Cold River - Carla Neggers [40]
Vivian didn’t know why, but his comment annoyed her. “We need to see these people as they are, Lowell, and not romanticize them and their lives here in Vermont. You agree with me, don’t you?”
“Of course, dear.”
His response increased her annoyance. She glared at him. “Lowell, I’m serious. I don’t want us to get caught in the middle again.”
“Nor do I,” he said, rising from the table. “I’ll check my e-mail and then head to the guesthouse to meet Bowie.”
She didn’t respond, and Lowell left her alone in the kitchen. She rinsed the dishes in the sink. When she turned off the faucet, she stared out the window into the darkness. She couldn’t move. It was as if she were paralyzed, trapped by the memory of meeting Drew for the first time more than a year ago. She’d run into him in front of the library in the village. He’d been so sure of himself—so rooted and content in this small, picturesque northern New England town. Black Falls wasn’t an escape for him. It was home.
It’s become a nightmare for me, she thought.
How she wished she could pick up their estate and put it down somewhere else. Black Falls wasn’t one of the more prestigious towns in Vermont for second-home owners. One had to truly want a life in rural northern New England to live there.
Vivian headed down the hall to the study. She had overseen its decorating, but it was Lowell’s space. Lined with dark wood shelves, the room had deep mountain colors that were a deliberate contrast to the brightness of the rest of the house. She remained in the doorway. Her husband was at his massive, solid oak desk, his back to her. She knew he was wishing and hoping this network of killers the police were after would just go away. That was what he’d always done when faced with any difficulty. Wished and hoped and left the hard decisions to her.
“Don’t bother building a fire now,” she said, startled at how loud her voice seemed in the quiet house.
Lowell pivoted to her in his oak chair. He didn’t seem startled. “Yes, I suppose there’s no reason to start a fire now, since we’re leaving for dinner soon.”
Why suppose? Why not just say there’s no point? She wanted to scream at him. Why couldn’t he be decisive and strong?
She checked her temper. “You’re not going to the Robinsons dressed like that, are you?”
He gave her a blank look. “What?”
She pointed at his barn jacket and wide-wale corduroy pants. “You’re wearing your wannabe mountain man clothes, Lowell. People will think you’re trying to pretend you’re a Cameron.”
“Oh. I’ll change if there’s time after I talk to Bowie. I’d hoped to stock the wood box before I got ready for dinner.”
“There’s no time for the wood box. These aren’t fancy people, but at least put on a sweater and a sport coat. You don’t want Sean showing you up.” She waited a half beat, but Lowell didn’t respond. Of course he wouldn’t. She felt a ripple of irritation. He was so damn annoying these days. “There doesn’t seem to be anything the Camerons can’t do, does there? Of course, you have your virtues, too.”
Lowell turned to his computer, an old desktop from their home in New York. Vivian felt dismissed, but she didn’t leave. She watched as he flipped on his computer, its sudden hum the only sound in the quiet house.
“Lowell,” she said finally.
He looked back at her. “Yes, Vivian?”
She sighed. “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll see you after you meet with Bowie. Let me know if either of you has any questions.”
He didn’t even seem to notice when she withdrew from the doorway. They planned to celebrate New Year’s in Vermont and stay through the following week. She hoped overseeing the work on the guesthouse would prove to be a welcome distraction and the fresh start she needed.
Dinner tonight would be pleasant. She liked the Robinsons, and she looked forward to spending an evening with Sean Cameron. Whatever his faults might be, the man definitely wasn’t hard to look at, and he was strong, fit, competent and utterly masculine, as well as a self-made multimillionaire.
Perhaps her husband would learn a thing or two from him.
Eleven
Hannah had