Stonebrook Cottage

by Carla Neggers

  Sam glanced back at the work crew and pictured Henry and Lillian sitting up in their tree house, watching the big machinery in their private little world. He noticed that the pea stone looked as if it had shifted during the night, probably because of the rain. He went to turn back to Kara, but saw something and stopped, peered closer.

  A foot, or just a cast-off work boot. He couldn't be certain. He took a couple of steps to his left, and he went very still inside, seeing an arm this time, sticking out of the stone.

  "Sam?" Kara slid beside him. "What is it?" But she followed his gaze, and he felt her stiffen, heard her gasp. "Oh, no…Sam…"

  He moved quickly now, Kara skidding next to him in the mud, shouting and waving at the work crew. Sam stepped onto the pea stone, the arm at shoulder height, and he reached for it, felt for a pulse. No point. The arm was grayish in the bright sun, covered in wet dust from the stones, lifeless.

  Kara got the crew's attention. They shut off their equipment, and three men leaped onto the dirt, running toward the pea stone. "Holy shit—we gotta dig him out. Jesus!"

  A bearded kid jumped into a front-end loader, but an older man, probably the foreman, shook his head. "There's no way he's alive. You get on top of this stuff, it shifts and you start to sink. You can't get your footing, and pretty soon you're sucked down deep. It's worse in the smooth rock. The rough rock doesn't move around on you as much. Probably suffocated." The man's face reddened, his frustration and horror making him angry. "Goddamnit, what was he doing here? You know, we tell people it's not safe out here—you know who it is?"

  "I have an idea," Sam said.

  Kara was grim beside him, breathing hard. "We should call the police."

  Sam took out his cell phone and dialed Zoe West directly. She answered on the fourth ring, silent as he relayed what had happened. "A body? As in a dead body? Who?"

  "Walter Harrison if I'm right."

  "Damn it. You're sure he's dead?"

  "Yes."

  She was fully alert. "What, it's just his arm and foot sticking out? All right, look—go ahead and let the work crew dig him out. You never know with suffocation. Maybe there's a chance he's still alive. I'll get an ambulance over there." She swore under her breath. "I'm on my way. Secure the damn scene, will you?"

  Sam hoped he didn't need to remind West that he had no jurisdiction as a law enforcement officer anywhere in the state of Connecticut. He hung up and nodded at the foreman. "Detective West says to dig him out."

  They all moved out of the way of the front-end loader as it gingerly knocked the top off the pea-stone pile, exposing more of the body. It was Walter Harrison, and there was no doubt he was dead. The foreman passed out shovels from the back of his pickup, and Sam took one and helped dig at the small, smooth, shifting stone. There weren't enough shovels to go around, but Kara dug with her hands.

  Harrison's body rolled toward them, and Sam and the foreman grabbed him and got him down on the wet ground. Kara, who must have seen countless crime scene photographs, breathed in shallow gulps, but the two younger men turned and vomited in a puddle. The foreman swore viciously and kicked some of the stones that had come loose from the pile.

  Kara stood back, her face pale, her dark eyes hollow. "He didn't just crawl up there and accidentally suffocate to death. What was he doing here, anyway?" she asked no one in particular.

  Sam squatted next to the body. "I'd say, no, Mr. Harrison did not just accidentally suffocate to death."

  Blood had coagulated on his chest where, obviously, he'd been shot. Kara leaned over the body and touched Sam's shoulder, her fingers icelike. "Ah, hell, Sam."

  He rose and asked everyone to sit tight until Zoe West arrived, and the men nodded without speaking, the foreman leaning against the bumper of his truck, scowling. The one who'd dug out Harrison climbed down from the front-end loader and grimaced. "Wally Harrison. That lying SOB finally got his own."

  His boss told him not to speak ill of the dead, but it was apparent all of them knew Walter Harrison and none had anything good to say about him.

  So, why, Sam thought, would Hatch hire such an unpopular character to watch after two children? He glanced back down at Harrison. From the looks of him, the cause of death likely would be suffocation, although the bullet might eventually have killed him. Sam pictured the scene out here last night, at dawn, before the storms. Wally Harrison up on the pea stone, maybe hoping for a clear view of whoever was after him, maybe in an attempt to find cover. Maybe just in a blind panic. He could have lost his footing on the stone after he'd already been shot, or in reaction to the bullet tearing into him. And once he started down into the pile, he couldn't get out.

