Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [63]
“Willy-nilly?” He grinned as he headed for the door. “I don’t know as I’ve ever heard anyone use willy-nilly in a sentence. See you, Jo.”
After he left, Jo waited until his truck passed by her cabin before she put on her fleece jacket over her sweater and headed outside. The sun sparkled on the lake and frosty grass, a picturesque scene, if different from the blazing colors of early October or the rich greens of summer. She did a quick check of the cabins in daylight, but they all looked fine—no sign of intruders, campers, picnickers or even wild turkeys.
She thrashed through the woods over to the trail up to the lodge and dialed Mark Francona from a rock with a particularly beautiful view of the lake. He picked up on the first ring. “Too cold this morning for canoeing?”
“I can see the breath in front of my face, if you consider that cold.”
“I do.” He gave an audible sigh. There was no humor in his voice now. “Washington PD got an anonymous tip about a possible eyewitness yesterday. A bicycle messenger. Woman.”
“That’s a solid lead, then. Mark…” Jo hesitated, then plunged in. “Is it possible that an assassination team targeted Ambassador Bruni?”
A half beat’s pause. “Who’ve you been talking to?”
“Just overheard idle talk at the watercooler.”
“I’ve heard about your place in Vermont, Harper.” The Francona wit had returned. “You’re lucky to have flush toilets, let alone watercoolers.”
“Does that mean there are no assassins on the loose?”
“There are always assassins on the loose,” he said and hung up.
Jo dialed him again and got his voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. She could call Charlie out of class at his private school in northern Virginia and ask him to clarify what he’d said to Elijah, but Charlie would have covered his tracks and would deny the conversation—he was resourceful, intelligent, bored and under the close watch of her colleagues in the Secret Service.
So it was drama, and Charlie manipulating her, and she shouldn’t bite and end up the victim of another of his pranks.
She continued up the three-quarter-mile trail to Black Falls Lodge, but there was no marker—no fence, no mean dogs—that indicated when she’d crossed onto Cameron land. The trail ended at the far corner of the meadow below the lodge. Out in the open, the air was even colder. She slipped as she crossed the frost-dampened grass to the walk, following it up to the stone terrace.
She found A.J. taking down umbrellas at the tables, hatless, working without gloves. He acknowledged her presence with a curt nod. “Cold morning for a hike,” he said.
Jo couldn’t argue. “I thought I might find Nora and Devin sitting by the fire. I was hoping they’d come down off the mountain looking for pancakes and hot maple syrup.”
“No such luck.”
She looked out at the wide sloping meadow from which she’d just come, the mountains blue and gray out across from the ridge. “It’s a beautiful spot. Easy to forget when you’re not here.”
“It’s easy for some people never to notice even when they are here.”
Jo thought he might be making a gibe at her youthful self but let it pass. “A.J., did your father have much to do with Ambassador Bruni when he was up here?”
“It’s possible. Pop did his own thing.” A.J. laid a tall, rust-colored umbrella against a table with three others. He stood up straight, the wind catching the ends of his hair as he studied her. “Where are you going with this, Jo?”
“Nowhere. I’m just spitting in the ocean. It’s not the best way to do things, I know, but—”
“You’re at a loose end right now. Don’t go looking for things that aren’t there just because you’re bored or need a distraction.” He turned abruptly and tackled another umbrella. “Elijah’s had a rough year. You might keep that in mind.”
Her breath caught at his words, but she tried to smile. “Since when have you started looking after your baby brother? You used to have apple fights—didn’t one of you end up with stitches?”
“Sean did. Third man in.” A.J. abandoned his umbrella