Cold River - Carla Neggers [66]
“I know where I was,” he said, not harshly. “I didn’t know until after Devin had already found him. It wouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t know about the cabin. If I had and I’d realized he was missing and had probably gone up there, I’d have said something. I sure as hell wouldn’t have left your brother to find him.”
“Bowie,” Hannah said, “you know what I’m getting at.”
“Yeah. I’m going to end up on the cops’ radar. I guess I’m already there.”
“On Cameron radar, too. Especially after yesterday.”
“I don’t need you looking after me.”
She picked up a pebble-size piece of dried Spackle. “What about Alex Bruni, Nora Asher’s stepfather? He was the ambassador who was killed in the hit-and-run in Washington.”
“Yeah. I know. I saw him in town a few times. I knew who he was, but we never spoke.”
“How did you know who he was?”
“People talk.”
“What people?”
“People who stop at O’Rourke’s for a beer after a hard day’s work.” He sighed at her. “Who put you on this investigation?”
“I’m not on the investigation,” Hannah said, keeping her tone neutral.
He shook his head at her. “You’re a hound on a trail, Hannah. Drew never took me up the mountain with him, but I knew he was up to something. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. He obviously didn’t want to talk.” Bowie turned and smoothed the Spackle with the flat of his knife. “Something I can respect.”
She ignored his gibe. “If you had information that would help the investigation, you’d tell the police, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t wait to be specifically asked—”
“I already told you as much.” He continued with his work without looking at her. “Ever wonder if Sean or A.J. or Elijah killed Melanie Kendall? Elijah managed to get Nora Asher out of the car in time. How? What if he knew A.J. would trigger the bomb? What if he knew his friend Grit would—if he’d called Grit before heading out to the parking lot?’
“You don’t believe that.”
“What if a Cameron’s your killer mastermind? Ever think of that?”
“No.”
Bowie finally stood back from the wall and turned to her. “Anything else, Hannah?”
“Are you mad at me for being at O’Rourke’s that night?”
“Nope. You had a right to be there.”
“The insults—”
“Those guys are dolts. They deserved what they got, but I was stupid to give it to them. Derek Cutshaw, especially, is an idiot.”
“What he said…” Hannah hesitated. “The prejudices about how I grew up I’m used to. The rest. The really personal stuff. You kept them from going into detail.” She licked her lips, awkward now, but also determined to learn the truth. “Bowie, were those comments about me?”
He steadied his dark eyes on her. “Does it matter? It’s over. I’ve got a job to do here.” He turned back to the wall and rubbed his callused fingers over the drying Spackle. “Did Sean send you out here? Or was it a joint decision between him and his brothers?”
“No one sent me.”
“Good. I don’t need the Camerons and the Harpers on my case. Jo’s a pit bull these days.” He glanced back at her. “You don’t need them on your case, either, Hannah. Let the police investigate what they want to investigate. Do you know something they don’t?”
“About stonework, maybe.”
“Your dad taught you a few things,” Bowie said.
“Yes, he did.”
When he wasn’t in prison. It wasn’t until she was a teenager and he’d already been dead for several years that she’d finally understood that his troubled history explained the big age difference between her and her brothers.
“He didn’t kill himself,” she whispered. “I know you’ve wondered—”
“Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“His death was hard on you, too. He wasn’t perfect. We know that, but he never laid a hand on either of us. He believed in both of us.” She fought back unexpected tears. “Bowie, he always hoped you’d stay out of jail. He didn’t want you following in his footsteps in that way.”
His eyes were half-closed again, the bruises and swelling on his face making him look even more like a man a woman alone would be smart to avoid. “I never would have hurt you or let anyone else hurt you that night at Liam’s.”
“I know that, Bowie.