Cold Ridge

Seventeen

In the village of Cold Ridge, November was a time between seasons. The leaf-peepers had gone, and the winter sports crowd hadn't yet arrived, leaving the shops and restaurants more or less to the locals for a few short weeks. When Ty parked his beat-up truck in front of Gus's outfitting shop, Carine jumped out first, although by now she knew she wouldn't go far without him. He was definitely in Musketeer mode, her own personal d'Artagnan shadowing her wherever she went-because she'd found a dead man, because his friend had asked him to.

But it didn't seem fair. He was on leave after months leading his pararescue team in combat and training missions that were the subject of speculation and rumor around town but seldom got fleshed out with specifics. Special operations, unconventional warfare. It was all something that happened far away, removed from their northern New England village.

Except Tyler North was one of their own-even if, Carine thought, he didn't see himself that way, but as the outsider, the boy with the weird mother.

Regardless, he should be hiking and fishing, sitting by the fire with a book, puttering in his rambling house, not traipsing around after her.

But they'd had that discussion on the way into town. "Relax, babe," he'd said. "I haven't fared too badly hanging out with you."

Meaning the sex and the kisses.

That'd teach her to open her damn mouth.

The alternative to having him on her tail-running around on her own-had its appeal, but Carine thought if she could just make the leap to Tyler North as a Musketeer, she wouldn't feel so hemmed in. But it wasn't just his presence, it was that every time she looked at him, a part of her remembered that he was the man she'd loved so much last winter and almost married.

She eyed him as he joined her on the sidewalk and wondered what they'd think of each other if they were meeting for the first time now. He was thirty-seven, she was thirty-three. They weren't kids. She tried to look at him objectively, pretend she hadn't known him forever-hadn't gone to bed with him just yesterday. She took note of his superfit physique, his military-cropped tawny hair, his green eyes and bad-road face. The jeans, the battered brown leather jacket.

She'd be attracted to him, no doubt about it.

Just as well she knew better, experience ever the hard teacher.

He seemed to guess what she was thinking and grinned at her. "Just think. Manny could have asked Gus to keep you out of trouble instead of me."

"Do you see now why I've always hated you?"

"If I'd known what you meant by 'hate,' I could have started sleeping with you when you were sixteen."

"Gus would have killed you."

"Hang on. He might yet."

It was in the fifties in the valley, warm by Gus's standards. He had the wooden front door of his store propped open with a statue of a river otter, the afternoon breeze blowing in through the screen door. Carine went in first, the old, oiled floorboards soft under her feet. Her uncle had started the business, now one of the most respected outfitters in the valley, when she was in the second grade, and he called it Gus & Smitty's. There was no Smitty and never had been, but he insisted that just Gus's was too prosaic. It was located in a former Main Street hardware store. Customers liked the old-fashioned atmosphere, but they came for the state-of-the-art equipment and unparalleled services.

Carine wove through the racks of winter hiking and camping gear to the back wall, where Gus, in a wool shirt and heavyweight chinos, had a map of the Pemigewasset Wilderness opened on the scarred oak counter. They'd hiked in the Pemigewasset countless times. It was a sprawling federally designated wilderness area resurrected from shortsighted logging-and-burning operations that had nearly destroyed it between the mid-nineteenth and the mid-twentieth century. Now it was protected by an act of Congress, and human activity there was strictly regulated.

"Planning a hike?" Carine asked.

He peeled off his bifocals and looked up from his map. "Nah. Just dreaming."

Stump wagged his tail but didn't stir from his bed at Gus's feet.

Ty whistled at a price tag on an expensive ski jacket.

"Only the best," Gus said.

"At that price it should come with its own search-and-rescue team." Ty emerged from the racks, joining them at the counter. "Just add water."

"You come in here to make fun of the merchandise?"

"No, sir. We're here to invite ourselves to dinner."

Gus folded up his map and tucked it back in a drawer. He sold a wide selection of maps, guidebooks, how-to books and outdoor magazines. "I'm cooking a chicken in the clay pot. You two can go over to the house and put it in the oven if you want. I'll close up here in a bit."

"I never can remember what to do with a clay pot," Carine said. "What part you soak in cold water, for how long, if you're supposed to preheat the oven-"

"Instruction book's right in the pot. How'd it go at the Rancourts?"

Ty leaned over a glass cabinet of sunglasses, sports watches and jackknives. " Sterling was frosty, Jodie was hangdog and Gary Turner drooled over Carine."