  If Kara drew any of these same conclusions, she said nothing, her mouth clamped tight as she turned away from the body.

  Zoe West finally arrived in her bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She had on purple running shorts and sneakers and, as far as Sam could see, again carried no weapon. But this time, her cigarette was lit.

  Twenty-Two

  Allyson stormed into the barn, sick with fury, bristling with frustration and indignation. Madeleine had turned Pete away! Not the troopers—her damn mother-in-law! An hour ago! He'd dragged himself up here, injured and in pain, only to be sent home. "He can't work in that condition," Madeleine had said, unrepentant. "I did him a favor. He needs to get well."

  Liar. She'd known he was there to see Allyson and decided to keep it from happening. She must have sensed that the attraction between him and her daugh-ter-in-law had gotten out of hand. She'd long made her position known. Pete Jericho wasn't right for her son's widow. It was as if Allyson falling for Pete somehow diminished Lawrence.

  She didn't have the guts to stand up to Madeleine, as if her approval was tantamount to having Lawrence's approval, neither of which Allyson needed. Lawrence was dead. He'd been a vital part of her life, she'd loved him, but he'd been gone for ten years. She was just twenty-seven when she lost him. Was she supposed to go on forever without love in her life?

  She turned the water in the kitchen sink on full force and splashed her face. She couldn't find Hatch. He could talk to Madeleine, rein her in—Pete must have been mortified about being sent home like a naughty ten-year-old. But would Hatch approve of Pete? She thought of the argument he'd had with Mike, doubted it was over policy differences. Not here, not in the middle of the summer. Had they argued about Pete, Mike's ultimatum?

  I can't think…I don't want to think…

  Through the window above the sink, she saw Kara with one of the troopers and sighed, not really pleased to have her friend show up. Allyson turned off the water, dried her face. She was feeling too vulnerable and out of control—Kara would see it right away.

  She'd hoped to have heard from her anonymous caller by now. Get that over with. Find out what he wanted, tell her security people.

  She opened the back door and waved to the trooper that it was okay to send Kara over, and her friend came running. "Allyson, all hell's about to break loose. Sam just dropped me off—I can't find Hatch." She was pale, clearly upset. "We found Wally Harrison at the gravel pit. Allyson, he's dead. He was crushed under a pile of rock. He'd been shot."

  "Shot? He's dead?"

  "The police will want to talk to you. I didn't say anything to the troopers outside, but, Allyson—"

  "You can't find Hatch?" She sank onto a chair at her round oak table, her gaze falling on the blown-glass vase of zinnias Madeleine had sent over. She could have had a normal life. Where had she gone wrong? "He must be here somewhere. He'd have told me if he was leaving."

  "I didn't really look for him that hard. Where are Henry and Lillian?"

  "Upstairs." Allyson couldn't seem to focus on her surroundings, wondered if she was disassociating, if she'd had one shock too many. How could Wally be dead? What did that mean? She added dully, "They wanted to sleep late."

  Kara paced, a caged lion, and finally she swore and grabbed Allyson by the shoulders. "Allyson, for God's sake, snap out o
f it. Tell me what else is going on. This isn't like you. You're not one to sit here passively. People are getting killed. Mike's dead, Wally's dead—Pete was nearly killed. And you and the kids. What if that damn explosion on the Fourth wasn't an accident?"

  "Go to hell, Kara."

  "I'm not going anywhere. The police will be flooding in here any minute now, putting themselves on the line to protect you—"

  "Stop it!" But Allyson groaned in self-disgust, collapsing back against her chair. "Oh, God, Kara. You're right, you're right. I've been such a self-absorbed ass. I thought I was doing the right thing—that I could control everything. Pete and me, how Henry and Lillian handled Mike's death, being governor, Hatch—these goddamn calls I've been getting." She blinked back tears, born more out of frustration now than fear. Kara had cut through the fear. "I didn't want them to mean anything—"

  "Allyson…" Kara pulled out a chair and sat on its edge. "Tell me about the calls."

