Free Cold Pursuit by Carla Neggers Page B

Lodge and park at a trailhead. She had a good map and, even with the short days, she still had several hours of daylight to hike before she had to worry about pitching her tent.
    In another minute, she was backing out onto the quiet road. She had time to get a good way out into the woods, away from everyone before dark. She could think, and she wouldn’t screw anything up for anyone. She wouldn’t say something stupid, like her father had good reason to want Alex Bruni dead.
    He didn’t. He and Alex were friends.
    And she’d be safe on the mountain.
    Safe from whoever had killed Alex, because every instinct she had told her she wasn’t safe now.
    She had to trust herself.
    She had to run.
     
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
     
    Thirty minutes after he’d left the Three Sisters Café, Elijah twirled the stem of a bright red leaf he’d scooped off the pile of leaves Vivian Whittaker had heaped up on the front lawn of her Vermont country home. Her husband, Lowell, was in the house, collecting himself, she’d said, after hearing about Alex Bruni’s death. She’d told Elijah the news in a clipped, straightforward manner, never pausing her raking. He’d run into the Whittakers a few times since his return home, but he only knew them to nod to on the street.
    He’d stopped at the guesthouse first. No Nora, no Devin. Then he’d spotted Vivian raking leaves and walked up to find out if she’d seen either of the teenagers.
    A.J. had called while Jo and her sister were still on their run. Devin hadn’t shown up for work at the lodge. Money was missing. Elijah had headed out to see what he could learn. He hadn’t considered that Nora’s stepfather would be killed in Washington.
    Vivian raked a patch of grass with such force she took up dirt along with the last of the fallen leaves. She was a tall, thin, fair woman in her mid-forties. A trust-fund type, according to Sean, who knew such things. Her family’s money came from a New York-based investment bank. Lowell was some kind of money type himself, although not as rich as his wife. Even as well-off as Elijah’s younger brother Sean was, the Whittakers had to be, by far, the wealthiest landowners in Black Falls. For as long as Elijah could remember, the “farm” on the rolling hills above the river had been owned by out-of-staters.
    “It’s colder than I expected today,” Vivian said, not looking at him. “I’m glad I wore gloves. They’re just garden gloves, but they keep my hands warm enough.”
    Elijah thought it was a fine November day. The cool air felt good to him. Helped him get his head together. He figured Jo couldn’t have known about Bruni back at the café, not because he didn’t think she could control her emotions, but because she wouldn’t have continued to sit there eating a scone and looking at the river. Given the kind of week she’d had—given the type of person she was—she’d latch on to news of a dead ambassador whose stepdaughter was in Black Falls. No question in Elijah’s mind.
    She’d probably found out by now. He wasn’t sure how long he had before she turned up. If she didn’t have a reason, she’d think of one. He wasn’t about to break any laws, but he was accustomed to a certain level of autonomy and wanted to do things his own way. Go from there. He wanted to find Devin and confront him about the missing money.
    He didn’t need a Secret Service agent throwing up roadblocks.
    And he hadn’t anticipated Nora’s stepfather turning up dead.
    But he saw tears glisten in Vivian’s eyes and reminded himself the woman had just lost a friend. “I’m sorry about Ambassador Bruni,” he said.
    She quickly brought herself back under control. “Yes. Well. It’s unfortunate. I only hope his death turns out to be a horrible accident. The idea of someone targeting him is beyond my comprehension. He was such a good man.”
    “Who told you?”
    “Lowell spoke to Thomas Asher, Nora’s father.” She dipped her rake under a sugar