The Cabin (38 page)

“Rachel planned to make contact with Susanna Gal-

way and tell her everything.”

“So?”

“She was in the process of turning her life—my

life—into a spectacle. I saw her notes. I saw her ideas

for publicity and promotion, pictures, magazine spinoff

articles about how she’d come to Texas and married the

man of her dreams all because she’d wanted to find her

father’s illegitimate half brother.”

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319

Alice tripped on her own feet, and Beau nudged her

in the back with the gun. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

“What, like walking?”

He ignored her. “You knew about the book.”

“No, Mr. Beau, I didn’t know a damn thing. I wish

I had.”

“That’s why you killed her. Rachel came around at

the last minute and promised me she’d burn all her notes

and let the past be. You were furious. You saw your

chance for the big time slip away. No book, no money

for digging around in your new friend’s past.”

The Paranoia Scenario converged nicely with the

Great Savior Scenario. Beau McGarrity as avenger of

his wife’s death, the man who’d bring her murderer to

justice—or just shoot her. It depended, Alice imagined,

on what Beau and she did next.

“Okay,” Alice said. “That’s why I killed her. Why did

you kill her?”

He sniffed. “You think you’re so clever.”

“I’m guessing you two had your fight over the book,

and then I pipe up with that comment about smother-

ing you with a pillow—you took it literally. You let your

imagination and paranoia take over and got yourself so

carried away with what we were up to that you went and

shot her.”

“You’re weak, Alice. You of all people know the

power of the bad seed.”

She thought of her grandma, her parents when they

weren’t drinking. They were good people. Alcoholism

was a disease. Even as dehydrated and frozen as she

was, Alice could feel the tears hot in her eyes.

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Carla Neggers

Her grandma had always told her to watch out for the

mean and crazy ones.

Beau was one to talk about bad seeds. He’d murdered

an innocent woman. His wife. Rachel, a kind and sweet

woman who’d just wanted to write a book about her

poor grandfather, a man who’d been dead for more than

sixty years. But it wasn’t the kind of publicity Beau

wanted—it wasn’t the kind he could control. And Ra-

chel wasn’t the kind of woman he could control. He’d

seen it all in those days before he’d hid in the azaleas

and shot his wife in the back.

“Susanna Galway knows more than she’s letting on,”

he said. “She has right from the start. Why else wouldn’t

she tell her husband about our little visit?”

Alice didn’t even try to tackle that one, not again.

She prayed Susanna was still alive. She’d expected

Beau to go after her, but Susanna had scooted out of

reach, using the steep ledge and the harsh conditions to

her advantage. He would have had to creep down the

treacherous, icy path and climb over poor, dead Destin.

Susanna would have had plenty of time to get the jump

on him and whack him or trip him with her remaining

ski pole.

He hadn’t bothered sending Alice. She’d used up the

last shreds of her energy swiping at Susanna and knock-

ing her off her feet.

He’d debated trying to shoot her. “We’re on a freak-

ing lake,” Alice had told him. “Two Texas Rangers are

here. The local police are hunting us. Do you really

want this place echoing with
gunshots?
Do you want to

risk tripping on the ice and shoot- ing yourself? Su-

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321

sanna’s probably unconscious. She won’t last thirty

minutes out here. And I’m already your hostage. Count

your blessings.”

He’d backed off. Alice didn’t know if her reasoning

had convinced him or he’d simply looked at the situa-

tion and realized he’d be risking his tactical advantage

to go after Susanna Galway. Beau liked to think he only

did things for logical reasons.

Mean and crazy. That was Mr. Beau. He wasn’t crazy

as in a treatable mental illness. Grandma hadn’t meant

that when she talked about his sort. He was crazy as in

he didn’t think like other people. No empathy. Lots of

rage at the impure. Stuff like that. As far as Alice could

see, his favorite scenario was to pin his wife’s murder,

the break-ins, the mess with the tape, Destin’s death,

whatever turned out to have happened to Susanna—to

pin all of it on her, Alice Parker, the corrupt police of-

ficer, the fabricator of an eyewitness against him, the

contaminator of evidence in a murder. The nitwit, the

loser, the dreamer.

He’d find a way to blame everything on her, and he’d

find a way to kill her and make it look as if he’d saved

the day.

Poor Rachel. She’d thought he was her knight in

shining armor.

“The anonymous call and my change purse. You

wanted me to find Rachel and see the evidence you

planted to incriminate me. You knew I’d panic and mess

up the crime scene. And if you guessed wrong and I was

working with a partner that night, you’d still have the

change purse. A win-win scenario for you.”

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Carla Neggers

Another nudge with the H&K. “Keep walking.”

Alice knew her fingers and cheeks were frostbitten.

Her toes were numb, dead-feeling, the excruciating pain

of frostbite gone now. She could end up losing couple

of them, if Beau didn’t kill her first. She was dehy-

drated and hungry, dumb with exhaustion.

But suddenly she could smell smoke, assumed it was

from the fireplace at Susanna’s cabin, and felt her heart

jump. She had no idea what Beau had in mind. “You

didn’t have to kill Destin,” she said in half whisper. “He

was just a harmless, self-absorbed blowhard.”

“His greed killed him.” Beau’s tone was cold, with-

out remorse or sympathy. “Nothing more, nothing less.

He made his choices.”

“And you pushed him off a cliff.”

He didn’t respond, and they descended a long, slop-

ing hill. She could see the woods open up and knew they

were coming upon the cabin now, that she’d have to con-

centrate, anticipate, think, for once in her life, like a good

cop. But the wind and the snow kept pounding at her, and

her mind was numb, her body aching. She was past shiv-

ering. She just wanted to lie down and sleep. Never mind

an active death. She’d curl up in the snow and go quietly.

