Chapter 3 #2
Stepping into the garage, Colin reached for his bike helmet.
A ride would clear his head, exhaust his body, give him some focus.
God knows he could use some focus right now.
He clipped his bike shoes onto the pedals.
His old Miyata had thousands of miles on it, its sleek steel frame as solid as the day it was built.
How many of those miles have been spent thinking about Gwen?
A train whistled in the distance, but Colin paid no mind as he took off up the driveway that led away from the house.
He was already absorbed in his riding, the feel of the pavement beneath the narrow wheels, the breeze on his face.
He imagined a life without Gwen in it, without heartache and disappointment, without a standard for all other women to be held to, and fall short of.
And for a short while as he rode, Colin Mitchell was happy.
Gwen walked into the sunroom carrying a painted wooden tray laden with two glasses of iced tea, a loaf of crusty herb bread, and butter. “I made the bread this morning with fresh thyme and rosemary from the garden.”
“It looks fantastic.”
“It does.” She smiled at him, genuine affection lighting her face as she ripped a chunk off the loaf with her hands. She began to cover the steaming bread with butter, flashing Hank a conspiratorial wink. “One of my favorite vices. And how is your beautiful wife?”
“She's good.” His flat mouth quirked with humor. “She's remodeling.” Julie and Hank had just bought a new home in South Carolina.
“Oh, what fun! I adore home improvement projects. There's nothing like sculpting your environment, bringing your own sense of beauty into a space. It's art on a grand scale, don't you think?”
The room they were sitting in was narrow and tall, running the length of the old farmhouse, with windows on three sides and old-fashioned pine wainscoting. The hardwood floor was wide-planked and scarred, with a time-honed honeyed finish.
A wicker cage chair hung from the ceiling in one corner, its bright yellow cushions coordinating with the rich paisley sofa on which he sat. A blue yoga mat lay unfurled in the middle of the floor, next to a wicker basket with a brass bell and a small book.
“I'm beginning to think so,” he said. “Before we got married, I had a bunch of old furniture left from college that was all banged up. Julie gave it to Goodwill and bought brand new stuff that started out all banged up.”
“Shabby chic.”
He nodded. “That’s what she said.”
They smiled at each other.
“Why didn't Julie come with you?”
Hank stopped chewing abruptly, then began again as he reached for his drink. “She doesn't know I'm here.”
It wasn’t like Hank to keep things from Julie. Gwen leaned forward in her chair.
“I knew she'd want to come, and I needed to talk to you alone.”
“What is it, Hank?”
He, Gwen, and Julie had been through a lot together in the last year, difficult times they might like to forget.
Hank had been sent to investigate a murder and found a cryptic message with Julie’s name.
It turned out the message was meant for her to decode, and its secrets led them on an incredible journey.
“Do you remember, when Julie was trying to solve the cipher, I had my friend Chip run it through the computers at the NSA?”
Her mind worked to place the name. “The man whose wife had the twins?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “I remember.”
“Well, he didn't just run the cipher. He went looking for any references to the case at all. And he got a hit when he put in Julie's name and cross referenced it with McDowell.”
“What did he find?”
“David Beaumont.”
“David?” She sat upright. “My David?”
Hank nodded. “I didn't know why at first. And Julie was hurt, I was such a mess. I had to think about her.”
“Of course you did.”
“But afterward, I asked Chip to see what else he could find out. Why David Beaumont was listed in the NSA records at all.”
“That doesn't make any sense. He was a composer.”
“I know.”
“But this is almost a year ago.”
He nodded. “It took a long time to find the answer.”
“And?”
“David Beaumont was in witness protection. He was listed in the NSA Database because by marrying you, he was now associated with one of America's most wanted criminals, McDowell.”
Gwen's lower lip hung open. Hank must be mistaken. “Witness protection? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Why hadn’t David told her something as important as this? “But why?” she asked Hank. “What for?”
“I don't know. Chip tried to find out, but all the records are erased, every track covered.”
“Well, someone must know for sure.”
“The U.S. Marshal's office is responsible for changing the identity of witnesses.”
