Cold River - Carla Neggers [118]
Bowie shook his head at her. “You two are a piece of work. He gets on your nerves or you start feeling anxious, and you lace into him.”
“No—”
“It’s been going on for years, hasn’t it? Now you find out he’s a killer.”
Her lips thinned. “You think you’re so superior.”
“You don’t want him discovered. You’d rather see an innocent man blamed than have people know about your husband’s little side business.”
Vivian felt sick to her stomach as she experienced an incomparable sadness at what her life had become. Bowie was right. She’d decided that morning. She’d let Lowell get them out of this mess. She’d let him enact whatever plan he had in mind to give the authorities their killer mastermind and take any hint of suspicion off them once and for all. What other choice did she have?
“He wasn’t here when Melanie Kendall was killed.” Vivian was at the top edge of the stairs now. Her words seemed to be coming from someone else. “He took the car and left. I don’t know where he went. I was raking leaves, mulching the gardens.”
“When did you know?”
“For sure? This morning.” She placed a hand on the railing. What did Lowell have in mind for Bowie? Did he need her to keep the stonemason up here, talking? She continued, her voice less strangled. “I remembered how calm he was in November when he came back.”
Bowie’s eyes remained almost closed. She felt him zeroing in on her, trying to penetrate some hard outer shell to get inside her, to what she really knew, really believed.
“What else?” he asked.
Vivian felt chilled now. “I went into the woodshed out back.”
“What did you find?”
She raised her eyes to him. “You already know.”
“Bomb-making materials.” He added, his tone certain, “A bomb.”
“Two. There were two bombs.”
She knew what Lowell meant to do. Her husband. The man she’d married and had loved planned to kill Bowie O’Rourke. Just as he’d killed Melanie Kendall.
Bowie remained calm, clear-eyed. “We need to get out of here. One of those bombs is meant for us.”
“Not me—”
“Yeah, you, too. Lowell’s going to kill us both. You’re an abusive bitch who belittles him night and day. You don’t think he wants you dead?”
“I’m not an abuser.”
Panic welled up in her. She pictured Lowell up here in the hall just before Bowie had arrived to investigate the potential leak. Lowell had sent them both upstairs while he went outside.
Bowie hadn’t found any trace of a leak upstairs.
Vivian froze. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t speak. It couldn’t be true. Lowell couldn’t be willing to kill her.
“I have to get out…”
Bowie was already lunging for her. He scooped her onto his broad shoulders as if she were a ragdoll and ran with her down the stairs. For a moment, she wanted to go limp and just let this strong, competent man rescue her and save himself. She could deny everything she’d just told him. She could exonerate her husband. The police would believe her.
It was too big a risk. She’d lose everything if authorities could prove that Lowell was responsible for the murders of Drew Cameron, Alex Bruni and Melanie Kendall.
That he’d arranged other murders.
She couldn’t let that happen. Lowell’s plan had to work. Bowie O’Rourke had to take the blame.
He had to die in the explosion.
Thirty-Four
Hannah sank to her knees in the snow. She was relieved, exhausted. She didn’t think she could take another step, but it was okay.
Bowie had to have seen her.
Thank God.
She’d spotted him in the second-floor window and had waved to him from the trees.
He knew she hadn’t been killed in the blast. He knew she was trying to avoid Lowell.
She’d motioned for him to get out of there. He was next.
She’d done all she could to warn him.
Her entire body ached from the blast, from running through the snow, from the cold. She was gasping, choking with emotion and pain, aware she was still a little disoriented and in shock.
Snow melted through her pants and froze her knees. It had already filled her boots. Her feet were frozen. She was too weak to stand up, but she knew she had to summon the energy,