The Carriage House

Thirteen

"Askeleton? Hell, I was hoping for buried treasure."

No one took well to Harl's dubious sense of humor. Andrew glowered at him, but Harl shrugged, unrepentant. They were all on Andrew's back porch. Harl, Andrew, two cops-and Tess. Andrew didn't think she looked the least bit contrite. She'd cleared out, called the police, and met them back here, before he and Harl had had a chance to work out who'd do the first search of her cellar. Harl took no pains to hide his flashlight and the pick and shovel he'd collected from the toolshed.

"You go on," he told Andrew now. "I'll stay here with Dolly. I've already done the dead-body-in-the-basement thing in my day."

The officers, two regular patrolmen on the small Beacon-by-the-Sea force, had already questioned them about the flapping bulkhead. Harl stuck to a recitation of the facts, without editorializing or speculating. He'd heard something earlier in the evening and investigated, discovering Tess and the unlatched bulkhead catching in the wind. Nothing else.

Andrew had nothing to report. Given the position of his house, he hadn't heard the bulkhead, or whatever it was, but had spotted Harl out back. They'd conferred briefly, and Andrew waited on the back porch with the phone in case the police were needed.

"I couldn't leave my daughter here alone," he'd said without looking at Tess.

Neither he nor Harl mentioned last night's bloody-murder scream, snakes or ghosts.

Tess led the police across his yard, taking the long way around the lilacs. Andrew followed at several paces. A skeleton. For the love of God.

"How did you manage to sleep last night after finding human remains?" the older of the two officers asked. His name was Paul Alvarez, and he had a good reputation, even by Harl's standards.

"I didn't," Tess answered.

"You'd convinced yourself it was a ghost?"

"I didn't know what I saw. I still don't. Maybe it was nothing. I hope it was nothing."

Even now, Andrew thought, she wasn't ready to commit. He could understand. The eye might see a human skeleton in the dark while the mind refused to accept it, especially in a haunted house once owned by an eccentric heir no one had heard from in a year.

"Well, let's take a look."

Paul Alvarez led the way down the bulkhead. The younger cop, Mike O'Toole, was on the pale side, looking as if he very much believed in ghosts as he and Alvarez made their way into the dirt cellar. Andrew stood in the doorway to the dirt cellar, Tess a few steps inside. She was agitated, arms crossed on her chest as if to keep herself from shaking, but spoke calmly, with determination. She pointed deep into the cellar. "It was back there, by that old bed frame."

Andrew glanced around at the cellar with its low ceilings, dirt floor, water pipes, heating ducts, old furnace, junk. Jed's carriage house had potential, but it was a money pit. What had Ike been thinking when he gave this place to Tess? Despite his many flaws, Ike wasn't the sort Andrew would expect to bury someone in a dirt cellar-or end up buried in a cellar himself like a dead skunk. That he didn't deserve.

But if it was Ike, he hadn't buried himself down here.

Andrew shook off the thought and all its implications. First things first. Maybe Tess's imagination had gotten the better of her. He wanted to be in there with shovel and pick himself, poking around in the dirt.

O'Toole grabbed an old rake handle and ran it around over the dirt floor. Tess glanced back at Andrew, her eyes as pale a blue as he'd ever seen. "It's not there." She sounded tense, not relieved. "I was so sure…"

She pushed deeper into the cellar, pointing, squatting herself and searching. Andrew watched her, not the police. She was in control of herself, surprised and tense at finding nothing. Alvarez and O'Toole expanded their search, scanning the rest of the cellar with their high-powered flashlights.

There was no skeleton. No skulls, no bones. Nothing.

"Maybe someone snatched it," Tess said. "Maybe that was what the noise was."

The two cops weren't going there. "It's an empty, run-down, old house with a bad reputation. It was your first night here, you were down here alone under difficult circumstances…" Alvarez shrugged. "Are you sure it was a human skull you saw?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"But that doesn't mean that's what it was," he said.

"No, you're right, it doesn't, especially under the circumstances. That's why I didn't say anything right from the start-I wasn't sure myself."

They came out into the laundry room. O'Toole's color was better. Alvarez said, "There's not much more we can do at this point. I'm sorry. If anything changes, let us know."

"Fair enough. Thanks."

When they got back to Andrew's house, Harl was still on the porch with his pick and shovel. Andrew figured his cousin wouldn't rely on a police search of the cellar. He'd have to take a look himself before he'd be satisfied.

Tess, still pale and edgy, finished up with the police. After they left, she said without looking at Andrew, "I should get along back to Boston."

"Not so fast." He pulled out a chair at the table on the porch. Harl had put out two beers. Andrew opened one and set it on the table in front of the chair. "Sit."

