“Damn.” He’d known it would be rough, he reminded himself. “What about Irene?”
“She was out with Pamela Webb that night. When she got home she found the bodies.” Maxine paused. “She was only fifteen years old, and she was alone when she walked into the house. Still gives me the creeps just thinking about it after all this time.”
He said nothing.
“It was incredibly tragic. Really shook up the community. Later there were rumors that Elizabeth Stenson had been having an affair with someone in Dunsley and that Hugh went crazy mad when he found out.”
“Crazy mad?”
Maxine nodded somberly. “There was also a lot of talk about how Hugh had seen some heavy combat during his time in the Marines and that he suffered from that post-trauma thing.”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“That’s it.”
He looked at Cabin Number Five again and saw Irene coming through the trees toward the lobby. She was dressed much as she had been yesterday, in a pair of sleek black trousers and a black pullover. The long black trench coat was unfastened. The hem swirled around the tops of her gleaming black leather boots.
The family history certainly explained the shadows and secrets he had seen in those amazing eyes, he thought.
“Wow.” Maxine peered through the window at Irene. “Is that Irene?”
“That’s her.”
“I never would have recognized her. She looks so…”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Maxine admitted. “So different, I guess. Not like that poor, brokenhearted girl I remember seeing at the funerals.”
“Where did Irene go to live after the deaths of her parents?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. On the night of the murder-suicide, one of the police officers, a man named Bob Thornhill, took Irene home with him. The next day an elderly aunt arrived to take charge of Irene. We never saw her again after they buried her folks.”
“Until now.”
Maxine did not take her eyes off Irene. “I can’t get over how she’s changed. She’s so sophisticated-looking. Like I said, she never even dated back in high school.”
“Probably dates now,” Luke said. “A lot.”
He could not imagine any man ignoring that cool, subtle, feminine challenge.
“Who would have guessed she’d turn out so classy and stylish?” Maxine went back to the coffee table and got very busy. “Let’s see, she would be about thirty-two now. Still using her own name, too. Sounds like she never married. Or maybe she’s divorced and took back her own name.”
“She didn’t mention a husband,” Luke said. He would have remembered that. “No ring, either.”
“Wonder why she came back?”
“To see Pamela Webb, apparently.”
“Then she goes and finds Pamela’s body.” Maxine dumped the used coffee grounds into the trash. “I mean, unless you’re a cop or something, what are the odds that you would accidentally stumble over three dead bodies in your entire life, let alone before you even turn forty? Most people only see bodies at funerals, which isn’t the same thing at all.”
“You were with your mother when she died.”
“Yes, but—” Maxine paused, frowning a little, as though not certain how to explain. “She had been ill for a long time and undergoing hospice care. Her death wasn’t sudden or violent or unexpected, if you know what I mean. It was peaceful in an odd way. More like a transition of some kind.”
“I understand,” Luke said quietly.
She was right, he thought. The violently and the unexpectedly dead looked very different. The living who were unfortunate enough to come upon them without any warning or preparation had no time to process the awful reality in a normal, careful way.
And some things were too terrible to ever be completely processed, he thought. You either learned to lock them away or you went under.
“Poor Irene. It’s not as if all three of the bodies she found were strangers, either.” Maxine filled the coffee machine with fresh water from a jug. “First her parents and now the woman who was once her best friend.”
What were the odds? Luke wondered. The question had plagued him all night and still nagged at him this morning, a tiny spark that could ignite a forest fire if he didn’t stomp it out.
Dots. They were the bane of his existence. The compulsion to connect them in order to find patterns was an addiction.
Don’t go there, he thought. You do not need this problem. You’ve got enough of your own. You’re supposed to be trying to get your life back together. That’s a full-time occupation at the moment.
Maxine ladled coffee into a paper filter. “After her aunt took her away, there was a lot of talk around town about how Irene had probably been traumatized for life. Folks said she would never be the same after that night when she found her parents on the kitchen floor. They said she would never really be normal, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Luke said softly, “I know what you mean.”
Maxine watched Irene with worried eyes. “I overheard Mrs. Holton telling everyone that finding Pamela’s body last night might be too much for poor Irene after what happened in the past. She said it might push her over the edge.”
Luke watched Irene walk past the window, heading toward the front door of the lobby. Her face was set and resolute. Not the expression of an unstable woman who was about to go off a cliff, he decided. More like the face of a woman with an agenda.
The door opened. Irene walked into the room, bringing another wave of the crisp morning air with her.
Good morning didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances, Luke thought. He searched for another, more suitable greeting.
“Hey,” he said. Who said he couldn’t do social repartee?
She smiled a little, but her eyes were wary and watchful. “Hello.”
“Get any sleep last night?” he asked.
“Not much. What about you?”
“A little.”
So much for small talk, he thought.
“Irene.” Maxine grinned at her from across the room. “Remember me? Maxine Spangler. Maxine Boxell, now.”
