This is my twenty-fourth NCIS Mystery and the fourth of my Third Season (as well as being a milestone, my 70th story posted here). The list of stories got so extensive I moved it, with summaries, to my profile.
The usual legal disclaimers apply. I don't own anyone except Rev. Siobhan McGee and original Agents.
Please Review.
Rating: T or NCis-17.
Nothing Ventured
By JMK758
Chapter One
Renovations
"I still wish you'd called," Cheryl Keitt insists for what feels like the twentieth time as she navigates her car up the snaking mountainside road near Webster Springs, Maryland. The road is two lanes but, while ascending, she still feels like she's inches from plummeting from the cliff's edge beside her. Still, despite Darla's familiarity with this road, she's less afraid when trusting in her own driving rather than her sister's skills.
There are too few straight stretches, too many turns, rises and dips, usually the three in some mad combinations, for her taste. She knows seclusion had been the motivation for Bob's building their getaway here but she could wish for a little less indulgence.
"Rob will love seeing you," Darla Ventura assures her, oblivious to her sister's concern. "Besides, I really want to show you all the work he did all winter renovating the house."
"You haven't even seen it," Cheryl points out, her eyes locked on the twisting, arching road.
"All the better, I can be surprised and show it off at the same time."
Cheryl gives up. She hadn't felt comfortable since learning, partway through her own 4-hour portion - the last leg now - of the nearly two-day drive from Brooklyn to Maryland, that her brother-in-law has no idea she's coming to join them for the weekend.
It's one thing to drive her own car, Darla had left hers behind, saying there's no need for three cars up there when Bob has his, but Cheryl realizes she should've anticipated her sister's thoughts - or perhaps lack of them - and made alternate arrangements. It's typical of Darla to do something thoughtless like this.
Darla and Robert haven't seen one another since he'd embarked upon this season-long project of renovating the summer getaway cottage. He'd begun just after New Year's and now, on March 19, Darla declares the finished product ready for review; but the more she considers this, the less confident Cheryl feels about her sister's determination. As well as she gets on with him, Cheryl's sure Robert must have particular plans for Darla in the secluded mountainside retreat, plans that do not involve visitors.
Had she known this was her flighty sister's two-pronged surprise, she'd never have accepted the invitation. She resolves not to unpack until she has Robert's unequivocal invitation.
She doubts she's going to get it.
x
"How long until Bob's Leave is up?"
"He goes back on the 31st."
Cheryl dares spare only a startled glance. "That's twelve days!" 'Counting what's left of this evening, that is.' "Don't you two want some, you know, alone time?"
"It's okay; we'll have plenty after the weekend's over."
Cheryl gives up, concentrating on the treacherous driving and hairpin turns with the valley seeming inches from the edge of her tires. Coming down the hill she'd be in the hillside lane, but the climb allows her glimpses of doom. The guard rail seems too low for the treacherous road and the late afternoon sun doesn't help; occasionally it shines in her eyes, at other times the car turns toward the hill and she must adjust to the diminished light. The only thing worse than driving this broken-back snake of a road in the late, late afternoon would be traversing it in the dark. She's never done it and has no intention of tonight being the first time. She hopes she can stay until morning before bidding a hasty though hopefully graceful adieu.
Otherwise, this is going to be a long weekend.
x
Still, it's not a bad vista - at least for the instants she can spare a glimpse for it. She'd much rather her flighty sister was driving.
She changes her mind immediately. If Darla treats driving this road with the same attention and responsibility she lavishes on everything else in life, Cheryl will sing her next Aria with the Celestial Choir.
The trees to their right are sparse to non-existent, apparently never having gained a foothold in the rocky ground. Up above, where the soil is richer high on the hill's southern side, the trees are budding, winter white replaced by spring green. Where individual trees are still lacking, looking up through the curtain of ascending forest to her left reveals a green haze of renewing life.
She wishes she could enjoy it.
x
It's not soon enough when she sees the blue and white house set into the hill. When she turns into the driveway carved into the hillside, she makes sure to leave enough room in the drive for Bob to pull in beside her. She's mildly surprised not to find his car already there and says so to her sister.
"Probably in town. I'll call him when we get inside."