Harl tilted back in his chair and eyed Tess, who looked ready to bolt. "I wouldn't argue. I've seen that look in his eyes before, about two seconds before he hit a guy over the head with a beer bottle. Five stitches."

Andrew gritted his teeth. "Harl."

"It's true."

"It's not true. He didn't need five stitches, and it was self-defense."

Harl shrugged. "So's this."

With a groan of frustration or confusion, or both, Tess swooped down onto the chair. Her body was rigid. She crossed her arms on her chest and sat at the very end of the chair, as if she'd spring up and out of there any second. She leveled her pale blue eyes on Andrew. "I know I should have mentioned the skeleton sooner."

"Yeah, no shit," Harl said.

Andrew stayed focused on Tess. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I'd intended to check the cellar myself to make sure before I told anyone. I didn't want to upset people or end up looking like an idiot if it was nothing. When Davey and my father showed up and didn't find anything, I decided to wait until morning and bring a friend." She didn't flinch at his hard gaze. "I procrastinated."

"Now what?"

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall, exhaling, suddenly looking tired. "Now? I don't know. I guess it's more likely I didn't see anything than someone slipped into my cellar while I was at dinner and stole human remains. It's easier, and more logical, to believe what we heard was just the bulkhead catching in the wind."

Harl snorted. "If you'd said something sooner-"

"But I didn't."

Andrew stayed on his feet, angry with himself, with her. But he shoved his anger down deep, concentrated on the problem at hand. "Did you think Harl or I might have something to do with it?"

"I had a million reasons, all of which seemed to make good sense at the time. Look, I can't undo what I did. In hindsight, maybe I should have taken you down into the cellar last night and had you verify what I saw, or at least called the police."

Harl suddenly rose, grabbed his shovel and pick and tore open the screen door. "The hell with it. What's done is done. Come daylight, I'll have a look down there myself. Andrew?"

"Dolly's going to a friend's house in the morning. I'll be over."

"Tess?"

She swallowed and licked her lips, outwardly composed, but Andrew could only guess what was going on inside her. "I can be back here early-"

"You're in no condition to drive," Harl said quietly. "Stay in the guest room. Trust me, Andrew doesn't have a bunch of bones stuck in the closets around here." He grinned, winked. "I've checked."

"That's not it-"

"It doesn't matter. Stay."

He left, the door banging shut after him. Tess jumped, startled, on edge. Andrew could see how tough the past twenty-four hours had been on her, trying to sort out what to do about what she'd seen-or thought she'd seen. He tried to soften, but found he couldn't. He was pissed as hell. But badgering her over what she now knew she should have done wouldn't get them anywhere, and it wouldn't make him feel any better to make her feel worse.

"I convinced myself it was a nineteenth-century horse thief," she said, not looking at him now. "Then when you mentioned at lunch that Jedidiah was lost at sea, I seized on the idea that maybe he didn't die at sea. Maybe the bones were his."

"You're sure they were human?"

She nodded. "I took anatomy in art school."

"Did you think this was all the work of a ghost?"

Her chin tilted up, catching the light, and he could see her color had improved. "It still could be. Maybe whoever's haunting the carriage house makes people see bones in the dirt, skulls, dead people."

"But you don't believe in ghosts," Andrew said.

"I believe in what I saw. It doesn't matter if it was a ghost, some kind of hallucination or real human remains. Well, it does matter, but that's not my point. I saw what I saw. Whatever it was."

"What would you have done if the police had found your skeleton?"

She managed a smile. "Fainted."

"Bullshit. You didn't faint when you practically fell on top of it last night when you were alone."

"Let's say this is the scenario that I both wanted and dreaded-that the police didn't find anything. It means I get to look like a nitwit, but it also means whatever I saw last night isn't there anymore." She took a swallow of her beer and got to her feet, steadier if not any less on edge. "I should get going."

"I don't think so." Andrew pointed to her beer. "I'll put a call in and have you picked up for driving under the influence."

"I've had two sips!"

"Take a look."

She held up her bottle and seemed surprised when she saw it was almost empty. Under ordinary circumstances, one beer wouldn't be a problem, but tonight wasn't ordinary-she was beyond the point of no return, and she knew it. "Damn. Your cat's still occupying my bed. I suppose I could borrow a couple of blankets and sleep in my car."

"I told you, I have a guest room."

Her eyes were steady on him, almost cool. "I'm still invited?"

He remembered the feel of her body against his and wondered if that was what she was thinking about, more than her nonexistent-or missing- skeleton. "Yes, but no more lies."

"If you didn't believe my snake story, what makes you think you'd have believed I saw a skull in the dirt?"

"Tess."

She breathed in, no hint she was the slightest bit afraid of him, how he'd react to her-or even particularly wracked with guilt over withholding what she'd seen last night. "I did the best I could under rotten circumstances. Look, I know you're ticked off because of the kiss, because it seems to you I should have come clean before we went that far-well, let's just chalk it up as one of those things. It happened. We don't need to make anything of it."

