Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

Susanna gave her a pointed look. "Better than ending up buried in someone else's cellar."

Tess managed a smile. "True."

"Now, are you feeling better? You're not going to throw up or faint?"

"I'm fine. "

"Good, because Ahab's walking across the rocks."

"You're thinking of Ishmael. Ahab's the one with the missing leg."

Susanna grimaced at the approaching figure of Andrew Thorne. "If this guy favors his ancestors, I can see why Moby Dick wanted a piece of Ahab. Talk about your take-no-prisoners type. Can't you see him on deck with a harpoon?"

"The whaling industry did incredible damage-"

"Tess. I'm not talking about endangered species. I'm talking about your neighbor. You've seen him with his daughter. I haven't."

"What are you saying?"

Her expression turned serious, less animated. "I'm saying you should be careful before you end up way over your head in very deep, cold water."

Andrew arrived, squinting at the two women in the bright sun. "Am I interrupting?"

Susanna Galway gave him her brightest, prettiest smile, which Tess had seen melt even Davey Ahearn and Jim Haviland. "We were just discussing nine-teenth-century American literature. Doesn't this place make you think of Herman Melville?"

Tess could see Andrew didn't believe Susanna. He knew they'd been talking about him. But he said, "I can see how it would." Then he turned to Tess. "Word's out about last night. Lauren Montague's here."

Susanna dropped her shoes onto the sand and tucked one foot in at a time. "Time I headed back to Boston. Tess?"

"Later," she said, aware, as Susanna would be, of Andrew's eyes on her.

"You'll call me?"

Tess nodded and slipped on her own shoes, remembering running on the beach as a child, flying a kite, listening to her mother tell tales of New England history, her father watching her every move, knowing that their time together was short. She felt as she did then, aware of what was going on, yet determined to pretend as if her life were normal and nothing bad would happen.

In daylight, Lauren was even more impressed with what she'd done last night. It was a miracle she hadn't been caught. She breathed in the scent of lilacs, now, forever, mingled with the stench of death. Of Ike. Her brother. Dear God, if only he'd let Joanna Thorne find her own way out of her restlessness and depression. If only he'd left Beacon-by-the-Sea after her death instead of hanging around, cheerful, dreaming big dreams, on the prowl for someone else to idolize him.

For a while, Lauren had been sure it was Tess Haviland her brother had chosen as his new project. Yet, as the young graphic designer walked up the carriage house driveway, Andrew Thorne beside her, the hem of her jeans damp and sandy, her short blond curls whipped by the wind and her cheeks decidedly pale, Lauren knew it couldn't be so. Ike went for the vulnerable, the depressed, the ones who wouldn't act on their own dreams without him. That wasn't this woman. It might not have been Joanna, if he'd left well enough alone.

Andrew couldn't have meant to kill him.

Lauren smiled at him, but he didn't smile back, not out of rudeness but obliviousness, she decided. If he'd killed Ike in a premeditated fashion, she'd never have tried to protect him. As it was, she wondered what he must be feeling now, knowing the police hadn't found Ike's remains. Fear? Relief? Anger? He was impossible to predict.

"Hello, Tess," she said graciously. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time. I heard about last night. How absolutely horrible for you."

"Well, it looks as if there never was any skeleton. Luckily."

Lauren nodded. "Indeed. Better this turned out to be a false alarm than an actual dead body."

"Have you talked to the police?"

"Paul Alvarez called. My husband had already heard." She moved away from the lilacs, the sun warm on her face. "Paul wants me to get in touch with my brother, but it's not that easy. Seven years ago, Ike took off for nine months without telling me where he was, without even so much as sending me a Christmas card. It's just the way he is."

Andrew leaned against Tess's rusted car, but Lauren wasn't fooled. She knew he was taking in everything, wondered if he'd guessed what she'd done for him. But it wasn't just for him. It was the right thing to do. Her brother had taken his wife, left his daughter motherless. If Andrew had lost his temper, reverted to his waterfront brawling days, who could blame him? A jury, perhaps, the way they'd blamed Jedidiah Thorne over a century ago, no matter how much Benjamin Morse had deserved his fate. Truth and justice could be so complicated, she thought.

Tess was frowning. "Are the police going to track him down?"

"Why should they go to such trouble?"

"Ms. Montague-"

"Lauren," she corrected with a smile.

"Lauren, Ike was one of my clients, and I want to know he's okay."

"Then find him. Be my guest. I stopped spinning to Ike's tune a long, long time ago." Her tone was cool, but she felt hot inside, out of control, the way she had last night with Richard. She was bruised today, aching, and yet satisfied. "If he wants to come back, he'll come back. If he doesn't, he won't."

"What if he can't?"

"You mean, what if it was Ike's remains you saw? What if someone killed him, buried him in the carriage house cellar and then dug him up when you took an interest in your property?" Lauren smiled again, gentle despite the lava flows burning through her insides. "That's too far-fetched for me, I'm afraid.

And the police, too, I might add. If it's something you want to pursue, be my guest."

"Do you have any idea where Ike might be?" Tess asked.

Lauren sighed. "No, I really don't." She softened deliberately, yet could feel things cooling slightly inside her, as if the outward demeanor she'd maintained for the past year was all at once merging with the inner turmoil she'd been feeling, the ambivalence, the desperate uncertainty over what she should do. She plucked a lilac blossom and touched it to her nose. "Look, I don't mean to sound callous. If I, in any way, even for a second, believed you saw my brother's remains, I'd be sitting on the police until they got moving. I'd hire my own detectives."

"I didn't mean to imply-"

"I know," Lauren said, neatly cutting her off. "Please don't apologize. By the way, how do you like the carriage house?"

"Except for seeing things, just fine."

Tess was stiff, unrelenting and, Lauren knew, convinced of what she'd seen, no matter that she couldn't prove it or even tell herself there was no chance she'd made a mistake. "Please," Lauren said, "don't hesitate to use the Beacon Historic Project archives if you wish to research the carriage house. It has an amazing history, as I'm sure you already know. Stop by anytime."

Tess nodded stiffly. "Thanks."

"Andrew," Lauren said, moving toward him. "I've parked my car at your house. I'd like to say hi to Dolly while I'm here. You'll walk with me?"

He acquiesced, but only after a quick, concerned look at Tess. Something was going on there, Lauren decided. Well, what of it? The point of protecting him wasn't romantic. She simply couldn't allow Andrew Thorne to stand trial for killing her brother-even if it was involuntary manslaughter. It just wasn't right. Dolly had already lost her mother because of Ike. She didn't deserve to lose her father, too.

When she was at her car, Lauren finally turned to Andrew. The wind had shifted, coming off the water now, chilly and damp. She pushed back her hair. "This Tess Haviland worries me, Andrew. She's artistic and obviously has a fanciful imagination. I hope she isn't here just to stir up trouble."

His expression was unreadable, controlled as always. "Why would she stir up trouble?"