Chapter Eight
Saturday morning Luke drove to the Bellows’s cabin and was a little surprised to see how well-tended it was. The trees and bushes that lined the lane were trimmed back and there was fresh gravel along the lane that led to the small clearing by the lake, where a newly shingled two-story house had replaced the rustic abode Luke remembered from the pictures Bolchoy had in his file.
Luke parked and stepped out, conscious of the earthy smell of the lake and the light breeze that filtered the heat of the sun. It was late September and there was no discernible change from August. If it hadn’t been that he was worried about Andi, it would have been a perfect day.
He sprang up to the two steps to the front door, knocked loudly, and waited. Peg Bellows wouldn’t answer his phone message, but it might be harder to ignore him on her porch. He noticed the two window boxes with pink, purple, and yellow petunias bobbing their heads in the breeze. She’d put some time, effort, and money into the place, that was for certain. Maybe as a nose-thumbing to the Carreras? It was her property and she wasn’t selling.
But Bolchoy had intimated that she’d been swayed by the good-looking brothers. Maybe she’d had a change of opinion after Ted’s death. It sure looked like it.
He knocked again and waited, then moved to the front windows, peering inside. The place was clean and decorated with a more modern feel than the rustic furniture he’d expected. Was he remembering Bolchoy’s pictures, or was it merely his own expectation? Either way, this decor smelled like money . . . but if she’d sold out to the Carreras they would’ve razed the place in preparation for buying more and more land. Like the Wrens, they planned bigger, though the Wren’s lodge was bound to be more family friendly than whatever the Carreras would come up with.
He knocked a third time, pretty sure no one was around. He was turning to leave when he heard the hum of a loud engine approaching. He waited, and a truck appeared pulling a small trailer with landscaping equipment. A man jumped down and looked over at Luke inquiringly.
“Peg Bellows isn’t home?” he asked the man.
“Nah.”
“I’ve been calling her and there’s been no answer.” Luke walked toward him. “You do the landscaping around here?”
“Yep.”
“You have a card? I have a friend who bought a cabin just down the way. She could use some help.”
He squinted at Luke. “Name’s on the truck.”
Luke had seen that he was Kessler Landscaping. “Saw that, but there’s no phone number. You’re Kessler, then?”
“Art Kessler.”
“Luke Denton.” He stuck out his hand, and the older man hesitated briefly before extending his own.
“I’m looking into Peg’s husband’s death,” Luke told him as Kessler dug in a couple of pockets, apparently searching for a business card. “Did you know Ted?”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Ah . . . well, I’m following up. Someone’s gotta make sure justice was really served.” He knew how pompous he sounded, but he wanted Kessler on his side.
The older man squinted up at the sun. “I gotta get workin’.”
“You don’t know when Peg’ll be back?”
“If you was really workin’ for her, you’d know where she was.”
“I’ve reopened the case.” Luke wasn’t going to back down. “I don’t think Ted’s death was an accident, and I think the Carrera boys were at fault.”
“You a cop?”
“Was. Worked on this case a bit. Now I’m doing it on my own.”
“What’s your stake in this?”
“I don’t like killers escaping justice. That’s all.”
The older man considered for a moment, then said, “She’s away. Won’t be back till sometime next month. I’m keeping an eye on the place while she’s gone.”
“Do you know where?”
His answer was a shrug.
“Okay.” Luke nodded. “I’ll have to catch her when she’s back.”
“You really think you can put them boys away?”
“I’m sure as hell gonna give it the old college try,” he answered grimly.
“Good luck to you, son.” Kessler’s lips turned up in what Luke thought might be a smile, but then he headed back to his equipment.
Luke climbed into his own truck and drove back down the lane to the road. Scratch Peg Bellows for now. If he was going to bring the Carreras to justice, he was going to have to go back to the beginning. He should’ve asked Bolchoy if he’d made copies of the department file on the Carreras, something he was known to do even though it was frowned upon.
He headed back to his office. Saturday was as good a time as any to catch up on reports and filing, and it was a great way to while away the hours until Andi was at her cabin.
* * *
The day was long and hot and Andi had banded her hair back and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless blouse. Though she wasn’t doing any of the heavy lifting, she was emptying boxes and putting things away. And she felt like shit. Tired and cranky.
