Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

"Hear what?" She rallied, noticed her hands weren't shaking as she drank more scotch.

Richard came toward her, his expression filled with concern and compassion. He took her glass away, as if she might not handle what he had to tell her. "The police called on my way home. Lauren, they've been out to the carriage house."

"Wh-what?"

"Tess Haviland's claimed she found a human skeleton buried in the cellar."

Blood pounded in her head. The room spun. Richard, more gentle than she'd ever seen him, took both her hands. She thought she might vomit. "What are you talking about?"

"It's ridiculous. Paul Alvarez said so himself. They didn't find anything, but he wanted you to know, in case this woman is up to something."

"What could she be up to?"

"Nothing, I'm sure. That's how the police think, that's all."

"Ike thought the world of her-"

"I know, I know. It all must have been her imagination. Let's go to bed, shall we? Get rid of that headache of yours, once and for all?"

"Oh, Richard. I love you, do you know that? You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Her eyes filled with tears, and she felt drunk, stupid, even after a few sips of scotch. "Will you make love to me tonight?"

"Of course, darling."

She giggled. "'Darling.' That's so retro."

But he took her by both hands, lifted her to her feet and led her upstairs.

After he made love to his wife, Richard put on his bathrobe and stood in the shaft of moonlight slanting in the windows overlooking her gardens. The poodles were asleep on the white chaise longue. He could have opened a window screen and pitched them out, one by one.

Sex had steadied him. Centered him. He could think now.

Lauren had fallen asleep. She'd clawed at him, almost drawing blood. They'd never had such raw, unrestrained sex. She'd been uninhibited, almost wanton. He'd responded in kind, exulting in the effect he was having on her. Instead of her usual ladylike shudder when she came, she'd screamed and thrashed.

He could handle Lauren.

It was Tess Haviland who worried him.

Tess sensed someone was watching her. She rolled over in the twin bed in the guest room and came eye-to-eye with a stuffed black-and-white cat in the hands of Dolly Thorne. The little girl giggled. "Her name's Kitty. I've had her since I was three years old." She was wide-awake, still in her pink pajamas with kittens all over them, her coppery hair tangled. No crown. "Daddy said not to wake you up."

"I'm awake," Tess croaked, squinting at the bedside clock. Seven. Not bad, but she was exhausted. Too much tossing and turning, thinking about kisses and skeletons, kittens in her bed, men and intruders. She struggled not to seem grumpy. "Well. Good morning."

"Will you play stuffed animals with me?"

"I need coffee first. Okay? Your dad's up?"

"Uh-huh. He's taking a shower."

Tess didn't even want to think about it, but before that command reached her sluggish brain, the picture formed of Andrew's lean, taut body naked under a stream of hot water. She'd been awake for all of thirty seconds and already was off on the wrong foot. If she didn't get a grip, today would be just as tumultuous as yesterday. It might be, anyway-Susanna Galway was planning to show up first thing. Tess had called her before going to bed.

"Cops hate missing bodies," Susanna had said. "Of course, they want to believe you didn't see anything."

Tess didn't like the idea of a missing body herself. She focused on Dolly. "Let me pull myself together. Then we can see what's what."

Dolly obviously took this as confirmation Tess would play stuffed animals with her. She ran off skipping, her bare feet padding softly on the rug. Tess threw off her blankets and sat up in the Red Sox T-shirt and flannel boxers she'd worn to bed, struggling to wake up. The guest room was cute, its windows overlooking the ocean. From the old-fashioned flowered wallpaper, she guessed Andrew hadn't gotten around to renovating it yet. White curtains billowed in a cool morning breeze. Tess sat a moment, listening to the surf and the gulls, picturing herself hanging wallpaper with Andrew Thorne.

"Damn," she breathed, shaking off the image.

She could hear him speaking to his daughter down the hall, a scene so ordinary it took Tess's breath away. He and Dolly were a family. She needed to keep her wits about her, not barrel in and mess up the life they'd created for themselves. At least, for someone unaccustomed to dealing with six-year-olds, she thought she was handling herself well with Dolly. She was a cheerful kid, not as combative and outspoken as Tess had been at that age with her own mother's death still so fresh.

She used Dolly's bathroom down the hall, grateful she didn't have to share with Andrew, smell his soap, breathe in the steam from his shower. She picked bath toys out of the tub and opted for a shocking-pink towel with a big yellow fish on it. When she climbed into the shower, she imagined Andrew hearing the water running, picturing her the way she had him.

It had to be the skeleton. She trusted her instincts and impulses when it came to her work, but not men-at least not romantically. She could work with men, argue politics and baseball and otherwise hold her own, but romance, intimacy, falling in love… She shuddered just thinking about how many times she'd stopped at the precipice and decided, "No, not him," and refused to jump.

She dressed in a pair of ratty work jeans and a fresh Red Sox shirt. She and Susanna would check the cellar themselves.

She had breakfast on the back porch with Andrew and Dolly, just cereal, toast and juice, but with the sunlight and the sounds of the ocean, it was perfect. Tess had half hoped she'd see Andrew and wonder what had gotten into her yesterday. Instead, she had to admit something about the man set her senses on fire. Even when he was pouring a cup of coffee, she noticed the muscles in his forearms, the angles of his face.

Dolly saw Harl working on her tree house, remembered her new window and scooted off. Tess smiled over the rim of her mug, enjoying her last sips of coffee. "I think I'm off the hook for playing stuffed animals."

"Don't count on it." Andrew sat across the table, studying her with the kind of frank intimacy that said he knew exactly how close they'd come to tearing off their clothes and making love last night. That said he remembered every detail of their kisses. "How are you this morning? Did you get any sleep?"

"Some, thanks. I need to get next door. A friend of mine is coming up this morning."

"I'd like to take another look in your cellar," he said.

She nodded. "Maybe we can figure out what it was my mind turned into a skeleton."

Andrew didn't answer. He was, Tess realized, tight-lipped and controlled by nature, but not a man who missed a thing. Something else for her to remember. She set her mug down, part of her wishing she could stay here all day, going from coffee to iced tea to wine, not doing anything more demanding than playing stuffed animals with a six-year-old.

When they set out across the yard, Dolly ran over, torn between helping Harl finish the window in her tree house and checking on the kittens. Finally, she yelled over her shoulder, "Harl, I'm going over to Tess's house! I'll help you later. Don't worry, okay?"

Harl popped his white head out of the tree house door. "Go on. I'll see if I can manage without you."

She giggled and put her warm little hand into Tess's. "Harl's funny."

"You think so?"

"Yep."

Andrew glanced at Tess as if to say Dolly couldn't be expected to know any better.

They took the long way around the lilacs, and when she saw the carriage house in the morning sun, Tess was struck by its graceful lines and picturesque setting. She could almost forget the police crawling around in her cellar last night. Had there been an intruder? Would the police want to talk to her again today, or anyone else? Ike Grantham was the previous owner, his sister the director of the Beacon Historic Project and the one who'd given Tess the key. Wouldn't they want to talk to Lauren Montague and at least try to get in touch with Ike?