Cheryl's relieved. If he can learn of her visit by phone, she'll have time to make a graceful exit to some motel before he returns and avoid a scene. Though she'd hate to leave, there's still enough sun time to reach town, even at a crawl down the hill.
Looking at the house, unable to tear her mind from the formidable drop behind her, she looks back over her shoulder. The vista is spectacular - if you have no problem with heights - but there's something to be said for level ground.
The wooden bungalow before her, however, is homey. Royal blue trimmed in white, it could have contrasted with the green wood bursting into life but instead seems integral with it. The property had to be excavated from the hillside; the house is level but except for the paved parking area the lawn leading to it is that same formidable slope. There's a level rear lawn, she knows from previous visits, but the hill resumes as a back wall forty feet from the rear door.
"Well, let's get unpacked," Darla says, opening her door.
x
The climb, even burdened with bags of groceries from the town far below, then another trip for luggage, isn't taxing. At the end of the slate rock walkway their sneakers crunch on the three foot wide skirt of white gravel that surrounds the blue wooden house. The air is fresh, tart and crisp, carrying pine and more upon a steady cool March wind no molecule of smog would dare to corrupt.
Inside, brown wood, not paneling like you'd buy in the city but the real thing, says 'cozy' and Cheryl remembers why her brother-in-law had bought this house. Darla had frequently described it as an idyllic retreat, an opinion Cheryl had agreed with on her few visits. The living room is comfortably appointed, not crowded with possessions, but looks much different than she remembers it from last summer.
"He took out the left wall," Cheryl observes, looking about. That's an easy one to notice; originally they would go through a door into the kitchen, but now the living room and kitchen form a vast open space. "What else?"
Darla sets down the last suitcase and looks about as well, but Cheryl notices her sister's inspection is more critical. "The patio out there," she points to the door beyond the kitchen, "had to be weatherproofed. It got dreadfully cold at night - hopeless if we're going to be here after Fall. But there's not as much as I thought. New drop ceiling..." They'd been able to see up to the inverted V of the wooden roof, now the ceiling is a little more than eight feet high, just above the door tops. "Should be easier to keep warm," Darla grants, though her expression shows she's displeased with this innovation.
Through the door before them is the right bedroom, left den and bathroom in the middle. Darla had mentioned she'd been afraid he'd turn the place into a bachelor pad, but he hadn't undone too many of her improvements from past years, and whatever he might have done to them will be set right before her week's vacation is over.
They stock the refrigerator, neither woman surprised at the inadequacy of the supplies already stowed. "I guess it was enough for him," Cheryl observes.
"He probably knew I'd bring a proper amount. Look, while I call him and make dinner, why don't you get some sleep? You're tired."
Cheryl would like to deny it but the trip from New York, two days of driving alternated between the sisters, had been more of a strain because she's no longer sure of her welcome. If she's going to drive down to find a motel on the highway... "Okay."
x
Darla has to push hard on the bedroom door. "Still sticks," Cheryl notes as Darla pushes it closed again. She remembers it always had.
"I guess he didn't get to everything." She will, however.
The bedroom isn't much changed except for the drop ceiling. The left window looks out the rear of the house toward the hillside 'wall', the far window to the building's right side. This positioning keeps the light down, sunset is to the front of the house, dawn hidden by the mountain, helpful for sleep, but what matters most to Cheryl is that the double bed looks inviting.
Cheryl sits on the bed while she and Darla talk for about twenty minutes until drowsiness eventually overtakes her.
"I'll wake you just before dinner," Darla assures her.
"You're sure Bob won't mind?" If she does stay, it'd be on the living room couch. There is no way she'll deny the man his own bed - and his long-absent wife - so this may be the only chance she'll have to be comfortable.
"He'll love seeing you," Darla repeats, leaving her alone, pulling the door firmly into place.
Cheryl hopes Darla knows her husband's affections as much as she thinks she does, but she doesn't believe it. Nevertheless, she removes her jacket, puts it in the closet and starts to undress.
x
Darla sets to reorganizing the house. Her chair isn't where it belongs, the table that was across the room has to be returned and exchanged for the one Bob put in the wrong place, and the small bookcase should be against that wall. Bob doesn't really need the magazine rack right next to his easy chair, that's too much of an indulgence. The pictures above the television belong on the right wall and vice versa...
