Authors: Carla Neggers
M
ackenzie walked into Gus Winter’s store, as she had on countless other bright, clear summer mornings. If she’d simply stayed in Cold Ridge and hadn’t decided to become a federal agent, would Harris Mayer now be alive? Had her decision to put in her application to become a deputy marshal somehow set events into motion that had culminated in his murder?
She didn’t blame herself, but she wondered about her role in the events of the past couple of weeks. She was a passive, unwitting participant, which she hated. She and Rook had met because of Harris and his manipulations, because of her friendship with Bernadette. In all likelihood, the attack on her and the hiker and the hydrangea and the assault knife—the anonymous calls—all tracked back to Harris and to his friendship with Bernadette.
A teenager Mackenzie knew from town—an avid mountain climber—was folding hiking shirts on the worn counter. “Is Gus here?” she asked.
“He’ll be in soon. Five, ten minutes, maybe.” The teen, blond and tanned, grinned suddenly, as if just recognizing her. “Hey, Ms. Stewart. I mean, Agent Stewart.”
“Just Mackenzie is fine.”
“I heard about that fight up at the lake. Man. That was close. Hope the police catch the guy.”
“Me, too.”
“Mackenzie!” Carine Winter North waved from near the back wall of the store. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
Mackenzie smiled at the sight of her friend. “I just got here.” She threaded her way through the racks of clothing and gear to Gus’s display of maps and hiking guides. “I only decided this morning at the last minute to come up.”
A week after her own close call, Carine seemed back to normal, little Harry snuggled onto one hip. “I’m looking for a map of Mount Desert Island. Tyler’s on his way home, and we’re thinking about getting out of here for a few days.” She smiled, color rising in her fair cheeks. “I think Maine might be nice. I haven’t been to the ocean yet this summer.”
“Did you tell him about last weekend?”
“No, but I should have. He read about it on the Internet. Can you believe it? Never occurred to me. My name wasn’t mentioned, but yours was. So he knew damn well I was in the middle of it all.” She abandoned the maps and shifted Harry to her other hip. “He says we can work on our communications skills while he’s here.” She grinned. “Sounds kind of good, doesn’t it?”
Mackenzie had known Tyler North as long as she had the Winters. He’d left Cold Ridge early for the air force, but kept coming back, hanging on to the house where his eccentric mother, a well-regarded artist, had raised him on her own. He’d seemed to know, on some level, that he and Carine were destined for each other and a life together in their hometown.
“Mackenzie?” Carine touched her friend’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Just drifting.”
“Did you come here alone?”
Mackenzie nodded, not sure how much detail she wanted to go into now. But eventually Carine would drag it all out of her—the creepy events of the past week, Harris’s murder. Rook.
“Your FBI guy—Andrew—”
“He’s still in Washington.”
Carine raised an eyebrow. “But you two are getting along?”
“Better.” Mackenzie smiled, thinking of Rook and his fixer-upper house within blocks of his father and brothers. A complicated man and yet totally straightforward. “I don’t know. I think Rook might want a woman more like his grandmother. Someone to bake cookies.”
“Have you told him you make a mean chocolate chip cookie?”
Mackenzie laughed, but her laugh sounded forced even to her. “No, because it’s the only thing I
can
make.”
Carine’s expression darkened. “We heard about Harris Mayer. I called Nate, but he wouldn’t tell me a thing. Told me not to bug you. You found the body?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Mackenzie said.
“That must have been awful.” Carine winced; she’d come upon a murder scene once herself, before she and Tyler were married. “I remember Harris visiting Beanie. He always struck me as one of those people who had it all but still wasn’t satisfied.”
“I guess it wasn’t in his nature.”
Carine hoisted Harry higher onto her hip and smiled, kissing the top of his little bald head. “Little mister here is getting to be a lug. What are your plans?”
“I’m meeting with the state police this afternoon for an update.”
“Beanie?”
“I’m on my way out to see her right now.”
