "Do you have news? I haven't heard a word."

  She made no move to invite him in. Everything he knew about body language—and Kara Galway—told him she was trying to keep this exchange simple and short and get rid of him as fast as possible. There could be innocuous reasons for that, sensible ones that had nothing to do with the Stockwell kids.

  But he was playing this one his way. "Henry and Lillian conned the shuttle driver at the ranch to take them to the Austin airport."

  Kara frowned. "Why on earth would they do something like that?"

  Sam rested back on his heels, eyeing Kara. Something wasn't adding up, but she was an experienced attorney, accustomed to not tipping her hand to the other side. And somehow, he'd become the other side. He'd felt it the second she opened the door. "The Austin police are checking with the airport, taxis, buses. The kids told the shuttle driver they were meeting their mother. They claimed to see her and took off. He didn't realize anything was wrong until he got back to the ranch."

  "Allyson knows? Someone called her?"

  "The people at the ranch. Jack talked to her brother-in-law, Hatch Corrigan. He's some kind of adviser?"

  Kara nodded, her dark eyes distant, unreadable. "He must be having fits. I can't imagine what's gotten into Henry and Lillian—" She sighed, breaking off. "What's your involvement? Austin isn't your jurisdiction."