“He’s here.”
“He’s dead?”
Krestinski’s focus was on Ingalls. “Frances, I want you to wait
As Ingalls walked to the Stang house, the rest climbed into Hudson’s car. Starting the engine he said over his shoulder to Krestinski who was in the rear seat, “There’s something else in that house besides a dead Sturgis, isn’t there?”
“Maybe.”
It had started to snow.
It was getting dark as they drove down Swallow Hill Road; the trees, faintly sketched through increasing snow and already with a heavy layer of frosting, looked like an old fashioned daguerreotype in the deepening dusk. Dr. Evans had been called as acting coroner; he and helicoptered-in FBI people were now at the Stang house.
Cilla brought out vegetable stew in the kitchen, as Frances arrived, relieved from her post. After hanging her coat, she took John Krestinski into another room to talk. Ten minutes later she came out and went through the living room to the kitchen on the back of the house.
“Anything I can help with?”
“Thanks, no,” said Cilla. “It’s already done, I’m just finishing.”
“I’m real sorry I broke your cup. I don’t know when I’ve been so startled.”
“Have you been with the FBI long?”
“All my life.” She grinned. “Dad planned it from the day I was born. Even to my name.”
“Frances Ingalls?”
“Given Brown as a middle name.”
“He must have been a feminist. I don’t think I’ve met a lady agent before.”
“And black ones have been even rarer.”
“Give you problems on the job?”
“Sure, at first. Things are different now.”
They smiled at each other. Frances leaned against the counter. “I talked with John for a few minutes just now. We don’t feel the danger to you has disappeared with Sturgis’s death.”
“Why not? If the ones who invaded our house realize he’s dead…”
“They won’t. John’s not going to announce it.”
Cilla stared at her.
“Even if we did, it might not make a difference, Cilla. But I told John keeping the news quiet has got to be with your approval. Yet that said, you might be in serious danger in any case.” She took a breath. “You see, it isn’t just about drugs anymore, it’s knowledge of some sort. Something Sturgis could have passed along to his daughter.” She raised her chin, looking at the other’s face. “Your picture was in the Boston newspapers a while ago.”
“When we had the Governors’ Cup, I was in one of the photos taken at Great Haystack. But they didn’t print my name.”
“Exactly, they didn’t identify you. Those looking for Sturgis surely know what his daughter looks like.”
“And thought I was her and came up after me? No way. Once they got here they’d discover I wasn’t a Sturgis.”
“Maybe not the way they’d look at it. How long have you been living here? In Bartlett.”
“Now, four months. But I was brought up here.”
“The last few years you’ve been, what would you say, out of circulation?”
“I’ve been at an ashram in New York State, if that’s what you mean.”
“Not a place with heavy coming and going traffic. Or where a lot of news comes from?”
“No.” She turned back to the stove.
“So from an outsider’s point of view, you just appeared here with no history before four months ago. Which is when we put Loni in the program.”
“Could Loni run a ski area?”
“Had you before this?”
Cilla stirred in silence. Then, “So I’m Miss Sturgis. Your cheese in the rat trap.”
“Not very delicately put, but yes. We think Sturgis knew something of such importance that they blew up his car as a warning, then his house to silence him. Professional criminals don’t look for publicity, and bombs are high profile. Sturgis, or what he knew, must be of such enormous importance that they were willing to risk a police spotlight. The only chance we have of bringing them out in the open is his daughter.”
“Then why not use his real daughter?”
“Can’t. She’s now in Witness Protection and out of our reach. Aside from that, she hasn’t got the guts to be…”
“Your sitting duck,” finished Cilla.
“Look, you’ll be under heavy protection. Six agents are being assigned, I’m one of them, and, if you’ll let me, I’ll stick to you like glue until this is over.”
“I work, Frances. I can’t just sit around waiting for your thugs to jump me.”
“I don’t want you to vary your schedule at all. You can find something for me to do at Great Haystack. I do ski.”
“Skiing isn’t where I’m at. Most of what I do is office work.”
“Good. I was a personal secretary before I got accepted by the Bureau. I can organize anything.”
Cilla gave a half-smile, “You haven’t seen my desk,” then faded. “I want to talk to Hudson. It’s got to have his approval.”
Coming out of the kitchen, they found Bob Gold talking with the three men.
“You alone?” Cilla asked Bob.
“Just me. Dropping off Hudson’s sweat suit he left at the Club. Andre didn’t think his city car would make it up the hill. You know there’s five or six inches out there now, and still coming.”
“What’s a city car?” asked Frances. “Everyone here drive an SUV?”
“Frances, this is Bob Gold. He means a car with rear wheel drive. You need front wheel in the mountains.”
“Not an SUV?”
“You see more of them in the suburbs,” said Bob with a measure of scorn.
“Bob’s got a stripped down Volvo,” said Hudson with a grin. “He doesn’t go much for comfort. This time of year he spends most of his time climbing icicles or wandering in the woods with the moose.”
“Sounds great! On skis or snowshoes?”
“Both. Done any yourself?”
“Sure. Maybe I’ll take you up on at a little cross country,” said Frances with a sly smile.
“Think you can keep up?” asked Gold.
“Maybe. You sound pretty tough,” said Frances.
“Mr. Gold was a Navy Seal, Frances,” said John Krestinski. “I would guess his toughness can’t be questioned.”
“How about yours,” Bob asked Frances. “I understand you’re a Bureau Bunny.”
Frances was startled. Krestinski reassured her. “I told him. I think he might be helpful in what we’re… are we on track?” he asked Frances, nodding his head toward Cilla.
“We need to talk to her husband.” She turned to Gold “Bureau Bunny? This from a bathtub sailor?”
