The Cabin (42 page)

hear the wind dying down outside, and her mind played

through the worst scenes of the day. One after another,

over and over. Finding Destin. Coming upon Alice and

Beau. Making her way through the storm back to the

cabin. Seeing Jack, Sam, Gran and knowing—knowing

all of it in that instant, terrible moment of awareness.

Beau McGarrity had her daughters. He’d taken them at

gunpoint. And they were in mortal danger.

She would replay those images for a long time, for the

rest of her life. But that was okay. She could hear Mag-

gie and Ellen’s rhythmic breathing above the waning

storm outside, and she knew her daughters were safe.

She slept for a while, and later, when she awakened in

the dark and almost cried out in panic, she became aware

of Jack standing in the doorway, silent, not sleeping.

��

Twenty-Thr

ee

Boston was in the middle of a thaw and excited about

how the Red Sox looked in spring training down in

Florida, a city on the verge of its usual bout of prema-

ture pennant fever. Jim Haviland didn’t blame them.

This was the Red Sox year. Had to be.

And talking baseball beat talking murder and may-

hem, hands down. It had been three weeks since Iris

Dunning and her family had rolled back down from the

Adirondacks. New York and Texas were still sorting

out who got to put Beau McGarrity on trial first. Mas-

sachusetts was cooperating—they didn’t want him.

Alice Parker was still missing. No sign of her since

she’d made off with Davey Ahearn’s truck in the storm.

Jack Galway and Sam Temple were back in San An-

tonio, although Jack was spending a lot of time up north,

not just because of official business, Jim thought, but be-

cause of Susanna. His damn wife was still here. She had

her reasons, some of them good, like the girls needing

time to recover and get back to their routines—but not

354

Carla Neggers

all her reasons were good. She had a life here she wasn’t

so sure she wanted to give up. Jim could feel it. If the

past year hadn’t changed everything, the past weeks had.

She was at a back table with Tess, who was showing

off her plump stomach. “I haven’t thrown up in two

whole weeks,” she said.

Susanna laughed. “Well, I’m glad. I thought I’d never

stop throwing up with the twins—”

“Hey,” Davey Ahearn said, swinging around on his

bar stool to glare at the two women. “I’m trying to eat

a bowl of chowder here.”

Tess grinned at him. “And I used to think you were

tough.”

They went back and forth like that for a few minutes,

until the two women decided to take a long walk and

burn off their two bowls of clam chowder each. It was

in the upper fifties, perfect for walking, Susanna said.

But Jim had noticed she was doing a lot of walking these

days. The weather didn’t seem to matter.

“I miss my truck,” Davey said when they’d gone.

Jim scowled. He’d been listening to Davey go on

about his damn truck for three weeks. “You were try-

ing to sell that truck.”

“Yeah, and I was going to get good money for it, too.

I wanted to sell it to someone in the neighborhood, so

I could see it around. I liked that truck. I got a lot of good

miles out of it.” It was getting harder and harder, Jim

thought, to tell when Davey was making a serious point

or just having some fun. “You know, if Destin had got-

ten over that goddamn BMW and bought my truck, he

might not be dead today.”

The Cabin

355

“I’m not even going to try to follow that logic,” Jim said.

The bar was crowded, but most of the customers

were served. And no reporters. That seemed to make

everyone happy. They’d had reporters crawling all over

the neighborhood for almost a month, scrounging up

any tidbit they could on Iris Dunning and the tragic

story of her rich, long-dead lover.

Kevin’s dad. Jesus, Jim thought. And Iris a bona fide

mountain woman.

“He couldn’t make his peace with not having

money,” Davey said philosophically, still on Destin

Wright. “And Susanna. She can’t make her peace with

having money. But, ten million’s a hell of pot to find at

the end of the rainbow.”

“She made the ten million herself. She didn’t just

find it.”

“Even worse,” Davey said. “Think Jack’s made his

peace with it?”

