The Carriage House

Twenty-Four

Tess tried to sleep in. She thought it would be easier if the Thorne household went on their way before she got up. Then she could shower, have a cup of coffee on the porch and figure out what to do with her day. She definitely wanted to slip down to Boston and check her e-mail archives. She'd gone through her saved e-mails from Ike, but not the ones from her to him.

Not that she intended to do any actual graphic design work. If the distractions up north continued, she'd be so far behind she'd never catch up. And her reputation would be in ruins. It wasn't just a question of doing good work-it also had to be done on time. What she'd found in her cellar on Friday night wouldn't help clients facing their own deadlines.

She sighed at the ceiling. She could hear Dolly singing a made-up song in her bathroom, something about kittens.

The Beacon-by-the-Sea police, Tess thought, needed a greater sense of urgency about her skeleton report. They were supposedly looking for Ike, but not with any apparent energy or enthusiasm. She could try lighting a fire under them. As Susanna, who knew such things, had said, the police didn't like missing bodies. Much easier if hers was a ghost or a figment of a highly creative imagination.

"No kidding," Tess muttered sarcastically to herself.

It was only seven-fifteen. What time were Andrew and Dolly on their way in the morning?

Dolly burst in. "The kittens' eyes are open!"

Tess just managed to squash a startled yell. "They are?"

"Dolly," Andrew said from the hall, nearby, "you should always knock. Tess might have been asleep."

Not a chance, she thought.

Dolly was too excited to waste time on apologies.

"Sorry. Do you want to see the kittens? They're so cute!"

Andrew had the grace not to appear in the guest-room doorway. Tess didn't know what she'd have done if he had. She felt exposed as it was, out of her element. Dolly had a scraggly stuffed cat tucked under one arm. Tess sat up in bed. "I'll meet you in the pantry once I've gotten dressed."

Dolly skipped out, leaving the door open behind her.

Andrew closed it.

So much for sleeping in, Tess thought, the brief image of him in his work shirt enough to eliminate any prospect of sleep or even calm. She quickly got dressed, a cool ocean breeze floating in through the open window as she pulled on jeans and a fresh shirt.

Down in the kitchen, Andrew had a mug of coffee poured for her. Dolly motioned excitedly, but silently, from the pantry.

Indeed, all four kittens had their eyes open. They were still tiny, but their fur was softer, less matted-looking, and even Tippy Tail seemed more pleased with the situation.

Dolly whispered, "Daddy says I can hold one if I'm careful."

She scooped up the gray one-Cement Mixer- with two hands and held it against her cheek, her eyes shining at Tess. "She's so soft!"

Harl came in through the back door. Dolly had to show him the kittens, too. He grunted, which seemed enough for the six-year-old, and she ran out to get ready for school. There was some discussion over taking the magic wand Lauren Montague had given her. Harl and Andrew didn't think that would go over well with Dolly's teacher.

Tess stayed out of it. Dolly handled herself well with the two men, and they seemed to know just how far they could go with her without overpowering her.

Harl said, "I'm still in training as a teacher's helper. Will you give me a hand today?"

That thrilled her. "But I don't want you coming to my school every day, Harl, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. Kids need a chance to give away their celery sticks without some big old adult hanging over their head."

Andrew, Tess noticed, kept his opinion on the subject to himself, allowing his daughter and cousin to have their own relationship.

"I'm off to Boston for the morning," Tess announced abruptly. "I need to check in at the office, but I don't imagine I'll stay long."

She decided not to mention checking more e-mails, since the first batch of archives had produced little. She was probably just spinning her wheels, digging into the history of the carriage house, reading e-mails between Ike and herself-making herself feel as if she was doing something when she wasn't. But what else was she supposed to do? Stay at the carriage house and mop more floors? Sit on the police until they got busy?

"Keep in touch," Andrew said.

"I named all the kittens," Dolly told her in the sort of non sequitur Tess had come to expect. "Cement Mixer, Snowflake, Midnight and Pooh."

Tess made a face. "Pooh?"

Dolly giggled. "I know Winnie-the-Pooh's a bear, but Daddy says it's okay."

He repeated his mantra. "Dolly, we're not keeping the kittens. You know that, right?"

She rolled her eyes, not answering. Squelching a smile, Tess headed out.

