Carla Neggers - Night’s Landing

“I was walking back from the Poe house along this same path, not that far from here. It was a sticky summer day, oppressively hot.” Her accent seemed more pronounced. “Wes was standing below me on a narrow, treacherous ledge that leads to a cave just above the water.”

“He was there alone?”

“Ev stayed in Nashville. She was out of the hospital-her mother was with her. I’ve always thought Wes just needed some time to himself. He was grief-stricken-”

“Do you think he meant to jump that day?”

She shook her head but didn’t seem shocked by the question. “It was just such a hard time. Wes prides himself on getting things done, making things happen. But some things you just can’t control. I just think he wanted to be here, on the river.”

“Who saw the snake first?”

“He did. It must have come from the cave. I’ve seen them out on the ledge, sunning themselves.”

“Water moccasins?”

“Oh, yes.”

Nate remembered some of the story now. “He saved someone’s life, didn’t he? Yours? Isn’t that the story?”

“That’s the story.”

She continued along the trail. When they reached the Poe house, she led the way through the tall grass to the road, then down to the fishing camp and the cabin Conroy Fontaine had rented.

He was sitting out on a rusted lawn chair, chatting with an old man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and he squinted up at Sarah, then at Nate. “Evening. Sarah, your prune cake was fantastic. I almost sneaked into your house in the middle of the night to steal me another piece, but then I decided that probably wasn’t such a good idea.” He grinned lazily. “You did your granny proud.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Let me introduce you to my friend Hiram Jones. Hiram, this here is Sarah Dunnemore and her friend, Deputy U.S. Marshal Nate Winter.”

Sarah mumbled something about being pleased to meet him. Nate just nodded, and the old guy rolled back in his lawn chair and blew out a lungful of smoke. “I knew Leola and Violet back in the war. Used to come out here to fish. They was real ladies.”

Conroy gave Sarah a pointed look. “Hiram was here not long after they found President Poe on the doorstep.”

“He wasn’t president then,” Sarah said, a little sharply. “He was just a baby.”

“Cute little fella,” the old man said.

Sarah sighed. “You don’t let up, do you, Conroy?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t give up, either. Anything I can do for you? How’s your brother today?”

“He’s doing well, thanks. I wanted you to know I spoke to Ethan, and he apologizes. He said he stopped by earlier to apologize to you in person, but you weren’t around.”

“Out for my run, probably. Water over the dam.” He laid on the charm. “Tell him apology accepted.”

Sarah thanked him, but he didn’t invite her in-and she didn’t invite him back to her place to eat the last of the fried apricot pies. The old man puffed on his cigarette.

“It’s not a serious interview,” Sarah said to Nate on the way back out to the road. “Conroy doesn’t have a notepad or a tape recorder.”

Nate made a face. “I think you’d have to be a serious journalist to have a serious interview.”

“At least he’s pleasant.”

“Too bad he didn’t invite you in for a little nip of something. I’d love to see his notes for his book.”

She cut a look at him. “You don’t think he’s legitimate?”

“I don’t think anything one way or the other.”

“My opinion? Ethan’s right. Much as I hate to say it, Conroy’s a bottom-feeder, positioning himself to be in the right place at the right time for a bombshell.” She squared her shoulders and picked up her pace. “But my family doesn’t have anything to hide, about ourselves or anyone else.”

Nate hung back, watching her walk down the road with sudden energy. Caves, snakes, frogs, a baby on a doorstep, an historic house, an old fishing camp, a well-respected diplomat, the president of the United States-if he wanted secrets and lies to drop into his lap, Nate thought, he’d park himself in Night’s Landing, just as Conroy Fontaine had done.

Juliet changed into her running clothes for her regular five-thirty-in-the-morning, three-mile run. Some days she did five or six miles, but at least five days a week, she did her minimum of three miles. Today was not a strength-training day. No sweating it out in the weight room later.

Thank God.

She stooped in front of her tropical fish tank and said goodbye to a rainbow-colored fish staring at her. Her brothers in Vermont had threatened to fry her fish. They thought she needed to do something about her social life, like get out of law enforcement. It was fine for them to be cops, but not her. And not a fed.

Cops and landscapers-an odd combination, but that was her family.

She took the stairs down to the lobby and said a cheerful hello to the doorman. In her next life, she wanted her own Upper West Side apartment in a building that had a doorman.

In this life, she couldn’t even afford an Upper West Side apartment with no doorman.

Her family didn’t have money. That was for damn sure.

She pushed open the glass front door and trotted down the steps to the street.

Crap.

She’d missed the part about rain in the forecast. She’d let herself get too preoccupied with Rob and with what Collins and his team of investigators weren’t telling her about the shooting. Were they going down blind alleys, barking up the wrong trees, going off on wild tangents? Hell if she knew. No question about it, it’d be easier for everyone if Hector Sanchez was their guy and he’d acted alone. She’d warned Collins not to go off half-cocked because the Dunnemores had missed their plane. Drama tended to follow them around. It would have been surprising, maybe, if they hadn’t missed their plane. Not that Collins had appreciated her advice.

And Nate. What was going on with him and the twin sister in Tennessee? There’d been nothing more on the anonymous letter.

At least nothing anyone had mentioned to Juliet. She was not assisting in the investigation. She was not doing anything anymore. Well, the parents would be arriving later today. That should take her off the hook. Time to get on with her own life.

She glanced up at the overcast sky. It was more of a misting rain than a real downpour. She sighed and jumped off the curb, heading across the street toward Riverside Drive and her regular route along the Hudson. She went at a light jog, warming up her muscles, letting her body get in sync with the idea that, yes, it was a running day, not a rest day. Once she reached Riverside, she’d stop and stretch a couple minutes before her three-mile run.

“Gotta keep up with the big boys,” she said half-aloud.

Rob was a triathlete; Nate was a mountainman. They both could run forever and kick ass with the best of them. They worked at it and so did she. Running, weights, boxing, tai chi, yoga, karate. She wasn’t an expert at any of them, but she figured they all helped.

A black car pulled off the curb and just missed running over her toes.

Irritated, Juliet resisted smacking its passenger window.

It came to an abrupt stop, the back door opening. Instinctively she jumped back-but she was too late. A dark-haired man shot out of the door, shoved a gun in her solar plexus and, using his free hand, jerked her into the back seat. She went sprawling over the smooth black leather and almost hit her head on the opposite door.

“Good,” the man said, settling in next to her. “You didn’t scream. You’d be dead now if you had.”

“I had that feeling.” Juliet sat up, her knee already swelling from where she’d banged it getting thrown into the car. It looked like one of the thousands of black Lincoln Town Cars the rich and the super-busy almost-rich hired to drive them around the city. “What do you want?”