Cold River Read online

He left the bar, buttoning his coat as he walked down Main Street to the building he owned and rented out to Hannah Shay and her brothers. The gallery on the west end of the first floor was struggling. Three Sisters Café was thriving. His father had been surprised by the café’s immediate success. He’d never expected there were enough people in Black Falls who’d keep such a place in business.

  He dialed Elijah. “Police done at the crypt?”

  “All set. They didn’t find anything that disputes either Hannah’s or Bowie’s story.”

  “Elijah, was it an attack?”

  “It wasn’t a raccoon or a ghost,” his brother said.

  “Kids? Could Bowie have walked into the middle of a drug payoff? Could he have been in the middle of one and Hannah—”

  “No evidence of either.”

  “Does Jo believe Hannah told her the truth?”

  “The truth,” Elijah said, “just not the whole truth.”

  “Meaning she stuck to the facts and didn’t tell Jo what she’s thinking.”

  “Hannah never tells anyone what she’s thinking. Keep that in mind, brother.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Sean said, and disconnected.

  He stood on the shoveled, sanded sidewalk and watched Hannah pull open the heavy front door and trot down the stone steps. She had on a simple black wool dress coat, her skirt even longer, her flat-heeled boots suited to a walk on a cold Vermont winter evening. She wasn’t wearing gloves or a hat, her fair hair not pulled back, shining in the glow of the Christmas lights.

  She handed him his scarf. “I forgot to return this,” she said nonchalantly, as if seeing him on Main Street was an everyday occurrence and nothing had just happened between them.

  “Go ahead and wear it.” He wrapped the scarf around her neck. Her bruised cheek wasn’t badly discolored, and the swelling appeared to be no worse. “I’ll walk over to the Robinsons’ with you.”

  “You’re coming to dinner?”

  He smiled at her slightly stricken look. “I am.”

  She didn’t seem tired or self-conscious as they walked up the street. They turned onto a side street and crossed a covered bridge, rebuilt after the original had come apart in a flood fifty years ago. The Robinsons’ Greek Revival house was another twenty yards past the river. Its white wooden fence was draped with holiday greenery. Multicolored lights sparkled on a spruce tree in the front yard.

  “Is Judge Robinson helping you prepare for the bar exam?” Sean asked.

  “He’s bugging me to get a study partner and cut back on work at the café. He’d like me to quit and devote myself to studying full-time.”

  “He’d put you through your paces in a courtroom, wouldn’t he?”

  “Without a split-second’s hesitation.”

  “Are you looking forward to becoming a full-fledged lawyer?”

  “Most days. Some days I dread it.”

  “Is today a dread day?”

  “In more than one way,” she said half to herself, then angled a smile at him. “I mean my brothers and their California adventure in addition to figuring out my career. I don’t mean you, Sean.”

  “Hannah, I don’t want to add to your stress—”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  He almost told her he didn’t believe the insults about her sex life that Derek Cutshaw and his friends had shouted at O’Rourke’s back in March, but he figured that would just remind her of them, as well as be an admission that he’d been thinking about that night himself.

  He followed her up the steps to the Robinsons’ front door. Statues of Dickens-style carolers—fully dressed in Victorian garb—stood next to the glass front door. Ginny Robinson was known in town for her elaborate Christmas decorations.

  Hannah rang the doorbell, positioned below a simple pinecone wreath. “I’ll have more time and space to study with Devin and Toby off in California,” she said. “I could be admitted to the bar before Toby gets back.”

  “Then on to becoming a prosecutor?”

  “That’s the plan. We’ll see what happens.”

  Everett Robinson opened the door. He was in his early sixties, a stocky man with a gray beard and thinning gray hair in perpetual need of a trim. His wife, a homemaker, was generous and patient with her husband’s sometimes black moods after twenty years on the bench and forty years practicing law.

  “Help, help,” he said cheerfully, leading his guests into the comfortable house. “Ginny tried new, heart-healthy hors d’oeuvres, and I don’t want to be the first to take a bite.” The judge stood back and frowned at Hannah. “Good heavens. What happened to you?”

