Cold River - Carla Neggers [75]
His sister angled her eyes at him, still combative and tense. “So that means you can lead her on for your own purposes and then dump her?”
Sean settled back on his heels. “Who are we talking about here, Rose?”
“I’ve said my piece. You know where I’m coming from.”
She bolted across the café, nearly knocking over Myrtle Smith, who had on a down vest, a heavy wool sweater and pants and boots with thick soles. No gloves. She waved her fingers, the nails painted a deep red, as she joined him at the window. “I just had a manicure here in town. Not bad. It’s all that saves me from turning into a mountain woman. I swore I wouldn’t cave and invest in a parka, but I hit the lodge shop today. I noticed your brother sells the pricey stuff there and wears Carhartt himself.”
Sean had come to appreciate Myrtle’s crusty charm, as well as her keen, uncompromising instincts as a reporter. “The lodge offers a range of prices.”
“Very diplomatic of you. You own this building, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Here’s what I think. Get rid of the gallery across the hall. It’s struggling, and the owners just need a nudge to move to a cheaper place. Then expand the café and add a dinner service on that side of the house. There’s a working fireplace over there. It could be nice. Intimate.”
“I don’t run either business—”
“But you have influence.” She gave a small moan. “Listen to me. I’m desperate. I’m bored out of my mind.”
“You could go home to Washington.”
“I could,” she said without looking at him.
He was silent a moment. “It’s still hard, isn’t it?” he asked.
She turned to him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ever wish you’d taken a different path in life? Never mind. You’re too young.”
“Grit tells me you’re not a romantic and I shouldn’t be fooled.”
“He’s suffering. The leg’s bad, but the friend he lost in Afghanistan still weighs on his mind. Moose Ferrerra. He was a SEAL, too. His wife had a baby boy after he died and named him for Grit and Elijah. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I’ve seen a lot of tragedy in my work, but that one…” She sighed again and turned back to the window. “Grit’s just a kid. I should quit complaining.”
“You had a friend who was killed by this network.”
“Andrei. He was intense, interesting. One of my flings. It wouldn’t have lasted, but he didn’t deserve to have his toothpaste poisoned. Someone paid someone to make it happen.” She glanced up at Sean, her lavender eyes shimmering with barely suppressed anger. “I want them all. Who paid to have him killed, who arranged for someone to kill him, who did the killing.”
“The police know Rigby and Kendall were in London when Petrov was killed.”
“What if they met another killer there? I want everything. Every detail.” She resumed staring out the tall window. “What about you? Anyone else besides your father who could be a part of this thing?”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
Her eyes were a dark lavender as she glanced sideways at him. “Think about giving the gallery the boot. You’d be doing them a favor.”
Nineteen
A fire roared in the big stone fireplace just down from the front desk of Black Falls Lodge. Sean stood with Elijah facing the flames. On a normal winter day, the comfortable couches and chairs behind them would attract guests settling in with a book or wanting an afternoon nap. Sean was staying in one of the cottages and had insisted on paying full price. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep at his childhood home, and he wasn’t about to intrude on Elijah and Jo at the lake or sleep in one of Jo’s cabins. Rose didn’t give any indication she’d wanted company.
“Do you and Jo always stay at your house,” he asked Elijah, “or do you ever stay in the cabin where you ran off to, for old times’ sake?”
“It’s cold in the cabin. Jo likes her creature comforts.”
“I thought you were a creature comfort.”
Elijah rolled his eyes. “Miss having you around here all the time, brother.”
Sean managed a laugh. Their father had surprised his offspring by leaving the dozen run-down cabins and thirty-five acres on the lake to