Traffic on Route One was miserable, and she got caught in a backup for an accident, then another one for construction. She parked on Beacon Hill, raced to her office and took the stairs to the fourth floor two at a time. She didn't know why she was rushing, but she couldn't stop herself.

Susanna Galway calmly looked up from her computer. "I've been sitting here making money for hours. You look as if you've been digging up more skeletons. Some reporter keeps calling, and I keep putting him off."

Susanna looked gorgeous, as always, and probably had been making money for hours. Tess glowered at her and dropped into her chair. "What do you think the odds were of my ending up with a carriage house next door to a motherless six-year-old girl, a burned-out cop and an architect-contractor?"

"Seeing how Ike Grantham gave it to you, very good."

"They were a factor, then."

"This is just now occurring to you?"

"No," Tess said, slightly annoyed. "It occurred to me sitting in traffic."

Susanna shrugged, ignoring Tess's irritable remark. "I think Ike was worried about more ghosts than Jedidiah Thorne."

Tess had worked this out, too, and knew what Susanna meant. "My mother."

Nothing more needed to be said, and Susanna returned to her work. Tess checked messages. Most could be put off for another day, but one could not. Fortunately, it only required five minutes to take herself off the hook. Then, without mentioning to Susanna what she was up to, she checked her e-mail archives for messages from her to Ike.

There were forty-nine.

One was on the day of the meeting when he'd stood her up. She opened it.

Three o'clock is perfect for our meeting. Don't worry if you're a little late-enjoy your last walk-through at the carriage house. I'm not sure I'll let you in after I renovate! Of course, you might not want to come near the place- have I told you I love gingham and chintz? Okay, have fun, and don't get into a duel with your future brother-in-law. One ghost haunting the carriage house is plenty.

She'd forgotten that he'd been meeting his future brother-in-law-Richard Montague-that day. It was one of a thousand insignificant exchanges she'd had with Ike, and there'd been no reason to attach any importance to where he'd gone that morning. After all, he hadn't been missing.

But he was now, Tess thought. She just hadn't realized it until the past few days.

Maybe he'd never made it to the carriage house.

Maybe he'd left town before his meeting there with Richard Montague.

Tess checked ten more e-mails, refusing to let her thoughts rush ahead, and as she read, she remembered the easy banter between Ike and herself. It wasn't just on his end-it was on hers, too, but without the slashing wit, the thrill of poking at other peo-ple's weaknesses.

Ike had loved Joanna Thorne, and he'd believed Richard Montague, who was about to marry his sister, Lauren, was partly responsible for Joanna's malaise. The woman had worked for him, and anyone who worked for Richard Montague had to be as consumed with getting him to Washington as he was. She hadn't made all the connections until now, perhaps because she hadn't known the players, perhaps because she'd been so occupied with sorting out her own life and hadn't paid proper attention to what was going on with Ike.

The reference to Joanna working for Richard was in a note from Ike copied at the bottom of one of Tess's e-mails to him. She hadn't kept the original.

Whether he was a client or perhaps even a friend, her relationship with Ike, she now saw, had been a guilty pleasure. She hadn't really known the people he'd trashed with his cutting, often very funny wit. Now she felt like a coconspirator, although she couldn't bring herself to regret their relationship. He'd never meant people to take him seriously. He was an overgrown adolescent who believed everyone should forgive his excesses because he was a good guy at heart. Tess had never expected anything from him-Ike Grantham was what he was.

But, she thought, he really hadn't liked Richard Montague at all.

She sat back, her head pounding. "Susanna, yesterday Richard Montague told me he hadn't been to the carriage house in years." Her voice was steady but hollow, the strain evident. "That was a flat-out lie. He and Ike were supposed to meet there a few hours before Ike stood me up."

"There could be an innocent reason."

But Susanna's voice was flat and serious, and Tess knew they shared the same fear. "What if Richard Montague was the last person to see Ike alive? Wouldn't he want to tell the police, especially now, given the circumstances?"

"Maybe Ike never showed up."

Tess swallowed, her throat dry and tight. "Maybe he did."

Susanna swore under her breath.

"They meet, they argue over Lauren and Joanna-"

"And Ike ends up buried in the cellar."

Tess looked over at her friend. "Am I getting ahead of the facts?"

"Way ahead." Her green eyes leveled on Tess. "But who cares? You're not a cop. Go sit on the Beacon police, Tess. Make them talk to this Montague character. Look, another month or two of Ike Grantham and I might have been driven to dump him in a dirt cellar myself, but-" She inhaled. "Damn it, you don't get to murder people."