“Yeah. He’s figured out what most everyone else al-

ready knew. Money’s not going to change him.”

“He’s a goddamn Texas Ranger down to his spurs.”

“I don’t think they wear spurs.” Jim sighed, shaking

his head. “Money’s not why Susanna’s still in Boston.”

“No?”

“No.”

Davey frowned. “Then why is Susanna still in Bos-

ton, Jimmy?”

“Well, there are practical considerations. The girls

need to heal, and they need the stability of their school,

their friends up here. They’re planning to finish out

their senior year. Makes sense.” Jim drew a couple of

356

Carla Neggers

drafts for a pair of construction workers who’d just

come in. “I think Susanna’s just waiting for that rock-

head husband of hers to sweep her off her feet.”

“He’s been up here—”

“That’s different. By my book, they’re still separated.”

Davey gave the matter some thought. “Nah. Su-

sanna’s hard as nails. Jesus, how do you think she ended

up being worth ten million? She doesn’t care about

being swept off her feet. She’d just tell you you’re being

old-fashioned and dense.”

“Tess would agree,” Jim said. “They might be right.”

“Doesn’t matter, because Suzie-cue might as well

wait for a cold day in hell as wait for Jack Galway to

get all mushy and romantic.”

“She had her cold day in hell,” Jim said quietly.

Davey sighed and nodded. “Yeah, Jimmy. That she

did. They all did.”

Iris Dunning came in, still wearing her red knit hat

despite the fifty-seven degree temperature. She hung her

winter things on the coatrack and sat up at the bar. “I

ran into Tess and Susanna on my way over. Oh, Jimmy,”

she said. “Tess looks so good. She’s smart and talented,

and now she’s having a baby. It’s amazing how things

work out. Do you remember last spring, when she found

that body in her cellar?”

Jim did indeed. “It was a close call.”

“It still gives me nightmares,” Davey said. “I hate dirt

cellars.”

“But good came out of it,” Iris said.

Jim put a bowl of chowder in front of her and tended

his other customers, noticing when a man he didn’t

The Cabin

357

know walked in. He noticed strangers more these days.

This one was tall and good-looking, blue-eyed, and

when he unbuttoned his overcoat and smiled politely, a

little nervously, Jim thought there was something famil-

iar about him. He couldn’t say what.

The man walked up to the bar and stopped short, and

for a second looked as if he was going to bolt. But he

rallied, and he said, “Iris Dunning?”

She turned, and the recognition was instantaneous.

“Dear God. You’re Jared’s son. Jared Herrington—”

“Tucker,” he finished. “Jared Herrington Tucker. My

mother remarried after my father died, and—” He in-

haled, awkward. “I wasn’t sure I should come.”

“I’m glad you did. Please, sit up here next to me. Oh,

my.” She seemed to want to touch him, but didn’t, and

Jim thought he could see something of the girl she’d

been in her shining green eyes. “You’re so like your fa-

ther. If he’d lived to be your age…”

Jared Tucker settled onto the stool next to Iris, and

Jim noticed the expensive sweater under the overcoat,

the expensive watch. Down the bar, Davey mouthed,

“Kevin,” and Jim saw it now. The man reminded him of

Kevin Dunning, Iris’s son, Susanna’s father, one of Jim

and Davey’s best friends.

“Rachel was my daughter,” Jared Tucker said.

Iris nodded sadly. “I’m so sorry about what hap-

pened to her.”

“We—my wife and I never thought she was the type

to get swept off her feet like that. We only met Beau a

few times. I’d like to say we saw through him right

from the start, but we didn’t.” He broke off, leaving Iris

358

Carla Neggers

to fill in the blanks. “She didn’t tell us about her inter-

est in you and your son. I don’t know, I think she might

have thought we’d be embarrassed.”

“She could have been trying to decide what was hers

to tell and what wasn’t,” Iris said.

“We didn’t make the connection. We thought she

went to Texas on business.”

