Stonebrook Cottage (35 page)

"Allyson?" Pete asked, staggering to his feet.

"She's hurt, Pete. I don't know how bad. A trooper's down, too. They've got ambulances on the way." Charlie turned to Sam, who'd gone still inside; he knew what was coming. The older man's eyes softened. "Kara and the kids might be in the barn. They don't know."

"It's a volunteer fire department?" Sam asked.

Charlie nodded. "Pete and I are supposed to meet the trucks up at the house." He licked his lips, catching his breath, and glanced over at his son. "Pete—you coming?"

He inhaled deeply. "Damn straight. Let Madeleine fucking try to throw me out now."

The three men headed outside, a gust of cool wind a reminder to Sam that he wasn't on his home turf. Two ambulances and a state police cruiser screamed past the Jericho house, their sirens wailing.

Pete climbed into the passenger seat of his father's truck, and Charlie went around to the driver's side. A fire truck blasted past them on the main road, Billie Corrigan in its wake. The portable emergency light flashing on her dashboard identified her as a volunteer firefighter. She pulled in behind Charlie, her window rolled down. "Charlie, Pete—you heard? Need a ride?"

"We're going in my truck," Charlie told her.

"See you up there. Temple? What about you?"

No way would he get through security in his car, Sam thought. He jumped in with her. She tore back out onto the road, driving with one hand as she fiddled with her radio. She was in touch with the fire station. Governor Stockwell was unconscious with cuts and burns, maybe broken ribs. One state trooper had the wind knocked out of him. Another was down with smoke inhalation after charging into the barn looking for the Stockwell kids. They weren't there. There was no sign of Kara.

Billie glanced sideways at Sam, her eyes shining with excitement and fear. "Reporters have been camped out at the diner since Big Mike took a header in the deep end. This'll be on as breaking news before we get the fire put out."

Sam didn't give a damn. "Who stands to gain if Allyson and her kids are out of the way?" he asked abruptly.

"What? What an awful question!"

But he didn't care who he pissed off. He had questions. A lot of them. And he was going to get answers. It was past time. "Your brother? Would he inherit as Lawrence Stockwell's only surviving immediate family?"

"You've your nerve." She raked a hand through her auburn hair, her blue eyes hot with irritation. "Hatch isn't a Stockwell. His mother would inherit before he would."

"I don't think so."

Billie scowled at him. "You're an arrogant bastard, you know that? I give you a ride, because I can see you're worried about Kara, and here you make these insinuations about my brother."

Sam didn't relent. "You two share a father, right?"

"Frankie Corrigan. He fell off stage scaffolding, drunk as a skunk, and broke his neck. I was right there and couldn't do a thing. His number-one helper, he used to call me. So what?"

"Hatch grew up here in Bluefield?"

"On Stockwell Farm with Ms. Madeleine, thinking he was one of them." She careened up the road, the picturesque hills outlined in sharp relief against the clear summer sky. "I grew up with my no-account mother and knew better. And am happier for it."

"You don't like the Stockwells," Sam said.

Billie tried to laugh, her instincts always, he thought, to make people feel comfortable around her. The life of the party. But her laugh didn't quite materialize. "Jesus, are you intense or what? I don't have much of an opinion one way or the other. They're Hatch's family, not mine."

"What do you know about Walter Harrison's relationship with your brother?"

"Nothing. It's terrible, what happened to him. I guess Zoe and the state detectives'll be getting their butts up to the Stockwell place. A bomb going off at the gov-ernor's is a bigger deal than some poor retired cop nobody liked turning up dead in a gravel pit."

Sam didn't bother explaining the procedures the law enforcement officers would follow. Billie Corrigan had her own view of how the world worked. "I'm surprised your brother picked Harrison to watch two kids—"

"Why, because they're Stockwells? Wally was a jerk in a lot of ways, but he was solid. I think, anyway. What do I know?" She gave Sam a sideways glance, a small grin. "What is this, Texas Ranger comes to Connecticut?"

