“If you say so.” He brushed her hair back, then indulged himself with a nuzzle of her neck. “How’d your day go?”
“I was restless and distracted, but I finished some work. And I was interrupted by a lost hiker—a photographer. I don’t understand why people don’t respect boundary lines. There’s so much land here open to the public, there’s no need to come onto private property.”
“Grass is always greener. He came to the house?”
“Yes. He set off the alarm, and I saw him on the monitor. He dropped and broke his compass, and apparently saw the cabin through his binoculars.”
Brooks paused in the act of pouring their wine. “Binoculars?”
She checked the chicken. “Yes. I wondered if he’d seen the camera through them, but apparently he was looking for his way, or some help. I went outside, around the greenhouse, so I could come up behind him.”
“You went out, when some strange guy was coming to the house?”
“I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time, remember? He was alone. I had my gun and Bert. He knocked, called out. And he was very disconcerted when I stepped out, with the gun.”
Brooks finished pouring the wine, took a long swallow. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“I didn’t mind frightening him. He shouldn’t have come onto posted property. I questioned him briefly, then directed him to where, if he told me accurately, he’d left his car. He left quickly.”
“An armed woman with a big dog? He’d’ve been a fool not to. What was he doing out here?”
“Photography. He said his name was Roland Babbett, and he was staying at the Conroys’ hotel.”
“That’s easy enough to check on.” Brooks dug out his cell phone. “What did he look like?”
“Mid-thirties. Between five-ten and five-eleven, about a hundred and seventy pounds. Medium complexion, light brown hair, brown eyes, prominent chin. He wore a brown cap with the Greenpeace logo, a black T-shirt with the name of the band R.E.M., khaki cargo shorts and hiking boots. He had a navy backpack, and a Nikon camera on a strap. The strap had multicolored peace signs on it.”
“Yeah, you would’ve made a good cop,” Brooks replied. “I saw him at the diner earlier today. Cherry pie à la mode.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Just curious. What time did he come here?”
“The alarm sounded at four-eighteen.”
“Yeah, that’s curious. I see him at the diner in town going onto four o’clock. Less than a half-hour later, he’s out here.”
Her hand tightened on the stem of her glass. “You think they’ve found me.”
“Honey, did he look like Russian Mafia? And would it be their style to have some guy poking around up in your woods?”
“No.” Her shoulders relaxed. “He wasn’t armed. At least he wasn’t wearing a weapon. The Volkovs wouldn’t send a single unarmed man.”
“I think that’s a pretty safe bet.” But he intended to be thorough, and punched in a number on his cell. “Hey, Darla, how’s it going? Uh-huh. Those spring colds can hit hard. You get some rest. Yeah, it’s that time of year, all right. Listen, do you have a guest name of Roland Babbett registered? No problem. Uh-huh, hmmm. It takes all kinds, doesn’t it? Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes at Abigail. “Yeah, Roland Babbett. What room’s he in? Now, Darla, I’m not just anybody asking. I’m the chief of police. I’m just following up on something. You know I can call Russ and ask. Uh-huh. Is that so? Mmm-hmm. No, no trouble, just a routine thing. You take care of that cold, now, you hear? Bye.”
He picked up the wine again. “Darla tends to run on a bit. He’s there, all right. Took a room—requested it— right down the hall from the Ozarks Suite.”
“The one Justin Blake and his friends vandalized?”
“That would be right. Now, isn’t it curious how I saw this Babbett in town, and he comes here, got a camera and binoculars, and he’s staying down from that particular suite?”
“It could be a coincidence, but it feels designed.”
“Designed is a good word for it. Designed by Blake.” Leaning a hip on the counter, he picked up his wine. “What do you bet if I scratched the surface some, I’d find out Roland Babbett is a high-priced private investigator?”
“I think I’d win the bet. He did see the camera, and he thought very quickly, pretending to be lost.” Duping her, she thought, with considerable annoyance. “But I don’t see what he gained by coming here.”
“A little legwork. Check out your setup here, get a feel. He had some luck today, spotting one of your cameras, using it to his advantage to make contact. I don’t doubt the reception gave him a bad moment, but all in all, it worked for him. He had a conversation, a close-up look. Same thing earlier when I happened to go in for some coffee when he was in the diner. He got to sit there, eating his pie, and get a good look, and … shit.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I bet his ears were trained, too. I bet he caught damn near every word of my conversation with Sylbie. Which I wasn’t going to bring up,” he added, when Abigail said nothing. “And now it occurs to me that was the wrong way, because, I guess, it was an important conversation. And you were part of it.”
“You talked about me, with her?”
“And that tone, that look in your eye, was why I wasn’t going to mention it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She turned away to put the green beans she’d bought earlier in the week and had already prepped on the stove to steam. “I don’t have a tone.”
“You could cut brick with it. Not that I mind.” He didn’t bother to hide the grin when he gave her a friendly poke at the base of the spine. “It’s sort of flattering.”
“I wouldn’t be flattered. I don’t care to have you talk about me with your former … connection.”
“Connect is what Sylbie and me never really did. She came in while I was having coffee, and she sat down. Partly to apologize for that, we’ll say unfortunate, incident back in March. The other was to ask a question. She wanted to know why you and not her.”
Considering, Abigail took the chicken off the heat. “It’s a legitimate question, from her point of view. That’s what you’d think. From mine, it’s both awkward and annoying. A woman who looks like she does would be used to having anyone she wants, and wouldn’t see me, fairly enough, in that same light. However true that might be, it’s still annoying. You’re flattered because I’m annoyed, and that only annoys me more.”
“Before you move to downright pissed, don’t you want to know what I told her?”
“It’s none of my business what you said in a private conversation.” She got out plates, set them down sharply. “Yes, I want to know.”
“I told her that when I’m with you, it feels right. It feels like where I’m supposed to be. It all makes sense. I said I didn’t know why one person falls in love with another, just that they do.”
She turned back, eyes on his. “You told her you loved me.”
“I did, because I do.”
“I’m less annoyed.”
“Good. Heading in the right direction. I didn’t want to have the conversation with her, but after I had, I realized it was a good one. I think we understand each other better than we ever did, and that’ll make it easier for both of us.”
“It would be easier for me if she weren’t so physically gifted. And that’s petty. I don’t like being petty and shallow.”
“As I grew up with two sisters, I can safely say odds are strong she’s thinking the same about you. But my point is this Roland Babbett got himself an earful.”
“None of it’s applicable to the charges against Justin Blake, if indeed Babbett is a private investigator working for Justin’s father.”
“No, but it’s fuel. Just like you carrying a gun and having high-class security is fuel. How well will those bona fides of yours hold up?”
“My documents and available history will stand up to a standard police run. There would be no reason to question them.”
“A PI’s not a cop,” Brooks pointed out.
“I believe they’ll hold up to a rigorous check. I’ve never had any trouble.”
