Hard Evidence (5 page)

Just a camper, more likely. Someone who wanted to enjoy nature all alone.

Snorting in disgust at his initial fear, Ian made his way to the pool of water and peered into its dark and mysterious depths, imagining the wild prehistoric creatures that could be living down there.

On the other side, something glinted in a thin shaft of sunlight.

Curious, he scrambled over the rocks to where the stranger had been. He searched the thick bed of pine needles, his frustration rising. There was nothing, except a crumpled ball of aluminum foil. No exciting treasures, after all. The jerk had simply been eating his lunch, probably, then dropped the foil on the ground.

Disappointed, Ian turned to leave, picking up the foil as an afterthought. His fingers disturbed a thin layer of pine needles and brushed against something cold.

It was a pocket knife. He grinned and lifted it for inspection. The case was heavily tarnished, but it was still pretty cool—three blades, plus a corkscrew and all sorts of tools on the opposite side. He looked around, ready to shout after the man who’d left. But there was absolute silence, except for the rush of the waterfall. Not a leaf stirred.

A bone-deep chill worked its way down his spine as he took in the menacing shadows of trees that seemed to press in on him from every side. The darkening clouds that were barely visible over the heavy canopy of branches overhead. A twig snapped…then another.

Suddenly he knew—without a shred of doubt—that staying here a minute longer would be a terrible mistake.

Ignoring the leg muscles that screamed in protest, he pivoted and started running—raced over the tumble of rocks around the pool and fled down the path, slipping and sliding on loose pebbles and pine needles until his lungs were raw and aching and the cabins finally came into view. He collapsed on the steps of the first one he reached, his heart pounding and muscles quivering.

Had he heard a harsh curse the moment he’d started to run? Had there been someone just behind him? Maybe it had all just been his imagination, born of too many Stephen King books read late at night.

Then he uncurled his fingers and stared at the knife in his palm. He hadn’t thought to drop it. Maybe the owner was the guy he’d seen—and would follow him here, irate and accusing Ian of theft. If he told Dad…

Ian’s stomach lurched.

He absently rubbed at the drab, outside case of the knife, wondering what to say. A sharp beam of sunlight lasered up into his face from the spot he’d just cleaned, where the metal now gleamed like molten silver.

Holding his breath, he carefully snagged one of the blades open with the edge of a fingernail.

Though the case might be real silver, the blade was badly rusted, and flakes of brownish residue blew away on the cool breeze. Disappointment washed through him. It was just a stupid old knife—probably lost for years and years—though at least he didn’t have to worry about that creepy guy coming after it.

Disgusted, he nearly dropped it to the ground…but then had a sudden thought.

Who knew? There were faint initials on it—not clear enough to read. But maybe it had belonged to a fur trapper. Or even an explorer. If it was
really
old, maybe he could try selling it on eBay.

His spirits lifting, he shoved it deep in his jeans pocket and sauntered down to Cabin Five.

Dad still might be mad about him going off on a hike, though, so he wouldn’t say anything about it just yet.

After all, what could be the harm in that?

M
ichael parked his patrol car in the shade of several towering pines by the lodge and sauntered up the walk. Just as he’d expected, Ian was slumped in a porch swing at the far end of the porch. Alone, and appearing completely bored.

The boy didn’t even bother to look up when Michael dropped into a weathered wicker chair next to the swing. “So…did you have any fun today?”

Ian angled a brief look at him that suggested Michael was insane, then silently slouched even lower.

“Play video games?”

Silence.

“Watch any movies?”

No answer.

“Read?”

He
wanted
to ask if Ian had pulled out the new charcoals and sketch pads Michael had casually left in his room after work on Thursday, but knew it was a dangerous topic to broach.

The physical therapists back home had worked with Ian for months, trying to bring back some of his old dexterity. Encouraging him to begin drawing again, however laborious.

After a few awkward attempts, Ian had thrown the art materials against the wall in a rage, and with them, every hope of regaining his artistic gifts.

Before, he’d fought his pain, pushing himself to the limit in therapy to regain his strength and agility. But since that failure, he’d fallen into a dark and moody place where attempts to reach him were often met with surly defiance.

Michael tried another tack. “So, did you check with Janna about horseback riding?”

Ian lifted a shoulder.

“Janna said you could ride Frosty around here, if you’d like.” He found it easier to interrogate a suspect than to initiate a conversation with his son when Ian wasn’t in the mood, and the good times were few and far between these days. “Didn’t she say her sister would be back from a pack trip on Saturday? We’ll have to go on some long trail rides.”

A faint tinge of pink rose in the boy’s face. “Whatever.”

Realization dawned, too late. “You know, we wouldn’t go far—just an hour or so. If you were comfortable, then we’d go a lot longer the next—”

“Don’t treat me like some cripple,” Ian snarled. He vaulted awkwardly out of the porch swing, staggered at the sudden weight thrust onto his bad leg and caught himself against the porch railing. “Just leave me
alone
.”

Michael automatically launched forward to help him, then froze, knowing it would only make matters worse if he interfered. “Ian—”

“No, Dad,” Ian bit out. “I don’t need your help.”