He said nothing, and she veered onto the long, pretty Stockwell driveway and pulled alongside Charlie Jeri-cho's truck. The tracks of the emergency vehicles had dug into the soft, wet lawn. "The police're buttoning down this place. I need to check in and see what I'm supposed to do. Are you going to get yourself into trouble?"

Sam got out of her car. "If you get any word on Kara or the Stockwell kids, I'd appreciate it if you let me know."

"Will do, Ranger Sam." She hurried off, then stopped and turned to him as she walked backward. "Did I pass my interrogation?"

He didn't answer. A yellow VW bug turned up the driveway, and he decided to hear what Zoe West had to say. He could smell smoke, hear more fire trucks, their sirens blaring as they approached.

As he passed Charlie Jericho's truck, he spotted a pair of binoculars on the dashboard and stepped in closer, peering through the passenger door. They were old binoculars, clunky, expensive, just as Lillian Stock-well had described them to him a dozen times yesterday out at the tree house. They even had the pink ribbon she'd mentioned, tied to the strap.

A car door shut nearby. "I don't know what good I'm going to do up here," West muttered. "My chief's on his way. Lordy, lord. What a day. Sergeant?" He turned, saw her frowning up at him. "What are you looking at?"

"Lillian Stockwell's missing binoculars."

West got it instantly. "Ah, hell."

"Get a warrant," Sam warned her.

"Hell with that. They're in plain sight. I'll just ask Charlie what he's doing with the damn things in his truck. He's here playing firefighter? There's Pete." She waved him over before Sam could stop her. Another fire truck barreled up the driveway, and West looked as if her ears hurt and she'd rather be elsewhere. But she rallied, and she told Sam, "You know those binoculars are a plant, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Wally, probably. Plant Lillian Stockwell's missing binoculars in Charlie Jericho's truck, go get yourself shot in the gravel pit." She shook her head. "I'm missing some pieces here."

Pete sank against the front of his father's truck, his face gray, his shirt covered in sweat. His breathing was ragged, and he clearly was in pain. "I can't get near her," he said, and Sam knew he meant Allyson. "They're taking her out in a minute. She's conscious. Apparently she said Kara left before the explosion. She was heading to the cottage after Henry and Lillian."

Zoe West frowned. "So the kids aren't here? They're at the cottage?"

Pete coughed, wincing in obvious agony. "I guess. This is all secondhand." He held his broken wrist up to his chest, looking as if each breath caused him pain. "I suppose you two have your knickers in a twist over the binoculars. Pop said they were in his truck this morning, on his seat. He put them up on the dash out of the way."

West groaned. "Oh, come on. Who'd be that stupid?"

"And I'll bet when the arson squad gets here," Pete said, "they'll find shit from our house was used to make the bomb."

West still was unimpressed. "As frames go, Pete, it's pretty flipping weak."

Sam agreed. Pete stared out at the immaculate lawn, smoke rising over the main house, the burning barn beyond it. He sniffled, near tears. "Whoever set that bomb didn't care if they got the kids—they didn't care if they were there—"

"No." Sam straightened, wishing they were in Texas where he had jurisdiction, authority. "Henry and Lillian were the main target. Someone wants those kids dead."

Pete started sinking, and Zoe West shot over to him and kept him from landing face first in the dirt. She looked at Sam, thrusting her keys at him. They hung from an antique spoon. "Take my car," she said, balancing a half-conscious Pete Jericho between her and the hood of the truck. "People recognize it—you'll be able to get out of here without a lot of red tape. I'll grab a trooper and my chief and get some people down to the cottage."

"Keep an eye on Billie Corrigan," Sam said.

She nodded. He could see she was with him. "I intend to."

"Detective, you're not armed—"

"Yeah, well, everyone else here is."

Sam got behind the wheel of the little yellow car and found the right key on West's spoon. Before he got the ignition started, Pete managed to get the passenger door open and was falling into the seat, smelling of sweat and fear, the fingers poking out of his cast purple and cold-looking. "I love those kids like they're my own," he said. "No one's fucking touching them."

