Cold River - Carla Neggers [37]
“Was it Bowie or her imagination?”
“If I’d gotten here ten minutes sooner,” he said, “I’d know.”
A cruiser arrived at the end of the lane. Scott Thorne got out and joined the town officer. Sean put up his own jacket hood, aware of Jo falling in next to Elijah by the crypt, automatically, casually. However she felt about being in Black Falls, she was no stranger to his brother.
Sean thought of Hannah, then decided maybe it wasn’t a good idea to think of her, and he walked out the lane to meet the two officers.
Ten
Vivian Whittaker felt a draft and looked up from the book she was reading at the kitchen table, a pot of hot English Breakfast tea at her side. “Lowell, please,” she said sharply. “Close that door. I’m freezing.”
Her husband set a bag of groceries on the granite counter. “It’s already closed, dear. It took a moment for the cold to reach you.”
She tightened her sweater around her. It was a cast-off, store-brand black cashmere cardigan she kept here at their Vermont country house. She was chilly and had thrown on the sweater to warm her up, but she’d take it off before leaving for dinner later with Judge Robinson and his wife. Vivian was already dressed in a cream silk top and black wool slacks. She was pleased with the invitation. She had been trying to cultivate friendships with the locals, although this was the first time since November she was truly looking forward to anything in Black Falls.
She always seemed to be cold these days, but she loved their rambling farmhouse with its beautiful, established landscaping and stunning, updated interior of polished wood, stark white walls and modern art. It was located among rolling fields and woods on a branch of the Black River, with several small outbuildings and a classic Vermont stone guesthouse. Large windows in the kitchen overlooked the backyard and the river, frozen and dark now, with no ambient light or stars or even a sliver of moon to illuminate it. After the horror in Black Falls—the horror here, Vivian thought, on this property—they’d spent Thanksgiving in New York, but had returned for Christmas. Their children, both young singles, had joined them, but she’d insisted they not bring any friends. Family only this year.
Alex Bruni. Melanie Kendall, Kyle Rigby. Vivian shivered. Three recent guests, now dead. Two of them paid killers who had sat at this very table. Kyle Rigby and Melanie Kendall had just teamed up to run Alex down in Washington. He’d been rushing to a breakfast meeting with Thomas to discuss Nora’s concerns about her father’s fiancée. After killing Alex, they’d set their sights on Nora.
Vivian gave an inward shudder but tried not to let her anxiety get the better of her. She didn’t know Thomas as well as she had Alex, but the two had been friends since college. That Alex had basically stolen Thomas’s wife from him had to have been a terrible blow, but Thomas wasn’t one for displays of strong emotion. He’d admirably accepted his fate with a stiff upper lip, only to succumb to the charms of a clever, sociopathic killer. He’d gone so far as to ask Melanie Kendall to marry him. Of course she’d accepted his proposal.
Then she’d tried to kill her own fiancé’s daughter after Nora had become suspicious of her future stepmother. Melanie’s shocking lack of empathy and narcissism had her believing right up until the end that she and Thomas would still go forward with their wedding once Nora was dead.
Nora was back in Washington now with both Thomas and her mother, Alex’s widow, all of them attempting to put their lives together. Vivian sympathized with their situation, but she didn’t want to maintain contact with them. She was sick of all of it, but Christmas had been quiet and pleasant, with a spark of hope for better in the future. The police had finished asking questions of her and her husband. They hadn’t had to deal with anyone in law enforcement in more than two weeks.
She warmed her hands on her mug of tea. “Where have you been?”
“Supply run.” Lowell lifted cans of soup and diced tomatoes out of the