“Somebody’s gotta knock some sense into his head. If Ransom has his way, we won’t be able to subdivide the larger lots and those North Shore cabins’ll remain the squatter palaces they are.”
He was specifically referring to a series of cabins similar to the one Andi had just purchased that had been sold to Wren Development in a block. No one had done any upkeep on them since the 1940s and they were all still standing by the grace of God. The Carrera brothers had made an offer for them, but the cabins’ cantankerous ninety-year-old owner had bullishly resisted, selling out lock, stock, and barrel to the Wrens before suffering a fatal heart attack.
“I thought we were clear on that property.”
“Ransom’s always sided with the Carreras,” he said. “This is what I mean, Andi. You have no business in the business. For all kinds of reasons.”
“So, is Emma coming?” Andi asked tightly.
He shook his head and brushed imaginary dirt from his slacks as he straightened. “Doesn’t look like it, does it?”
“Are you going to the office later?”
“I doubt it. Ransom isn’t the only person I have to see. Why?”
“Well, actually, I thought maybe we would meet Emma there later, then, but I guess not.”
“Just go home and we’ll take this up tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
They both went silent. She expected him to take off, but instead Carter yanked his cell phone from his pocket and, tight-lipped, stabbed out a number. After a series of rings, he pressed the Off button, and muttered tightly, “Emma’s ‘not available.’” There was a good chance he was right about Emma. Her drinking was escalating.
“I’ll see you, and damn well better see Emma, in the conference room tomorrow at ten,” Carter said, wrenching open his driver’s door. He drove away carefully, herding his baby over the rough gravel, before punching the accelerator once the BMW was safely on the blacktop two-lane county road that circled the lake.
Andi stayed rooted to the spot for long moments. Carter pissed her off, but he’d shaken her with his comments about her loss of focus. She thought about the prescription Dr. Knapp, her “guru shrink,” as Carter had called her, had given to her, the antidepressants she’d taken for a while but had let slide. Maybe she’d reacted to them. Maybe that was the problem. Except the conference room episode had been recent.
She yanked out her cell and called Dr. Knapp but learned she couldn’t get an appointment until the following week. Well, fine. She was moving this weekend anyway. She would tell the doctor about her pregnancy when she saw her, and she’d also tell her about the note left at her cabin.
You should tell the police.
And what would she say? Someone broke into my cabin and left a message that said Little birds need to fly? They would probably tell her it was a prank.
But by whom?
She bit her lip, then called Edie at Sirocco Realty but learned the agent was out of the office. When Edie’s voice mail came up, Andi said, “Hey, this is Andi Wren and I went to my cabin this morning and the front door was open. It looks like the latch is broken. I don’t remember it being that way before, but maybe. Anyway, someone was in there and left a note on the bed in the master for me. Give me a call and let’s talk.”
After that she got in the Tucson and took the north road on her return to her house in Laurelton. A whisper of apprehension slid down her spine as she drove along the hairpin turn where Greg had driven off the road. His Lexus hadn’t made the last bend and he’d broken through the guardrail and flown off the edge of the cliff that rimmed this, the highest point above Schultz Lake and one of the most dangerous spots on the road. The guardrail had been replaced, but Andi couldn’t help throwing a quick glance over the edge, the view of firs and pines blocking all but a scintilla of green water far below.