She groaned. "Gus, that's not how it went."

"It's the short version." North pointed to a pair of Oakleys. "Let me see those."

Gus shook his head. "I'm not wasting my time. You've never paid more than twenty dollars for sunglasses in your life."

"Twenty bucks? When have I ever paid that much for sunglasses?"

"Go to hell."

Ty put a hand to his heart in mock despair. "Is that how you treat a paying customer?"

"The key word is paying." Gus dismissed him and turned to Carine, his tone softening. "You don't ever have to see the Rancourts again, you know. You quit, right?"

She nodded. "If I'd just taken my camera with me during lunch-"

"If Jodie Rancourt and Louis Sanborn had just behaved themselves."

"I promised Sterling we'd be discreet."

"Too bad his wife wasn't."

"It's water over the dam at this point," Carine said. "I hope the Boston police will be here soon. I just want to get it over with."

"Go put the chicken on. Cooking'll help keep things in perspective."

The screen door creaked open, and Eric Carrera wandered unexpectedly into the store, making his way back to the counter. Flushed and out of breath, he spoke first to Gus. "My friend and I are in town collecting leaves for earth science class," he said. "How's it going, Mr. Winter?"

"Not bad, Mr. Carrera," Gus replied.

Ty, eyes narrowed as he took in the boy's appearance, stood up from the glass cabinet. "No trees on campus?"

Eric shifted, deliberately avoiding contact with his father's friend. "Yes, sir, there are, but not any ginkgoes and larch trees. There's a ginkgo in front of the Cold Ridge library…" But the boy's voice trailed off, and he sniffled, coughing as he adjusted his backpack and pretended to look at a rack of lipbalms. He had on his habitua lcargo pants, today's too-big hooded sweatshirt from Amherst College. "I saw your truck out front, and I-I was wondering if you'd heard anything from my dad."

"Not today." He stepped toward Eric, forcing the boy to face him. "You have your meds with you?"

Eric nodded. "I'm okay. I'm just-" He coughed, a sloppy sound in his chest, but he waved off any help, although Ty hadn't made a move in his direction. "My dad…the dead guy…that's not his real name. Louis Sanborn. You know about that, right? It was on the news."

Ty slung an arm over the boy's thin shoulders and maneuvered him to a wall of cross-country skis, sitting down with him on a wooden bench. Carine edged behind a rack of socks to eavesdrop, ignoring Gus's disapproving frown, but she suspected he was as shocked by Eric's news as she was-and wanted the details.

"We haven't heard anything," Ty said gently. "You want to fill me in? Relax, buddy, okay? Take your time."

Eric, who seemed to be making an effort to stay calm, coughed again, but with more control. "The police said the dead guy's identity doesn't check out. They don't know who he is. My dad told the police he doesn't know, either."

"That's what they said on the news?"

"Yeah. Yes, sir."

"Eric, is your dad under arrest?"

He shook his head, sniffling. "The reporter said the police are still not calling him a suspect. I don't know what that means. He's innocent, right, Uncle Ty? He didn't kill anyone?"

"Your dad's not a murderer, Eric."

Carine noticed Ty's careful choice of words and felt her abdominal muscles clamp down, a wave of nausea coming out of nowhere as the news sunk in. Louis San-born used a phony name? Why? Then who the hell was he? But she didn't move, didn't say anything.

"My mom called," Eric said. "She tried not to sound upset, but I can tell. She said if I need her, just say so and she'll come up here. I told her no."

"You haven't talked to your dad?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Ty glanced around the dark, quiet shop. Canoes and kayaks hung from the ceiling, but Gus & Smitty's was in winter mode. "Where's your friend who's collecting leaves with you?" But he'd obviously seen through the boy's lie immediately, and when Eric squirmed, Ty cuffed him on the shoulder and got to his feet. "Come on. I'll give you a ride back to school. If you want to come stay with me, we can work something out with the powers-that-be. Okay?"

"I still have to collect some stupid leaves."

"We can grab some on our way." He glanced back at Carine, pointing at her as if he'd known all along she was there. "Pick me out a pair of socks while you're at it." There was just the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone. "I'll meet you at Gus's."

"North's good with the kid, I'll give him that," Gus said after they'd left. "I like Eric. He's got a lot of guts, coming up here to school. But, Christ, what next? It doesn't look good for Carrera."

"Something must not add up for the police not to have arrested him yet." Carine grabbed a pair of hiking socks, uneasy, restless. "I should have gone for my run this morning. Ty found a dead bat in my woodstove. I wonder what that means."