  "I'm supposed to get another one this morning with instructions—I thought they were political, and I know—" She broke off, thinking she'd cry, but she didn't. She was past crying. Sick of herself. She cleared her throat, and she quietly, succinctly told her friend about the calls.

  Kara listened without interruption, but Allyson knew her lawyer mind would be spinning with all the possibilities and theories, no matter how outlandish. That was Kara, and if she had an opinion on Allyson's decision not to tell anyone about the calls, she kept it to herself.

  "Could the calls be Wally's doing?" Kara asked. "He's had it in for Pete for years. He hated the plea bar-gain—he wanted Pete to get state prison for a year or two. Then Hatch goes and hires him to check on Henry and Lillian. What if Wally stumbled onto your affair with Pete and decided to freelance? Soften you up, threaten to get people thinking you'd killed Mike, then at the right moment make his demand. Knowing Wally, he'd want money."

  "Hatch could have told him about Pete," Allyson said quietly. "He tends to think he has to protect me from myself. If he found out Wally was trying to blackmail me—" She shook her head. "No, Hatch wouldn't kill anyone. He just wouldn't."

  Kara struggled to smile. "Sam would get on our case for speculating and getting ahead of the facts. But you said it yourself—it's not a stranger making those calls. If you were supposed to get another one this morning and haven't, and Wally's dead—" She didn't bother finishing her thought. "Allyson, you have to tell the police about the calls. You have no choice."

  "I don't, do I?" She smiled thinly. "Henry and Lillian are so much smarter than I am. They managed to manipulate you into attorney-client privilege." But she nodded, more to herself than Kara. "I'll tell the police everything as soon as they get here. Where's your Texas Ranger?"

  "On his way to talk to Charlie and Bea, and Pete, about Wally. He dropped me off here—reluctantly, I might add."

  Allyson smiled. "I've got two state troopers up here, but he's not going to trust anyone else to protect you."

  "That's stifling and old-fashioned."

  "Ha. You love it." Allyson saw the gleam in her friend's eyes, the trust there for Sam Temple, even if she couldn't admit it. "And I have a feeling you can more than handle your Texan. Oh, Kara—" She choked back sudden tears. "Where did I go wrong?"

  "It doesn't matter. It's what you do now that counts." Kara was on her feet, and she touched Allyson's shoulder. "You'll be okay?"

  She nodded, feeling some of her old determination well up in her. "It's time I got to the bottom of this mess."

  "I'll fetch the kids and take them back to the cottage or up to the house with Granny. You've got enough on your plate right now." She gave a reassuring smile. "When you're finished with the police, Henry and Lillian will enjoy having their mom back."

  "I can resign—"

  "For their sake? They don't want that. They just want you."

  Kara left it at that and headed up to the loft, and Allyson returned to the sink for a glass of water. She would handle this situation herself, directly, not through Hatch or any of her other advisers. She might not even bother with the state detectives—she might go straight to Zoe West, a skeptic from the start about the summer "accidents" in her town.

  Suddenly Kara yelled from the loft, then pounded down the spiral stairs and charged into the kitchen, her face ashen. She held up a sheet of drawing paper. Allyson recognized Lillian's handwriting in a filmy purple gel ink.

  "They've gone back to the cottage," Kara said. "On their own. They say they don't want to be ‘in the way.'"

  "But they were just up there—I checked on them a little while ago." Allyson couldn't seem to think straight. "Kara, they were fine. They never indicated they felt they were underfoot—my God, I don't want them out in the woods by themselves, with Wally—"

  "I'll go find them. I'll tell them the score."

  Allyson nodded, unable to grasp what her children had been thinking, how terribly wrong they were about her. She suddenly grabbed Lillian's note, found a pen on the counter and jotted at the bottom, You're never in my way. Listen to Kara and do as she asks. Love, Mom.

  She thrust the note at Kara. "I'll come when I can. If they just left, you might catch up with them in the woods."

  Kara looked at the note and smiled. "You know, Lillian really did do a pretty good job of forging your handwriting."

  Allyson almost laughed. "Go."