  She smiled. “I learned the hard way never to get into a fight with a rock.”

  He didn’t press for more details. Given his position, he would easily be able to find out about the incident at the cemetery. Hannah started to pull off her coat, but Sean helped her, careful of her bruised wrist. He then shrugged off his own coat and hung both on a coat tree surrounded by the Robinsons’ winter gear.

  The judge led his guests down a hallway decked out in Christmas decorations and into a comfortable living room with a fire in a brick fireplace and more Victorian carolers on the mantel. Lowell and Vivian Whittaker had already arrived and were seated opposite each other by the fire. Ginny Robinson, who barely skimmed five feet, joined them with a silver tray of marinated mushrooms, sardines, toasted pita points and a few other things Sean wasn’t sure he wanted to identify.

  “Looks wonderful,” Hannah said with a sideways smile at the judge.

  He grinned at Sean. “See what a good prosecutor she’ll make? Fearless.”

  Ginny glanced at Sean, her eyes wide with surprise as she turned to Hannah and mouthed something that he suspected amounted to “Is he your date?”

  Hannah smiled and shook her head.

  Everett settled into a worn leather chair. Sean helped himself to a mushroom and a glass of wine and sat on the couch. Hannah stayed on her feet. He sensed her restlessness and wondered if she might bolt at any moment. The judge lifted a glass of wine from a nearby side table. He had a friendly, open face, but the way he narrowed his eyes on his protégée was a reminder of the keen mind behind them and the many tough decisions he’d had to make in his long career.

  Vivian Whittaker nibbled on a sardine on a pita triangle. “Hannah, your face—did you have an accident at the café?”

  Lowell leaned forward with his wine. “I met with Bowie O’Rourke a little while ago. He’s doing some work for us. He told me about the incident in the cemetery. He feels terrible. Vivian, I didn’t think to tell you.”

  “What incident?” she asked sharply.

  Her husband relayed Bowie’s rendition of what had happened. The judge sat back, listening intently, Sean thought, but saying nothing.

  When Lowell finished, his wife was visibly pale. “I don’t know if I want Bowie on the premises now.”

  “Let’s just see how it goes tomorrow,” Lowell said quietly.

  Everett sipped his wine. “What work are you having done?”

  “We’re repainting the guesthouse and having some minor repairs done,” Vivian said. “Both apartments. The one where Nora stayed and the one where…” She held her hors d’oeuvre in midair. “Where that killer stayed. Kyle Rigby. Melanie Kendall stayed with Thomas Asher in one of our guestrooms. I’ll tackle it next. I don’t know if fresh paint will help, but it can’t hurt. But if Bowie…”

  “He’s considered one of the best stonemasons in the area,” Lowell said.

  Sean noticed that Everett Robinson’s incisive gaze was on Hannah. “Bowie’s had his struggles,” the judge said, “and he knows he has to stay out of trouble. He’s still on probation.”

  “We heard about the bar fight in March,” Vivian said, turning to Hannah. “You were involved, weren’t you?”

  “I was there,” Hannah said simply.

  Vivian shifted her attention to Sean. “You and your brothers were there, as well, weren’t you?”

 
Sean nodded and started to change the subject, but Lowell interrupted him, addressing Hannah. “We heard that some drunk young men insulted you. Of course, that’s no excuse for Bowie bloodying the perpetrator, but one can understand. You and Bowie go way back. I walk out to where you grew up almost every day when we’re up here. It’s so peaceful.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Vivian said, “but I can’t imagine being a child there. Were you bored?”

  “Never,” Hannah said, without any hint of defensiveness.

  Ginny announced dinner, breaking the tension, and they all drifted into the dining room. Sean liked the Robinsons and had nothing against the Whittakers, but he wished he hadn’t come to dinner but instead had whisked Hannah up to the ridge and watched the stars come out with her. He didn’t know if it was the aftereffects of being alone with her on the mountain, or charging after her when she was in danger at the crypt, or finding her among the cobwebs in the cellar, but he was having a hard time maintaining any objectivity with her.

