Stonebrook Cottage Page 19

  "It looks like he fell from up there," she said. "Sam, maybe you should go up and look around, just in case."

  He glanced at her, already suspicious. "I will after the paramedics get here."

  Charlie Jericho arrived first, jumping off his tractor with more agility than Kara would have expected of him. He ran to his son, dropping down next to him. "Bea heard on the scanner," he explained to no one in particular. "What the hell happened? Pete, you okay?" He looked his son over, shaking his head. "You've got a busted-up head, broken wrist, bruises and cuts— how're your insides? You break a few ribs?"

  But Pete didn't answer. "Sam and I found him a few minutes ago," Kara said.

  Charlie looked up at Sam. "You're the Texas Ranger? You think this was an accident?"

  "I don't know, Mr. Jericho, and it's not for me to make that determination. Your son doesn't remember what happened. He might after he gets medical attention."

  Charlie got to his feet and pulled off his cap, his gray hair matted with sweat. He ran his forearm over the top of his head. "I'll bet he was dismantling that goddamn tree house, hunter's platform, whatever the hell it is. I knew someone'd get hurt up there. It's too close to the edge of the gravel pit."

  "Which tree?" Sam asked, and Kara knew he'd instantly put together the pieces of what Charlie Jericho had said and understood why she was out here.

  "Big oak up at the top. You can't miss it."

  The ambulance siren sounded out on the access road. Sam looked at Kara, his intensity palpable. And his fury. She already knew about the tree house and he knew it. "You'll be okay here?" he asked tightly.

  She nodded. He meant to find the tree house. When he did, he'd see Henry's binoculars, perhaps stumble on Lillian's missing binoculars, and he'd figure out what the kids were hiding. He tucked the .45 back in the holster and set out across the lower end of the embankment and into the woods.

  Kara watched him making his way up the hill, along the edge of the steep embankment. Pete could have fallen—he could have been pushed. She thought of Henry and Lillian's man in the black sedan, then dialed the number for Stockwell Farm.

  Hatch answered. "We heard what happened. You're there with Pete?"

  "Yes. Hatch, I need to see Allyson and the kids—"

  "You don't call the shots here, Kara," he said, and disconnected.

  Charlie grunted. "Hatch is worse than ever. People worry about Allyson not handling the stress—I worry about that guy." He gestured up toward the woods where Sam had now disappeared from sight. "You go on with your Texas friend. I'll stay with Pete."

  The ambulance bounced over ruts and pits by the logging platforms, a police cruiser behind it, and Charlie waved his arms, directing them to his son. Kara leaned over Pete, his face wracked with pain. "Take care. I'll check on you as soon as I can."

  "Pop…he can't…"

  "Don't worry," Charlie called down to him. "I'm not having a heart attack today."

  Pete's eyes flickered open and shut and he seemed to drift into unconsciousness. Kara ran across the pounded dirt into the woods, pushing her way through knee-high ferns and skinny saplings, her energy re-newed—probably from the adrenaline rush of having found Pete injured, seeing Sam's reaction. The gun, the deadly look in his black eyes. She had no idea what he would do when he found the tree house.

  She came to a tall oak with split cordwood nailed to its smooth trunk.

  Sam dropped out of it, landing lightly in the dried leaves and scraggly field grass. "They saw Mike Parisi drown, didn't they? They're witnesses." He bit out each word, nothing slow or easy or sexy about his Texas drawl, so out of place here on the edge of a Connecticut gravel pit. "I figured this out on my own. You're off

  the hook, Counselor."

  "Sam, they're kids—"

  "Damn right. Kids who need an adult with some sense. Your pal Pete Jericho could have been killed." His eyes scalded her. "What did they tell you?"

  "Not everything. I'm sure of it." She spoke calmly, as if she were in a courtroom. "They're like you right now, suspicious of everything and everyone."

  He swung around at her, grabbing the branch above her right shoulder. She fell back against the tree automatically, instinctively, having expected every kind of reaction from him but this intensity, this rawness of emotion. She thought his professionalism might rise to the surface, even if they weren't in Texas.

