Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

"Richard's up for a Pentagon appointment, you know. Senator Bowler is supporting him. It's a sensitive time. You know the senator has enemies-all politicians do." She pulled open her car door, the hot lava flowing inside her again. She had to control it, the way Andrew would, and use it to her advantage. And his. She cut him a self-deprecating smile. "I know that must sound ridiculously Machiavellian, but you must remember this sort of thing from Joanna's work with Richard."

He nodded. "One rat maze after another."

"Yes, that's one way of putting it. I'd hate to see Richard get hurt. He wants this appointment very much. He's dreamed of it for years."

"You think Tess made up the skeleton to undermine him?"

Andrew's tone was neutral, but Lauren felt the bite of his doubt, anyway. She slid onto the car seat, looked up at him with what she hoped was strength, conviction and the right measure of graciousness. "I'm keeping an open mind. I hope you will, too."

She left, gripping the wheel too hard, until she had to pry her fingers loose. She stopped at the project offices. Even Muriel Cookson wasn't around on a Sunday. Lauren relaxed at being in the familiar surroundings, the antiques, the flowers, the pictures of herself and Ike in happier times.

She really did have to get him out of her trunk. "Oh, Ike," she whispered. "Dear God." Two minutes later, Jeremy Carver walked into her office and sat on the wingback chair in front of her desk. He propped one foot up on the opposite knee. "I thought that was your car out front."

"I often come in on the weekend."

"Dedicated."

"Yes." He nodded. "I know what that's like. Mind if I smoke?"

"Yes, Mr. Carver, I do."

"No problem." He leaned back, a man aware of his unprepossessing appearance yet also the extent-and the limits-of his power. "So, why don't you tell me about your visit with Tess Haviland?"

Harl, Dolly and Tess decided to plant catnip for Tippy Tail and the kittens. Andrew pointed out that the kittens would be in new homes before they were big enough to appreciate catnip. It was Tess's idea. She'd ventured off in her little tank of a car and returned with a trunkful of herbs. Rosemary, sage, thyme, oregano, chives and catnip. "Even if I don't keep the carriage house," she'd said, "herbs will help sell it."

Andrew didn't know anyone who'd bought a house because of herbs in the garden. She'd suggested planting the catnip in his yard-she didn't want to encourage Tippy Tail to think of the carriage house as home. A nice gesture, but probably too late, seeing how she and her kittens were in a box in the bathroom.

Harl didn't approve. He was supervising. He'd produced garden tools and picked out a spot at the far end of the yard, where Dolly and Tess set to work. "Catnip doesn't spread, does it?" he asked. Tess shrugged. "I don't know. I'm learning as I go along."

"Well, if it does, there's always weed killer."

He finally returned to his shop, back to working on the chest of drawers he was painting. Andrew had finished up his yard work and sat on one of the Adirondack chairs under the shagbark hickory. "I guess planting herbs keeps her mind off skeletons," he said, watching Tess and Dolly bring the watering can over to the catnip. Dolly insisted on helping carry it, which meant she kept banging into it and water splashed out over both of them. Tess didn't seem to mind.

Harl was meticulously applying paint to a drawer. "I think she's got one of those minds that jumps around a lot. Artist. Always thinking."

"Doesn't your mind wander while you're painting?"

"No."

Andrew drank some of the ice water he'd poured for himself. He hadn't offered Tess or Dolly any. They were too busy. And he wanted a minute here in the shade, before Tess left for Boston, to think.

"She saw a skeleton," he said finally.

Harl didn't look up from his painting. "I know it."

"Jedidiah died at sea. There's no grave for him."

"What are you saying? That he was murdered, buried in the carriage house cellar, and the lost at sea story is a cover up?" Harl asked. "I don't buy it. And he died in, what, the 1890s? A skeleton that old, someone would have uncovered it years ago putting in the plumbing or installing a new furnace. Doesn't wash."

Andrew agreed. He'd thought through all the possible scenarios last night, then again while he worked in the yard. "It'd have to be a hell of a coincidence."

"She's not even sure what she saw. If the police had more to go on, they'd act. Otherwise, they're not rocking the boat." Harl dipped his brush into the paint can, then thought better of continuing. He didn't like to work and talk at the same time. He carefully wiped the brush. "Lauren doesn't want to pursue the possibility it might have been Ike down there. The police don't have any reason not to defer to her wishes."

"You and I could push for an investigation," Andrew said. "As the neighbors."

"We could do it ourselves."

"That's ex-cop thinking."

"It's caught-between-a-rock-and-a-hard-place thinking. Police aren't going to investigate on our say-so, not with Lauren Grantham Montague wanting to drop this thing."

"She thinks Tess could be stirring the pot," Andrew said, watching Tess across the lawn with his daughter. They'd poured so much water onto the catnip, it'd made mud, spattering their legs. They both were laughing, delighted with their mess.

Harl was silent.

"That's what you mean if we investigate this ourselves," Andrew said. "We'd start with Tess."

"Makes sense. She knew Ike, he gave her the carriage house, she saw a skeleton her first night there. For all we know, she made up the damn thing just to see how people'd react." Harl straightened stiffly, one hand on his lower back as he yawned. Today was one of those days he looked as if he'd been shot in the line of duty, first in Vietnam, then as a cop. "Maybe she's decided something's not right with Ike's whereabouts, and this is her way of rocking the boat, smoking out what's going on. Something."

"The longer Ike stays away, the more it looks as if something's happened to him-after he took off. Or before."

"It's easy to speculate, but we have to go where the facts lead us. Have to keep an open mind, stay objective. He could have gone out for an innocent boat ride, fallen overboard and gotten eaten by sharks. Maybe he borrowed the boat from a friend without asking, the friend reports it stolen, never thinking of Ike." Harl laid his brush on top of the paint can, came over and sat on an Adirondack chair. "I can think of a million ways Ike could have taken off, gotten himself killed and we're none the wiser."

"Or ways he's taken off and just hasn't reported back to anyone in Beacon-by-the-Sea."

"Yeah. Maybe he and sister Lauren had a fallingout that she doesn't want the rest of us to know about. Or maybe," he added, staring across the lawn at Tess and Dolly, "our pretty Tess killed him herself."

"Harl."

"Oh, I've got more far-fetched scenarios than that. One involves Mars. I've been brainstorming this thing."

"I thought you didn't think while you were painting."

"I don't," he said. "This was when I wasn't working."

And it meant Harl probably hadn't slept any last night. Andrew got to his feet, could feel the air shifting, the clouds moving in from the southwest along with rain. He didn't mind. They could use the rain. He heard birds singing in the shrubs and trees, felt the ground soft under his feet, stepping in places where Tess and Dolly had splashed water.

"You let them crawl on you?" Tess groaned. "That's totally gross."

Dolly giggled. "It is not. They're only worms. I think they're cute."

"Worms are not cute, Princess Dolly. Kittens are cute."

"When can I pick them up?"

"In a few days. Your dad will let you know." Tess noticed him, smiled as she stood up, mudsplattered, hands caked with dirt. "They say you get more in touch with the earth if you don't use gardening gloves."