And there it was, Tess thought. You don't get to murder people.

She printed out a copy of the pertinent e-mails and charged out, promising Susanna she'd check in later. "Don't tell your grandmother or anyone who's ever stepped foot in my father's bar about this development, okay? I could be off track, and it was hard enough explaining falling on top of a skeleton in the first place."

Susanna nodded, but managed a grim smile. "Davey and the gang would never let you live down accusing someone of murder based on an e-mail."

"God, it is thin, isn't it?"

"Go. Let the police talk to Montague and find out if he has a simple explanation."

"I hope he does. Matter of fact, I'm still hoping it was a ghost I saw."

Susanna said nothing, but Tess knew-they both knew.

Ike Grantham was dead.

Andrew found Lauren in her herb garden with her poodles. The little dogs were running through the grass, looking as if they'd collide, but never did. Lauren stood on a narrow gravel path among the herbs- Andrew recognized oregano, several kinds of thyme, sage, all getting going for the season. The seaside mansion and extensive grounds reminded Andrew that Lauren Grantham Montague was a wealthy woman. It was easy to forget, and maybe she wanted it that way. She didn't have drivers or guards at a gate or even full-time household help, but she came from money-and a lot of it.

If she or Ike wanted to disappear, or to make someone else disappear, they could do it.

"Dolly would enjoy the poodles." Lauren spoke without looking at him, her gaze on the dogs. "You should bring her by sometime."

One of the dogs scrambled over Andrew's foot. He ignored the tight ball of tension in his gut and concentrated on why he was here. But he let her have her moment of pleasantries. Why not? "I'm sure she'd get a kick out of these guys. She's an animal lover."

Lauren turned to him, her eyes red-veined, as if she hadn't slept in days. She smiled without feeling. "Most princesses are."

Her comment irritated him. Her idea of being a princess and Dolly's were so different. Lauren didn't have a clue about how he or his daughter thought. It wasn't because she was rich. That was too simple, too black-and-white. She established her own ideas for who people were and what they believed, why they did what they did, to suit herself. She'd take one fact about them and run with it, creating a whole panorama out of one tidbit. He'd seen her do it even with antiques she brought to Harl. She'd mix fact with fantasy, project herself and her own perceptions and beliefs, and turn a Windsor chair into a grand story.

Bottom line, she tended to jump to conclusions about people.

Andrew suspected she had about him.

"Tess Haviland's skeleton is for real," he said.

She didn't seem surprised at his abrupt comment. "She thinks it's Ike. That's the police's nightmare scenario. They're hoping he turns up."

"What about you?"

She shrugged. "It would be horrible if it was Ike. I'd suffer personally, of course, but so would the project, my husband, you. Richard's Pentagon appointment is already in jeopardy, just at the whiff of something wrong. And you. You're right next door. Can you imagine if it turns out that Ike Grantham was killed in the Thorne carriage house?"

"You sound like a reporter reading the news. He's your brother."

She tossed back her head, annoyed. "I know who he is."

Andrew didn't back off. "You know more than you've admitted."

She kept her head back, her eyes half-closed as she stared at him. "Do I?"

"Lauren, whatever pieces of this mess you have- maybe you've put them together wrong, come up with the wrong answers."

She scooped up one of the dogs and held it, scratching under its chin. "I think I like dogs better than people." She pressed her cheek to the top of the dog's head, her eyes filled with tears. "You don't respect me, Andrew. You never have. You've never appreciated what I do for you-or anyone else for that matter. You're very independent that way, you know."

He didn't respond. A light breeze had stirred, bringing out the smells of grass and soil, flowers. It was a beautiful spot, no old Adirondack chairs, no overgrown lilacs, no Harl.

Lauren set down the dog and walked a few steps onto the path. The herb garden was planted in a classic star pattern, with a gazing globe at the center. "I haven't seen or heard from my brother since last March. He was supposed to meet Tess that afternoon in Boston to discuss a new design for the project's Web page. They often met up here, but not that day."

The dogs had followed her onto the path and were getting into the herbs. Lauren herded them out of the rosemary. "Stay on the paths, kiddos, or I'll put you inside." She squatted and replaced dirt one of them had scratched up. "He was stopping at the carriage house first. He told me at breakfast. We'd argued."

"About the carriage house?"

