Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 2

She took off briskly through the powdery snow.

HALF AN HOUR later, a car eased off the local road that led to the cabin and maneuvered into an alcove that was concealed by dried brush and icy tree branches. The hum of the motor went silent. The driver climbed out, scanning the ascending driveway and spotting the quaint little wooden cabin at the top of the hill.

Time for an unwelcome surprise.

IT WAS JUST after eight when Sally returned to the cabin. She felt invigorated. Her blood was pumping. Her face was tingling. And her endorphins had kicked in, filling her with renewed energy and optimism. New chances. New beginnings. New resolve.

She paused at the front door, shaking off the excess snow from her boots and smiling as she wondered how Frederick would react when he awakened to a big, homemade breakfast.

Yanking open the door, she stepped inside - and froze.

The wrought-iron coat stand was overturned in the living room, lying on the floor and creating a barrier between the living room and the front hall. Outerwear was strewn everywhere.

Behind it, Frederick was sprawled on his back, blood oozing from his forehead.

He wasn't moving.

"Oh my G.o.d." Sally vaulted over the mess, kneeling beside Frederick and groping for his wrist so she could feel for a pulse. "Frederick! Are you - "

She never finished her sentence.

A rustle of motion sounded behind her. Before she could react, something heavy and solid struck the back of her skull.

Shards of pain shot through her head, and she crumpled to the floor.

IT WAS THE coughing that wrenched her back to consciousness. She couldn't stop choking, her entire body racked with spasms. And her eyes. They burned unbearably.

She jerked upright, fighting to curtail the choking as knives of pain sliced through her head. Her fingers found the ma.s.sive b.u.mp at the same time as she realized what was going on around her.

The cabin was on fire.

Flames had already engulfed the drapes, and were licking their way around the room, swallowing up the cabin in record time.

Frederick.

Sally crawled over to him, shouting his name and shaking him as hard as she could. No response. She pressed her fingers to his wrist, then his neck, to feel for a pulse. Nothing. Frantic, she pulled apart the sides of his bathrobe, pressing her ear to his chest. Not a flutter. And the blood. There was a ma.s.sive amount of it still pouring from the gaping wound on his head, pooling all around them. Beneath the wound, Sally could see that his entire forehead was bashed in. And his eyes were wide-open and unseeing.

Dear G.o.d, he was dead.

A wooden beam crashed to the floor, sparks erupting next to Sally.

She struggled to her feet, feeling dizzy and close to fainting. There was so much smoke in the cabin now that she could hardly breathe, much less see the front door. If she didn't get out of here now, it would be too late.

She turned around and grabbed Frederick's legs, trying desperately to drag his body with her. It wouldn't budge. Her conscience warred with itself, sickened by the inhumanity of leaving him here to burn to ashes. But she had to be practical. He was gone. She had to save herself.

Pulling the collar of her parka up over her mouth, she flipped up the hood and staggered for the door. She shoved it open with her gloved fist.

A blast of cold air struck her, and she tumbled out, swaying on her feet and falling to her knees in the snow. Her head was throbbing horribly, but she didn't dare give in to the urge to collapse. She'd die. Either from hypothermia or from being devoured by the flames. Plus, she had no idea where the son of a b.i.t.c.h who'd done this had gone. He might be coming back to make sure his handiwork was completed.

She had to get out of here - now.

Shoving herself upright, she weaved away from the cabin.

CHAPTER 3.

It was rare for Devon to have a weekday morning off. When she was lucky enough to do so, she relished the event like a kid whose school was closed for a snow day. She slept late, took long baths, even went shopping or called a friend to gab over lunch.

Not today.

Today, she couldn't even relax long enough to linger over her coffee and newspaper.

She jerked awake at seven thirty, with the vague awareness that she'd been having a bad dream. She took a quick shower, yanked on some comfortable sweats, then padded downstairs to feed, pamper, and walk her various pets. That done, she headed for the kitchen, where she gulped down a cup of coffee, swallowed a bowl of cereal, then proceeded to scrub her three-level town house from top to bottom.

She'd bought the place brand spanking new last spring. It was everything she wanted - two bedrooms, two baths, and all the amenities, plus lots of gra.s.sy areas for Terror, her high-energy, several-breeds-in-one terrier, to run around in. It was also in central Westchester, just a fifteen-minute drive to the clinic. That made responding to veterinary emergencies much easier.

