The Cabin

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 they’d managed to have alone during this endless stalemate, 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 police 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 business in south Texas, and he’d be happier knowing where she was.

Jack stared up at the vibrant, golden sunset. He supposed 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 McGarrity, Alice Parker, a contaminated crime scene, a fabricated 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? Burlington, Vermont? He’d rent a car, and he’d drive out to 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 ordered 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, setting 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 invest 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 explain 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 Destin 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.”

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 shoulder. “Tess told me she stopped by your office a few weeks ago and gave you a lecture. She called this morning. Says she hasn’t seen you and asked if I saw signs it was taking.”

Susanna ground pepper into her soup, carefully avoiding Jim’s critical look. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her hell, no, it wasn’t taking. Look at you. Head to toe in black.”

She glanced down at her black sweater and black jeans. “I like black.”

“Wicked Witch of the East,” Davey said, humming a few measures of “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.”

“We never got to see the Wicked Witch of the East.” Susanna kept her voice steady, determined not to let these two men get the better of her. “Just her legs and her ruby slippers. Maybe she wore red.”

Davey shook his head. “Nope. Black. All black.”

Jim waited on one of the tables, then came back behind the bar. There was always a crowd on chowder night, not that it changed his pace of operations. “You haven’t been coming around much lately,” he told Susanna.

“I’ve been swamped.”

“All that money,” Davey said. “Must be time-consuming adding it up.”

“I’m ignoring you, Davey Ahearn.”

“It won’t work. That’s why you haven’t been coming around much. You know we’re not going to leave you alone about that guy who killed his wife.”

Her stomach twisted, and she stared at her chowder, suddenly no longer hungry. “Davey, for God’s sake...”

“You still haven’t told Jack,” Jim said gently.

She shook her head. “I told you, there’s no point. It’s been over a year. The woman who screwed up the investigation is out of prison, and Jack—I don’t know, he’s chasing escaped convicts or something. This thing’s over. Whatever happened to me is irrelevant.” She believed that, even if Jack would want the final word—even if Rachel McGarrity’s murder remained an open case. She added stubbornly, “Whether I say anything or not won’t make a difference.”

Jim dumped ice into a glass, working on drinks for his customers. “It would to your husband.”

“Don’t you think a wife deserves to have some secrets from her husband?”

Davey snorted. “Only about the occasional trip on the sly to the dog track.”

“When are you heading to the mountains?” Jim asked her, mercifully changing the subject.

“Saturday morning.” Susanna dipped her spoon into her soup and smiled. “I’m taking black pants, black shirts, black socks—”

“Black underwear?” Davey asked without missing a beat.

She couldn’t suppress a laugh, but said to Jim, “Can I throw my soup at him?”

“No way. I gave you extra clams.” He then shifted from one foot to the other in a rare show of discomfort. “Look, Susanna, before you go, especially if Iris is staying behind—you might want to meet her new friend.”

“Ah. Audrey. I’ve been meaning to. Gran says they eat together here once in a while.”

“Two, three times a week. She’s from Texas, you know. Houston.”

Susanna set her spoon down carefully, not wanting her shock to show. “No, I didn’t know. Gran’s never said, and I never thought to ask. Tell me more.”

“I don’t know much more,” Jim said. “Audrey Melbourne, from Houston, small, curly red hair, lots of makeup and jewelry. She turned up not long after New Year’s saying she was thinking about relocating to Boston but didn’t like the high rents. She found a place to live a few blocks from here, says it’s temporary. I’ll admit, I didn’t think she’d come back in here after that first night, but she and Iris have kicked up this friendship...” He trailed off, eyeing Susanna. “You okay?”

“Melbourne...” She almost couldn’t get it out. She was shaking visibly now, unable to contain her shock. Davey eased off his stool, obviously ready to come to her aid. She tossed her head back a little, trying to rally. “The next time this woman comes in, will you call me? You have my cell phone number? I want to meet her.”