“Harry and I have had either Gus or friends staying with us this week, but Tyler gets back tonight. We’ll be at the house if you need anything.”
“I’m sorry about what happened, Carine. This guy should never have gotten away from me.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You’re not superhuman. This man had his chance with me, and he didn’t take it. He let me go. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t his target, whether or not he was thinking rationally.”
“If Tyler doesn’t make it back here tonight, will you call me?”
“Don’t worry about me, okay? You’ve got enough on your plate.” Harry gave a huge yawn, and Carine kissed him again. “Nap time.” She smiled, winking at Mackenzie. “For me, too.”
Two minutes after Carine left, Gus entered the store from the back room, grunting when he spotted Mackenzie. “When did you get here?”
“And a bright and cheery good morning to you, too, Gus.”
He sighed. “I’m in a lousy mood.”
“I can see. I arrived about fifteen minutes ago. You just missed Carine and Harry.”
“I’m running late. I was up at Beanie’s last night. She wasn’t nervous about staying at the lake by herself after her friend in Washington turned up cut to pieces, but I was.” He pushed a palm over his gray hair and glanced around the store, as if someone might have moved everything while he’d been gone. “She kicked me out an hour ago. I’ve always gotten under her skin.”
“And vice versa.”
“I guess.” He waved a hand irritably. “She’s upset, but she won’t admit it. I heard you and your FBI agent found Mayer yesterday?”
“We did.”
Gus sighed, bending down suddenly to scoop up a shirt that had fallen off a hanger. “That can’t have been good. Finding bodies—that’s worse than teaching college freshmen, don’t you think?” Gus laid the shirt on the counter, not waiting for an answer. “I assume you’re on your way out to Beanie’s.”
Mackenzie nodded. “She’s not expecting me, though.”
“Just as well. She keeps saying she’s missed something. She’s driving herself crazy.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Yeah.” Gus softened, some of the energy going out of his irritation. “If you need to borrow my truck—”
“I rented a car at the airport.”
He grinned at her. “The world must be coming to an end.”
Having a car gave her freedom of movement, but she’d also used the drive from the airport to think. She hesitated, then said, “Gus, have you talked to Beanie about Cal?”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah. She’s not thrilled with you or me right now.”
“What would she have done if she’d been in our position?”
“I tried that one on her. Didn’t work. She went on about honesty, keeping secrets from friends. She’s just embarrassed. That rat-bastard brought those women out to the lake knowing it’d humiliate her if she found out.”
“Then there
was
more than one. I figured as much, but I only saw him with a dark-haired woman.”
Gus seemed uncomfortable with the entire subject. “There were at least two that I know of, probably more. I drove by one day and saw him out on the dock with a blonde—young, pretty. I was tempted to stop, but I didn’t.” He added awkwardly, “Figured it wasn’t my business.”
Mackenzie picked up a notepad from his counter and handed it to him. “Write down a description. Everything you can think of—hair, eyes, height, weight, dates. Don’t censor yourself. I’ll take it with me when I meet with Detective Mooney this afternoon.”
“All right, Deputy,” he said with a sudden flash of amusement, taking the pad. “I’ll do that.”
“Thank you.”
He gave her a grudging smile. “It’s good to see you, kid. How’s the cut?”
“Healing well.”
She said goodbye and headed out, yesterday’s storms leaving the air feeling washed and clean, the mountains in sharp relief against a cloudless sky. Cold Ridge was home in a way Washington never would be, but, she thought, climbing into her rented car, why not have both?
Before she was out of range of any cell service, she checked her phone for messages. T.J. had called, asking her to get in touch with him. She dialed his number, and he picked up on the first ring. “Hey, T.J. What’s going on? Is Rook with you?”
“He’s on his way up there. Mackenzie, I’m in your guy’s condo.”
“You mean Cal?”
“No. I’m talking about your stalker-attacker. A part-time night doorman recognized him from the sketch you left. He leased a corporate condo on the floor above Cal Benton’s place.”
