Hide Away, page 15
Beverly had suggested on the way over that she take the lead in asking the questions due to the subject matter, and Adam reluctantly agreed. Although she should have let him take over since Fern seemed to be spending as much time studying Adam as she was her projects.
Beverly asked, “Fern, when we were at the bar, you said you overheard an argument between Wallace and Braddon Hopper about Hopper’s then-girlfriend, Jane Campen. Did you catch any snippets of it?”
“No words. But reading their body language, I’d say Braddon was accusing him of something, and Wally was on the defensive.”
Beverly chose her words carefully. “You said Wally didn’t get too aggressive with you, is that right?”
“Aggressive?” Fern stopped in mid-twist fashioning a carnation with florist tape. “You’re thinking Braddon believed Wally propositioned Jane Campen?”
“Make that ‘forcibly’ propositioned.”
“Rape? That’s preposterous. I never saw anything of the kind. And if he’d been like that, I would have known. This Campen woman must have an axe to grind. Sour grapes.”
“Another woman made the same claim.”
“You must be mistaken. Or she must be mistaken.” Fern started working on the carnation again, but she used so much force, the tape broke. With a sigh, she put down the flower. “Look, Wally was no saint. But with his OCD, he wouldn’t have risked rape.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sexually transmitted diseases. He’d have to make each woman get a lab test first. I can’t see a rapist asking his victim to do that and get back with him later.”
Adam spoke up, “He was never violent toward you?”
“We argued. But he was about as violent as a puppy.”
Adam continued to stare at her, and Fern folded her arms across her chest. “Wallace may have scared me once or twice, okay, but it was only when he got drunk.”
Adam added, “Then the reason you called off the engagement—”
“As I said before, it was mostly the OCD. A little more eccentricity than I was willing to put up with. I know that makes me sound shallow.”
Beverly asked, “Was he on meds for his OCD? Some of those have nasty side effects, like depression or aggression.” Beverly smiled to herself at Adam’s approving look at her question.
“He’d been on some years ago. But he stopped taking them.” Fern finished the boutonniere and held it up. “Red carnations and baby’s breath. I can’t tell you how many of these I’ve done. Just once, I’d love to see someone think outside the box. Take a walk on the wild side. Eucalyptus and tallow berries. Maybe some bavardia and dusty miller.”
Beverly pointed at a phalaenopsis orchid in the case. “Like that.”
Fern turned to look. “A purple girl? I’m a fan myself. Wally hated purple. I have no idea why.”
Adam asked, “Did you have any interactions with Braddon Hopper? Know him to be a liar? If he wanted to be Rapier Marshal so badly, he might have tried to sully Wallace’s reputation.”
Fern nodded. “I can see that. He was frosty toward Wally and me both.”
“Did he make any threats toward you?”
“He told me I wasn’t welcome at rehearsals. Not that I cared to go. Those people can be scary.”
“Scary?”
“As in a few drams shy of a full goblet, if you get my drift. Like that Joss Warder. Sorry, His Excellency, Richard Symonnet.”
“The park ranger?”
“Park ranger by day, fantasy geek by night. He and Wally liked to go drinking together.”
Adam asked, “Did you ever see them drunk together?”
“I’m not much of a drinker. The occasional beer, but that’s about it.”
Adam glanced at Beverly. “We can see you’re busy. Thanks for your time, Ms. Gery.”
Fern winked at him. “Please, it’s Fern. If you have any more questions, give me a call. Except between one and four o’clock tomorrow. The apocalypse could come calling, and I wouldn’t answer, thanks to this wedding.”
She added to Beverly, “I had fun chatting with you last evening. If you want to have another beer night, let me know.”
Adam waited until they were inside the car again to ask, “Did you buy any of that? About Wallace being a gentleman and the accusers having an axe to grind?”
“You’re asking me because of my shrewd insights and intellect? Or because I’m a woman?”
“Both.” He grinned at her.
“Braddon certainly did have an axe to grind. Or perhaps we should say sword. Which means Jane Campen could have, as well. Did you track her down for questioning?”
“Jinks is on it.”
“I think Fern is being honest when she says Wallace never abused her. She has none of the signs of a recent sexual assault victim.”
“Just how many sexual assault victims have you been around?”
Beverly didn’t answer and looked out the window.
“Beverly?”
She licked her lips and shrugged. “Enough.”
His voice softened, and he gently put his hand on her chin to turn her face toward him. “Are we talking about other people or about you?”
“All women experience unwanted sexual advances.”
“How unwanted and severe were these advances?”
“I haven’t seen him in years. It’s ancient history.”
Adam leaned against his seat and stared straight ahead. “He’d better not come around here, or I might kill him. Or Jinks will castrate him.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being the kind of guy who would say something like that. For knowing how to make me feel better.”
“Wait until you try my patented Guinness and jalapeño jack cheese omelet.”
“That’s unusual.”
“Tastier than it sounds. Unless you’re a vegan? I made a tofu spinach quiche for a vegan friend once.”
