“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Even if it isn’t ruled a suicide, no one’s likely to accuse me. Still, it’s better if I’m home when the news hits. If you want to just drop me at a car rental—”
“Taking you back. Sticking around a few days.” He glanced at me as he opened the door. “That a problem?”
“Mi casa es tu casa.” When he hesitated, I said, “You’re always welcome at my place, Jack.”
He grunted something and slid into the car as I put the box into the trunk. I got in the passenger’s side. When he started up the car, I put my hand out.
“Can I do some reading on the drive?”
“Too dark.”
“Jack . . .”
“Get some sleep. Long drive. Switch off at the border.”
I sighed, shook my head, and ratcheted my seat back.
Jack’s not one for speeding—at least not too far over the limit. It calls attention to yourself. But when I woke up at the border in Buffalo, it wasn’t yet three in the morning. I was ready to take over, but Jack said no, he was awake, just let him grab a coffee and he’d be fine.
I would have argued, but I was barely conscious. I drifted off under the blaring lights of a Tim Hortons drive-through as he was asking me if I wanted anything. I woke again to more lights, these ones on the 401 as we passed through Toronto. I drank my lukewarm coffee and ate my chocolate-dipped donut. Then I said I had to use the bathroom, but I was really just getting him to pull over so I could insist on switching out. He let me. We were only an hour from home.
Jack didn’t sleep on the rest of the drive. He sat there, quietly gazing out the windshield, until we pulled off the regional highway and onto the back roads.
“Almost six,” he said. “Think you can slip in?”
He meant we should try to make it look as if we’d gotten back hours ago. Like I said, it was unlikely anyone would compare the timelines of my arrival and Aldrich’s suicide, but it was better to establish an alibi.
“I can certainly try. The problem will be Scout. She sleeps in my room and as soon as I get upstairs, she’ll go nuts.”
“I’ll get her. Bring her down.” He paused. “Think she remembers me?”
“You were up a few months ago. She’s a little scatterbrained, but she’s a smart dog. And she’s not big enough to rip your face off yet.” I pulled into the drive. “I’ll park in the rear lot so— Shit! The rental car. Drew Aldrich is about to be found dead in Cleveland, and I come home in a rental with plates from—”
“New York. Got a car with New York plates.”
“Which I never even noticed. Okay. If you can take my bag up and toss it in my room, I’ll head off for a morning jog. You grab a room and some rest.”
He started getting out of the car.
“Oh,” I said. “Since you’ll be resting, I’ll have time to read. Why don’t you give me that journal—”
“Later.”
CHAPTER 13
I was waiting at the boathouse, changed into my jogging outfit, when Jack brought Scout out. I could hear her whining as she pranced about, being remarkably restrained for a six-month-old puppy. Then she caught a whiff of me on the breeze.
By the time Jack reached me, I was on my ass, gasping for breath as I struggled to get out from under sixty pounds of very excited German shepherd.
“Think she missed you,” Jack said.
“No kid—” I made a face as I got an unexpected mouthful of puppy tongue. “Blech. Just a warning—don’t attempt to talk when you’re on her level unless you like French-kissing dogs.”
A soft chuckle. I gave Scout a hug as she whined and danced, then I pushed to my feet.
“Also, if she jumps up, knee her back down. Please. I know it’s cute, but in a few months, it won’t be and we’re really trying to break her of that.”
“Yeah. Getting big.”
“And she has barely begun to grow into her ears and paws, which means she’s got a lot left to go. Apparently, white shepherds get even bigger than black-and-tans.”
“Huh.”
“You didn’t know that when you bought her, did you?”
He shrugged. “Bigger dog. Better protection.”
“No, bigger dog means my bedroom is getting smaller by the day.”
“You talked about getting out of there. Building a proper cabin. Got lots of property. Shouldn’t have the smallest room anyway.” He looked at Scout, who was zooming back and forth now. “We’ll talk about it. Go jog. Need the exercise. Work it off.”
“Me or her?”
“Both,” he said and waved us on our way before heading toward the lodge.
I went for a ten-kilometer jog, which took me through the town of White Rock. Usually, on a weekend, I’ll bypass it. When the weather is still decent, everyone’s up and about early—kids on bikes, folks walking their dogs, homeowners working on their yards. If you’re a local who doesn’t get into town more than once or twice a week, and you try jogging through, you’re guaranteed to get stopped a half dozen times. Today, though, I wanted to be seen. Establishing my alibi a little more.
I didn’t overdo it. For most who tried to stop me, I just waved and smiled. I did pause for a couple—Benny Durant from the real estate office, who had questions about land near the lodge, and Rick Hargrave from the liquor store, telling me he might close shop early in case I needed more beer for my nightly bonfire.
By the time we got back to the lodge, we’d worked up a lather, so we took a dip in the lake. In mid-October, it’s nearly ready for a skin of ice. Refreshing, to say the least.
As I walked up to the lodge, I caught the familiar scents of cinnamon buns and wet grass and wetter dog, and I listened to a woodpecker in the treetops and a clatter in the boathouse, as Owen came out, fishing pole in hand. I waved. He waved back as if it was any other morning and I’d never left. I watched his slightly stooped, white-haired figure trudge down the path to the lake.
I was home. I was me again. Not Dee, part-time Mafia hitman. Not thirteen-year-old Nadia, the girl who’d lost her cousin. Now I was Nadia Stafford, lodge owner. I could say that’s the real me, but no, it’s just the most comfortable part. It doesn’t exist without the others. Still, this is my favorite part of myself and every time I find it, waiting here, it’s like rediscovering a forgotten treasure.
As I neared the porch, Emma came out, her dyed red hair nearly blinding in the morning sun. Scout took off with a happy yelp. Emma saw her coming and zipped behind the door faster than you’d think possible for anyone on a hip-replacement waiting list.
“Don’t you two come in here like that,” she called through the screen. “Wait right where you are. I’ll grab towels.”
I climbed onto the porch as she disappeared into the lodge. I tried the door but found it latched. As I slumped into a Muskoka chair, Scout seconded my sigh and took the one beside me. When Emma came out, she sighed herself as she looked at us.
“Are you trying to give me extra work?” she said. “Getting mud all over that chair?”
“Scout? Down.”
“I didn’t mean her.” Emma tossed us towels. “What are you doing back? You better not have cut your vacation short. I told you we weren’t busy. They changed the forecast, but we still had one cancellation.”
I finished towel-drying my hair and started on Scout. “I stopped by to see John yesterday.” That was the name she knew Jack by—ironic now that I knew it was his real one. “We got to talking about those ATVs he fixed, and I mentioned the snowmobiles. He offered to come up for the weekend and check them out.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
“Is that a problem?”
She gave a small, self-satisfied smile. “Not at all. Your cousin is welcome here anytime he likes.”