“Nothing she did justified what Beau McGarrity

did,” Iris said with conviction.

“No. Nothing.”

Jim made a move to leave the two of them alone to

talk, but Iris touched his hand, held on to it to make him

stay. He’d known her since he was a little kid. She was

like an aunt to him. He patted her hand and served her

and her lover’s son bowls of hot chowder.

Jared Tucker stared at his chowder. “My mother told

me about your relationship with my father. Often. She

was a bitter woman. She did what she could to distance

us from what remained of his family. I loved my mother,

Miss Dunning, but I wanted you to know—” He looked

at her, shadows under his blue eyes. “I’m very glad my

father had you in his life.”

“I loved him. I loved him with all my heart and soul.”

She smiled at Jared Tucker, brushed the top of his hand

as if he were a little boy. He had to be close to seventy.

“Your dad was there with us on Blackwater Lake, Jared.

He wanted us to know the truth about what happened

to your daughter. His granddaughter.”

The man’s eyes filled with tears, and he grabbed his

soup spoon, trying not to cry. “She came here one day.

She never introduced herself. Rachel always tried so

The Cabin

359

hard to do the right thing, always looked for the good in

people. She said she watched you have chowder with

your friends and decided she didn’t want to drag you back

to the past. A few months later, she went to Austin.”

“She was an interior designer,” Iris said softly.

“Yes.”

“My son is an artist.”

He nodded. He set down his spoon, his chowder still

untouched. “My wife and I were supposed to go down

and see Rachel the week after she died.” Jared’s tone

was steady, laced more with sadness than hatred or bit-

terness. “Perhaps we should have done more to find an-

swers to what happened.”

“You were grieving,” Iris said.

“We still are.”

Jim winced, and at the end of the bar, he could see

Davey Ahearn had let his chowder go cold. But he’d ob-

viously heard enough pain and sadness. “That fucker

McGarrity,” he said.

“Davey!” Iris shrank back, horrified. “Jared’s

daughter—”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a bitch, what happened.”

Jared Tucker surprised everyone by sighing instead

of throwing his soup bowl at Davey. “That sums it up,

doesn’t it?” He smiled at Iris. “I can see why you’ve

stayed here all these years.”

Davey caught Jim’s eye, as if to tell him he knew he’d

saved the day with his crack.

Then Jared took in a deep breath and said, “Tell me

about my brother,” and Jim knew the guy was okay.

Davey shifted on his bar stool, scratching his handle-

360

Carla Neggers

bar mustache with one finger. “Oh, yeah, wait until you

meet Kevin and his wife. A white-bread fellow like you.

Eva’s the wife’s name. Artists. Totally daffy. Kevin did

a portrait of me once, and I came out looking like

Yosemite Sam.”

Tucker was silent a moment, and Jim wondered if

Davey had gone too far this time. Even he seemed to re-

alize it. But suddenly Jared Herrington Tucker grabbed

the pepper grinder and said, “My father—Kevin’s and

my father—wrote poetry.”

They talked, then. Davey, Jim, Iris, Kevin’s half

brother. After second bowls of chowder and another

round of beer, Iris made them move to a table because

her back was hurting from sitting on the stool. Jim

stayed behind the bar. He felt good. For the first time

since Susanna Galway was sipping margaritas at his

bar and mumbling about the stalker and murderer

she’d left behind in Texas, Jim Haviland could say he

felt good.

Then the bar door opened, and Sam Temple, Texas

Ranger, walked in. “Doesn’t it ever warm up in this

damn city?”

“This
is
warm,” Jim said.

Temple sat at the bar. No cowboy hat, no badge and

no gun that Jim could see, but he had on the boots and

the black leather jacket. The Tufts graduate students

had exams. They weren’t in.

“I have news about Davey Ahearn’s truck,” Temple

said. “I was going to call it in, but since I feel a certain

sense of responsibility for it getting stolen—”