She’d asked the movers to haul away the leftover furniture in the cabin as a last request. They’d demurred; not their job. But then she’d given them a substantial cash tip and they’d changed their minds. Now she sank down on the love seat, wishing for an iced tea. Maybe caffeine free, though she really felt like she could use a dose of some kind of picker-upper. But it was a moot point anyway because she wasn’t sure what box held the remains of her pantry and she didn’t feel like searching.
What she really felt like doing was getting into bed, but that would mean making up the queen-size in the master bedroom. Again, she wasn’t sure where the bedding was.
She picked up her phone and thought about texting Luke to ask when he would be stopping by. A part of her really wanted to see him, and it wasn’t because she was looking for a protector, and another part wished she had a day or two to put herself together. Grimacing, she sent another text to Trini, who was being remarkably quiet after practically insisting Andi meet her new guy. This time Andi wrote: Am moved into the cabin. Kinda beat.
She was debating on whether to send Luke a text or maybe actually calling him—a novel thought in these days of modern communication—when Trini texted back: Bobby and I are spending a night in. Can we see the cabin tomorrow?
Hope she comes by herself, Andi thought wearily, but she wrote back: Perfect.
Then she did text Luke: I’m at the cabin now. Her finger hovered over the Send button, but then she added: Rain check till tomorrow? That would give her some time to feel less discombobulated.
Ten minutes later her phone rang and her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was Luke. Slow down, she warned herself, then clicked On. “Hey, there,” she said.
“Rain check’s fine, but how are you for food?”
“Terrible, actually.”
“Maybe I should bring something over . . . or we could go somewhere. What do you feel like?”
“I want to go somewhere,” she said, changing her mind. To hell with being tired. “The cabin’s still pretty packed up and I’m just in the jeans I’ve been working in today while they unloaded.”
“So nothing fancy.”
“Yeah.”
“How about Lacey’s?”
Andi thought of the burger she’d wanted two days earlier and her mouth watered. “Sounds good.”
“I can be at the cabin around five.”
“I’ll be ready.” Her weariness had magically evaporated. This isn’t a date, she reminded herself sternly, but she was already heading toward the shower.
* * *
Lacey’s was happening on a Saturday night. The click of pool balls could only be heard when there was a break in the thumping music. Several enterprising young women with bare midriffs and Daisy Duke denim shorts were holding bottles of beer and dancing together in the middle of the room. The waitresses looked ready to clobber someone and Luke had to step in front of Andi to keep her from getting pushed by a couple of guys who were standing around the barstools, telling tales that required a lot of body English.
The decor was a cross between a lake theme and a sports one. There were rainbow trout lacquered to a shiny finish on plaques along the wall alongside dusty pennants from most of the Oregon colleges and a few well-known Midwestern universities. Nothing looked as if it had been changed in a couple of decades . . . maybe longer.
None of it mattered, though, because people came for the food. The burgers were great, the French fries hot and greasy, the beer cold. They were shown through a few scattered tables toward the rear of the main room. The bar extended through another archway that led to a second room, where the decibel level seemed even higher. Occasionally there was a roar of noise, as if they were all betting on a game. Maybe they were.
Luke pulled out a wooden captain’s chair for Andi at an oak table with a clear, glossy top, the result of layers of some kind of product that made the tables look as if they were encased in plastic. He sat down opposite her and ordered a beer, while Andi asked for a glass of Sprite.
“You okay?” he questioned when the waiter left, the same query he’d hit her with when he’d picked her up.
“I am.”
“You’re not filling me with confidence,” he remarked.
“Okay, I’m a little tired,” she confessed. A lot tired, actually. And achy. She worried that she was getting sick, worried what that meant for the baby.
“We don’t have to stay.”
“No, I’m ready for a burger.” This, too, was a lie, even though she’d been practically salivating for one earlier. She’d sort of lost her appetite. She probably shouldn’t have come out tonight, but she’d wanted to see him, which was a little crazy. He wasn’t interested in her, he was doing a job, and this was no time for her to be interested in anyone.
They placed their burger orders and Luke leaned in close so she could hear him above the noise. “We’ll make it quick. Didn’t think about it being Saturday. People letting loose, watching football.”
Ah. That was what all the yelling was about.
“Carter said he met with Blake Carrera,” she told him loudly. “Wants to sell him the Allencore parcel—ten cabins—that Wren Development bought.”
“He wants to sell to the Carreras?” Luke asked, disbelieving.
“He said we’re asset rich, cash poor, and we’re building the lodge so we need funds fast.”
