Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

"That doesn't seem fair."

"It's the nature of the Washington beast, I'm afraid. I'm used to this sort of maneuvering and fear-based decision-making." He shifted his attention back to her. "Would you mind telling me why you chose this particular timing to investigate the carriage house?"

Tess shrugged. "I received a property tax bill."

He laughed, more with incredulity than amusement. "To think my move to the Pentagon has been postponed, if not scuttled, because of the timing of a property tax bill. Well, it's hardly your fault."

"I didn't think through all the ramifications when Ike turned over the carriage house deed to me. So, I decided to figure out whether I wanted to keep it or not."

"Hence, your visit over the weekend."

"Yes."

He glanced at the carriage house. "It's in rough shape, isn't it? I haven't been here in years. I've driven by, of course, and Ike and Lauren both were fond of this place. It never was a good choice for the Beacon Historic Project, however, so I'm not surprised Ike unloaded it." He caught himself, smiled at her. "I don't mean it that way."

"That's okay. My father said more or less the same thing."

"Will you keep it?"

"I don't know. I'd like to be able to talk to Ike. I was supposed to do more work for him-that was our understanding. And I probably should know for sure what it was I saw the other night, even if it was nothing."

"I understand. Lauren and I feel the same way." He walked past her car to the end of the driveway and breathed in. "I love lilacs. Did you know Ike helped train Joanna here at the carriage house? I was surprised when Andrew bought the old Thorne estate. They'd been living in a house in the village. Frankly, after Joanna died, we all thought Andrew would move back to Gloucester."

Tess frowned, edging toward the lilacs. "Joanna trained here?"

"Hmm? Yes, Ike had rigged up ropes and a rock-climbing course. It wasn't elaborate, and it's not like this was their only training site. Joanna was very gung ho. It was good to see."

"Ike didn't go with her to Mount McKinley?"

"Oh, no. That was her dream not his. Look, everyone knows what Ike's like, and I don't pretend we got along-but he was a positive influence on Joanna Thorne. She worked for me, and I could see the change in her." He smiled wistfully. "Losing her was a terrible blow."

"It must have been." Tess tried to hide her uneasiness by tugging on a still-perfect lilac blossom, no hint of brown anywhere. "I think Ike felt guilty about what happened to her."

"As much as Ike can feel guilt, yes, I think so." She twirled the lilac stem in one hand, but gave Richard Montague a direct look. "You refer to him in the present tense."

He nodded. "I try to. Miss Haviland, normally I wouldn't engage in family gossip with an outsider, but because of the carriage house, you've been dragged into our affairs. I hope I haven't stepped over the line."

"No, I appreciate the insight. And I'm sorry about your appointment."

He waved a hand. "Under the circumstances, it's the least of our worries."

But it couldn't be easy, Tess thought, losing out, at least for the moment, on a Washington appointment because someone had reported finding a skele-ton-which no one else had yet seen-in the cellar of a carriage house his wife's brother had once owned. He started back to his car, and Tess mumbled something about being glad to see him again.

"Likewise," he said over the hood.

Once he drove off, she couldn't wait to slip through the lilacs, Dolly-style.

Harl and Andrew were on the back porch, arguing over spaghetti sauce. "You can't put carrots in spaghetti sauce," Harl said. "That's a sin against nature."

"You grate the carrots. You can't taste them. They sweeten the sauce, neutralize some of the acidity of the tomatoes."

"Sugar does the same thing, and it's not a carrot." He wrinkled up his face at the idea. "You put onions in the sauce, you put garlic, you put mushrooms and peppers, maybe-once in a while-some olives. You don't put in carrots."

"I've put in carrots before. You've never even noticed."

Tess grinned at them and dropped onto a chair at the table, feeling some of the tension roll out of her. She'd tell them about her visit with Richard Montague, but later. "It's nice to hear someone talking about something normal."

Harl eyed her. "I suppose you don't make spaghetti sauce. You make pasta sauce."

"I do live on Beacon Hill."

"Watch it, Harl," Andrew said. "She gives as good as she gets."

She shook her head. "Not tonight. I'm not holding my own with anything but a glass of wine." She smiled, adding, "Two. Two glasses of wine."

"Red or white?" Harl asked, getting to his feet.

"Red." She stretched out her legs and leaned back in her chair, feeling curiously at home. She winked up at Harl. "Red wine goes better with spaghetti sauce."

Lauren admired the perfect creamy yellow of the single daylily blossom in the flower garden just off the back porch. The gloom of dusk was settling in. The yardman had come today, the air still smelling of freshly cut grass. It was so normal and pleasant, reminding her of summer and running through the yard as a child, that she wanted to cry. She tried to be hardheaded and unsentimental. She knew she had to keep her wits about her with a dead body in her car trunk. But she missed her family. She missed her parents. She missed Ike.

Ike.

The daylily was so beautiful, she wanted to lose herself in its shape and color, think of nothing else.

Her poodles rubbed against her ankles as if they sensed her mood. She couldn't let depression settle in. A tug of nostalgia was all right, but nothing more. Too much was at stake.

"There you are." Richard trotted down the porch steps, a drink in each hand. "I brought you a scotch, just in case. Hell of a day, I know."

She accepted the drink. "The police are stopping by tomorrow to interview me on Ike's whereabouts.

It would be so much easier if I had a normal brother, but then-" She smiled, sipping the scotch. "But then I wouldn't know what to do with a normal brother."

"Ike's normal. Half the men in this country would take off just the way he does if they could get away with it. He's got the money, no attachments." Richard shrugged agreeably, in a remarkably good mood considering his devastating news. Lauren wondered if it was the scotch. "A normal guy."

"You're joking with me."

"Lauren, everyone's on edge because of this Tess Haviland, not because Ike hasn't been heard from in a year. If she hadn't come around and claimed to find a skeleton, then have it disappear, no one would be thinking about Ike Grantham today. It's damn inconvenient, that's all."

His tone hadn't changed, remaining almost affable. Lauren walked up to the porch with him. She had to call the dogs, who liked wandering in the yard. So much for feeling her pain. They didn't give a damn about her.

She picked up the old, yellowed bound volume she'd been reading. Richard frowned at her. "What's that?"

"Adelaide's diary."

"Who?"

"Adelaide Morse. Benjamin's wife. Jedidiah Thorne's victim."

Richard shrugged, indifferent, and sat on a wicker chair. "I'd love for this to turn out to be a hauntedhouse scare. They happen now and again at the carriage house, don't they?"

"Yes, but never a skeleton-usually it's just strange noises, shadows, voices." She sat on the chair next to him with her scotch, the glass in a cold sweat in her hand. "I should put Adelaide's diary in the archives. In fact, I should give it to the project historians. I don't know why I insist on protecting her."

"Lauren, I'm not following you-"

"Adelaide. I'm protecting her."

"But she's dead!"

"She killed Benjamin. I almost told Tess the truth today."