He straightened, squared his shoulders and managed to affect a casual saunter the length of the porch, then disappeared into the lodge, letting the screen door swing shut behind him with a resounding
smack.

Michael rubbed his face, then leaned forward and rested his forehead against his palm as guilt, coupled with a deep sense of failure, settled in his midsection.

The screen door squealed, and he looked up to find Janna approaching with two tall glasses.

She walked to the end of the porch and handed him one, then leaned a hip against the porch and saluted him with the other. “You look like a man who could use a good, stiff iced tea.”

“You overheard?”

“No, but I saw him stomp through the lobby and go up to his room. He looked upset.” She tilted her head toward the windows looking out onto the porch. “And then I noticed you were out here.”

“Just another successful conversation,” he said wearily. He took a long, slow swallow of tea. “One of many that have ended exactly the same way.”

“It has to be tough.”

“The poor kid’s life totally changed the day of the accident. He’s been through more surgeries and more pain than anyone should have to bear.”

“And it has to be awfully tough on you, too.”

Surprised, Michael looked up and found her eyes warm and understanding. “I’m not the one who got hurt.”

“But I know you feel every bit of his pain, and that it has to be tough dealing with his emotional issues.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I remember all too well how stormy teen years can be. Coupled with everything else, well…I know it can’t be easy. I think you’re doing a great job with him.”

Her words bit deep. “Tell that to his grandparents.”

“Are they…quite involved?”

“You mean overbearing?” He closed his eyes briefly against the memory of their most recent visit. “No. They mean well. They’re good people. If they could, they’d wrap him in cotton wool and never let him out of their sight. Since Elise died…well, Ian is all they have of her now.”

Janna drew in a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“My wife and I separated three years ago. I tried to reconcile many times, but…” He hesitated, wanting to honor her memory despite the fact that she’d certainly never honored her own marriage vows. “She wanted more in life than to be the wife of a homicide detective, and I suppose I can’t blame her for that.”

Janna rubbed at the condensation on her glass with a thumb. “Poor Ian…and you, too. How did she die?”

He’d known the question would come up, sooner or later, but as many times as he’d had to answer it, he still felt his throat thicken and his heart wrench over what Ian would have to carry for the rest of his life.

“The car accident.”

“Oh, no…” Janna’s eyes widened. “Not with your son.”

“He was at the wheel. A drunk driver crossed the median and hit them head-on. The other driver and Elise died instantly. Ian was in a coma for several days—a blessing in some ways, I guess.”

“In some ways?”

“He remembers nothing about the horrific details of the accident…doesn’t have to live with the memory of seeing his mother at the scene.” Michael swallowed. “On the other hand, he refuses to believe that he couldn’t have avoided the abrupt, erratic action of the other driver.”

“That poor boy,” Janna breathed, her face etched with sorrow. She reached out to take Michael’s hand, the warm and gentle touch conveying her compassion. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“The irony is that it wasn’t Ian’s fault—it was mine.” The pain was always there—despite prayers for forgiveness, and countless prayers for the ability to let go of the past. Even now that pain tightened like a vise around his heart. “Elise and I did not agree on much, including what was best for Ian. I thought she was too controlling. She thought I let him do too much. When she said she didn’t want him to drive, I figured she was just being difficult about that, too. What boy doesn’t count the days until he can get his permit? So I insisted that she let him…and then I bought him a car.”

“Oh, Michael.” Janna’s voice filled with sympathy. “Most kids learn to drive, but nothing like this happens to them. The accident was not your fault.”

“There you’re wrong. Because I was stubborn, Ian’s mom and the other driver died. And my son will live with guilt for the rest of his life.”

“Obnoxious boy. If that boy was mine, he would’ve learned a thing or two about manners and respect by now.” Claire stood in the door of Cabin Five, her arms folded across her chest. Her gaze was fixed on Janna, and from the glint in her eye, Janna guessed her mother was recalling some of their more memorable arguments during Janna’s teen years.

Exasperated, Janna said her fourth silent prayer for patience since breakfast. “He’s had troubles in his life, Mom. He needs love and understanding.”

“What he needs is a firm hand to the backside. You haven’t heard him talk back to his dad? That’s what I would’ve done.”

“Hmm.” Janna made a vague gesture with her hand but kept polishing a grimy window, knowing that any argument would just release the floodgates for more complaints.

Two down, five windows to go, and then she could start hanging some cheerful gingham curtains. After hours of work, she felt true satisfaction at seeing the place begin to sparkle.
Concentrate on the positive
, she reminded herself.

Claire took a step into the entryway and planted her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t worry too much about turning this place into a palace—maybe he and his dad will move on.”

Janna laughed. “This will never be a palace, Mom. It’s a very rustic cabin. But it has to be clean and comfortable, and when the Robertsons move out of the lodge, you won’t have to see them as much.”

“Humph.”
Claire ran a finger along the top of the refrigerator and inspected it for grime. “You didn’t clean this.”