The house was pretty tidy, with more clutter than dirt - thanks to her three very active pets. Terror's chewed socks, Convict's chase-and-destroy squeaky mice, and Runner's food pellets were everywhere.

"You're a slob," Devon informed Runner, who was watching her restore his cage. "You may be a ferret, but you're still a man."

He returned to eating his breakfast. He didn't look the least bit offended.

"I rest my case," Devon proclaimed. She pivoted around to Terror, who was tugging at the sock she'd just picked up, trying to reclaim it. "That applies to you, too," she told him. "Considering you go to work with me every day and wear out the staff at doggie day care, you have plenty of energy left over for the limited time we spend at home to turn this place into a laundry basket."

Convict - a gray tabby whose appearance had earned her the name - rubbed up against Devon's legs, meowing apologetically and trying to make peace.

"Connie, you, on the other hand, are clearly female," Devon advised her, stooping to collect the last toy mouse and then scratch her cat's ears. "Clever and diplomatic."

Connie meowed again, this time distinctly pleased with herself.

"Don't get carried away," Devon muttered, resuming her cleaning. "I said you were smart, not neat. And the scratch marks on my kitchen cabinets have your name on them. We have to have a talk about that."

Connie rounded the corner and disappeared.

"Like I said, smart." Devon finished straightening up her pets' messes, then scoured the house until it gleamed.

It didn't help.

No matter how voraciously she cleaned, the motions of her hands couldn't keep the turmoil of her thoughts in check. She kept thinking about her mother, and the uneasy feeling she couldn't shake that something was wrong.

The telephone rang at a little before noon, and Devon plopped on the sofa, grateful for the interruption. It was probably Meredith, now a junior at SUNY Albany, who'd doubtless just opened her eyes and was eager to fill Devon in on the week's academic and social highlights.

Talking to her kid sister would be good medicine.

Devon plucked the phone off its receiver. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Devon Montgomery?" an official voice asked.

A p.r.i.c.kle of apprehension. "Yes?"

"This is Sergeant Bill Jakes. I'm with the Warren County Sheriff's Office."

Warren County? That's where Lake Luzerne was.

The p.r.i.c.kle turned into a jab.

"Does this concern my mother?" Devon asked.

"Sally Montgomery. Yes, I'm afraid so. There's been a fire. It started sometime around eight o'clock this morning at the cabin where your mother was staying. Unfortunately, that area's fairly isolated. It took a while for someone living across the lake to spot the blaze and call it in. The air was so cold and dry that the fire spread like crazy. The cabin was already burned to the ground by the time the firefighters got to the scene. Even the surrounding woods were in flames. It took hours to bring things under control." He cleared his throat. "We're still searching the debris, but human remains have been found."

Denial screamed inside Devon's head. But she forced her thorough, a.n.a.lytical side to kick in. "Do you have any confirmation that any of those remains are my mother's?"

"No, ma'am." Another pause. "But, like I said, the fire destroyed everything. What's left - let's just say that it'll take dental records to make any positive IDs."

"In other words, whoever was inside that cabin was burned beyond recognition," Devon heard herself say. "In which case, we don't know who the victim or victims were. It's possible my mother wasn't even there at the time."

"Possible, but unlikely." He fell silent, clearly uncomfortable about divulging too much detail. As an officer in a small rural community, he rarely dealt with violent loss of life.

Well, he was dealing with it now.

"Go on, Sergeant," Devon pressed. "I want details. This is my mother we're talking about."

"I realize that." He blew out a breath. "Look, as I mentioned, the location of that cabin is fairly isolated. We've combed the area, by car and by foot. We even did an aerial search. No sign of your mother. We did find a set of footprints leading into the village of Lake Luzerne. We followed them. We spoke to every single shop owner and employee. The baker and the coffee-shop proprietor remembered your mother. She was in the village around seven thirty. The baker said she'd stopped in, and mentioned being on her way back to the cabin. There were footprints confirming that."

"Surely there were other sets of footprints in the village."

"Yes, ma'am, but none that led back to the cabin. Just hers."

