Cold Ridge

Twenty

Sterling picked up the phone several times to call Carine Winter and Tyler North and try to make up for his abysmal behavior yesterday. He was embarrassed. Whatever had possessed him? But he didn't make the call, and now Jodie was crying nonstop, ripping his heart out because he could, again, after all, feel sympathy for her. He was shocked by how quickly he'd switched from blaming himself for her infidelity to blaming her. Now he didn't know who-what-to blame.

She staggered into the living room, trembling, visibly weak and overwrought. Her face was red and raw from tears, her eyes puffy, her nose running. She joined him in front of the bank of windows that looked out to the mountains. They could see for miles, but it was dark now, the glass reflecting their own images back at them.

Sterling hit the remote control that shut the shades, their hum the only sound in the sprawling, empty house.

Jodie sank onto the sectional couch. She looked ugly to him, pitiful. He turned away, wondering what in God's name had happened to them. How had he come to this state of affairs? A murdered employee-a man who'd tricked them, lied to them, betrayed them. Sterling wondered, now that he was calmer, if Louis San-born or whoever he was had played on Jodie's weaknesses, used herinone of the worst ways possible.

And Turner. That stupid bastard. Asleep at the switch at best.

Manny Carrera wasn't technically an employee, but there was no doubt the police suspected him of murder. Sterling had read that in the faces of the Boston detectives last night when they interviewed him and Jodie about the pictures. Separately, of course.

Pictures of his wife with another man were now in the hands of the police. They'd promised to be discreet, but he and Jodie were a wealthy, prominent couple- the media would eat up the pictures.

"Dear God," he whispered.

Carine and Tyler…two people he admired. They had to hate him now. Hank, Antonia. They'd have nothing to do with him after his behavior, after this horrible scandal.

Once again, Sterling thought miserably, he'd failed to rise to the occasion.

"Manny Carrera did it." Jodie spoke quietly, stoically, as if she didn't have the strength for any more emotion; but her voice was hoarse from crying. "He killed Louis. All these people-Tyler North, Hank Callahan, Carine Winter. They'll ruin our lives in an attempt to prove Carrera's innocence."

Sterling stared at the blind-covered windows. "They want the truth to come out, Jodie. That's all."

She shook her head, adamant. "No, no, Sterling, you're being naive as usual. The truth, maybe, but how much of it? How much of our privacy will be sacrificed in their effort to deny the reality that their friend killed a man in cold blood?"

"Jodie-Jodie, please don't do this. I'm too tired."

"They'll rip our lives open, just because they can't deal with the fact that Manny Carrera murdered a man."

"That's why we have an attorney."

"It won't matter." She cleared her throat, but her voice remained hoarse. "Manny's a pararescueman. A war hero. He doesn't commit murder. If he kills, it's justified."

Sterling shifted to look at her and wondered if it would be cathartic to cry and scream, fall down on the floor and thrash as she had. Then maybe he could come to this place of calm and certainty. "For all we know at this point, it was justified. We don't have enough information."

"Don't we?"

She tucked her feet under her, her robe falling open and revealing the swell of her breasts. Were the police, even now, examining his wife's naked breasts under a magnifying glass? How much of her could they see in the pictures?

"Sterling?"

With an effort that was almost physical, he shook off the image of gloating, drooling detectives. Of Louis Sanborn banging his wife. It was a beautiful, old house with a long history. Were they the first to have illicit sex in the library? Louis was the first murder to occur there. That much Sterling knew for certain. It was a blot-a permanent stain that he knew he and Jodie would never overcome even before he'd learned about her affair.

"Sterling!"

With her voice as hoarse as it was, she hadn't managed much more than an annoyed croak. He sighed. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"I'm saying that Manny was at the house on Wednesday. He was in Boston to get you to fire Louis. What if that wasn't good enough? What if he saw-" She hesitated, placing her hand on a polished toe peeking out from her robe, staring at it as if it had her total attention. She took in a breath, then went on. "He could have decided to capitalize on the situation and grabbed Carine's camera, took those pictures, called me-"

"How could he have called you? He was under police surveillance."

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't let go of her theory. "He'd make it look like an innocent call. The guy's not stupid, Sterling. He'd figure out a way."

He sat on a chair at a diagonal from her. "You're jumping way ahead of yourself."

"No, I'm not. What more do the police need? Why don't they arrest him?" She fought back a fresh, sudden wave of tears, sobbing hoarsely at the ceiling. "I can't stand it! I can't!"

"Jodie…dear God…" What if she were losing it, having a nervous breakdown? Sterling couldn't make himself move toward her. "Jodie-please. Pull yourself together. You're not doing either of us any good."

"Louis used me, and now Manny Carrera and his friends are using both of us." Her voice was angry, bitter, belying the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "We'refairgamebecausewehavemoney.Nobodycares what happens to us. We don't mean anything to them."

"Don't say things like that," he said softly.

"Why not? It's true. You know it is. They resent us." She dropped her feet to the floor and jumped up, fire in her eyes as she sniffled and brushed the sleeve of her robe across her tears. "That idiot Turner-how could he not know about Louis? He'll try to shift the blame. Don't let him."

"Jodie, listen to me. It'll take time. It'll take patience and perseverance." He got to his feet and held her by the elbows, feeling how bony she was under her silky robe. "But I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of what's happened. Who failed us. Why. All of it."

All the heat and anger went out of her. She looked scared, he thought. Old and scared. "Sterling? What are you saying?"

"I think you're right, Jodie. I think we've been used. By everyone."

He saw her in thirty years, a whining old woman, and couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get away from her. He ran downstairs, out through the front door, not bothering with a coat or hat. The night air was cold, clouds blocking the stars, and even in the darkness, he could see fog swirling in valley pockets.

He'd loved this place. If someone had asked him a month ago if he had to give up one, this house or the one on Commonwealth Avenue, which would it be, he wouldn't have hesitated. The Boston house. No question.

But now he wished he'd never stepped foot in Cold Ridge.

He'd never felt so damn inadequate in his life as the night he and Jodie were rescued by Tyler North, Manny Carrera and Hank Callahan, something he'd never acknowledge to anyone. It wasn't their fault. He admired them.

He was fascinated by their training, their incredible range of skills, everything from emergency trauma medicine to combat maneuvers, scuba diving, parachuting, high-altitude mountain climbing-and he couldn't even do a challenging but popular ridge trail in the White Mountains without getting into trouble.

The cold air drove him back inside.

He and Jodie would pack up and leave Cold Ridge in the morning. Once the police made an arrest for Louis Sanborn's murder, he'd put this place on the market. Then, after a decent interval that gave people time to forget the horror and scandal of what happened in the library, he'd sell the house on Commonwealth Avenue.

He and Jodie might even leave Boston altogether. People moved all the time. So did companies.

In the meantime, he'd soak in the Jacuzzi for twenty minutes and go to bed early. Without Jodie. Until he decided otherwise, she was sleeping in the guest room.