“Do you have a name?” T.J. didn’t hesitate. “Jesse Lambert.”
Mackenzie shook her head, as if T.J. was in the car with her. “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Not at all. Any hard evidence it’s the right guy?”
“Just kitchen knives so far. The place is pretty sterile.”
“What about Cal? Any sign of him?”
“Not yet.” T.J. paused a moment, then went on. “Rook’s on his way to New Hampshire. He’ll be at your meeting this afternoon with the investigators up there. His flight’s just a couple hours behind yours.”
“He planned this all along, didn’t he?”
“He had his ticket before I arrived with the doughnuts this morning.”
Mackenzie sighed. “The man’s relentless.”
“I’m not going there,” T.J. said with a small chuckle. “Stay safe, Mackenzie. This guy—”
“I know. It’s that hydrangea. Creepy.”
This time, T.J. didn’t laugh.
When she hung up, Mackenzie debated waiting in the local diner and watching for black sedans, but she didn’t. She wanted to see Bernadette, and, she thought, the lake, the shed, the brush where her attacker had hidden, the route he’d taken into the woods. The entire scene, with fresh eyes.
Jesse Lambert.
The name didn’t do anything for her. It was still the eyes that seemed familiar.
B
ernadette unlocked the padlock on the shed door. She’d walked down here, realized she didn’t have the key, then had dragged herself back to the house to hunt it down. She knew she was more annoyed than the situation warranted, but the padlock was another reminder of what had gone on here last week, when she was in Washington, oblivious. Just as she’d been when Cal had slipped up here with his women.
She felt violated. The lake was her refuge, but she could no longer pretend she could simply dismiss what had gone on here over the past few months.
With a burst of frustrated energy, Bernadette pulled open the shed door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d locked it. She’d never worried about burglars—there was nothing of real value inside. Occasionally, she worried about kids sneaking in and making off with the canoe or the kayaks and ending up drowned. But it wasn’t enough to make her change her habits. Kids had never been a problem on the lake.
Even Mackenzie, Bernadette thought as she wrestled the lock from the latch. She’d been spirited—a hellion, according to Gus—but
normal,
wandering off on her own, not so much fearless as unaware of any dangers lurking out in the woods.
Bernadette let her gaze drop to the old bloodstains on the concrete floor. If only she could go back in time and warn Kevin Stewart about his saw, tell him to inspect it for problems.
If only she could go back in time and find him herself, and keep his eleven-year-old daughter away.
But how many times had she looked at a defendant in the courtroom and known he was running a litany of if-only scenarios through his head? Not all defendants had regrets, or regrets for the right reasons, but some did.
She propped the door open with a rock she kept nearby just for that purpose. She wanted to stay focused and keep moving, hoping activity would renew her spirits. She’d slept poorly, and as much as she’d appreciated Gus’s concern for her, she couldn’t stand having anyone around her right now. It wasn’t him. It was her—her fatigue, her mounting sense of doom and depression.
Maybe she should just grab her garden tools and dig weeds for the rest of the day.
But she pictured Mackenzie fighting for her life in front of the shed. And Harris, five years ago, coming to the lake to tell Bernadette in person that he was in trouble. He’d found her in the shed, looking for her favorite kayak paddle.
This place is bad luck
.
As she stood on the threshold, she realized she’d forgotten why she’d even decided to open up the shed. Not nostalgia, that was for damn sure.
I’m losing my mind.
She stepped back out into the sunlight. Ordinarily, the cool, bright morning would have had her out on the lake by now, kayaking, swimming, watching the loons, but not today.
“Hello, Judge Peacham.”
A man emerged from the tangle of brush and small trees between the shed and the lake front. Startled, Bernadette almost fell backward, but she maintained her balance and stared at the man, recognizing him—the dark hair flecked with gray, the pale gray eyes. He wore expensive hiking clothes and boots but seemed at ease in his surroundings.
He smiled at her. “Beanie—that’s what they call you up here, isn’t it?”