Janna sighed. “It has to be replaced, actually. I found a nice used one in the want ads. It’ll be delivered later today along with a newer stove.”

“Too much money. Way too much money you’re putting into this foolish idea. You never did have any business sense—not with that nose of yours in those books all the time. Now Tessa—she knew how to put in a hard day’s work.” Claire’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “A good gal, my Tessa.”

Janna fought the urge to knock her forehead against the wall in sheer frustration. “Yes, she is. And she’s coming over this morning, remember? She said she’d take you back to the home place for the day, if you’d like to go.”

Confusion and fear clouded Claire’s eyes, followed by the inevitable flash of anger. “You didn’t tell me that,” she snapped. “Why not?”

Tessa had talked to Claire on the phone yesterday, but reminding her would probably just upset her more. “I’m sorry…I must have forgotten,” Janna said gently. “Do you want to go?”

“Of course I do. That’s where I should be, after all. I don’t belong here.”

“You’ll be going just for the afternoon, Mom. Tessa is gone for weeks at a time on her pack trips, and she’s also busy with the livestock, so you wouldn’t have any company if you lived there. Maybe next winter, when things slow down for her…”

Claire’s eyes sparked with fire at the reminder. “I was born in that house and so were you girls. I lived there for seventy-two years, and I hardly need
company
watching over me.”

Unable to come up with a tactful answer to that, Janna finished polishing the window, then put the plastic bucket of cleaning supplies on the kitchen table.

Given Claire’s declining health, the best options had been to consider supervised residential care, find an in-home caretaker, or have her live with a daughter who could watch over her consistently. As always, the three sisters had vehemently disagreed, but in the end they’d finally come to a consensus.

With Tessa’s schedule and Leigh not moving back to the area until later in the year, Janna had been the best option. Unfortunately, she and Claire had always shared the stormiest mother-daughter relationship.

At the sound of truck tires crunching up the lane, she breathed a sigh of relief. “I think that’s Tessa now.”

Instantly Claire’s face transformed. Without a word, she pivoted and strode out of the cabin.

“I love you, too, Mom,” Janna whispered softly as she took a last look around the cabin, then shut the door and followed Claire up to the lodge.

Tessa leaned against her truck, her McAllister strawberry-blond hair pulled through the back of a ball cap in a long ponytail, her T-shirt revealing sun-bronzed, well-toned arms. The pair of leather gloves hanging out of the back pocket of her worn jeans suggested that she’d just finished working a horse or fixing fence, and that her day was far from finished.

Trim, athletic and strictly no-nonsense about her appearance, Tessa had an air of intelligent competence that Janna had always admired.

Claire went straight for the passenger-side door and climbed in, but Tessa pushed away from the truck and met Janna partway. As usual, she cut straight to the chase without wasting time on pleasantries. “I heard about the trouble here. Why didn’t you call?”

“I thought you were up in the mountains until last night and figured Mom told you when you called her.” Janna glanced at the swing set area by the lodge, where Rylie was in plain sight playing fetch with Maggie. “The DCI was here two days ago, but we might not have any answers for months—possibly even a year.”

“So there’s no identification? No cause of death?”

Janna shook her head. “Wade thinks it could hurt business here, if rumors start to fly.”

“An old skeleton hardly has anything to do with the lodge now.” Tessa snorted. “If anything, it’ll help get the word out about you reopening the place. How’s Mom? Are you two at war yet?”

“I’d hoped things would be different between us now, but they aren’t.” Janna smiled ruefully. “What makes it harder is that she resents being away from the home place on the ranch, and she’s angry at all of us about that. She doesn’t understand it’s safer for her to be here.”

“We expected that.”

“And she’s forgetful, just as you said. We had a customer arrive for the whole summer, and I had no clue that she’d accepted the reservation. Frankly, I don’t think she can be left alone…at least not for more than an afternoon.”

Tessa bristled. “She’s not a child.”

“Her old freedom might have worked back at the ranch, but maybe she’s getting a little worse. She refused to come to town with me once. When I got back, she’d opened a can of soup and let it boil dry on the stove. And,” Janna added at Tessa’s frown, “I’d made her a big lunch just before I left.”

“Anyone could make a mistake,” Tessa retorted. “I have, though of course you wouldn’t. You were always perfect.”

Janna took a slow, steadying breath, praying for patience. Years ago, she’d abruptly left the family ranch the night of her high school graduation, after yet another painful confrontation with her mother. Though only two years older than Tessa, Janna had been like a mother figure to her two younger sisters, and they’d surely felt abandoned. She had no illusions about ever being able to bridge the old ravines of hurt and anger without God’s healing. But for Claire’s sake, at least she had to try.

“I’m just saying that I’m worried about her. We all agreed that Mom would never tolerate a live-in caregiver at the home place. That she’d never, ever agree to residential living. It’s fine that she is staying here. I just need to hire an employee, someone who’d be here during the day and who could keep an eye on her—and Riley—if I have to leave for a while.” Janna bit at her lower lip. “Unfortunately, I can’t afford the salary until I have more paying guests.”