Dolly covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming in surprised delight. Tippy Tail, who looked generally annoyed with motherhood, climbed out of the box and ate some of the food in her new dish.
"Can I pet them?" Dolly asked.
"Carefully."
She knelt beside the box and gently petted each of the squirming kittens, totally absorbed in what she was doing. "I forgot to tell Tess that we moved the kittens," Andrew said. "I should go over there. Do you want to go back to Harl's shop or play up in your tree house?"
"Can I bring the kittens up to my tree house?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
She nodded sagely. "They might fall. There's no glass in my new window."
"Dolly, we're not putting glass in your window."
Harl was taking a break in the shade, and Dolly opted for the tree house. Andrew took the long way around the lilacs. The air was still and very warm, the lilac blossoms drooping, fading fast. He'd let them grow wild, creating an impenetrable hedge between his property and the carriage house. It wasn't just because of Jedidiah and ghosts. It was because of Ike, too. Andrew had moved on with his life and didn't blame Ike Grantham for Joanna's death, but that didn't mean he had to like the guy or want him living next door.
Tess, however, was another matter.
She was out on the kitchen steps with her new mop. "I should have gotten an old-fashioned rag mop instead of this sponge thing." She spoke without looking at him, a coolness to her tone. "The floors'll tear it up."
"Harl and I moved the kittens," Andrew said.
"I figured as much."
"I didn't think to tell you. We thought it best under the circumstances-"
"Yes, with the new neighbor finding skeletons in her cellar, I would, too. I understand."
She did, he thought, but that didn't mean she liked it. He eased around the back of her car and stood at the bottom of the steps. She was a physically fit woman, he realized, with a flat stomach, strong legs. He could see her charging over the rocks, racing into the ocean on a hot summer day.
"Tess-"
"You couldn't have Dolly sneaking over here to see the kittens on her own, not until we know it's safe. Even then. No one's here a lot of the time." She sighed and leaned the mop against the house, then walked down the steps. She raked a hand through her hair and squinted back at the carriage house. "What was I thinking, taking this place?"
"You tell me," Andrew said quietly.
She sighed again, more resigned. "Ike made me jump the gun on my dream of owning a place up here. I wasn't ready. That's what he does, I think- pushes people to do what they really want to do, whether or not they're ready."
"Call a Realtor. Put up a For Sale sign."
"Sure. Before or after the police find out Ike's not hiking the Australian Outback and bring in forensics to comb through the carriage house cellar?" She had her hands on her hips and was turned toward the carriage house, eyes still squinted, cheeks flushed from the heat and exertion. He could see where her shirt had stuck to her back. "It was Ike. Damn it, we both know it was Ike."
"Tess-"
She swung around at him. "He was murdered."
"You can't stay here tonight." Andrew stood close to her, feeling her intensity. "You can't go back to your apartment, not alone. Stay at my place. Stay with your father."
"I haven't done anything."
"You found a dead body that wasn't meant to be found."
"Ghosts," she whispered. "I wish it had been ghosts."
"So do I."
The air went out of her, and her shoulders sagged, but only for a moment. She shot him a quick, brave smile. "You'll make dinner?"
"I'll even open a bottle of wine."
"Good," she said, rallying. "I hate making dinner after I've been mopping floors. And you forgot Tippy Tail's litter box. Trust me, Thorne, that's something you want."
"I think it was your brother-in-law in that cellar."
Richard listened to Jeremy Carver with outward calm, but inside, he wanted to vomit. He couldn't, not here in his own office. The North Atlantic Center for Strategic Studies occupied an attractive, low-key restored Victorian house in a pleasant section of Gloucester. Rumor had it a Thorne used to live here. Maybe that was his problem, Richard thought. He was haunted by Thornes.
"The police are investigating," Richard said. "Don't you think it's premature to jump to conclusions?"
"You're paid to follow the facts. I'm paid to jump to conclusions." Carver was standing, pretending to study the framed photographs on Richard's wall. They were all of the seacoast, none of himself. "I've learned to trust my instincts. So has Senator Bowler."
"What are you going to do when we find Ike kayaking in Tahiti?"
"Nothing."
"My appointment's finished, then. You're bailing."
"You're a brilliant man, Dr. Montague. You'll continue to do good work here, maybe more important work than if you moved to Washington."
"It's the media," Richard said, hating the croak in his voice. "You're bailing because reporters have been asking questions."
Carver turned to him, shaking his head profoundly. "No, Doctor, I'm bailing because Tess Haviland found a goddamn dead body in her cellar, and I think it's Ike, you think it's Ike, and your wife no doubt thinks it's Ike-and you're not doing a damn thing about it. You haven't done a damn thing since Ike disappeared."
Richard could feel the blood draining from his face. "Are you suggesting we had something to do with his disappearance?"
"I'm saying I think you're a couple of weird ducks. Let's leave it at that. I've asked around about your brother-in-law. He sounds like a flaming asshole. I can see you might not want to know where he is, but it's been more than a year."
"The police are investigating-"
"Now they are. Why not six months ago?"
Richard didn't answer.
Jeremy Carver stepped closer to him. "I'll tell you why-no Tess Haviland, no skeleton in the cellar. That's why."
"She's a troublemaker."
"I don't think so. I've checked her out-so have you. Your crazy brother-in-law gave her a carriage house, and she's just figuring out what to do with it."
"Washington needs my expertise."
"It might, but Senator Bowler doesn't."
Carver left.
The door caught in a gust of wind from Richard's open window and banged shut. He jumped, as if the lid of his coffin had slammed down with him still alive, still determined to make a difference in the world.
Tess Haviland…goddamn you…
But there was time yet. Jeremy Carver was playing hardball with him, assuming Richard couldn't compete. But he could. He'd spent his entire adult life studying terrorism and the men and women who played that particular game. He had something to contribute. His work was vital to the country.
"You're a sniveling nerd, Richie. Admit it."
Ike.
God, he hated him. His only regret now was that Ike hadn't known how he'd tripped down the carriage house stairs. He hadn't seen who was responsible.
But at least he'd seen death coming.
That was something.
Twenty-Two
Tess mopped up a mouse skeleton in a corner by the avocado refrigerator.
It almost did her in.
She was debating throwing the mop in the trash when her father called on her cell phone. "I just got off the phone with some jackass reporter from up your way. He wanted to know if you're nuts."
"What did you say?"
"I said you're an artist." But he barked out the words without humor, and she knew he was offended by the reporter's question. And worried. "He wants an angle on this skeleton thing."
Tess rinsed the mop out in the sink. The mouse skeleton basically dissolved and went down the drain, but she shuddered. She'd have to scour the sink next.