  He leaned in toward her. "I could make love to you right now against this tree. I don't give a damn they're down there loading a man into an ambulance, and I don't give a damn who saw what." He touched her hair with his free hand. "Who are these people to you, Kara?"

  "Sam, I can't…not now."

  "Now's the best time, when you're off your game, scared, when you're not sure what I'm going to do next. You could learn something from those kids." He traced her mouth with his fingertips, then skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat and over her breasts, outlining first one nipple then the other. "You're too trusting."

  "That shows you what you know." She felt defiant, breathless with exertion and fear and adrenaline, and with desire, hot and undeniable—and inappropriate, she thought. Not now, not here. "I'm not trusting at all."

  He covered her breast with his palm, caressing it as he lowered his mouth to hers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she saw him watching her as she took in a breath, anticipating his kiss.

  But it didn't come right away. He touched his tongue to her bottom lip, rubbing it lightly, erotically, before he covered his mouth with hers. He was deliberate, in control. He dropped his hand from her breast and eased it down her stomach, past the waistband of her shorts. She felt his fingertips hot on her skin, then between her legs, his kiss capturing her small cry of surprise as he stroked her, touched her. He let go of the branch and took her hand, placing it on him, and she could feel that he was aroused.

  She pulled back from their kiss, ragged and damn close to letting him take her there, against the tree. "Sam…" Her voice caught, and she pressed her palm hard against him, felt his control falter as he grabbed the branch again. She leaned back against the tree trunk, letting him withdraw his hand from her, and she cleared her throat, coughing a little. "Okay. You made your point. We should be home, sorting out our own problems."

  He patted her on the hip and smiled. "You're a quick study, Counselor." His smile faded, but no hardness came into his expression. "You worry me, Miss Kara. I imagine you always will."

  That low, deep drawl and the way he said always made her stomach churn with possibilities, her head spin, but she pushed that all aside for another time. Right now she had to deal with the crude tree house from where her godchildren said they inadvertently saw a man die. "Sam, I wanted you to know about the tree house because it seemed only fair. But now I'd appreciate it if you'd let me handle—"

  "You'll talk to Henry and Lillian?"

  She nodded and tried to smile. "I'll tell them a big, mean Texas Ranger is on their case."

  "I would be if we were in Texas. I'd be all over those two. And you." He let go of the branch above his head, and it sprang back hard into position, leaves whooshing, indicating how much tension he had in it. "I'd get a prosecutor to subpoena you and challenge your attor-ney-client privilege."

  "You'd lose."

  "Just be glad we're not in Texas."

  "You, too, Ranger Temple, or you'd be in quite the mess after what you just did."

  He smiled without regret. "There's that."

  But she regarded him thoughtfully, then looked up at the tree house. They'd done a good job building it, her clever, rich godchildren. They just could never have anticipated witnessing a man's death. A friend. "Do I need to go up there?"

  "No. They could see the deep end of the pool through their binoculars."

  "Did you leave the binoculars?"

  He nodded. "Looks as if they've been up there a while. What did they do after they saw the governor? Run down there to help?"

  "Sam—"

  "They didn't
call the police or there'd be a record, and the police would have talked to them by now." His eyes were half-closed on her, and she could feel his edgy intensity return. "If they'd gone all the way to Pa-risi's house, by the time they got there his security people would have been at the pool, pulling him out. They turned back, didn't they? They ran up here?"

  "You're speculating."

  "You know what happened," he said.

  She didn't answer. She looked down the wooded hill and pictured Henry and Lillian scrambling to Big Mike's aid, knowing they wouldn't get there in time. And Lillian, dropping her binoculars. She was more than indignant that they hadn't turned up. She was scared. She thought someone had stolen them.

  Had someone seen the two kids charging down the hill?

  Jesus, had someone murdered Big Mike?

  Kara kicked at the green undergrowth and the layers of brown, dead leaves. The second pair of binoculars could be anywhere. Lillian was so traumatized, it was entirely reasonable to assume she couldn't remember where she'd dropped them, even what route she'd taken down to Big Mike's pool.

