“We’re checking,” Scott said curtly.
“Even if there was, it doesn’t mean Lowell filled the lamp with white gas himself, or if he did, that he meant for it to explode. The white gas just could have been a mistake. If the lamp wasn’t in the shed, then either Derek brought it with him, which seems unlikely, or someone put it there. A killer would have to have known Derek would be there and would light the lamp.”
“That sums it up,” Zack said.
Rose kept her gaze on Scott. “Does anyone suspect Derek had anything to do with Lowell’s network of killers? Could he have been targeted by one of them—one who got away?”
Scott watched her closely, expressionless. Zack cleared his throat, as if Rose had suddenly gone too far. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nick calmly cross his arms over his chest and continue to take in the conversation. She had no illusions that he wasn’t paying attention to every word.
“Time to pull back, Rose,” Scott said finally, serious but not surly. “Let us do our jobs. You just be sure you’ve told us everything.”
She couldn’t tell if he suspected she hadn’t. “What about Robert Feehan? Have you all caught up with him, yet?”
Scott sighed but answered her. “Not yet. He hasn’t been in touch with you, has he?”
She shook her head. “I saw him and Brett Griffin going into O’Rourke’s one night a couple of weeks ago. Otherwise I haven’t seen or talked to him in months.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Derek Cutshaw wasn’t with them?”
“No.”
“What were you doing in town?”
“It was cleaning night at the café. I was helping.”
Rose thought she saw a flicker of pain in Scott’s face but whatever it was didn’t last. He would never let his relationship with Beth interfere with his work.
Zack squatted down to pat Ranger. “Hey, fella,” he said, rising as he glanced at Rose. “Did you ever refer ski clients to Cutshaw, Feehan or Griffin?”
“No, never,” Rose said. “Did you?”
“I’d have to know someone who couldn’t ski,” he said good-naturedly. “I have to roll. Tell A.J. to put the coffee and doughnut on my tab.”
“They’re on me,” Rose said.
A.J., Lauren and their two children entered the lodge. Her brother regarded the gathering in the lobby with obvious displeasure. Scott took the hint and followed Zack out. A.J. glanced at Rose, then silently retreated with his family into the office behind the front desk.
“I don’t blame A.J. for being annoyed,” Rose said as Nick stood up straight. He was intense but not, she thought, easily ruffled. “I should have moved us to a less public spot. What are you doing today?”
“I might take a cross-country skiing lesson. You?”
“You aren’t taking a skiing lesson. Never mind. Right now I just want to put yesterday behind me. Black Falls is a safe, quiet little town. Lowell Whittaker bought a house here, and we all suffered the consequences of his warped thinking and violence.”
Nick tilted his head back, studying her with those dark eyes. “What aren’t you telling Trooper Thorne and Zack Harper?”
She pretended she hadn’t heard him and fought an urge to lay her head against his thick, warm sweater and feel his arms around her. But where would that get her?
Nowhere good, she thought, and finished her doughnut. Nick watched her but said nothing as she headed outside, leaving Ranger asleep on the warm hearth.
Zack Harper was waiting for her at the edge of the parking lot. “So what are you holding back, Rose? An affair with Derek Cutshaw or with Nick Martini? You found Cutshaw yesterday. Martini was with you.”
“Nick wasn’t with me. He came on his own.”
“Yeah, to see you. What was that all about?”
“I’ve answered all the questions the police asked me.”
“I’m not a cop, Rose. I’m a friend.”
“I know,” she said quietly, then changed the subject. “Have you talked to Beth lately? How’s she doing in Beverly Hills?”
Zack looked out toward the mountains, the sky cloudless, the air cold. “She called last night. She’s trying to enjoy herself, but it’s hard. First Scott leaves her out there, and now this thing yesterday.”
“Did she and Scott have a fight?”
“All I know is that Scott planned to stay longer and didn’t.” Zack shrugged, his jacket open over a worn sweatshirt. “I liked Beverly Hills just fine, but it’s good to be back.”
“I hope you told Beth to enjoy her break and not worry about us.”
“Pretty much. I suggested she and Hannah go shoe shopping on Rodeo Drive.” He grinned. “Beth’s even cheaper than you are.”
“Ha-ha. How’d she sound?”
“You know Beth. She’ll never let anyone see she’s hurting.”
“Did you see Nick while you were out there?”
“Yeah, briefly,” Zack said. “He didn’t mention he was planning to come to Vermont.”
“Maybe you inspired him.” Rose glanced at her watch. “Lauren and I are meeting out at the sugar shack in a little while. We’re opening it up again. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”
Zack grinned at her. “Sounds like work.”
“It is—more than I thought it’d be. We want to get it done in time for winter fest.”
“Because of Vice President Neal?”
Rose almost winced when he said the name aloud, but she knew it was just agitation and adrenaline on her part. Nothing in the investigation into Lowell Whittaker and his killers suggested the vice president or his family had ever been targeted by them. She relaxed somewhat. “Apparently the Neals love the idea of collecting maple sap and boiling it down. Opening up a historic sugarhouse will help take everyone’s minds off the mess of the past year. A fresh start.”
“I hope so, Rose,” Zack said dubiously.
“I’m sure Jo and her Secret Service friends will go over all our buckets and pans to make sure they’re safe. Bugs and bacteria are my biggest worries.”
“Let me know what I can do to help get things ready.”
“You could help tap trees. Anyway, I should get over there.”
“Sure, Rose. Martini going with you?”
“No idea,” she said. “I’m leaving Ranger by the fire.”
“Golden retriever. California smoke jumper.” Zack shook his head, amused. “Two different animals, Rose.”
She felt another surge of heat, but he was already on his way to his truck.
Eight
F ive minutes later, Rose walked down Ridge Road in the opposite direction she’d taken on her run, checking for tap-worthy maple trees. Ranger loved being out on the ridge and had moved well earlier, but her aging golden retriever could miss this trek.
She turned onto a short, dead-end lane across from a trail up to the falls. It was plowed but just barely. She’d have at most a hundred yards of slogging through snow in her boots to get to the sugar shack through the woods. Lauren would head across the meadow on snowshoes, pulling the kids on a toboggan, and meet her there.
As Rose navigated icy ruts on the lane, she wondered where Nick might be, what he was up to, but knew that would only frustrate her. She’d focus on her routines and her work and let him go about his business.
She paused, noticing the sun was higher in the sky, the early promise of spring. She peered down the steep hill on the side of the lane, past a cluster of white pines, and took note of mature, healthy-looking sugar maples that would be perfect for tapping.
She heard a whooshing sound and spun around, just as Robert Feehan jumped out from behind a hemlock and dropped next to her. His dark hair fell into his face and curled out from under his wool knit hat, hanging almost to his shoulders. He was thin, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept, with shadows under his eyes and a gray cast to his skin. He had on a black ski jacket, wind pants and heavy cold-weather boots but no gloves—they were stuffed in a jacket pocket, despite the temperature.