It took a moment for her to place where she’d seen him before and remember his name. He wasn’t from Cold Ridge. “Jesse,” she said. “Jesse Lambert, right?”
“That’s right, Judge.”
His tone was calm, controlled, but something about his manner unnerved her. She took a step back from him, but remained polite and nonconfrontational. “We met a few months ago…”
“That’s right. At a boring Washington party. It’s much nicer up here.” He breathed in the pleasant air, but his eyes—such strange eyes—never left her. “I love it, don’t you?”
Bernadette felt a pang of real fear. She remembered now. Cal had introduced them at a cocktail party they’d both attended, separately. As she recalled, he’d indicated that Jesse Lambert was some kind of consultant with a small company based in Virginia. She’d run into him on at least two more occasions, but she hadn’t really paid any attention. She had many casual acquaintances and hadn’t thought twice about Jesse Lambert.
“Did you come up here with Cal?” She struggled to keep her tone light. “If you two want to borrow a canoe or a couple of kayaks, by all means—” But she broke off abruptly. The way he stared at her was as frightening as anything she’d witnessed in her years as a prosecutor and a judge.
“That’s not why I’m here. You know that, Judge.”
“I only know you’re a business consultant of some kind.”
“Cal and I did a few deals together. And Harris,” Jesse added with a cold smile. “Oh, wait. Let’s be accurate. J. Harris Mayer. Always a stickler for accuracy, your friend Harris.”
Bernadette gasped, her knees weakening. “I haven’t seen Harris in ages.” She didn’t dare say she knew he was dead. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“He’s the one who introduced me to Cal.”
She was too shocked to respond. What else didn’t she know? Yesterday, she’d learned about Cal taking women here to the lake—and Harris’s murder, she thought. She’d tried not to envision him lying dead in the run-down rooming house, but rather how he’d looked during his many visits to the lake with his wife and children, in happier days, before he’d let his compulsions dominate him. Or maybe they always had, but he just hadn’t been caught and exposed.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I know Harris?”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want.”
Jesse pointed at her, almost with glee. “I know Harris because of you.”
“I don’t understand. I didn’t meet you until Cal introduced us—”
“I know. Complicated. But Cal and Harris are irrelevant right now.”
His stark words jolted Bernadette. “Jesse,” she said, her voice cracking, “where is Cal?”
Ignoring her question, he glanced at the shed, the brush, as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “I heard about the marshal attacked out here.”
It was you, you bastard.
Bernadette could see that he was enjoying manipulating her. As surreptitously as she could, she took another step back. She knew the lake, the woods around her house. If she could get away from him, she’d have at least a chance to run, elude him until she could get help.
But if she was right and he was the man who’d attacked Mackenzie last week, he could know the area as well as she did.
Get to your car. It’s your best hope. And keep him talking until you can make your move.
She tried to steady herself. “Jesse, why are you here?”
“I’m like you. I don’t want to get bit by what Cal’s into.”
She faked a laugh that sounded even more hollow and weak than she’d expected. “You’re a wealthy, respected businessman. How could anything in which Cal might be involved hurt you? And he and I are divorced. I’m not worried—”
“If you cooperate, he’ll live,” Jesse said abruptly. “If you don’t, it’s simple. He’ll die.”
Bernadette went still. She felt the blood draining out of her head, but tried to force herself to assess her situation objectively. She needed a weapon. There were tools in the shed. The sticks she used for toasting marshmallows near the fireplace. Rocks.
But before she could figure out what to do, Jesse produced an assault knife, pointing it at her in an obviously well-practiced move. “No one’s protecting you, Judge.” His tone was mild, even matter-of-fact. “No one can save you. You have to deal with me and only me.”
“All right.” She was surprised at how calm she suddenly sounded. “Tell me what you want.”
He ran his thumb along the smooth edge of the blade. “You’ve alienated a lot of people, haven’t you, Judge? Your pretty marshal friend, for one.”
