Cold River - Carla Neggers [67]
“The Camerons don’t.”
She didn’t argue with him.
“They think you have a blind spot where I’m concerned,” he said, then looked at her. “Maybe you do.”
She shrugged. “All right. Maybe I do.”
“Can you become a prosecutor with a father who was in prison?”
“I am who I am. My past, my family, my friends—I can’t change any of it.”
“Would you if you could?”
“And what, grow up on a dairy farm?” Despite her tension, she managed a smile. “Cows give me the creeps.”
He didn’t return her smile. “You deserved better than what you got. Your dad wanted to do the right thing. When you stand in judgment of someone, remember that.”
“I will, but I won’t be standing in judgment of anyone. That’s for the jury.”
“You’ll be the prosecutor. You’ll decide whether to take a case to trial or drop the charges.”
“The prosecutor is a truth-seeker.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. You know better. Prosecutors are just like any other lawyer. They want to win their case.” His laughter faded. “What truth are you seeking now, Hannah?”
“The same as everyone else in town.”
Through the front window, she saw Sean coming up the walk, the morning sunlight outlining the uncompromising angles of his face. He mounted the steps to the porch, moving deliberately, in no apparent hurry. Hannah wondered if Bowie saw him, too.
Of course Sean hadn’t resisted coming after her. The man was on a mission, and she was it.
She stifled a surge of warmth and turned back to Bowie. “I want to know who’s behind these killings,” she said.
“It’s not your job to find out.”
“If you ever want to talk to me, you know where to find me.”
Sean stepped into the entry and stood in the doorway to the apartment Nora Asher had occupied for such a short time. Bowie looked at him without expression as he addressed Hannah. “Go bake cookies and study to be a lawyer.”
She shot out the door, passing Sean without a word. He could have grabbed her and stopped her, or said something, but he just let her go. She didn’t slow her pace until she hit the icy walk. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the bright sun on the snow.
Vivian Whittaker was on cross-country skis, making her way down from the dark gray farmhouse visible on top of a long, open slope above the river. “Brr.” She gave an exaggerated shiver as she came to the edge of the guesthouse walk. She wore expensive cross-country ski clothes. Only her red cheeks looked cold. “I can’t believe how cold it is. I should have checked the thermometer. I was fooled by the sun. It makes everything sparkle and look so warm and inviting.”
“It can be deceptive,” Hannah said, a gust of wind penetrating her thin jacket.
“Are you here to see Bowie?”
“I just stopped to say hello.”
“I see. I have to admit…” Vivian looked toward the guesthouse. “He makes me a little nervous. I think he does Lowell, too.”
Hannah said nothing. What was there to say? Maybe the Whittakers were smart to be nervous and she was the one who was making no sense.
“I understand you two go way back.” Vivian shuffled closer to the walk, the tips of her long skis edging out of the snow. “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but you know what I’m asking. Bowie will be working here for at least the next two weeks. We’re having company for New Year’s. He has a criminal record.”
“Honestly, Mrs. Whittaker—”
“Vivian.”
“Vivian. Honestly, I don’t know what you’re asking.”
She lifted her ski poles out of the snow and seemed to struggle to hold back a caustic response. “I’m asking, Hannah,” she said coolly, “if you and Bowie O’Rourke are romantically involved and if that’s going to be a problem for Lowell and me. That’s all. I’m sorry to be blunt, but with all that’s gone on here this year, I feel the need to speak my mind.”
“No problem.”
She settled back on her skis. “But you’re not going to answer me, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
Sean came out of the guesthouse and walked down the porch steps, but Vivian ignored him, her gaze leveled on Hannah. “I understand your parents are both gone and you’re alone in the world. Bowie must be a force of strength and continuity in your life.”
Hannah