The Cabin by Carla Neggers

knew it wouldn’t last.
    There was already talk of more snow that weekend, but
    not before she and the girls were on their way to the
    mountains. Gran was leaning toward joining them. The

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    revelation that her new friend was an ex-convict Su-
    sanna’s husband had put in prison didn’t sit well with her.
    “I feel like an old fool,” she’d told Susanna the pre-
    vious night.
    “Don’t, Gran. Alice has been here for weeks, and
    none of us had any idea. Come up to the mountains with
    us. The change of scenery will do us all some good.”
    Iris admitted it probably would, but her ambivalence
    about the trip surprised Susanna. She was beginning to
    wonder if there was more to Gran’s past on Blackwater
    Lake than she’d ever let on. Going back was obviously
    harder for her than Susanna had anticipated, not the ad-
    venture she’d wanted it to be.
    She’d sell the cabin and never set foot near Black-
    water Lake again if that was what Gran wanted.
    Maggie and Ellen had taken the news about Alice in
    stride, much more so than Susanna had. They had grown
    up with a Texas Ranger as their father and were deter-
    mined not to overreact now that his work had spilled
    over into their lives.
    When they found out their mother had left him a
    message on his voice mail, they saw right through her.
    Maggie had grinned. “Gee, Mom, why don’t you just
    poke him with a sharp stick?”
    Ellen was appalled. “I don’t know, Mom, you might
    have really stepped in it this time. You haven’t seen Dad
    in a while. You don’t know what he’s like these days.”
    “Ellen’s right,” Maggie said. “He’s a lot edgier.”
    But Susanna didn’t need her daughters telling her
    what her husband was like. She knew. Edgier or not, he
    wouldn’t take well to her midnight voice mail—he’d

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    Carla Neggers
    take even less well to Alice Parker cozying up to Gran
    and the girls. He would see dire motives, conspiracies,
    all the awful, deadly, nasty possibilities, because that
    was his training and his nature.
    No, she thought, because that was what circum-
    stances would lead anyone to think. She was thinking
    the same thing, and she hated it. If nothing else, it meant
    that fleeing to Boston with her daughters hadn’t made
    her safe—Alice Parker was here.
    She’d tossed and turned most of last night, consid-
    ering the same motives, conspiracies and possibilities
    Jack would—and maybe then some. She didn’t care
    what Alice said, or how small and cute she was with her
    newly dyed hair and feminine look. The woman had no
    business showing up in Somerville.
    Susanna dumped the last of her coffee and ducked
    into an upscale sporting goods store. She hoped when
    they all returned from their week in the Adirondacks,
    they’d discover Alice Parker had moved on.
    She debated buying snowshoe poles for a few min-
    utes, then gave up and headed back to her office. She
    enjoyed the walk through the crowded marketplace,
    through Government Center and onto Beacon Street,
    heading up toward Boston Common and the gold-
    domed Massachusetts State House.
    Despite the longer days and moderating tempera-
    tures, it was still very much winter. She wore her black
    cashmere coat, black gloves and boots, but, because of
    Jim Haviland and Davey Ahearn’s comments about the
    Wicked Witch of the East, she’d bought herself a deep
    scarlet scarf. She was unapologetic about her black gab-

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    ardine wool pantsuit. She was a professional in a con-
    servative business—people trusted her with their
    money. She couldn’t wear bangles and tight little pas-
    tel sweaters like Alice Parker.
    She paused at a store window, pulling her scarf over
    her head as a sharp gust of wind hit her. She glanced up
    the street out of the corner of her eye, and her breath
    caught. She spun around, convinced she’d made a mis-
    take, but she hadn’t.

Jack stood at the entrance to her nineteenth-century
    building with his hand on the head of