“Maxine.” Irene’s smile widened. “Luke said you were working here. I thought you were going to leave town after you graduated.”
“I did. Went off to community college to study business and accounting. Got a job in the high-tech industry and, wait for it, married Mr. Perfect and had a son.” Maxine rolled her eyes. “But things didn’t quite work out. I got laid off. Mr. Perfect left me for his yoga instructor, and then Mom got sick. I came back here with Brady, that’s my son, to take care of her.”
“How is she doing?”
“She died about six months ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Irene said gently.
“Thanks.”
“I remember your mother. I liked her. She was a friend to my mother.”
“I know,” Maxine said.
“You decided to stay on here after your mother died?”
Maxine hesitated. “To tell you the truth, Brady wasn’t doing so well in a big city high school. When his dad walked out he sort of fell apart. Grades began to slip. He started to get into trouble.”
“I understand.”
“What with one thing and another, I decided that maybe he would do better in a small town like Dunsley. He seems to have settled in fairly well. His grades have improved. Also, he’s got a couple of good male role models. Sam McPherson lets him ride with him in the police cruiser sometimes and takes him fishing. Luke, here, is teaching him how to maintain the lodge’s boat so that he can take the lodge guests fishing on the lake in the summer. Brady’s real excited about that.”
“I see,” Irene said. She gave Luke a long, considering look.
Luke got the feeling that he was being weighed and judged.
“Listen, about Pamela Webb,” Maxine continued. “I know it must have been tough on you, finding her the way you did last night.??
? She reached for the coffeepot. “How about a nice hot cup of coffee and a doughnut?”
Maxine was wasting her time, Luke thought. Irene looked like she only drank exotic teas or gourmet coffee made from specially roasted beans that had been freshly ground before brewing. And he was sure that she would hate the doughnuts.
But to his amazement she smiled again at Maxine.
“That sounds great,” she said. “Thank you.”
Maxine beamed. She handed Irene a mug of coffee and a small napkin with one of the cardboard doughnuts perched on top.
Irene sipped the coffee and nibbled daintily on the lousy doughnut. Her manner suggested that she was savoring both.
Something weird going on here, Luke thought.
“Finding Pamela was certainly a terrible shock,” Irene said. “Had she been spending a lot of time here in Dunsley lately?”
What the hell? Luke felt his built-in trouble radar slam straight into the red zone.
“No more than usual,” Maxine said, oblivious. “For the past few years she was in the habit of showing up here occasionally on the weekends. She usually had a man with her or a few of her friends from the city. But we didn’t see a lot of her.”
“Did you know that she was in town?”
“Oh, sure. She was seen driving past the café earlier this week.” Maxine glanced at Luke. “Word goes around fast when a member of the Webb family is in town. They’re sort of our local royalty, in case you haven’t already figured that out.”
“I did get that impression after I noticed that the municipal building, the park, the local hospital and the main street in Dunsley are all named Webb.”
Maxine laughed. “The Webbs have been connected to Dunsley for four generations.”
“The signs on the buildings and the street all honor Victor Webb,” Irene explained. “Pamela’s grandfather. He’s the Webb that built a sporting goods empire several years ago. After he got rich he donated a lot of money to various charities and projects in the local community.”
Maxine poured herself some coffee. “You might say that Victor Webb is the town’s fairy godfather. A lot of people around here are grateful to him for one reason or another. Isn’t that right, Irene?”
Irene nodded. “That’s certainly the way it was when I lived here.”
“But he doesn’t live here,” Luke observed.
“Not anymore,” Maxine said. “When he founded his chain of stores, he established his headquarters in San Francisco. Later, after he sold the business for megabucks, he retired to Phoenix. We only see him in the fall now when he comes up here to hunt. But he hasn’t forgotten Dunsley.” Maxine wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say the same about his son the senator, though.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“I can answer that one,” Irene said around a mouthful of doughnut. “Ryland Webb was always a superambitious politician. He never spent much time here in Dunsley. At least, he didn’t when I lived here.” She gave Maxine an inquiring look.
“Nothing has changed,” Maxine said. She shrugged. “He shows up occasionally in the fall to go hunting with his father, but that’s about it.”
Irene took a sip of coffee. “I remember my father saying once that it would not be a good idea to get between Ryland Webb and something that he wanted.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Maxine said. “But I think the real reason folks around here don’t feel the same way toward Ryland Webb that they do toward Victor is because the senator never paid much attention to Dunsley after he started winning elections.”
“Never brought home the political pork, is that it?” Luke asked.
Maxine waved a hand to indicate the landscape outside the lobby windows. “Look around. You don’t see any big federally funded projects going on here in Dunsley, do you? No road construction money. No developments designed to aid the local economy.”
“Personally, I consider that part of the charm of the place,” Luke said dryly.
Maxine laughed. “Tell that to the town council. The problem here is that we don’t have any big, wealthy contributors to help finance Ryland Webb’s campaigns so he pretty much ignores us.”