“Susanna.” Jim’s blue eyes drilled into her, and she remembered he had long experience with his own daughter and her half-truths, including her recent dissembling about her haunted carriage house and the dead body in the cellar. He set the finished drink he’d been making on a tray and pulled her soup bowl away, dumping it into a dishpan to bring out back. “If there’s something I need to know about Audrey Melbourne, you need to tell me. Now. No screwing around.”

“She—I don’t want her near my grandmother.”

“That goes for Maggie and Ellen as well?”

Susanna stared at him dully, unable to think. “What?”

“The twins. They had soup with Iris and Audrey a few nights ago, when you were at your tai chi class.”

“Oh, my God.”

Before she knew what was happening, Susanna had fallen off the stool, but Davey Ahearn was there instantly, bracing her with a muscular, tattooed arm. “Easy, kid,” he said.

“I don’t usually come apart like this.” But her daughters. Maggie and Ellen. Gran. Susanna placed a shaking hand on her temple, as if that somehow would help her organize a coherent thought. “Damn it. I could be wrong—I hope so. I’ve been living with a Texas Ranger for so long...” She looked at Davey, managing a weak, unconvincing smile. “It’s because of Jack I could tell Tess about decomposing bodies.”

Davey continued his iron grip on her arm. “Susanna, who is Audrey Melbourne?”

She didn’t answer him, instead turning to Jim. “Do you know where she lives?”

“No,” he said, “and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. You’d go over there and get yourself into trouble. I can see it in your eyes. Then I’d have to call Jack and tell him.” He picked up his drinks tray, straightening. “Answer Davey’s question, Susanna. Who is this woman?”

“I’m not positive—really, I could be wrong. The woman I’m thinking of is blond—”

“The red’s a dye job,” Davey said, not letting up on his grip.

Some of the adrenaline oozed out of her, some of the tension in her muscles released. They deserved to know. This was their neighborhood, Iris was their friend. “The man I told you about who killed his wife,” she said, pausing for a breath, feeling the clam chowder churning in her stomach. Davey remained at her side, steady, not interrupting for once. She tried again. “The local police officer who found her—the wife—ended up in prison for official misconduct. Witness tampering. She got out on New Year’s Eve. She took off a few days later. She was obsessed with Australia, and everyone thought—”

“Melbourne,” Jim said. “That’s in Australia.”

Davey released his grip now that Susanna was steadier on her feet. “I knew that was a phony name.” He gave her a hard look. “Are you going to call Jack, or do you want to leave that to me and Jimmy?”

Meaning Jack would get called, one way or the other. “I’ll call him,” she said. “Just first let me make sure I’m right about this woman.”

* * *

Alice knew something was wrong the minute she walked into Jim’s Place. It was chowder night, and she deliberately arrived after Iris would have come and gone. Alice didn’t want to draw too much attention to their friendship and tried to stagger their visits, not make it obvious the old woman was her focus.

With freezing rain forecast for the evening, the bar was relatively quiet, the television tuned to a repeat of an old Red Sox game. Davey Ahearn was staring up at it, his broad back to Alice as she eased onto a stool at the bar. Jim Haviland put a bowl of chowder in front of her even before she’d ordered it.

Definitely, something was up.

She’d never had particularly good instincts, but prison had taught her to tune in to her environment, notice the undercurrents, see trouble before it happened—not wait to get her ass kicked. She’d been trying to show her best side in Boston. She found herself wanting Iris Dunning to think well of her. It was as if she were adopting the new persona she would use in Australia—letting her real self out. That was what she used to tell herself about her parents. When they were sober and straight, that was their real selves. That was who they really were. Not perfect, but decent, interested in her.

When they were drunk or high on drugs, they weren’t their real selves. Her grandma said it was the devil, but Alice didn’t believe that. She could never see the devil in her mother and father, even when they were passed out in their own vomit. They weren’t mean, just a couple of no-accounts.

She wasn’t like them.

Her real self was pleasant, optimistic, empathetic, kind to old people and not one to hold a grudge. Sure, she was still trying her damnedest to extort fifty thousand dollars from a murderer, but she’d also learned in prison that she had to be practical, use what she had. Attainable goals. She hated to involve Iris and the Galway women in her scheme, but that just couldn’t be avoided.