  But who was he kidding? It’d started back in March, this unsettling attraction to Hannah. Seeing her sipping wine by herself at O’Rourke’s. Watching her self-control and reserve as she’d tried to ignore Derek Cutshaw and his friends, then her anger and passion as she’d jumped into action.

  Sean could still feel the fight in her when he’d carried her out of O’Rourke’s—and how alone she’d looked as she’d headed home in the freezing rain. He’d never understood Hannah, and he hadn’t that night, either.

  That was before his father’s death. Before Elijah’s life-threatening wound in Afghanistan. Before Melanie Kendall and Kyle Rigby had gone after Devin Shay and themselves been killed.

  Sean had convinced himself there was no one in Black Falls for him and he no longer belonged there, but on every visit to Vermont since March, he’d found himself at Three Sisters Café. In California, he’d told himself he was too busy to date when he knew he wasn’t. It was Hannah and his inexplicable desire to be with her.

  And now here he was, caught between his mission to get the truth out of her and his urge to reach for her hand under the table.

  What did he know about Hannah and her life, her dreams?

  Vivian Whittaker sat next to him at the dining table. “I understand you’re a smoke jumper,” she said abruptly, with a coy smile. “It sounds fascinating. Tell us about it.”

  Sean was accustomed to interest in that part of his life and offered his usual answer. “It’s hard work that I enjoy. I used to do it full-time. Now I volunteer when needed.”

  She reached for her wineglass. “Smoke jumpers parachute into the middle of raging wildfires, don’t they?”

  “We try to get to a fire when it’s small and put it out before it’s had a chance to spread. We work mostly in remote areas and choose our jump spots carefully.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “We mitigate the dangers as much as possible through training and planning.”

  “You obviously have to stay in top shape,” she said, eyeing him over the rim of her wineglass.

  Sean smiled through his discomfort. “The point of any training is for us to be able to do the job we’re called to do.”

  “I read that you have to be able to climb a tree to retrieve your parachute and gear. Is that true?”

  He managed a smile. “It wouldn’t do to leave the stuff up there, would it?”

  Vivian took a big gulp of wine and set her glass back down. “It’s hard to picture you in full firefighter gear, out in some western canyon with a fire raging around you. I suppose jumping out of an airplane to fight a fire sounds romantic to those of us who’ve never done it.” She gave a mock shudder. “Have you ever been in danger?”

  “I’d rather not—”

  “Ah. Just what I expected. You’re not going to tell us the details, are you?” She glanced across the table at her husband as she continued. “True heroes never want to discuss their exploits. You should brag, Sean. You’ve earned the right.”

  Sean thought about a fire a year ago and a mistake that had led to the near-death of his business partner and a fellow smoke jumper, Nick Martini. It had been Nick’s mistake. He’d be the first to say so—and the first to say he was glad he’d been the one hurt and no one else.

  Hannah’s eyes were on him, as if she knew he was reliving a bad moment. Sitting there in the Robinsons’ festive dining room on a cold Vermont winter night, he could feel the fire exploding around them, propelled by high winds and fed by dry underbrush. They’d been building a fireline, back-breaking, necessary work that they’d done scores of times. He and Nick were able to deploy their emergency shelters at the last second and managed to survive.

  He was relieved when Lowell Whittaker changed the subject. “Everyone I’ve run into at Three Sisters Café has told me you’re famous for your Christmas decorations,” he said to Ginny Robinson. “I can see why.”

  Ginny was obviously pleased with the compliment. “Everett and I love decorating for Christmas. Putting away the decorations—now, that’s another story.”

  As she and Everett served the simple meal of baked cod and assorted side dishes, Sean could see that Hannah was preoccupied, and likely tired and aching, too. She barely participated as the dinner conversation shifted to other topics—the weather, winter sports, the status of various inns in and around town and the end of the holidays.

  After dinner, Lowell Whittaker got Hannah’s coat for her as they prepared to leave. “I hope your bruises heal quickly,” he said. “You must be exhausted after all you’ve done today. Shall I walk you home?”

  She smiled, taking her coat. “Thanks, but I don’t have to go that far.”

