Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

Tess picked up a picture tucked into the file with the articles on the duel. Adelaide was dark-haired and unsmiling, but indeed, very beautiful. "Jedidiah didn't mount a defense at his trial. After he got out of prison, he never spoke about the duel."

Lauren glanced at her from the window, her arms crossed on her chest. "That's a Thorne trait, as you've perhaps already discovered. They have a long tradition of not giving a damn what other people believe about them. They operate from a code of honor all their own."

"But if Adelaide rigged the duel, if she used him to get rid of her husband, it makes no sense for Jedidiah to have continued protecting her-"

"Honor is seldom that practical."

"Well," Tess said, rising, "thanks for letting me use the archives."

"Have you decided yet if you'll keep the carriage house?"

She shrugged. "No, I haven't."

"You'll feel better when you know where Ike's taken himself off to." Lauren moved from the window, but she looked tired suddenly, slightly pale. "I understand. He's been doing this sort of thing most of his life, so I'm used to it. I forget other people aren't."

"He's not the only reason-"

But Lauren didn't seem to hear her. "The police want to find him. So do the people supporting my husband's appointment to the Pentagon. Whether Ike likes it or not, he will be found."

"That doesn't thrill you?"

"It's been a quiet year."

An awkward silence settled between them. Tess broke it, quickly returning files to their appropriate drawers. "Have any reporters called you? I've been avoiding them. It's embarrassing, calling the police to come find a skeleton and then having nothing there-"

"Was there nothing there?"

She thought of Susanna asking her that same question. What did she see that night? Was she sure? She saw a human skeleton. And she was sure.

But she didn't want to be. She wanted to have doubts. She wanted to be wrong. She'd rather have the police think she was the sort of woman who conjured up scary things in her attics and basements.

"I don't know," she said.

Lauren didn't seem satisfied. "Forgive me, Tess, but I think you do know, and you just don't want to admit it because it'll be complicated-because you're afraid what you saw was, in fact, my brother."

"If that's the case, then someone stole his remains."

"Because he was murdered." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, and hoarse. "I don't blame you, Tess.

I've been afraid to say those words aloud myself."

"Let's hope they're not true."

"Yes." Lauren started for the door, but stopped abruptly and looked back at Tess, composed, almost regal, with her straight, tawny hair shining. "And to answer your other question, yes, reporters have been calling, too. My husband's not very happy about the timing."

"Because of his appointment," Tess said. "Is it important?"

Lauren Montague smirked, a touch of humor sparking in her eyes, reminding Tess of her brother. "Everything Richard does is important."

Al Pendergast was working the ghost angle more than the Ike Grantham angle, because, he told Andrew, it was more fun. He liked the idea of a ghost of a convicted murderer trying to scare off a Boston graphic designer by putting a skull at her feet. "Maybe he goosed the cat or something to make her yowl," Pendergast said, plopping down in a chair in Andrew's office. "Would you have gone down in that cellar by yourself?"

"Have you talked to Tess yet?"

"No. Haven't caught up with her."

Pendergast seemed unconcerned. Andrew said nothing. The guy was having "fun."

"What about the duel? What's the Thorne family scuttlebutt on ol' Jed?"

Andrew kept his tone even. "We know nothing that's not already in the public record."

The young reporter made a face. "I tried to check the archives at the Beacon Historic Project. The old battle-ax at the front desk wouldn't let me in. The public library doesn't have much." He clicked his mechanical pencil a few times, an annoying habit. "I'm interested in how Jed died. Know anything?"

"He died at sea. There was a storm." "Ah. No body." "No traditional burial," Andrew corrected. But Pendergast was off and running. "Your family pretty much went to hell after the duel. You grew up in a bad neighborhood in Gloucester, but managed to do well for yourself. How's it feel to own the family homestead, rebuild the family name?"

"That's not my purpose." "Isn't it?" Andrew looked at him. "Any other questions?" Pendergast was smart enough to know the interview was over. "Your cousin, Harley Beckett. Is he at home?"

"He's picking up my daughter from school." Andrew decided not to warn the reporter. Let Al Pendergast find out about Harl on his own. "He'll be back in an hour."

The reporter left, and five minutes later, Dolly swooped into Andrew's office. "I'm mad," she announced.

"What are you mad about?" Andrew asked. "It's my school, Daddy, it's not Harl's school." "That's right, he volunteered today. How did it go?"

She was fuming, frowning with great flourish. "He made me drink my milk. He said I couldn't give my apple to my friend, I should eat it myself."

"Dolly, Harl's just trying to help Ms. Perez. Don't other kids-" Andrew stopped himself. Other kids didn't have Harl. "It was just his first day. He'll figure it out."

She huffed, the litany of Harl's offenses overwhelming her. "I hate him."

"You don't hate Harl."

"I do! He says I should lock Chew-bee in a closet. He's mean."

"Could Chew-bee get out?"

"Chew-bee can do anything. "

"Maybe Harl's jealous of Chew-bee."

"What's jealous?"

"He thinks you like Chew-bee better than you like him."

"Oh, no! I love Harl!"

Tess wandered in, and Andrew gave up on getting any work done today. He noticed the shape of her and remembered the feel of her smooth skin, the taste of her. Dolly ran over to her. "Tess, I named the kittens. Do you want to hear my names? Harl says I should name the gray one Cement Mixer. That's silly. "

"Cement's gray," Tess said judiciously.

Dolly rolled her eyes. "Daddy, do you think Cement Mixer's a good name?"

"I think whatever you pick will be fine. You know these are temporary names, right? The kittens' new owners will want to pick out their own names."

"I know," she said, and skipped back out to Harl.

Andrew leaned back and eyed Tess. "I gather you aren't getting any work done today, either."

"None. I tell myself projects are simmering in the back of my mind while I'm driving around, digging through Thorne family history for no earthly reason. I read through most of my e-mails from Ike last night." She was pacing, on edge. "He really was a jerk. If someone dumped him in the carriage house cellar and stole his remains after I took an interest in the place, what do I care?"

"So just say you imagined the bones."

"Right."

"Tess," Andrew said evenly, "if it was Ike, it's going to come out sooner or later. He can't stay innocently missing for much longer."

"I know." She sighed, coming to an abrupt stop within two feet of him. "The police are trying to find him."

"Maybe we should let them do their job. You reported what you saw. The rest is up to them."

"This can't be good for Richard Montague's Pentagon appointment," Tess said.

"No, I imagine not. He was angling for it when Joanna worked for him-"

"He'd probably like to dump me in the carriage house cellar for stirring up this mess. Well, I can't blame him." She focused on Andrew's office, giving it an appreciative once-over. "Nice. Pop and Davey would be hoping for a little more grease and dirt, but it's a good balance of working stiff and white-collar professional."

"It's functional."