If she had to sit in judgment of herself—well, she’d opt for forgiveness. She’d see a woman who’d been through a lot and was just trying to get to a point where she could make a fresh start, maybe put the screws to a murderer who was otherwise getting off scot-free. That wasn’t so bad.

Beau was still dragging his heels—but he’d crack. He was getting close. He asked questions about Susanna Galway. He repeated things he’d said to her in the kitchen that day, insisting he hadn’t said anything bad. But he wasn’t sure—he wanted to hear what was on that tape.

Every week, Alice told herself, okay, one more week. She had to stick to her guns, because it wasn’t a good idea to waffle with Beau. She couldn’t give up too soon or he’d wonder, and that’d make him dangerous. He’d wondered what she and Rachel were up to, wondered if they were plotting to kill him and get his money—wondered about Alice’s remark about smothering him.

Boom. Next thing, Rachel was dead, and Alice’s monogrammed change purse was floating in her blood.

What Beau needed was some encouragement—maybe she just needed to get on with it, break in to Iris’s house, search Susanna’s room and pretend she’d found the tape. Then tell Beau she was bringing it to him or the Texas Rangers, either one. Maybe the media. Something that’d rattle his cage.

She was dillydallying, she knew, because of Iris and clam chowder nights at Jim’s Place, fooling herself into thinking she could start over here, in Boston, and maybe not have to go all the way to Australia. That was her greatest weakness, always looking for the easy way out. She’d fall short of her goals and say it was good enough. Why be a Texas Ranger when she could be a small-town cop? Rachel McGarrity used to tell her to recognize that tendency and fight it. If she wanted to be a small-town cop, great—mission accomplished. If not, then go after what she wanted.

Alice hadn’t touched her soup. The pat of butter had already melted. She tore open her packet of oyster crackers. She had the most awful feeling of foreboding. She tried smiling at Davey Ahearn, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“I didn’t want to believe it.”

Alice recognized Susanna Galway’s voice and felt a little like she did that day Lieutenant Galway had pulled her aside to ask her a few questions about the Rachel McGarrity investigation. A Texas Ranger, on her case. She knew it’d only be a matter of time before she was charged with official misconduct, or worse.

But this time, Alice didn’t bother trying to hide what she’d done. “Mrs. Galway, please, I know this looks bad.” Alice kept her voice respectful, but wondered if her cheeks were red or pale, revealing anything about how frightened and awful she felt. “I don’t mean you or your family any harm.”

Susanna tilted her head, her long black hair hanging down her back, her green eyes half-closed, but Alice could see she was rattled, scared. “You used a false name.”

“I’m in the process of legally changing my name to Audrey Melbourne. I want a fresh start.”

“Here? You didn’t just happen to show up in the same neighborhood as the family of the Texas Ranger who put you in prison—”

“Lieutenant Galway didn’t put me in prison,” Alice said. “I put myself there through my own actions.”

Jack Galway’s wife inhaled sharply. She was so tall and limber—Alice felt tiny next to her. She’d always wanted to be more of an über-girl. She almost didn’t make it as a police officer because of her size. People liked to tell her she was cute. She didn’t have Susanna Galway’s dramatic good looks.

“If you wanted a fresh start,” Susanna went on tightly, “you wouldn’t be here in Boston, in my neighborhood. That just doesn’t wash, Miss Parker.”

“I know.” She spoke quietly, respectfully, aware of Jim Haviland and Davey Ahearn watching her, listening, ready to act if she did anything stupid. She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in the past few weeks. “I came up here because I wanted to make up for any damage I’d done. I heard you’d left your husband after I got arrested—”

“That had nothing to do with you,” Susanna said stonily.

Alice wasn’t so sure about that, but she nodded anyway. “I can see that now. I probably knew it even before I got here.”

“But you stayed.”

“Where else was I supposed to go? I’m saving for Australia. Did Iris tell you that? I like her a lot, Mrs. Galway. I’d never do anything to hurt her. I mean, if I were up here to get revenge, I’ve had weeks.”