  Without a word, Sam left her and started back down the hill. Kara felt a stab of rejection, but she'd made her choice—she had to keep her promise to Henry and Lillian. She was tempted to trace the kids' route to Big Mike's rented house, but she heard the ambulance pulling out with Pete Jericho.

  She glanced once more at the tree house, then called for Sam to wait up. He didn't. She had to run to catch up with him, and when she did, it was her idea to take his hand. He didn't tell her to go to hell or drag her into the bushes and make love to her. He just gave her hand a gentle squeeze and walked with her back down to the gravel pit.

  Sixteen

  Zoe West was not what Sam expected for a small-town Connecticut detective. She had short, curly blond hair, blue-flecked gray eyes and a runner's body, about five and a half feet tall. She wore a black sundress with black sandals and an ankle bracelet. Her toes were painted fuchsia. She carried a limp unlit cigarette that looked as if it would unravel any second and spill tobacco over her. She wasn't carrying a weapon.

  Apparently he was exactly what she expected, because she told him. "What are you, the poster boy for the Texas Rangers?"

  Sam didn't respond, which only seemed to confirm her point. She had come out to the gravel pit in time to watch the paramedics load Pete Jericho into the back of the ambulance. Sam asked her if she'd mind if he took a look at the pool where Mike Parisi drowned. She frowned at him. "Just can't resist, huh? Okay, but you ride with me."

  Charlie Jericho was following the ambulance in Pete's truck. Kara had jumped in with him. She promised to meet Sam at the hospital and said she assumed Allyson wouldn't just dump the kids back at the cottage until someone was there.

  Zoe West drove a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle and grinned at him when he squeezed into the passenger seat. "I guess no self-respecting Texas Ranger would have one of these."

  "Probably not, ma'am."

  She sighed at him. "You're making me feel like I'm a hundred years old with this ‘ma'am' stuff."

  Sam said nothing.

  Parisi's summer house had a gated driveway, but its five-acre mostly wooded lot wasn't fenced. West parked in front of the garage and led Sam around back to the pool. The yard was pleasantly landscaped, nothing too elaborate.

  "Governor Parisi liked it in Bluefield," West said, "but he never bought here. He owned a triple-decker in New Britain."

  There was nothing working-class about this place. Sam noticed the woods came right up to the deck around the deep end of the pool, a five-foot lattice fence cutting into the trees. He pictured Henry and Lillian shooting down the hill, coming to the fence, watching the troopers pull Michael Parisi's body out of the water.

  The pool was clear and inviting now, sparkling in the sun. No dying governors, no dying bluebirds.

  "I know a man died here, but I wouldn't mind taking a quick dip," West said. "Wouldn't you?"

  "Not hot enough."

  "You Texans." She narrowed her eyes up at him.

  "You're not thinking of sticking your nose in my case,

  are you?"

  "Is it your case?" He knew it wasn't.

  "The case, then. Jesus."

  He shrugged. "I'm just getting the lay of the land."

  "Yeah, I guess we wouldn't want you being bored up here. You and Kara Galway found Pete?"

  "Yes, ma'am." He smiled, and amended himself, "Detective."

  "Zoe'll be okay. Did Pete say what happened? They were running IVs in him when I got there—"

  "He couldn't remember."

  "That sucks. You see anything?"

  He gave her his story and what he knew of Kara's story, leaving out the tree house for now. He had no idea why. Kara deserved to have every law enforcement officer in Texas and Connecticut on her case.

  Detective West pressed her thumb against the filter end of her ragged cigarette. "Going out there was part of your ‘getting the lay of the land'? Or don't they have gravel pits in Texas?"

  He didn't answer.

  She squatted by the pool and swept her free hand into the water. "Nice." She looked up at him. "You know Kara and Pete don't get along, don't you? He's still ticked off at her for that plea bargain he took. But," she said, dropping onto her butt on the pool deck, her legs stretched out in front of her, "I guess that's neither here nor there."

  "Kara represented Pete Jericho?"

  "Bar fight. He took six months in the county jail over a sure felony assault conviction and serious time in a state prison." West nodded at the woods. "Don't you think it's a dumb idea to have a swimming pool this close to the woods? I can just imagine the mosquitoes. I guess somebody thought it made for a better ambience." She spoke with no detectable sarcasm and leaned back against her outstretched elbows. "How're the Stockwell kids?"

