The Cabin by Carla Neggers Page A

halfbath.
    She wanted total privacy for this conversation. “A cabin
    in the Adirondacks,” she said cheerfully. “Sounds won-
    derful, doesn’t it?”
    “When were you going to tell me?”
    There was nothing calm, professional or deliberate
    about him now. This was Jack Galway at his stoniest.
    “I don’t know. I hadn’t even thought about it.” But that
    was an outright lie, and when she caught her reflection
    in the mirror, she saw the guilt. “I’m sorry. It was a spur
    of the moment thing, but I should have told you—”
    “Don’t be sorry. I don’t give a damn what you do.”
    He hung up.
    Susanna stared at the dead phone. Then she hit re-
    dial. He let his voice mail take the call. She hit redial
    again. More voice mail. On her third redial, he picked
    up, but didn’t speak. She did. “Damn it, Jack, did you
    hang up on me?”
    “Yes, and I’m going to hang up on you again.”

    58
    Carla Neggers
    “And I’m going to keep calling you until you knock
    it off!”
    “That’s harassment. I’ll have you arrested, even up
    in Boston.”
    No one could get under her skin the way he could.
    “Just try.” She took a quick breath, decided not to fight
    fire with fire. This once, she could be reasonable. “I can
    see how you’d look at the cabin as a thumb in your eye,
    but that’s not what I was thinking when I bought it.
    Truthfully, I wasn’t thinking—it was like it was meant
    to be. I couldn’t resist. It’s in the most beautiful spot,
    right on Blackwater Lake. Gran grew up there. You’ll
    have to see it.”
    “Why?”
    “Why?” she repeated dumbly. The man drove her mad.
    He knew the worst, most awkward, most difficult and
    probing questions to ask her. But he was a trained inter-
    rogator. He could get people to confess to murder, never
    mind to why they’d bought a cabin in the Adirondacks.
    “Yes. Why do I have to see it?”
    “I don’t know—it makes sense. You’re my husband.”
    “It’s an open invitation?”
    She licked her lips. He had her off-balance, and he
    knew it. “I suppose so. Sure.”
    “You know what Sam says, don’t you?” His voice
    lowered, deepened. “He says I should go up there, cuff
    you and haul you back to Texas.”
    Susanna nearly dropped the damn phone in the sink.
    “I knew that’d leave you speechless,” her husband
    said. “Good night, darlin’. Enjoy your cabin.”
    He hung up on her again.

    The Cabin
    59
    This time, she didn’t call him back.
    When she returned to the kitchen, Gran was back,
    heating up a quart of Jim Haviland’s famous clam chow-
    der on the stove. The girls were setting the table. It was
    a comfortable scene, three generations of women in
    Gran’s simple, clean kitchen with its tall ceilings, old
    painted cabinets and framed samplers from her cross-
    stitch craze fifteen years ago. Even at eighty-two, Iris
    Dunning retained her tall, graceful build. Susanna could
    picture her grandmother as an Adirondack guide in her
    youth. People assumed she was a widow when she
    moved to Boston, but that wasn’t true. She’d never mar-
    ried. Now she was in her sunset years, her hair white and
    wispy, her skin translucent and wrinkled. But her mind
    was sharp, and she stayed active and socially engaged—
    she was taking tai chi at her senior center. Before her
    granddaughter and great-granddaughters had moved in,
    she’d rented rooms in the house to university students
    to supplement her income and give her company.
    Susanna sank onto a chair at the table. Her knees
    were wobbly from her talk with her husband.
    Gran glanced back at her from the stove. “Jimmy
    Haviland says you’re avoiding him.”
    “I’ve been busy,” Susanna said. But that wasn’t en-
    tirely true. Busy, yes, but the last two times she’d stopped
    at Jim’s Place, its opinionated owner had asked her if
    she’d told Jack about her stalker. He would keep asking
    her until she said yes. He wouldn’t squeal to Gran. That
    wasn’t Jim Haviland’s