He seemed flustered, and it occurred to her they’d never had one real meal together yet. Despite him asking her for dinner—how many times was it now? She probably knew much more about him than he did her.
Adam said, “I should drop you off at the station to pick up your SUV.” He paused, then added, “I’d like to stop by my house first. I need to grab some files to take back to the office. It’ll be quick.”
Her heart beat faster at the thought of being anywhere near his house, but she forced herself to smile. “Whatever will help.”
Help with Harlan’s case, with Adam’s schedule, with life, the universe, or whatever. More than anything else, she was glad to be by this man’s side. She silenced her inner psychiatrist when it started to question what Beverly meant by that thought and sat back to enjoy the ride.
Chapter 25
Adam pulled up in front of his house, looking at it critically for the first time in years. What would Beverly make of it? The same woman who was used to places like the Apple Valley Resort, with its marble this and crystal that? Zelda had picked out this house, falling for its Adirondack style with a slate roof, board-and-batten siding, and wraparound front porch.
He noted the peeling paint around the windows and how the siding had faded a notch or two. When had that happened? To be honest, he hadn’t paid much attention to the house since the divorce.
He said, “This should only take a few minutes. You can keep the heater running.”
Adam ducked inside, looking around for the files, but didn’t see them right away. Where had he worked on those? Last night while watching the game or at the kitchen table? After checking the floor and the countertops, he came up blank. He headed toward some boxes near the wood stove, when a turn of the doorknob stopped him in his tracks.
The front door opened, and Beverly walked in, with a tentative smile. “I didn’t want to run the engine too long. Carbon monoxide.”
“Ah,” he said. “Sorry about the delay. Can’t seem to find those files.”
Beverly looked around the room, then pointed to his bookshelf in the corner. “You mean those folders?”
He walked over and grabbed the folders off the top of two books that were appropriately titled Criminal Investigations and The Case Files of Sherlock Holmes. With a grunt of disgust, he tossed the folders onto the table next to the couch that also served as his bed most nights. “Gotta get more organized.”
“I don’t know,” Beverly put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. “It’s better than I expected.”
“Oh? And what did you expect?”
“Clothing everywhere. Day-old pizza cartons. Bachelor kibble.”
“Bachelor kibble?”
“You know, chips, nuts, pretzels—things that come out of bags.”
“Have you been talking to Jinks?”
“She might have mentioned something like that.”
He shook his head. “I had too many lectures from Zelda about picking up after myself, I guess.”
Beverly snorted. “You are not a dog needing kibble.”
“A lot of people still refer to cops as pigs, so there ya go.”
She giggled. “That is so not the image that comes to mind about you, Adam.”
“Really?” Adam raised an eyebrow.
“More like Fern’s Bruno Giacometti.”
“The Italian Stallion?”
“Better than that.”
“Any better than that, I’d make millions running in the Derby.”
She bumped into a table and knocked over a picture frame, rescuing it before it fell to the floor. She looked at the photo and asked, “Where is this?”
He moved toward her to remind himself which photo it was, and then he remembered. “It’s a cabin overlooking Beaver Pond Brook, not far from the Nature Preserve.”
“A vacation home?”
“I just liked it.” At her questioning look, he added, “It’s where I wanted us to live when we first got married.”
She studied the photo. “I love this wooden bridge over the brook. And you can walk right out your front door and sit on the patio next to the water. It looks peaceful.”
“You’ve got the sound of the water, but it’s a gentle sound. Nature’s lullaby.”
“It’s beautiful. Did someone else beat you to it?”
“Zelda didn’t like it. Too far out of town and isolated, she said.” He waited for her to agree with his ex, but she didn’t say anything. She put the photo down, then spied the open case next to the table and exclaimed, “A guitar! I didn’t know you played.”
“I dabble.”
“Play something for me.” She sat on a chair and looked at him expectantly.
“I don’t know. I should get you back.”
“Not ‘Classical Gas’ length. Something shorter.”
He picked up the guitar and brought it to the couch, where he checked the tuning. It was weeks—months?—since he’d touched the instrument, but when he started to play, it felt more like yesterday. Like reuniting with an old friend, and when he finished, he didn’t want to stop.
Beverly clapped her hands. “That was beautiful. What is it?”
“It’s a Spanish dance by Granados, ‘Andaluza.’”
“Where did you learn how to play?”
“My father taught me. Now there was a guitarist. Puts me to shame.”
Beverly pointed at the guitar. “Was that his?”
Adam got up to put the instrument gingerly in its case. “Yeah. Playing it makes me feel close to him somehow.”
She hopped off her chair so fast, she lost her balance. He reached out to grab her arm before he fell backward and pulled her toward him. He was so concerned to see that she was okay, he didn’t realize at first how close they were. And when he did realize, he also knew that he liked it. A lot.
But he didn’t want to be like the man in her past who’d hurt her. There was a fine line between wanted and unwanted advances, and he was slipping and sliding all over that line.
Her lips were so soft-looking, so inviting. Alarm bells were screaming in his head. He should back off, drive her to the station.
