Snowed in with the Boss. Jessica Andersen
area lately. First, there was that body that turned up, the dead FBI agent?” At Griffin’s nod of remembrance, he continued, “Well, after that, we found an abandoned car with a baby in it. A baby, for God’s sake. And then one of our crime scene analysts was attacked the other day not far from here, further on toward Lonesome Lake. The weather’s been playing hell with our ability to process the scenes, which is logjamming the investigations…and to top it all off, the Feds think there’s a chance that Vincent Del Gardo might still be in the area.” The sheriff shook his head. “Logically, those incidents probably aren’t all connected, but…Just be careful up there, okay?”
Griffin muttered a curse under his breath, but nodded. “Will do.”
“Call me if you need anything.” The sheriff stepped back and waved them on their way, but his eyes remained dark as he watched them pass.
His figure had barely begun to recede in the distance before Sophie said, “Who is Vincent Del Gardo?”
Griffin knew he probably should have told her about the recent problems near Lonesome Lake, but to be honest, he’d all but forgotten about them. Between the HiTek negotiations, Kathleen’s retirement and various other business matters he’d been juggling against his responsibility as Luke’s father and his desire to be involved in as many pieces of his son’s life as he possibly could be, he simply hadn’t given much thought to the issues in Kenner County. He’d assumed the matter would be settled by the time the estate was completely renovated and he brought Luke and Darryn out for a visit. So he hadn’t bothered updating Sophie on the situation.
Besides, it wasn’t like he’d planned to bring her out to Lonesome Lake. Between the stalled negotiations, the air traffic delays and the continued problems up at the estate, it’d just been the most practical solution under the circumstances.
More or less, he thought, glancing at the ominous sky overhead and considering just how much of his decision to drive out had been motivated by practicality, and how much had been the bloody-minded stubbornness Kathleen had accused him of more than once. He could feel the storm gathering, and a piece of him wondered if they might not be better off turning around and heading back down to the city without doing a walk-through of the lake house. But he was bound and determined to get something done today, and besides, the best Doppler money could buy said they had a few hours’ leeway.
So instead of calling it off, he answered her question, saying, “Vincent Del Gardo is—or was—head of the Del Gardo crime family in Las Vegas.” Griffin recalled what Martinez had told him a few weeks earlier, when the sheriff had called to ask for permission for the county’s newly assembled crime scene unit, the Kenner County CSU, to search the estate and surrounding property. “About three years ago, Del Gardo was put on trial for ordering a hit on Nicky Wayne, head of the rival Wayne crime family. Del Gardo was convicted, but he escaped from the courthouse jail and disappeared. A few months ago, the body of Special Agent Julie Grainger, who’d been working the Del Gardo case, was found on a Ute reservation near here. Since then, Sheriff Martinez’s people, the KCCU, the Feds and the reservation police have been investigating the murder. About a month ago, they figured out that Del Gardo used to own Lonesome Lake, and came to suspect that he might’ve been hiding out in the area.”
“You bought your getaway from the Mob?” Sophie asked. She had a faint wrinkle between her eyebrows, which he’d learned signaled that she’d just made a mistake, or thought he had. He’d actually learned to pay attention to the tiny frown, because when she wasn’t dumping coffee on him, she had pretty good instincts.
“No way.” He shook his head in adamant denial. “Del Gardo owned the property through a shell company. It was well-hidden, and not something that even the best due diligence would’ve turned up. The Del Gardo family went into a financial skid after Vincent disappeared, so they liquidated a bunch of assets, including Lonesome Lake. My purchasing the place was totally on the up-and-up. Once the Feds figured out the connection between Del Gardo and Lonesome Lake, though, and given that Agent Grainger’s body was found in Kenner County, they wanted the KCCU to go through the house, just to be sure Del Gardo wasn’t hiding there. They searched the mansion backward and forward and didn’t find anything. I think they even did a few flyovers of the mountainside, looking for infrared signatures and such. Nothing. Del Gardo is long gone.”
Sophie pursed her lips. “Sheriff Martinez seems to think otherwise.”
Griffin glanced over at her, but beyond her faint frown, he couldn’t read her mood from her face. He’d noticed before that for a young woman who by her own admission hadn’t seen much of the world, she had an unusual ability to hide her feelings.
“The place is clean, but if you’re worried about Del Gardo, you can stay in the car while I look around,” he offered. “I just want to see what’s finished and what’s not, and check whether the problems that Perry has been reporting are actually as bad as he says, or if there’s something else going on up at the estate. It shouldn’t take more than an hour, and then we’ll head back into Kenner City.”
But she shook her head. “You wanted me to come along to take notes and pictures, and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s my job.” She said the last with a hint of defiance.
Griffin nodded and slowed as the road curved and a set of pillars came into view, flanking a crushed stone driveway. “Here we are.” He turned the SUV between the pillars and followed the gravel drive, which quickly gave way to the lake-spanning bridge. He eased up on the gas and let the rental roll to a stop at the edge of the bridge. “Welcome to Lonesome Lake.”
Even in the gray light of the approaching storm, it was just as gorgeous as he remembered from the one time he’d visited prior to buying the property. On that day, several months earlier, the lake had been clear and blue beneath a perfect sky. Now, it was a flat expanse of white, wearing a dusting of snow over the frozen surface. The bridge, which arrowed straight across a narrow point of the lake, was a wide expanse of brick-inset concrete, with knee-high brushed-steel railings on either side to prevent cars from swerving into the water. On the far shore of the lake, the driveway went back to crushed stone and continued up through the tree line, where the lowlands merged with the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
Partway up, rising above the level of the trees surrounding it, the large estate house looked as though it was built into the side of the mountain itself. The structure, which followed the angle of the earth beneath it, was a blend of rustic logs and modern glass. It ascended the mountain, level by level, and was topped with a partially finished solar-paneled roof. When the roof was completed, the solar panels would catch the sun and help power the massive home. For now, the estate relied on two huge diesel generators, which ran everything except the propane stoves and the well water and filtration system, which used battery-powered pumps. Off to the left of the main house, the roofs of the detached guesthouse and large barn were just visible, as well. Several smaller structure, including the lean-to that housed the generators, as well as a woodshed where the firewood was kept, were below the level of the trees, hidden among the pines.
Griffin was proud that he was able to offer his son such a cool getaway, and a place where they could be just a family, away from the pressures and posturing of San Fran society. He glanced at Sophie. “What do you think?”
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
“Yeah,” he agreed, the view reminding him why he’d bought Lonesome Lake rather than one of the other half dozen places he’d considered. He’d liked the isolation, yes, and he’d been able to picture himself fishing in the lake with Luke, year after year. But he’d also been drawn to the wildness of the location, the grandeur of the views and the sheer presence of the architecture.
It was a hell of a place, that was for sure.
Suddenly anxious to get inside the buildings and take a look around at what had—or hadn’t—been done, he hit the gas and sent the SUV thundering across the bridge.
They were halfway across when he heard a banging noise, as though the SUV had backfired.
Moments later, the concrete surface ahead of them