Part 9 (1/2)
Zack Harper was waiting for her at the edge of the parking lot. ”So what are you holding back, Rose? An affair with Derek Cutshaw or with Nick Martini? You found Cutshaw yesterday. Martini was with you.”
”Nick wasn't with me. He came on his own.”
”Yeah, to see you. What was that all about?”
”I've answered all the questions the police asked me.”
”I'm not a cop, Rose. I'm a friend.”
”I know,” she said quietly, then changed the subject. ”Have you talked to Beth lately? How's she doing in Beverly Hills?”
Zack looked out toward the mountains, the sky cloudless, the air cold. ”She called last night. She's trying to enjoy herself, but it's hard. First Scott leaves her out there, and now this thing yesterday.”
”Did she and Scott have a fight?”
”All I know is that Scott planned to stay longer and didn't.” Zack shrugged, his jacket open over a worn sweats.h.i.+rt. ”I liked Beverly Hills just fine, but it's good to be back.”
”I hope you told Beth to enjoy her break and not worry about us.”
”Pretty much. I suggested she and Hannah go shoe shopping on Rodeo Drive.” He grinned. ”Beth's even cheaper than you are.”
”Ha-ha. How'd she sound?”
”You know Beth. She'll never let anyone see she's hurting.”
”Did you see Nick while you were out there?”
”Yeah, briefly,” Zack said. ”He didn't mention he was planning to come to Vermont.”
”Maybe you inspired him.” Rose glanced at her watch. ”Lauren and I are meeting out at the sugar shack in a little while. We're opening it up again. Doesn't that sound romantic?”
Zack grinned at her. ”Sounds like work.”
”It is-more than I thought it'd be. We want to get it done in time for winter fest.”
”Because of Vice President Neal?”
Rose almost winced when he said the name aloud, but she knew it was just agitation and adrenaline on her part. Nothing in the investigation into Lowell Whittaker and his killers suggested the vice president or his family had ever been targeted by them. She relaxed somewhat. ”Apparently the Neals love the idea of collecting maple sap and boiling it down. Opening up a historic sugarhouse will help take everyone's minds off the mess of the past year. A fresh start.”
”I hope so, Rose,” Zack said dubiously.
”I'm sure Jo and her Secret Service friends will go over all our buckets and pans to make sure they're safe. Bugs and bacteria are my biggest worries.”
”Let me know what I can do to help get things ready.”
”You could help tap trees. Anyway, I should get over there.”
”Sure, Rose. Martini going with you?”
”No idea,” she said. ”I'm leaving Ranger by the fire.”
”Golden retriever. California smoke jumper.” Zack shook his head, amused. ”Two different animals, Rose.”
She felt another surge of heat, but he was already on his way to his truck.
Eight.
F ive minutes later, Rose walked down Ridge Road in the opposite direction she'd taken on her run, checking for tap-worthy maple trees. Ranger loved being out on the ridge and had moved well earlier, but her aging golden retriever could miss this trek.
She turned onto a short, dead-end lane across from a trail up to the falls. It was plowed but just barely. She'd have at most a hundred yards of slogging through snow in her boots to get to the sugar shack through the woods. Lauren would head across the meadow on snowshoes, pulling the kids on a toboggan, and meet her there.
As Rose navigated icy ruts on the lane, she wondered where Nick might be, what he was up to, but knew that would only frustrate her. She'd focus on her routines and her work and let him go about his business.
She paused, noticing the sun was higher in the sky, the early promise of spring. She peered down the steep hill on the side of the lane, past a cl.u.s.ter of white pines, and took note of mature, healthy-looking sugar maples that would be perfect for tapping.
She heard a whoos.h.i.+ng sound and spun around, just as Robert Feehan jumped out from behind a hemlock and dropped next to her. His dark hair fell into his face and curled out from under his wool knit hat, hanging almost to his shoulders. He was thin, and he looked as if he hadn't slept, with shadows under his eyes and a gray cast to his skin. He had on a black ski jacket, wind pants and heavy cold-weather boots but no gloves-they were stuffed in a jacket pocket, despite the temperature.
”Rose,” he said, gulping in a breath, ”I have to talk to you.”
”You need to talk to the police.”
”I can't. Not yet.”
She didn't like his panicked tone, and took a step back toward the lane. ”All right. Let's go back to the lodge.”
”No, we talk here.” He grabbed her wrist, clamping down hard on bare skin. ”I'm not going to hurt you. I just want-”
”Let me go, Robert. Then we can talk.”
He tightened his hold on her wrist and nodded down the hill. ”I'm going to take you down there. Out of sight.” He was agitated but seemed to have himself under control. ”Then you can go.”
Not a chance, Rose thought, quickly debating her options.
He yanked her into the deep snow under the tall, gnarly hemlock. Shaking visibly, he lifted her wrist and pressed her forearm against her chest, pus.h.i.+ng her into the p.r.i.c.kly boughs of the hemlock. ”What happened? Why is Derek dead?”
”There was a fire-”
”I know there was a fire. That's not what I'm talking about.”
”I don't know any more than you do.”
”The police think I was involved, don't they?” He sniffled but didn't ease his hold on her. ”This d.a.m.n town's been nothing but bad luck for me.”
”Robert,” Rose said, forcing herself not to tense under his grip and waste energy, ”you have to let go of me. Don't make things worse for yourself. I know you're upset. I know you and Derek were friends.”
”He cared about you. He never would have hurt you.”