To his surprise, she leaned toward him, not away. Her lips parted ever so slightly as her face grew nearer to his. He bent his head so close to hers he smelled her breath that held hints of wintergreen. The spell of that first kiss, so tantalizing, so electric, so. . .
A knock at the door broke the spell in one explosive vexation of sound. He sighed and looked into her wide blue eyes. She said, “I guess you should get that?”
He stomped over to the entry and opened the door. No mailman, only a lone truck disappearing down the street. One of those small white trucks, like online stores used to ship purchases. But he hadn’t bought anything lately. A gift? A look at the brown-paper package showed a computer-printed label with his name and address. But no return address. And no postmark.
They say instincts are a cop’s number one defense, and in that one moment, something about that package made him toss it into the front yard and slam the door. Moments later, an explosion of sound hit his ears, followed by a percussive blast wave that hit the front of the house and knocked him backward onto the floor.
He struggled to rise up to protect Beverly, but he didn’t have to. Once again proving how smart she was, she’d already hunkered down next to him, with her arms over her head.
He waited for a few moments and then helped her off the floor. They both turned to the door, which was still intact but bowed inward. Remarkably, it opened, and they stepped outside to survey the damage. A mini-crater lined his front yard, and the passenger side of his car was blackened. He walked out to see if he could open the car door, and it did, but he knew he was looking at a pricey repair job.
He scowled at it. “This car is cursed. I just got it fixed after it went into the pond three months ago. It’s totaled, anyway. I’ll have to get the department to loan me a rental until I can buy a new car.”
Beverly took his arm and turned him around toward the house. “Could have been worse,” she said. And she was right—the front windows were partly shattered and would have to be replaced, as would the door. But otherwise, the house was intact, livable, and not on fire. All good things.
“This was a smallish pipe bomb, a warning of some kind. If they’d wanted to kill me, it would have been quite a bit bigger.”
“There’s always lemonade.” She smiled at him.
“Lemonade?”
“Fix up the broken bits and use this opportunity to buy that cabin.”
He could have kissed her right then and there. But instead, he reached into the car to use his police radio and alert the station. There went his nice, relaxing evening. He held out his hand toward the house, motioning for her to precede him inside. “Well, Miss Laborde. Never let it be said I show you a dull time.”
Her eyes glinted with something he hoped was silent laughter. “Let’s see. One near-drowning, one near-shooting, and now one near-bombing. Or not-so-near-bombing. You definitely know how to show a lady a good time.”
“I’m beginning to think I’m underpaid.”
Then, she really did laugh. And he joined right in.
Chapter 26
Saturday, December 8
Beverly looked at the clock on the nightstand and groaned. Nine-thirty, way later than her usual five a.m. She’d considered asking the resort’s staff to give her a wake-up call but decided against it.
Wrapped in the luxurious down comforter, she felt like a human chrysalis, safe and warm in her own cocoon. But the face that stared back at her in the mirror across the room didn’t look like a butterfly. More like a moth that had gone nine rounds with a spider.
After the bombing at Adam’s last evening, she’d answered questions from the arriving police on site, refused medical care, then answered dozens more questions down at the station.
Jinks, bless her heart, had brought in buckets of espresso and tomato-basil focaccia sandwiches from an all-night cafe a block down the street. Adam had popped in from time to time, but he was busy with his own third-degree with Chief Quinn, the Vermont State Police Bomb Squad, and ATF.
Beverly had wanted to see more of him, to see for herself he was all right. But when ten o’clock rolled around, and he was still in meetings, she realized how tired she was. Given the all-clear to leave, she’d said yes to Jinks, who wanted to trail Beverly back to the resort to make sure she arrived okay. Too exhausted for even a soak in the enticing hot tub in her room, she gave up and went to bed.
She’d tossed and turned in the night, which could explain her new moth-woman look. Mostly, she was worried about Adam and Harlan and the depths someone seemed willing to go to hurt them.
Dragging herself out of bed was hard, but she managed to make it to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. She had a few bruises on her legs from diving to the floor of Adam’s house. Knowing the way he had dived down, he probably had a lot more. But as she’d told him yesterday, it could have been far worse.
After making her way downstairs to the resort’s tea room, she expected to overhear some of the staff talking about the explosion but not a word. It was as if it had never happened. But she hadn’t dreamed it, had she? No, dreams didn’t usually give you bruises.
She wasn’t particularly hungry but ordered a double espresso. Caffeine in hand, she’d no sooner sat down at her favorite table overlooking the White Mountains in the distance, when someone plopped down on the chair across from her.
In her wildest nightmares, she’d never have expected this person to join her. Zelda Lehmann. Beverly considered whether she could beat a hasty retreat to her room and crawl back into bed but decided against it. She’d never run from a challenge.
Beverly knew a “size-up-the-competition” look when she saw it, and Zelda made no effort to hide it. So Beverly took the opportunity to do the same, more in the way a seasoned detective like Adam might do, instead of a tabby gearing up for a catfight.
