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
