Ten

They waited in the parlor for morning to arrive. June settled in an armchair—the same one Monty had occupied—and stared at the fire. She offered no denials, made no excuses. Cormac and Glyn waited more restlessly. Every now and then Glyn paced to the window, peering out, watching for both the sun and the police, as if they were in a race. Cormac fed more logs to the fire, keeping the flames going. Its light and warmth seemed important.

This was the tableau that greeted the others when they arrived in the parlor, shortly after dawn. Frannie was first, the smell of fresh coffee wafting out from the kitchen with her. Cormac's mouth watered, and his shoulders finally started to unclench. A cup of coffee sounded like salvation right now.

She pulled up short at the doorway to the dining room, with a startled gasp. "Oh! I didn't expect anyone—"

The bleary-eyed expressions looking back at her must have been stark. She seemed to consider the implications, and then froze.

"If it isn't too much trouble, I'll have some of that coffee as soon as it's ready," Glyn said softly.

"I... I'll bring out a tray." She fled back to the kitchen.

The others followed soon enough, and Cormac wondered if anyone had really managed any sleep. Beck gave a startled gasp when she saw them.

"We picked the locks, if you're wondering," Glyn said casually.

"Oh. I mean... what do you mean?" She wasn't selling the pretended ignorance very hard. She crossed her arms. "I just knew you both would wander and get yourselves in trouble. But what—"

"The mystery is solved," Glyn said, just as Vane and Lora came down.

They stared at June. Of them all, Beck regarded her with something like pity.

By the time the morning sun blazed over the treetops, turning the snow-covered world into blinding crystal under a searing blue sky, a big commercial pickup truck with a wide plow blade attached to the front muscled its way up the drive, and a sheriff department SUV crawled along behind it. The cavalry.

Glyn waited to deliver the full explanation, how all the bits and pieces fit together, until the sheriff and his deputy were settled in the parlor with cups of coffee. Cormac was happy to let him do the talking.

June Connor knew Monty had gone as far as drawing up divorce papers. She didn't know he'd brought them with him, and she hadn't known about his argument with Beck until she overheard them in the hallway. Everyone had heard that, apparently. Part of why Monty had accepted Beck's invitation was to use the time here to convince her not to sue him over the mineral rights, which he had, in fact, known about before convincing Jim Anderson to sell. If she agreed, she could keep the house. June realized then that time was against her, and Monty would force their separation sooner rather than later. Their folksy music act had been on the downswing for years. Bookings had just about dried up, and Monty refused to use the internet to revitalize their career. She was tired of the clichés and the down-home shtick, of supporting all his talent by sacrificing her own. He thought he could get someone younger—more attractive, a better draw—to take her place. She had suppressed her fury at this, until she couldn't any longer.

June had confronted Monty in the kitchen, where he'd gone looking for food. He had insomnia. She'd known to find him there.

Glyn said, "My guess is you didn't plan it. But the knife was right there. Just like with the fireplace poker, hm? You confronted him, and he laughed. Brushed you off as if all those years of your partnership meant nothing. Perhaps you only meant to scare him, and then..." He spread his hands, presenting the obvious picture.

"He didn't make a sound," June murmured. "He was so surprised."

The sheriff turned to June. "Ma'am, is this right? Anything else you want to add?"

"I would like to call my lawyer," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, she chuckled harshly. "Monty's lawyer, I mean. Everything I have belonged to him, really, didn't it?"

The strange, grinding tension of the last day and a half lingered, like mist after a rain. More calls were made, the coroner was on the way, and the sheriff took possession of the memory card from Lora's camera. Then they took June away, into the blinding morning sun.

The whole thing was a domestic tragedy that would have seemed ludicrous if they hadn't been in the middle of it.

The cold spell broke that morning, and the snow started melting, sending a rain of drips off the roof. The truck with the plow shoved the bulk of the drifts to the edge of the drive. Cormac went out with a shovel to help clear the cars. Purely a selfish gesture. The sooner the snow was cleared the sooner he could leave. And the coroner's van needed a path to get to the outbuilding. Cormac and Glyn were the only ones who watched them carry out the gurney, the closed body bag secured to it.

"Someone ought to bear witness," Glyn said. "Don't know that it matters. But... here we are."

"Yeah."

The van doors closed, the sound echoing. Some snow fell off the branch of a nearby pine tree.

"I owe you an apology, of course." Glyn glanced at him sidelong. "I really did imagine a scenario where Beck hired an assassin to remove the obstacle to her financial well-being."

"That wasn't a pro hit," Cormac said bluntly, even as he knew the statement didn't paint him in any better light.

"There is that."

"You going to get a new book out of this?"

Glyn smiled. "People always ask that."

"Has this happened to you before? Does this happen to you a lot?"

Glyn rubbed his arms in a dramatic show of keeping warm. "It's getting chilly out here. I think I need to pour myself some of that new pot of coffee Frannie put on." He went back up the porch and to the kitchen door.

Cormac blew out a breath that fogged around him.

Beck was the only one who saw him off, standing on the porch amid the sound of dripping snowmelt. Maybe Cormac should have said goodbye to the others. Amelia wouldn't have minded talking more with Vane. But, well... if any of them wanted to talk to him, they could ask Beck to get in touch.

"I don't know if it still matters," Cormac told her. "But the house really is haunted. Focused on that back porch, outside the kitchen door." He and Amelia had considered whether to tell her the true story, that Tobias had been locked out and froze to death, rather than dying in the more thrilling shootout. They decided not to. Let her keep the old family story.

"Well, that's something I suppose," Beck said with a sigh. "I'm sorry this didn't turn out to be much of a relaxing weekend. But... I appreciate you being here." She handed him an envelope with cash. His father's traditional method of getting paid. Cormac accepted with a thin smile and slipped the envelope inside his jacket pocket. "You drive safe now, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Beck went back inside, to the warmth and shelter of the house.

Cormac sat in the Jeep for a moment, letting the heat run. Wright House was an impressive mansion, lurking against its mountain backdrop. The windows reflected the blue sky and glared down like eyes. Cormac repressed a shiver. The house seemed to exude a chill. Maybe it would feel different in the summer.

"Any reason to stick around?" he asked his partner.

No. It's well past time for us to be away from all this.

Carefully, avoiding spinning out in the ice and slush, he steered the Jeep out of the drive and on to the road. He didn't breathe easy until the house was out of sight.

We never got our holiday, Amelia thought wistfully. We didn't even get to sleep in.

She was right. He was suddenly exhausted. Maybe they did need a vacation.

"We can stop at a hotel on the way home. Someplace with room service."

That isn't at all the least bit haunted.

"Agreed."