"It means you have bats."

"Can I take these socks?"

"Take?"

"I'm unemployed."

"You're self-employed. There's a difference."

She dug in her coat pockets, looking for money. "The police must be putting the thumbscrews to Manny. It's got to be killing Ty not to know what's going on. He doesn't say anything-"

"He won't. It's not his style. And it'd take more than thumb screws to get Carrera to talk if he doesn't want to."

"Why wouldn't he want to?"

"I didn't say he doesn't. Just don't you worry about it. He can take care of himself. I know, I know-so can you." He rubbed his booted toe over Stump's hind end, the dog wagging his tail in appreciation. "Something like this happens, it's like you're a little kid again. I can't help it."

Carine pulled a few quarters out of one pocket. "It's comforting to know there's someone in my life who cares as much as you do."

"Honey-"

"Don't go there, Gus. Ty's been a perfect gentleman. It's okay."

"Gentleman? Sure. I believe that."

"I'm handling being around him." She set the quarters on the counter. "I don't have my wallet with me."

"You can owe me."

"Do I at least get a discount?"

He offered ten percent. She argued for thirty and settled for twenty. When she tried to throw in new cross country skis and socks for Ty, he shooed her out the door.

It was dusk, the sun dipping behind the mountains in a pink glow as Carine made the familiar three-quarter mile walk up the hill to her uncle's house. She smelled smoke from a fireplace in the neighborhood. She kicked through dry, fallen leaves on the sidewalk, and when she got to the house, she sat on the top step of the front porch. She could see herself and Ty as kids up in the maple tree in the side yard, still sweating and panting from raking up the huge pile of leaves under their thick branch. He threatened to push her if she didn't jump on her own.

Saskia North had never come up to Gus's house. Not once, not even to pick up her son. Ty had been on his own for a long time. It was what he knew, and Carine wondered if she'd been crazy to think he'd ever really let anyone in.

North dropped Manny's son off at school with his bag of leaves and a full head of worries. But there wasn't much Ty or anyone could do to ease the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy who knew his father was in a mess- who knew his father hadn't called to reassure him and probably wouldn't.

For which Ty could cheerfully strangle his friend. But on one level, he understood. Manny, in his own particular, annoying way, was doing his best to protect his son. He'd put everyone on a need-to-know basis. They could worry, they could get mad, but if he didn't think they needed to know something, he wasn't going to tell them.

Carine could try her burning bamboo shoots on Manny Carrera, too, but they wouldn't work.

Carine. Hell, she'd had no idea Louis Sanborn wasn't Louis Sanborn. It'd been obvious from her reaction. The guy she'd found dead-the guy she'd liked-wasn't who he said he was. If Manny had found out, it would explain why he'd headed to Boston to recommend Sterling Rancourt fire him. Rancourt couldn't employ someone who'd lied to him-especially for security.

"Not to mention screwing the poor bastard's wife," Ty muttered to himself.

But had Manny known that?

North turned onto Gus's village street, and although it wasn't even six o'clock, Cold Ridge was already engulfed in darkness. Gus's house was all lit up because Carine was there-otherwise, her uncle would have just the kitchen light on. Ty pulled into the short driveway, his cell phone ringing, and he just barely made out Val Carrera's voice through the static. "You must have some kind of mother radar, Val. I just saw Eric. He's worried about Manny, but he's okay."

"Is he eating?"

"Not much from the looks of him, but he had his meds with him. He was coughing, but lungs sounded pretty clear. The house parents at his dorm were waiting for him when we got back-"

"Got back from where?"

"Town. We were leaf-collecting."

"I should-never mind."

"I know it's hard, Val, but he'll make it through this thing. We all will."

"What other choice is there?" She was grumbling, worried and out of sorts, but she didn't sound as fragile as she'd been six months ago. "Manny's not talking to you, either, is he?"

Instinctively, despite his own frustration with his friend, North found himself offering a defense. "Manny doesn't have a lot of room to maneuver."

But Val wasn't one to cut anyone, herself included, much slack. "How much maneuvering does it take to dial a goddamn phone? Okay, never mind. That's not why I called. Look-I'm driving myself crazy here with the computer. You don't happen to know his password?"

"Why would I know his password?"

"I don't know. He tells you things he doesn't tell me. I thought if he knew he might be in deep trouble, he'd maybe clue you in on how you could help him if he really got in over his head."

"I don't know how to help him, Val. I wish I did."