Twenty-Three

H
enry and Lillian had their backpacks loaded and a list of 800 numbers for different airlines ready when Kara found them at the cottage. They were torn. On the one hand, they said, they hated to leave their mother and scare her again. On the other hand, she still trusted Hatch, and they didn't.

But learning that the explosion they'd heard came from the barn changed everything. They set their backpacks by the back door and stared at Kara, all the drama and indignation gone out of them. "Is Mom okay?" Lillian asked, her voice almost inaudible.

Kara had talked to a trooper on her cell phone and gotten the basics—and instructions to stay put with the kids until a cruiser could get there. "She has to go to the hospital, but she'll recover. I didn't get many details. We need to wait here."

Henry wasn't as willing as his sister to let go of his suspicions, his urge to control the situation. "Hatch isn't coming, is he?"

"Henry, I suspect Hatch made some bad decisions along the way that affected you and Lillian, but I honestly don't think he killed Big Mike." She'd decided to confront the boy directly with what she knew was on his mind. "Isn't that what you think? That he pushed Mike into the pool, then found your tree house and stole Lillian's binoculars?"

"And he had that awful man follow us," Lillian said.

Too agitated to sit down, Kara stood at the kitchen counter. "I have a feeling Hatch put his trust in the wrong people. That's what you're afraid you did, too, isn't it? Trusted him by mistake?" She smiled, pulling the kids to her and kissing the tops of their heads, aware of how worried and tired they all were. "Come on, it's a beautiful day. We don't get weather like this in August in Texas. Let's go out and wait for the trooper. He'll bring us to see your mom."

Lillian started to cry. "It was awful hearing the explosion."

Kara had, too, on her way to the cottage, and had almost turned back. But she knew she couldn't. She had to get to Henry and Lillian. If Allyson was dead or seriously injured, they would need her. She didn't know how she'd made it to the cottage, why she didn't slip in the wet grass. Her pants were soaked from the knees down, muddy and grass-stained. Questions—a million questions—spun through her mind, all of them centered on who would want to set fire to Allyson Stockwell's converted barn…who would want to kill her.

Not just her. Henry and Lillian, too. They were supposed to be there. It wasn't a secret.

Kara remembered the pad and pen Lillian had used to write the note that morning—both from the boxes Billie Corrigan had brought to the cottage yesterday. Billie must have stopped by the cottage this morning after Kara and Sam had left for the gravel pit, grabbed some art supplies and dropped them off at the barn. Allyson wouldn't have thought to mention it. Billie was always doing fun things for people, trying to make them happy and appreciate her talents.

Henry and Lillian eased out of her embrace, and Kara could feel the cool breeze beckoning through the window above the sink. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. Sam would be on the case, never mind that he had no authority and every law enforcement officer in the state of Connecticut would be on alert, as well as the ATF and the FBI.

At least, Kara thought, she had a better feel for what was going on, the dangers and the stakes, the reason for it all. Someone would talk to Billie. Someone would ask her about the drawing materials, what she knew about Wally Harrison. Kara hoped she was wrong—she didn't want Hatch's half-sister to be behind any part of what had happened over the summer.

Kara jerked herself out of her thoughts and turned to join the kids outside. They were at the screen door, but made no move to push it open, as if they were transfixed, frozen. "It's okay, guys," Kara said. "We can go out and wait—"

"Uh-uh," Billie Corrigan said. "Sorry. No way are you coming out here."

Kara saw her now. She was at the bottom of the kitchen steps, her eyes wide and shining, a gun—at a guess, Wally's .38—pointed through the screen door. "Billie, what's going on?" Kara asked quietly.

"I thought you all might end up out here. Isn't that what you say in Texas? You all? Do
not
move. Any of you. I want you to stay where I can see you."

Kara had squeezed between the screen door and Henry and Lillian. "Billie, listen to me. The police are on their way. You don't want to make this worse than it already is."