  Kara gave her a quick hug and ran back through the living room and out the door, Allyson following to the big windows. She watched her friend climb over the stone wall and head across the field, moving fast, black-eyed Susans at her knees. Allyson sat at the piano a moment, touched Lawrence's face as he smiled at her.

  Her cell phone rang, and she thought—my God, maybe Wally wasn't her anonymous caller. She grabbed it off the coffee table, sank back onto the piano stool as she answered. "Yes?"

  But it was a different voice, unrecognizable but not as elaborately disguised. "Walter is dead. He was an idiot."

  "Who is this?" A horrible thought struck her, and her heart seemed to stop. "Do you have my children?"

  "Where are you, Governor?'

  The venom on the other end shocked her, her elbows banging down on the piano keyboard.

  "Ah, the living room. Perfect."

  The connection went dead.

  Allyson rose unsteadily, the silence enveloping her. She walked to the tall windows and felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Something was wrong.

  Ah, the living room. Perfect.

  She ran toward the kitchen, yelling for her security guards. "Help me!"

  She dived for the door, saw the troopers racing toward her, but she was suddenly in the air, blown off her feet, and she heard glass shattering…a thunderous ex-plosion…felt the heat…her chest compressing. She couldn't breathe.

  Thank God the kids aren't here.

  The words didn't form, just a thought, a wish, as unconsciousness claimed her.

  It was against Sam's better judgment to leave Kara at all. Henry and Lillian had it right when they ran off to their godmother and told her they all were in dan-ger—it just took a while for everyone else to catch up with their instincts.

  He found Pete Jericho slumped in his kitchen, sullen because Madeleine Stockwell had given him the boot. "Christ, I'm such a jerk. I'm out of my league with those people. I was never good enough for Allyson— she's still under Madeleine's spell."

  "Ever think you're reading this wrong?" Sam had little patience with the guy. "Could be Madeleine's being overprotective and just doesn't want Allyson to make the same mistakes she made after she lost her husband so young."

  "Four husbands? Marrying a commoner?"

  "Quit feeling sorry for yourself. A man just died in your gravel pit."

  But Pete already knew about Harrison. He just wasn't ready to look at the situation from any angle but the one that made him the victim. "Wally was another one under Madeleine's thumb. He was always thinking he'd find a way to make his fortune off her. Pop nailed it. Ric
h people find a way to hang on to their money."

  Sam shook his head. "I'm tempted to haul you out to the gravel pit and let the work crew pound the rocks out of your head. Time to step up to the plate and be a man, my friend." And that was all Sam intended to say about this nonsense. "Where's your father?"

  "I don't know, out on his tractor." Pete lifted his chin, his eyes glassy with pain, medication and embarrassment. He managed a self-deprecating smile. "Thanks. I was getting sick of myself."

  "You're in love. Hard place to be."

  Charlie Jericho burst into the kitchen, peeling off his cap and raking a hand over his gray hair. He was out of breath and looked both relieved and awkward at seeing his son. "I thought you were up with Allyson. Christ." His face lost more of its color. "I'll just give it to you straight. There's been an explosion at the Stockwell place. Some kind of bomb. The barn's on fire."

  "Allyson?" Pete asked, staggering to his feet.

  "She's hurt, Pete. I don't know how bad. A trooper's down, too. They've got ambulances on the way." Charlie turned to Sam, who'd gone still inside; he knew what was coming. The older man's eyes softened. "Kara and the kids might be in the barn. They don't know."

  "It's a volunteer fire department?" Sam asked.

  Charlie nodded. "Pete and I are supposed to meet the trucks up at the house." He licked his lips, catching his breath, and glanced over at his son. "Pete—you coming?"

  He inhaled deeply. "Damn straight. Let Madeleine fucking try to throw me out now."

  The three men headed outside, a gust of cool wind a reminder to Sam that he wasn't on his home turf. Two ambulances and a state police cruiser screamed past the Jericho house, their sirens wailing.

  Pete climbed into the passenger seat of his father's truck, and Charlie went around to the driver's side. A fire truck blasted past them on the main road, Billie Corrigan in its wake. The portable emergency light flashing on her dashboard identified her as a volunteer firefighter. She pulled in behind Charlie, her window rolled down. "Charlie, Pete—you heard? Need a ride?"