Gwen’s stomach took a dive, making her instantly nauseated.
Colin is a U.S. Marshal.
Hank was unaware of her distress. “The only way to find out would be to go through them. Maybe as David’s widow you can get them to reopen the case.”
Gwen was hot, dizzy with the implications of his words.
Hadn’t she known this day would come? A reckoning of sorts, an obligatory meeting with the man who had caused her eye to stray so long ago?
Gwen believed in fate, and had suspected her path would cross Colin’s again, forcing her to face her feelings for the man.
“Reopen the case?” she repeated, not understanding.
“The investigation into David’s death.”
She blinked her eyes, waiting for the words to make sense. “You think he was murdered?” It was hard to say the words, no less believe them. “The coroner did an autopsy. It was an accident.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I was there, Hank,” she said, holding her arms to her chest. “I went down with him the first few runs, then I went to the lodge to wait for him. It was only fifteen minutes or so before the paramedics came blazing by, and I knew something was wrong.” She remembered the scene in great detail, the pitch of the sirens, the frantic energy that followed them up the mountain.
Bright winter sunshine reflected off the snow, the landscape dotted with skiers in bold colored jackets and hats. It was a beautiful day for skiing, warmer than usual with only the slightest breeze.
Gwen stood to the side of the ski lift, waiting for David to finish his run.
She enjoyed skiing, spending time outdoors and the sway of her body over the earth, but her husband was the real skier, slicing down trails with well-practiced accuracy and speed.
He had taken a more challenging trail, while Gwen chose to stick with something simpler.
She saw his neon blue parka coming down the hill, watching as he sank into a crouch to gain speed, then turning into a wide arc, his skis throwing snow high into the air.
He caught up to her, his smile radiant. “Did you have a good run?” he asked.
“I hit some ice up on top, but the rest was powder.”
“Mine was a little dicey, too.” He put his arm around her and squeezed. “I'll ski with you this time.”
Gwen smiled at her husband, so grateful she had this man to love above all others. David was her lover and her confidant, the one she looked for when she wanted to share her view of the world. “I'd like that,” she said.
They took the ski lift back to the top of the mountain, the view a spectacular treat in itself. The rugged Vermont terrain was a mixture of tall mountains and deep valleys, everything covered in white and tinted varying shades of blue in the distance.
David was quiet on the way up the mountain, a far-away look in his eye. He’d been more reserved than normal for the last week or so, and Gwen was beginning to get concerned. “Is everything okay? It seems like something’s bothering you.”
He leaned back and lifted his arm for her to sit by his side. “The chase scene from that new film is driving me crazy. I can’t seem to get the drum section right.” He sighed loudly and caught her eye. “And I’ve been thinking about my mother lately.”
His mom had been killed when David was only six, the victim of a burglary gone wrong at the beauty shop where she worked. The family had been rocked to their core, David’s dad packing up his young son and promptly moving to a new town that didn’t hold such horrific memories.
“When I was in New York last week,” said David, “I took the train up to Connecticut to visit her grave.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t have anything new to say, and I needed to go alone. It’s a part of me that’s always going to be a little raw.”
“I’m sorry, David.” She hugged him tightly. “Sorry you have to go through this.”
The ski lift crested the mountain and they approached the exit ramp. The pair slid off the chair with practiced ease, and they turned toward the trail Gwen just completed, nearly bumping into a big man in a red parka. David stopped moving, staring into the goggles of the other man.
“Michael?” asked David.
“No,” said the man, sidestepping the pair and skiing away. David continued to look after him as if he had seen a ghost.
“He looks just like someone I went to school with.”
“From Vassar?”
“No. Not from Vassar.” He shook his head. “Before that.”
“They say everyone has a twin.”
David stared after the man for several seconds before turned to his wife. “That must be it. Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Good. Let’s rock this bunny slope, beautiful.”
Hank reached for another piece of bread, and her eyes met his, wide and frightened.
“What is it, Gwen?”
“There was a man, a man in a big red parka. Someone David recognized. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now…David said it was someone he knew a long time ago. Oh, my God, Hank,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he killed David?”