She shook her head and rose, brushing the dirt off her hands. "No, about his living arrangements."

Andrew knew what she was talking about. A frequent subject of gossip in town, the Grantham living arrangements were one of their more obvious eccentricities. When he was in town, whether for an extended period or a few days, Ike lived in the family mansion with his sister. It apparently was never a problem with her first husband. He and Lauren had traveled frequently themselves, and his family owned a place on Cape Cod. After their divorce, with their daughter away at school, it was just Ike and Lauren again, brother and sister, in the Beacon-by-the-Sea house where they'd grown up, an arrangement that apparently had suited them.

But Andrew guessed all that changed when Lauren decided to remarry. "Richard didn't want Ike staying here?"

"He wanted me to buy out Ike's share, minus all the work I'd had done, the maintenance, the taxes I'd paid. If not for me, the termites or the tax man would have gotten this place. Ike never lifted a finger or contributed a dime. Richard didn't want to be unfair to him, but Ike was furious. You know how he was- is." The correction was halfhearted, and she gave a quick, sad smile, as if she didn't expect Andrew to believe she thought her brother was alive. "Rules and details like mowing the lawn and paying property taxes were for other people, not him. He was above that sort of day-to-day trivia. That's all well and good, I told him-then he should hire someone to handle the tasks that bore him."

"I don't recall you two arguing in the time I've known you."

"We never did, but Richard made me see how my brother was taking advantage of me-and had been for years and years. All our lives, really."

Andrew walked onto an offshoot of the main path, two of the dogs scooting past him. He was suddenly aware of the stillness and beauty around him and expected this would be hard to give up. And Ike would feel entitled to it. That was the way he was.

But Andrew stuck to the main issue-Ike's actions on that day in March. "Why was he headed to the carriage house?"

"Oh, he was being ridiculous. He said he never should have given it to Tess, he should have kept it himself and renovated it as his Beacon-by-the-Sea home. He was trying to pretend nothing I said mattered."

"The carriage house isn't on as grand a scale as this place-"

She waved a hand angrily. "Ike was just blowing smoke. He'd never give up this place without a fight, without making me feel as if I were stabbing him in the back. He'd fight me every inch of the way. I never told Richard, but according to our parents' will-he could win."

"They stipulated you both owned the property or neither did?"

She nodded, almost embarrassed. "Basically. It was a way to manipulate me from the grave. They knew Ike wouldn't live up to his share of the responsibilities, so they made sure I'd have to keep sweeping up after him the way they did. It's not as if I couldn't afford to." She turned and started back down the path toward the lawn, walking slowly, pensive more than outraged. "Richard was having none of it. I didn't want him to know how I rated with my parents."

"What did you do after you and Ike argued?" Andrew asked.

"I went to the office. Ike got all the prestige there, too, without having to do any of the hard work. He did what he wanted to, what amused him. I was furious with myself for putting up with it. It was as if Richard had taken off the blinders, and I have to say I didn't thank him for it. It's an awful feeling, knowing you've been a doormat for your brother, that your own parents expected that of you."

Andrew headed on a parallel path back out to the lawn, the poodles there ahead of him, finally collapsing in the shade. "You must have hated him at that moment," he said.

"No, that's just it." She smiled over at him, tears spilling out onto her cheeks now. But her voice was steady, as if she was unaware she was crying. "I loved my brother. I take him as he is, faults and all, the whole package. All I really wanted, I realized, was the same from him. Acceptance of my bad points, appreciation for my good ones."

"So, you're sitting in your office, fuming, but finally you figure-the hell with it, I need to patch things up with Ike, explain to Richard my brother's a part of the package and move on." Andrew glanced over at her. "You don't wait. You head to the carriage house."

"Yes." Her voice was distant, and he could feel her transporting herself back in time, to that March day. "It was very cold. I remember being impatient for spring. March is my least favorite month, but last year it was just interminable. But I walked over. I wanted the cold air to whip the last of the resentment out of me, I suppose."

"What time?"

"It was before lunch. About eleven, I'd say."

She spoke in a monotone, and she began shivering. Andrew stepped closer to her. "Then what?"

"I didn't see his car. He must have walked. He was always so physical, and he'd have wanted the exercise after our argument. I knew he was there." She crossed her arms on her chest, pressed them against her. "I climbed up the side steps."

She stopped, her face going ashen, the shivering worse. Andrew knew he had to keep her in that moment, talking. "Did you go inside?"