“Pamela was involved in Ryland’s campaigns, wasn’t she?” Irene said to Maxine.
Maxine nodded. “She went to work for her father when she got out of college. She served as his social hostess. He didn’t have a wife to help him with all the entertaining that politicians have to do because he never remarried after Pamela’s mom died.”
Irene looked thoughtful. “But that was about to change, wasn’t it? Senator Webb announced his engagement a few weeks ago.”
“That’s right.” Maxine paused, her mug halfway to her lips. “I hadn’t thought about it but now that you mention it, Pamela was going to be out of a job soon, wasn’t she? A real high-flying job at that. I mean, as Senator Webb’s official hostess she was a VIP, herself.”
“Yes,” Irene said. “She mingled with the movers and shakers, not only in the state but also back in Washington, D.C.”
Maxine’s eyes widened. “Do you think that’s why she killed herself? She was depressed because she was no longer going to be so important?”
“We don’t know that Pamela killed herself,” Irene said evenly.
He’d had enough, Luke thought. Time to take control of the situation. He reached into his pocket for the keys to the SUV. “You ready for our little meeting with McPherson? Might as well drive into town together.”
Irene pondered the offer briefly and then nodded, as though the decision to get into the same vehicle with him had been a major one.
“All right,” she said.
Luke took his jacket off an antler.
“How long are you going to be staying with us, Irene?” Maxine asked.
“Awhile,” Irene said.
Luke pulled on the jacket. “She’s booked for one more night.”
Irene put down her empty mug and tossed the napkin into the trash. “I will probably be extending my stay a bit longer than I originally planned.”
Luke looked at her. “How much longer?”
“It all depends.” She went to the door and opened it. “We’d better be on our way. Wouldn’t want to be late for our meeting with the chief.”
“Be back in a while, Maxine,” Luke said. He started toward the door.
“Sure.” Maxine went around behind the front desk. “Take your time.”
Luke followed Irene outside to the SUV, managing, just barely, to get to the passenger door before she could open it.
“Thank you,” she said, very polite.
She climbed inside and reached for the seat belt.
He closed the door, went around to the other side and got behind the wheel.
“Mind if I ask what the hell you think you were doing back there?” he said, firing up the engine.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Forget it.” He put the heavy vehicle in gear. “Rhetorical question. I already know the answer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were grilling Maxine.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘grilling.’”
He smiled humorlessly. “I know a deliberate line of questioning when I hear it. You’re trying to do a little investigating on your own, aren’t you?”
She slanted him a quick, cautious glance. “Maybe.”
“Maxine filled me in on your connection with Pamela Webb. I realize that finding your old friend like that last night was bad. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything more to her death than the obvious.”
She faced straight ahead, watching the narrow strip of pavement that wound toward town.
“What I decide to do is my business,” she said quietly.
“Look, I admit I’ve only been in this town for a few months, but from what I’ve heard, Sam McPherson is an honest cop. There’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t conduct a legitimate investigation if he found anything to warrant one.”
 
; “There won’t be an investigation. Not unless Senator Webb wants it, and I can pretty much guarantee that’s not going to happen. Just the opposite, more likely.”
“Because he’s getting ready to announce a run for the presidency?”
“Exactly. The last thing he’ll allow is an investigation into his daughter’s death.”
He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Judging from some of the local gossip I’ve heard here in Dunsley, I guess it could get kind of messy.”
“For years the Webb family has been able to keep a very tight lid on Pamela’s history of drug abuse and her, shall we say, youthful indiscretions. But any serious investigation is bound to dredge up a lot of old stuff that I’m sure Ryland Webb’s handlers would just as soon not hit the media fan. It could damage his image as a devoted father.”
“He won’t be able to escape the media altogether, no matter what he does,” Luke pointed out. “A senator’s daughter dying of a drug overdose is going to draw some attention from the press.”
“Trust me, Webb and his people will be able to control that story. But if it gets out that there’s even a remote possibility that Pamela was murdered, it will cause a firestorm.”
He exhaled slowly. “Damn. I was afraid that was where you were going with this.”
She did not respond, but when he glanced at her he saw that the hand resting on her thigh was curled into a tight little fist.
“Do you really believe that’s what happened?” he asked, gentling his tone.
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
“Have you got any hard evidence to support the idea that someone killed Pamela Webb?”
“None whatsoever,” she admitted. “But I’ll tell you this much. If I’m right about how Pamela died, then it’s very possible that her death is linked to the deaths of my parents seventeen years ago.”
“No offense, but you’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”
“I know.”
“It probably doesn’t mean much coming from a stranger,” he said quietly, “but for what it’s worth, I’m very sorry for what you went through the night you found your parents. Must have been a god-awful nightmare.”
She gave him a curious, half-shuttered look, as though he had surprised her with the simple, utterly inadequate condolences.