"What about the car? Maybe she - "

"The Mercedes she came in was still parked in the driveway. There were no new tire treads. The car hadn't been moved. We traced the license plate. The vehicle belonged to Pierson & Company, which was no surprise. We'd already spoken with the owner of the cabin, who's a business a.s.sociate of Frederick Pierson's. He confirmed that he'd loaned the place to Mr. Pierson and a lady friend for the weekend. So there's little doubt that he and your mother were there. I just notified the Pierson family. They gave me your mother's contact information."

Devon didn't want to talk about the Piersons. She wanted to talk about her mother. "What was the cause of the fire?"

"Undetermined. Maybe a cigarette. Maybe a candle. Maybe even a spark from the fireplace. A thorough investigation to determine the origin of the blaze is under way."

"So you're not convinced it was an accident."

"We have no reason to believe otherwise." He paused. "Do you?"

Devon gritted her teeth. "I'm not acquainted with Mr. Pierson, so I can't speak for him. But, as for my mother, she doesn't have an enemy in the world."

"And yet you're wondering if the fire was intentionally set."

"I'm a police detective's daughter, Sergeant. I ask questions."

"Fair enough. I'll try to answer them. Like I said, the cause of the fire is undetermined. The fire investigation unit is conducting its search. The coroner is on his way to the scene. Should anything suspicious be found, the investigation division of the sheriff's office will take over. Given the loss of life, the state police will probably get involved. If need be, they'll bring in specially trained dogs to sniff for accelerants. No stone will be left unturned. I hope that helps ease your mind."

"Nothing will ease my mind except hearing that my mother wasn't in that cabin."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Montgomery - pardon me, Dr. Montgomery," he corrected himself. "I wish that were the case. But it doesn't look good. I'd suggest you advise your family."

"I intend to." Devon was far from ready to accept what she was being told. "Sergeant Jakes..." She grabbed a pen and pad. "Please give me your contact information."

"Of course." He gave her his office and cell-phone number, and she scribbled them down.

"And your address?"

"We're on Route Nine in Lake George. But - "

"I'll let you know if I decide to drive up."

"Dr. Montgomery, I'd strongly recommend you stay put," the sergeant advised her. "There's nothing you can do here. Not yet. We'll give you a call as soon as we're finished at the scene and know exactly what we're dealing with."

Devon didn't respond to his not-so-subtle hint. She merely gave him her cell-phone number and her direct line at the clinic. "Please keep me posted on every detail," she requested. "I'll be in touch."

With a shaking hand, she dropped the phone in its cradle.

She sank back on the sofa, tunneling her fingers through her hair. Lane. She had to call Lane, get him on the next plane to New York. And Meredith. She'd be a wreck. She was so sensitive, and so attached to their mother. On top of that, she was in Albany, halfway to Lake Luzerne. Restraining her from rushing up there to try to find their mother was going to be a near-impossible task.

Dozens of thoughts tumbled through Devon's mind as she considered what had to be done.

But when she picked up the phone again, it wasn't either of her siblings' numbers she punched in.

PETE MONTGOMERY, OR "Monty" as he'd been dubbed since his Police Academy days, lowered his binoculars and leaned back in his well-worn Toyota Corolla. He was in a foul mood. For four days now, he'd been trailing this rich Scarsdale broad who was cheating on her millionaire husband. The case was laughably easy, since the woman had s.e.x more often and more openly than he had lunch. The pictures he'd shot were beyond incriminating. They were his client's ticket to "bye-bye alimony."

But something was bugging Monty. He had a gut feeling that this woman and her biceps boyfriend had something else on tap, something bigger than just milking her rich husband in divorce court, then scooting off to Rio. And when he got a gut feeling, he always went with it. Because nine times out of ten, he was right. Consequently, he wasn't turning over these p.o.r.n shots until he figured out what was really going on.

He flipped open his file and began scanning the seemingly insignificant aspects of his case notes.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, the pucker between his brows softening as he punched the send b.u.t.ton. "Hey, sweetie. What's the matter - you're off a few hours and already going stir-crazy?"

"Where are you, Monty?" Devon asked.

He frowned, hearing the somber note in her voice. "Outside a motel in White Plains. Not far from your neck of the woods. Why?"

"I need you to drop whatever you're doing and come over. Now."

"Done." He shoved the cell phone into its hands-free cradle, then shifted the car into drive and veered out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Devon, tell me what's wrong."

"I..." She cleared her throat, obviously striving for control. "Let's not get into this on the phone, okay?"