"He's hamstrung. He can't do a damn thing except smile at the cops."

If I can't function…I've got computer files…you'll remember.

Hell, North thought. Only Manny. "Try I love Val."

"What?"

"For the password. Manny said something to me yesterday at the hotel. It didn't make sense at the time-"

"What, that he loves me?" she asked in that wry Val tone.

"No, that he felt the need to mention it. Christ, Val, you can be irritating."

He heard her tapping her keyboard. "It didn't work, so there. Wait, let me try-" She gulped in a breath.

"Bingo! I'll be damned, North, that's it! I used a u for love and one v. I'm in. I-l-u-v-a-l."

"Val-"

"I knew you'd know. I wish I'd thought of you ten million failed passwords ago. I'm surprised this thing didn't self-destruct like in Mission Impossible, just start smoking."

"Val, what's on the screen-"

But it was as if her mind was inside the computer. "I'll call you back if I find anything interesting. Watch, it'll just be a spreadsheet of how much he's won in the football pool. He loves those damn spreadsheets."

She clicked off, and Ty could have thrown his phone out the window. He adored Val-everyone did, just like everyone adored Manny. They were straightforward, high energy, fighters. But both of them could drive Ty straight up the wall if he let them.

I love Val.

Why hadn't the big oaf just said it was his goddamn password?

The cop with the PalmPilot, probably. Manny wouldn't want to tip her off. But if he had anything on Louis Sanborn, anything that could help his situation, he needed to be spilling it to the damn police, not making cryptic remarks to a PJ buddy.

Maybe whatever was in the files didn't help his situation.

Or maybe there was nothing in his files, North thought, and he and Val were just grasping at straws, trying to help a friend and husband who may have lost it two days ago and blown a man away. It'd been a rough year for Manny. He shouldn't have retired. He needed a couple more years to get Eric out of school, Val back on her feet and in a new job. Starting his own business-it was a different world for Manny Carrera, unfamiliar territory.

But he hadn't lost it. He hadn't blown Louis San-born-or whoever he was-away in Boston on Wednesday.

Ty rousted Stump out of a hole he was digging in the backyard and joined the Winters in the kitchen, the uncle and the auburn-haired, blue-eyed niece arguing over butternut squash. Bake or boil. Nutmeg or cinnamon. Real butter or the soft stuff made with olive oil. Boiling won out, because there wasn't enough room in the oven with the clay pot.

Carine retreated with Stump to the front room to sit by the fire, and Ty wondered if he looked as agitated and frustrated as he was, as ready to get into his truck and charge down to Boston.

"You were afraid you'd die on her this year." Gus's quiet words caught him off guard. "You knew what kind of missions you had coming up. She'd just had that business with those assholes shooting at her. What happened to her parents up on the ridge is a part of her- you see that. You let it spook you."

Ty sat at the table; the small kitchen was steamed up, smelling of chicken and baking onions. "Gus, you're off base. I can't do my job if I'm worried about dying. But I'm not going there with you."

"You're not getting my point. You can't do your job if you know she's back home worried about you dying." Gus glanced up from his cutting board. "That's the devil, isn't it?"

Ty watched him dump the deep orange squash into a pan of water on the stove. The man had done combat in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. An infantryman. A kid plucked out of the mountains of northern New England and sent off to fight a war he didn't understand. He'd probably thought about his family back home worrying about him.

But it didn't matter-Ty's relationship with Carine was for them to sort out. "You know you could make soup out of that squash?"

Gus returned to his cutting board for another chunk of squash. "Butternut squash soup is a favorite at the local inns. They put a little apple in it, sometimes a little curry."

"I'd rather have apple than curry, wouldn't you?"

"North…I was out of line." Gus sighed, his paring knife in his hand as he brushed his wrist across his brittle gray hair. "You and Carine-what's between you two is your business."

Ty grinned. "What have I been saying, huh?"

Gus pointed his knife at him. "You're going to live to be an old man, North, just to torment the rest of us."

"And you're going to kill yourself with your own cooking." Ty was on his feet, frowning at the stove. "What the hell's that in the frying pan?"

"Braised Brussels sprouts with olive oil and a little parmesan."

"Jesus. I think I've got an extra MRE out in the truck."

Gus threw him out of the kitchen, and Ty joined Carine in front of the fire. He sat on the couch, and she sat on the floor with her back against his knees, comfortable with him, he thought-and for a moment, it was almost as if he'd never knocked on her cabin door and canceled their wedding.