“Stop,” Beau said, pulling her behind a snow-laden

evergreen. He pressed Destin’s gun into her back and

said, his breath hot on her ear, “That’s Sam Temple’s ve-

hicle. The truck Lieutenant Galway borrowed from the

plumber isn’t here.”

“What did you do, spend the night scouting?”

“Shh, Alice. You want to live through this, don’t you?

You’re a survivor. Don’t pretend you aren’t. Look at

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323

what you let happen to Destin Wright to save your skin

with me.”

“That’s not fair.”

He gave a quiet, cold laugh. “Do as I say, precisely

as I tell you to. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her eyelids heavy. What if she just col-

lapsed in the snow?

“I want you to go to the back door,” he said. “Draw

Sam Temple outside. Tell him you’ve found Destin and

Susanna and you need his help. I’ll be watching.”

“What’re you going to do?”

She could feel his smile. “Stop you.”

“You’re going to kill me,” she said dully. “You’re

going to be the hero. The great savior.” She shook her

head—or thought she did. She couldn’t tell. “They

won’t believe you.”

“Leave that to me. If you don’t do as I say, Alice, I’ll

kill you right here, right now. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“This path veers off and goes up over the hill out to

the Herrington house. It’s a shortcut. If you make one

wrong move, I will shoot you and get out of here before

anyone can do anything about it. There won’t be any

witnesses. You’ll be dead. My prints aren’t on this gun.

Destin Wright’s are.”

“Beau, this is crazy—”

He raised the H&K to her temple. “You’ll go to the

back door. You’ll draw Sam Temple out.”

He lowered the gun, and Alice knew she had two

choices. She could let him shoot her now. Or she could

let him shoot her in a few minutes.

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Carla Neggers

She figured she’d have a better chance of surviving

with Sam Temple on the scene than up here with just

her and Beau. And even if she didn’t, it wasn’t going to

do anyone any good if she let him shoot her now. He

was already here. He wasn’t leaving. He probably had

two or three backup plans, and all of them included

shooting somebody.

He couldn’t just shoot her in the back the way he had

Rachel. He needed a good reason to shoot her, so he

could tell Sam Temple “there you go, there’s your mur-

derer, I saved you.”

Knocking on a door and asking a Texas Ranger for

help wasn’t a good reason.

Maybe he planned to get Sam Temple to shoot her.

Something.

She wished she could think faster.

As she walked toward the cabin, she was vaguely

aware that her feet were cold and wet, blistering, and

her hands were shaking. Beau had chosen his cover

well, a tall evergreen closest to the back door. He was

known in south Texas for his excellent marksmanship.

If he started shooting, he wouldn’t miss.

“Sergeant Temple?” Alice sniffled, her words intel-

ligible and clear, but her voice obviously on the thresh-

old of complete panic. “It’s me, Alice Parker. Susanna’s

in trouble—she needs your help—”

Sam Temple emerged from the cabin with his .357

SIG Sauer drawn and pointed right at her. “Don’t move.”

She opened her palms in front of him. “I’m not

armed. Susanna’s hurt.” Alice half expected to feel the

bullet in her back, pictured Beau crouched in the woods,

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325

taking aim with the H&K…Destin’s gun. Would he

blame Destin, not her? Destin
and
her? “Oh, my God,

Beau’s not going to shoot me—Sam, he—”

But Temple had already seen something, sensed

something, because he grabbed her, pulling her with

him back into the mud room—protecting her—even as

she heard the shot.

He kicked the mud room door shut, pinning Alice to

the floor, his weapon on her. She knew he’d been hit.

She saw his hard grimace as the blood oozed from a

wound in his upper thigh.

“I don’t know what he’s going to do. Give me your gun,

sergeant,” she said, panicked, “let me go after him—”

“Don’t move,” Temple said, moving toward the

kitchen, the bullet in his leg not stopping him.

A girl screamed.

Iris Dunning appeared in the door to the kitchen. She

was pale. Shaken. She sank against the door frame,

ghostlike. “Sam—the twins—”

He touched her shoulder, breaking through her

shock. “Which way?”

She couldn’t seem to focus on what he was saying.

“They didn’t stay in their rooms like you told them.

They ran out onto the porch—I don’t know what they

were thinking—”

“Iris,” Sam said. “Where did McGarrity take them?”

“Off the porch. Up—up into the woods.”

“His car—” Alice could barely speak. She felt

woozy, and for a second, she thought she might pass out.

“It’s at the Herrington house. He told me.”

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Carla Neggers

“Stay here,” Temple said. “Both of you.” He glanced

at Iris. “Call the police. Get hold of Jack.”

He headed outside, and Alice stood frozen in the

mud room, noticing the snow melting off her boots. She

stared at Iris Dunning. “I’m sorry,” Alice whispered. “I

didn’t know what to do. Susanna—I think she’s still

alive.”

The old woman looked as if she weren’t breathing at

all. “Can you help Maggie and Ellen?” she asked

weakly. “Sam’s been shot. That man—”

Alice saw the keys to the SUV on the mud room

floor, in a small puddle of water. They must have fallen

out of Sam’s pocket when he’d pulled her inside, sav-

ing both their lives. Beau had meant to shoot them both.

She saw that now. He’d had that split second of oppor-

tunity, and he’d failed, not because she’d seen it in

time—because Sam Temple had.

She should have realized what Beau meant to do

sooner. First he’d shoot Temple. Then he’d swoop out

of the woods while Alice was still screaming and shoot

her at close range. He’d claim she was the one who’d

shot Sam Temple and that he’d wrestled the gun from

her, shooting her in the process.

Then he’d shoot any witnesses who would tell a dif-

ferent story. Kill everyone if he had to.

But he hadn’t managed to kill Sam Temple.

Now he had the Galway twins.

Why hadn’t he slipped back through the woods when