"Not then." "You saw something," he said. Her eyes met his. He could see her swallow. "I saw you." "You're sure?" "You were going through the lilacs. You had on that old denim jacket of yours. I called you, and you didn't answer." "Did you see me, Lauren, or did you see my jacket?" "I saw you." He didn't argue, still wanted her in that moment.

"What did you do after you didn't get an answer?" "I went inside." "Into the carriage house," he prodded. She nodded, her eyes dry now, dull. "There was water…and an awful smell. Lime. Flesh. At first I thought it was my imagination-" "You thought it was the ghost at work." "Yes, the ghost. That's what I thought. But I knew…" She looked at him, focused on him. "I knew better." "Lauren-" But she didn't stop, and he saw what was coming, felt it. "I knew you'd killed my brother. Because of Joanna. I didn't blame you. Ike shouldn't have gotten involved."

He didn't react outwardly. Carefully, he took her back to that day last March. "When you were at the carriage house, did you see Ike?"

"No." She shook her head. "Not then. The trapdoor was wet. It-it was unlatched. I latched it again and left. I never went back."

"You went back this Saturday," Andrew said quietly.

"Yes, when Tess finally showed up. I couldn't bring myself to act any sooner. I wish I'd waited until later in the evening, but Richard-" She paused to swallow, her breathing light and rapid, her voice strangely calm. "Richard would have noticed and asked questions. Andrew, I didn't want you to realize what I knew. I just wanted to take care of Ike for you."

Jesus, Andrew thought, but maintained his outward control. "You collected his remains from the carriage house cellar."

"So you didn't have to."

"Where are they now?"

With one hand, she brushed back her straight, shining hair and leveled her eyes at him. They were clear and sad, but also, Andrew decided, a little smug. After all, she'd risked a lot to do him this favor. "I'll show you. We'll need to decide what to do with them."

We. Andrew gritted his teeth. Had someone tried to frame him? Or was connecting him to the jacket just a leap of logic on Lauren's part? She got a glimpse of denim and filled in the blanks.

She started across the lawn and glanced back at him, not breaking her stride. "Ike always wanted to be buried at sea." She smiled almost peacefully. "I think we can arrange that, don't you?"

Andrew decided it was time to go on record. "Lauren, I didn't kill him."

But she ignored him, whistling for the poodles. They roused, stretched and trotted after her with less energy than when they'd romped in the herbs.

"Coming?" she asked, the wind picking up, whipping tawny hairs into her mouth.

Andrew nodded. "Sure."

She took him around front to the driveway. Her car was parked in front of his, and he winced as she went to the trunk. "Hell," he breathed, watching her pop it open.

She gasped. "No!"

Andrew saw from where he stood. The trunk was empty.

This woman had been carrying her brother's remains in her trunk for the past three days, thinking Andrew had killed him.

She spun around at him. "Is this your idea of a joke? He was in a black garbage bag. I put him there myself. I made sure I had all of him. I didn't want to leave behind a finger or something for the police to find. You know, with DNA testing, these days you can't just leave that sort of thing lying around." She was talking rapidly, her composure eroding fast. "My God in heaven. What kind of person would steal a bag of bones out of my car?"

What kind of person would have them in there in the first place? Andrew reined in an urge to get in his car and get the hell out of there. "Lauren, we need to call the police."

She frowned at him. "What?"

"I didn't kill Ike. You don't need to protect me."

"But I-I saw you."

"It wasn't me."

She blinked. "What?"

He was losing her. The stress of finding her trunk empty was too much. "Where's your husband?"

"Richard? He's at work."

Andrew didn't think so. Richard Montague was shorter than he was and thicker through the chest, but he could have easily grabbed the denim jacket off its hook on the back porch and thrown it on, just in case someone saw him at the carriage house and Ike's body was discovered sooner rather than later.

Even later-now, over a year later-his simple precaution was paying off.

"Lauren, did you tell Richard you were going to the carriage house to talk to Ike that morning last March?"

She rallied. "Yes, we talked right after I got to the office. Why?"

Because it meant Richard had planned for her to think Andrew had killed her brother, in case she showed up. He'd guessed how she'd react. He was an expert in that sort of thinking. It also meant killing Ike wasn't an accident Richard covered up, but a deliberate act.

"We need to call the police," Andrew said. "And we need to find your husband."