“What about a construction loan?”
“That might be in the works, but Greg charged ahead without waiting.”
“Can he do that?” Luke demanded.
“Carter needs Emma’s and my signatures, so it’s not going to happen.”
“Attagirl.” He smiled at her, and Andi’s pulse fluttered.
The front door slammed open and Emma staggered in. For a moment Andi thought she was alone, but then she saw Ben was right behind her, albeit looking around the room rather than at his inebriated wife. His gaze fell on Andi with Luke and he stopped short in total lack of comprehension.
“Oh, geez,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Emma just walked in and we’ve been spotted.”
Ben tried to get Emma to head their way, but she was ordering at the bar and slapped her hand at him, silently telling him to shove off. Ben looked pissed, but he moved away from her and came up to their table.
“’Lo, Andi. Didn’t expect to see you here,” he greeted her.
“Hi, Ben. This is Luke Denton.” She turned to Luke, who thrust out a hand, which Ben shook. “Ben is Emma’s husband,” she explained. “And Emma’s over there at the bar, in the blue dress.”
Luke’s gaze followed where she pointed. Emma was leaning over the bar, showing a lot of upper thigh. Her curly blond hair was held back with a thin black headband, but wisps were already springing free. The bartender slid her a clear drink—probably a vodka tonic—and she picked it up carefully and took a short sip, followed by a big gulp. And then she locked eyes with Andi.
For a moment she looked like she wanted to run and hide, but then she sauntered over their way. Andi felt her stomach cramp and she slowly exhaled, telling herself to stop stressing.
“Well, hi, you guys,” Emma greeted them, her eyes all over Luke. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Andi.”
“Ditto.” She added another introduction. “Luke Denton, Emma Wren Mueller.”
“Oh. You’re the one Andi hired,” Emma said.
“That’s right.” Luke nodded.
“If you can get the Carreras put away, more power to you,” she said.
“That’s certainly the long-term goal,” Luke answered.
She accepted that, taking a few more swallows, then turned to Andi. “I guess I left too early. Carter called and told me that he’d met with one of the Carreras and offered up the cottages. Like hell.”
“He needs both of our signatures.”
“We’re not getting in bed with them. Carter knows that.”
“Apparently not,” Andi disagreed. She took another sip of her Sprite. Their burgers arrived and she felt her stomach seize. Oh no. She swallowed and asked Ben and Emma, “Are you two having dinner?”
“Nah . . .” Emma said with an airy wave.
“Yeah, we are,” Ben declared at the same moment.
“Go ahead.” Emma shrugged and looked around. Her drink was empty.
“We’re both going to eat,” Ben argued, but Emma had already gotten up from the table and was heading back to the bar. “Fuck,” he said softly between his teeth, then he threw back his chair and stalked after his wife.
“Nope, not a good idea,” Luke said, gazing after him.
There followed an argument between Emma and Ben that became louder by the minute. It finished with Ben grabbing her by the elbow and Emma furiously shaking him off. He leaned in and said a few words and then she shouldered her way past him and headed to the ladies’ room.
“I think I’ll go, too,” Andi said, rising from her chair. She swayed on her feet and her head buzzed. Oh hell no. She wasn’t going to faint again, was she?
Luke reached out a hand and steadied her. “What’s going on?”
“I feel a little weird.” And crampy.
His eyes searched hers, as if he knew she was holding back. “We’ll leave when you get back to the table.”
“Okay.”
Alarmed, Andi followed in Emma’s wake. What was wrong with her? When she entered the restroom she found Emma swaying on her feet in front of the mirror, glaring at her own reflection. Andi threw her a look.
“He’s going to sell us out, y’know,” Emma said bitterly. “He’s always been a son of a bitch.”
“Carter isn’t—” She inhaled sharply and bent over as a hard cramp suddenly racked her insides.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, poising in the act of reapplying lipstick to her smudged mouth as Andi tried to straighten. Before she could stand up she was overcome by another cramp. Spots danced before her eyes and she put out a hand as she toppled forward. Oh God no. The baby. No!
“Andi, you’re bleeding!” Emma declared in shock.
Oh, please . . . please, God, no . . .
Andi stared at the drops of red smeared on the tile floor in blank horror. She was seized by a cramp that doubled her up and Emma cried, “You need help! We need help! What’s wrong? Oh, God, what’s wrong?”
“The baby,” Andi moaned as a gush of blood followed, and that was all she knew.