That was not the right response. She saw her mistake instantly, but she was too late. He caught an arm around her, pulled her to him. "It wasn't just one of those things, not for me." His voice was low and deadly, barely under control, and his mouth found hers again, a fierceness in him he couldn't explain, couldn't deny. His mouth opened, his tongue sliding between her teeth, his body pulsing, throbbing. He was in a dangerous mood. The taste of her, the feel of her, only inflamed him more. He slipped his hands under her shirt, eased his palms over her hot, smooth skin. "I could take you now. Here. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with passion. "Yes."

She put her hands on his forearms at her sides, but instead of pushing him away, she urged them slowly up inside her shirt, until his thumbs were under her breasts. He eased them over her bra, brushing her nipples.

"You don't know what you're doing," he said, his voice raw, his body on fire.

"I do know."

This time, her mouth found his, her lips already parted. He pushed his hands back down her sides, wanted to scoop her up and carry her inside, but fought back the need. He made himself draw away. "I'll make up the guest room."

She tugged her shirt back down and pushed a slender, strong hand through her short curls. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He smiled ever so slightly. "I think the guest room's an excellent idea."

For the love of Christ.

Lauren staggered into Richard's study and poured herself a scotch. No water, no ice. She didn't want to bother with a glass, just drink straight from the decanter, but knew her husband could wander in at any moment. He was due back from dinner with friends. She'd left early, pleading a headache. Since they'd arrived in separate cars, it wasn't a problem.

She'd planned everything so carefully, just not Tess returning to the carriage house that way.

The whiskey splashed over her hand. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered against the glass as she gulped, the scotch burning on its way down.

Ike.

She wanted to scream his name. She wanted to sob and beat her fists against the wall, smash glasses, throw over furniture. Her brother was dead. She'd hoped, prayed, pleaded with God that she wasn't right.

He was in the trunk of her car in a black plastic trash bag.

Her brother.

Dead.

Just as she'd known he was since that day he'd told her he was off to the carriage house and would see her later.

She sank onto the leather chair, spilling scotch on the arm. It beaded, and she flicked it off with her fingertips then licked them. They still tasted of her surgical gloves.

Her brother, dead in the carriage house cellar.

She hadn't been sure until tonight. She'd guessed…known. But this was different. Now it was real.

"Lauren?"

Richard's voice penetrated her like a hot, sharp knife. She fell back against the chair, wanting to slip down to the floor, through the rug, between the cracks in the cherry floorboards, all the way down to the basement, where she could lie in the dark stillness until death claimed her. Who would know? Who would care?

"Lauren, are you still up?"

She could hear his footsteps out in the hall. She straightened, wondering if he'd smell the dank carriage house cellar on her, if he'd smell death.

He stood in the doorway. "There you are. Darling, have you heard? I didn't want you to hear it without me here-"

"Hear what?" She rallied, noticed her hands weren't shaking as she drank more scotch.

Richard came toward her, his expression filled with concern and compassion. He took her glass away, as if she might not handle what he had to tell her. "The police called on my way home. Lauren, they've been out to the carriage house."

"Wh-what?"

"Tess Haviland's claimed she found a human skeleton buried in the cellar."

Blood pounded in her head. The room spun. Richard, more gentle than she'd ever seen him, took both her hands. She thought she might vomit. "What are you talking about?"

"It's ridiculous. Paul Alvarez said so himself. They didn't find anything, but he wanted you to know, in case this woman is up to something."

"What could she be up to?"

"Nothing, I'm sure. That's how the police think, that's all."

"Ike thought the world of her-"

"I know, I know. It all must have been her imagination. Let's go to bed, shall we? Get rid of that headache of yours, once and for all?"

"Oh, Richard. I love you, do you know that? You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Her eyes filled with tears, and she felt drunk, stupid, even after a few sips of scotch. "Will you make love to me tonight?"

"Of course, darling."

She giggled. "'Darling.' That's so retro."

But he took her by both hands, lifted her to her feet and led her upstairs.

After he made love to his wife, Richard put on his bathrobe and stood in the shaft of moonlight slanting in the windows overlooking her gardens. The poodles were asleep on the white chaise longue. He could have opened a window screen and pitched them out, one by one.

Sex had steadied him. Centered him. He could think now.

Lauren had fallen asleep. She'd clawed at him, almost drawing blood. They'd never had such raw, unrestrained sex. She'd been uninhibited, almost wanton. He'd responded in kind, exulting in the effect he was having on her. Instead of her usual ladylike shudder when she came, she'd screamed and thrashed.

He could handle Lauren.

It was Tess Haviland who worried him.