  Sam decided it might be smart not to underestimate Bluefield's sole detective. "They're with their mother right now."

  "They must be in an emotional mess to run off from camp like that. Do they call dude ranches camp? I don't know. I've never been to Texas. I'm surprised you didn't arrest them, Ranger Temple." She grinned up at him. "Thought about it, didn't you?"

  "On what charge?"

  "I don't know, I'll bet you could think of something. They tell you what they had on their minds when they ran off?"

  "No." He wondered what had possessed him to come out here with her. "Detective West, you don't buy this theory that Governor Parisi fell trying to save a bluebird, do you?"

  "It's got holes."

  "He was interested in bluebirds," Sam said.

  "Smitten. Ethel Smith at the library's been on my case because she insists there are no bluebird nests out here. I don't know how she knows, but she says she does."

  "The state police haven't investigated?"

  "Bluebird nests? Come on, Sergeant." She got up, a lot of leg showing, and dusted off her rear end and regarded her bent, limp cigarette with a sigh. "I miss cigarettes. I really do. It's been seventeen days." She fastened her gray eyes on him. "I'm not as grouchy about it as I was."

  "That's good," Sam said, not knowing what to make of Zoe West.

  "Governor Parisi and Ethel were working to get a bluebird trail started out here. I mean, a town with the name of Bluefield ought to have a bluebird trail, don't you think? That's where you set out bluebird boxes every three hundred feet or so, the idea being the bluebirds will nest, have babies, and come back year to year, thus restoring the population."

  "Why every three hundred feet?"

  "Because any closer and they'll drive each other away. They don't like their fellow bluebirds swooping around their nest. They're territorial and kind of fussy—you can't stick up any old birdhouse and expect it to work. If it's not just right, the baby birds can freeze to death or bake to death, or other, more aggressive non-native birds that are also cavity nesters will take over. Starlings and English sparrows, I think, are the worst offenders. Between them and the los
s of habitat, the bluebird population declined sharply over the last century."

  Sam smiled at her. "You've been working this bluebird angle, haven't you, Detective West?"

  "I sure as hell have. Ethel bent my ear two mornings in a row. I haven't told you half of what she rattled on to me about bluebirds."

  "They're beautiful birds," Sam said.

  "They are. Ethel gave me a bluebird box that I'm going to put up, under her close supervision, of course." West glanced around the pretty, quiet property, the silence a reminder no one lived here now. "They also prefer a stretch of cleared land and a high place to perch, like a phone line. All the wires are buried here." She sighed up at the sky. "Well, I guess there are worse ways to go than trying to save a bluebird. I'm probably spinning my wheels and it was just a freak accident. For all we know, Big Mike had rescued the damn bird himself and was trying to rehabilitate it when it got away on him."

  Sam acknowledged that was possible. At this point, anything was.

  "Unfortunately, I'm good at stirring up my own dust." She was matter-of-fact, her tone not the least bit self-pitying. "I see a reprimand coming my way for taking a Texas Ranger out here."

  "Why did you?"

  "Kara Galway knew Governor Parisi couldn't swim. Henry and Lillian Stockwell ran to her not two weeks after their mother became governor. You came up here with her." West nodded to the .45. "And you're armed."

  "I'm counting on professional courtesy," Sam said.

  "Just don't fire the damn thing in my town. If I showed up in Texas carrying a weapon, you'd extend me the same courtesy?"

  "Under similar circumstances, yes."

  She grinned. "I doubt that. Where can I drop you off, Sergeant?"

  "The hospital where they took Pete Jericho."

  "Yeah, I should probably go over there myself." She unlatched the gate to the pool and glanced back at Sam, her gray eyes difficult to read. "You believe he just slipped and fell?"

  "No."

  "Neither do I."

  Through the fog of pain and medication, Pete was aware of the doctors and nurses running him through X rays, an MRI and a CT scan, taking blood, setting his wrist, cleaning and bandaging his cuts. A doctor told him he had a broken collarbone and two broken ribs, but his lungs were fine and there was no internal bleeding.