  “It’s very cold.”

  “I’m used to the cold.”

  The judge stood back in the front hall. He obviously knew something was up, but didn’t press Hannah as she quickly excused herself and thanked him and his wife for dinner. “I’ll see you at the café tomorrow,” Ginny said cheerfully. “I’m going cross-country skiing first thing in the morning with two friends. We believe in exercise first. Then scones.”

  “I’ll be watching for you,” Hannah mumbled as she headed out the front door and down the steps.

  Sean said goodbye to the Robinsons and the Whittakers and slipped outside, catching up with Hannah by the covered bridge. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “It’s dark and probably below zero by now.”

  He smiled. “That’s why you have a coat and my scarf.”

  They crossed the bridge and headed down to Main Street. There was little traffic in the village, few people out on the cold late-December night. Even O’Rourke’s looked quiet. A high-end restaurant in a Victorian building around the corner had a few diners—it tended to attract tourists and people from surrounding towns more than Black Falls residents.

  Sean felt the bite of the dry, frigid air. “I’m sorry you had to find out about Devin and Toby’s California plans the way you did,” he said.

  “I don’t want them to feel as if they have to stay here and not follow their dreams because of me.” She raised her collar against the cold. “It was decent of you to offer Devin a job.”

  “He just needs a paycheck while he sorts out what’s next for him.”

  “Military recruiters have been calling. I think he’s tempted. He’s always looked up to A.J., Elijah and you.” Hannah hunched her shoulders against the cold as they started across the street to the common. “Elijah’s friend Grit is a Navy SEAL. It doesn’t matter that they were both shot to pieces. Devin sees what he could do.”

  Sean had just arrived in Black Falls to search for his missing father when the notification came about Elijah’s brush with death. Rose had flown to Germany to visit him in the military hospital at Landstuhl airbase.

  “It’s been a tough year for your family,” Hannah said as she stepped onto a walk that cut through the snow-covered common. “Would Jo tell you if there were any new leads in the investigation?”

  “El
ijah would get it out of Jo, and he’d tell A.J., Rose and me.”

  “That’s what I figured.” She paused at a snowman someone had built by the bandstand. “This is dead-of-winter cold. You remember what it’s like?”

  “I remember.”

  She frowned at the three-foot-tall snowman. “He has a pirate look about him, doesn’t he?”

  “I don’t know, I think he looks kind of roguish.”

  She grinned at him. “What would I know about rogues?” But her mind obviously wasn’t on snowmen. “Devin and Toby are excited about going out to California. Thank you for taking them. Toby’s biked all over New England and upstate New York. There are some great trails out here, but he’s been itching to get out west.”

  “It’s new territory for him.”

  “He and Devin have never lived in a city. Neither have I, for that matter.”

  Sean bent down and scooped up a fistful of snow into his gloved hand, but it didn’t hold together. The lights on the trees seemed to sparkle in Hannah’s eyes. “Lousy snow for a snowball fight. My siblings and I used to have some no-holds-barred snowball fights when we were kids. Jo, too.”

  “Must have been something.”

  “You were a little younger and—”

  “And I grew up in the hollow. Sean, why did you ask me out here? You might as well get to the point before we freeze.”

  He dusted the snow off his gloves. A year ago, her tone would have irritated him, or he wouldn’t have even noticed. Now he was intrigued by the contrasts that were Hannah Shay—her directness and her reserve, her pride and her vulnerability. He remembered watching her in Latin class and thinking he’d never figure her out. But he had a mission, and in the glow of the Christmas lights, he could see the shadows of her bruised cheek.

  “Okay. I’ll get to the point. I want to know the rest—whatever you’re holding back about why you went up the mountain today. Jo, Elijah and A.J. want to know, too.” Sean waited a half beat, then added, “We’re not sure about your judgment where Bowie O’Rourke is concerned.”

  She’d gone slightly pale. “Well.” She gave a small, fake laugh. “I asked.”

  “You saw Judge Robinson tonight,” Sean said. “He clearly doesn’t like what’s going on.”