His eyes flashed, and with a deep sense of revulsion, Bernadette realized he was attracted to Mackenzie. “Mackenzie knows I care about her.”
“You don’t give her enough credit,” Jesse continued, as if they were teachers discussing a student progress report. “She’s good at what she does. She’s still new, but she has sharp instincts. I’ve seen them at work. Hell, I almost got my ass kicked because of them.”
“What do you want? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
The matter-of-fact tone vanished. “I want what your ex-husband stole from me.”
What?
Bernadette pushed back her confusion and shock. And her fear. This man thrived on his sense of power and control over others. Over
her.
She had to use that to keep him talking.
“I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “Cal and I live separate lives.”
“Think, Judge. Focus your mind. Your ex-husband’s in a tough situation.” Jesse paused, watching her reaction, relishing it. “If I’m not able to get back to him soon, he’ll die before anyone can find him. It’s a nice day, but he’s cold, wet, hungry and thirsty. He’s also scared. You don’t like that, do you? The idea that he’s scared?”
“I don’t know anything about your dealings with Cal. If you give me more to go on, perhaps I can help you.”
He nodded toward the open shed. “Let’s take a look in there. Okay, Judge?”
As if she had a choice in the matter. But she knew she had to do what she could to delay him. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been trying to think like Cal, and I figure he’d hide what I’m looking for in a place where he could secretly stick it to you.”
“But—”
Jesse shook his head. “No more stalling,
Beanie.
” He waved his knife at her in a threatening manner. “Into the shed.”
If he killed her, she thought, she hoped he’d make a quick job of it. If he was as skilled a fighter as he wanted her to believe, he could kill her instantly with a quick, targeted stab to the heart.
Don’t go quietly. Fight him to the end.
Surprised at her steadiness, she went ahead of him into the shed. Her knees were shaking, but not, she hoped, visibly. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her tremble in fear.
She noticed the tools hung neatly on hooks and nails, each a potential weapon. She’d never attacked anyone before in her life, but she knew she could do it if she had to.
“I searched Cal’s condo,” Jesse said, remaining between her and the shed’s only door. “I went through your house in Washington. You didn’t even know, did you? You should have a better alarm system. It’s not 1950 anymore.”
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, but she manufactured a smile. “You’re probably right. Look, if Cal stole something from you, I don’t blame you for being upset.”
Jesse didn’t seem to hear her. With his free hand, he pulled something out of his shirt pocket—thick paper, folded in half.
A photograph.
He flipped it onto the floor in front of Bernadette. “Pick it up.”
She hesitated. Jesse wasn’t allowing himself to be distracted from his search for whatever it was he thought he’d find there. She knelt down slowly, the image on the paper at her feet taking shape.
It was a picture of Cal, the man with whom she’d once planned to spend the rest of her life, in bed with a pretty, fair-haired woman.
In my bed here at the lake.
The bastard hadn’t even had the courtesy to use one of the guest rooms.
“You took this picture?” she asked, angling a look up at Jesse.
“It was easy enough. If they’d been upstairs…” He shrugged, obviously pleased with himself. “That would have been more difficult.”
“Have you ever spied on me?”
“I wasn’t spying. I was collecting information—intelligence, if you will, that I could use when I saw fit. I don’t believe for one second that Cal feels inferior to you. You worried about that, didn’t you?”
Bernadette stared at Jesse as he spoke so calmly and rationally, as if they were best friends discussing personal matters over a beer. “I—” She couldn’t focus on what to say. “Jesse, please. Tell me why you’re here. What do you want?”
“He’s shallow,” Jesse said. “Your ex-husband. He doesn’t believe in anything but his own bank account and his pleasures. That kind of cynicism is tough.” He gave her a long look, as if he expected her to see something she hadn’t noticed before. “Why aren’t you cynical, Beanie Peacham?”
The voice…the eyes…
Bernadette clutched her chest and sank onto her knees. “Oh, my God.”
Jesse smiled and lowered his face to hers. “You remember me now, don’t you?”