She then turns her attention to dinner, but the cans in the cupboards under the sink and above the stove aren't where they belong and she spends a lot of time fixing them properly.
She opens the far kitchen door to the enclosed patio. "Come on, this won't do." Though he'd done a lot of work winterizing the room, none of the furniture is right. Putting things back in the right places takes quite a bit of time and effort.
Finally, satisfied that things are almost where they belong, she picks up the phone on the counter by the front door and punches in Bob's cell number.
It takes him his usual long time to answer, just before the call would go to voice mail.
"Hi, honey."
/Darla? You in?/
"Just got here." The sun is starting to set, but she doesn't need to tell him that she's been here for a long while. Let him be surprised by her improvements and reparations.
/Look, I'm going to be in town longer than I thought. Why don't you get some rest?/
"Why?"
There's a pause. /Because it was a long drive./
"No, I mean why will you be late?"
/Oh. Strucker's doesn't have the wood I need in yet, the truck is late. Rather than coming all the way back in the morning, I told him I'd wait./
She looks out the window. The sun is already dipping into the valley and rising along the living room wall, already past the horizontal. The trees surrounding them are cloaked in each other's shadows and any self-respecting animal is already turning in for the night. "Is it that important? You know how I hate these roads after dark."
/You're not driving. Get some rest, I'll be there soon./
"Good. I have a big surprise for you."
/A surprise?/
"In the bedroom."
/Ah, in the bedroom./
She grins at his hopeful tone. If only he knew. "You'll see when you get in."
/Rraowww. Can't wait./
"Then get back here quick."
/Quick as I can,/ he promises, hope riding his voice. Then his voice drops, becomes more sensual. /I missed you./
"Me too, you. But after you're here, and get your surprise, I can make it all up to you with dinner and some special dessert."
/Get some rest, I'm going to spend all night wearing you out./
xx
Darla spends the next two hours rearranging the house back the way it belongs and casting ever more frequent glances at the clock on the wall and the black windows. Finally bright lights cut across the living room wall and Darla is immediately ready to welcome her husband home.
When the front door opens, Bob Ventura carries a large box through the door, but he puts it down the moment he sees his wife. "Honey!"
"Welcome back, stranger," she greets him happily.
He recovers from his surprise quickly enough, probably presuming she's had enough rest and is ready for his plans. "Don't 'stranger' me. Commere!" Catching her wrist, he pulls her to him. His kiss is long, warm and thorough - and after a minute still shows no sign of breaking. His hands, however, are thoroughly renewing their acquaintance with her body.
"Bob!" she exclaims when she can pull away for air.
"Oh, no, winter's been too long." He holds her more securely, her body pressed to his and she's very aware of how happy he is to see her.
She shifts her own hips forward, returns the sentiment. But in time she has to breathe again.
"Don't you want dinner?" she gasps. His right hand slips down her back, into her pants and panties, pulls her closer, flesh on flesh.
"I've got dinner."
"Can't you wait?"
"I waited for two months." With his longer reach, he gets down much lower behind her, past her buttocks. His fingertips make her groan as he finds her moist flesh.
"Wait," she gasps. "You haven't had your surprise."
"What surprise?" His lips capture hers again, his hand delves even deeper behind her so he can start reaching his fingers up again. Her moisture helps his entry.
"In - the - bedroom," she mutters, gasping against his lips.
"Bedroom, here, who cares?"
She pushes back, but can only move her upper body, which gives his other hand access to her shirt while still holding her firmly deep into her from behind. "Bob, wait, will you?"
"Why?"
"Let me get the surprise." She pushes out of his grip, though disengaging is a devastating experience. "Wait here," she says, reaching to fix her disheveled panties, though already missing his touch. He'd felt so good...
"Why can't I come with you?" he leers.
"Later." She escapes his reach, no easy task, and retreats to the bedroom door. "Just wait there."
"All right." His anticipatory gleam is like an x-ray through her clothes. She turns and pushes the door open.
x
In the bedroom, she takes a moment to settle herself, not having anticipated how thoroughly the man would express his loneliness. Cheryl is asleep under the quilt and Darla wonders if she might have slept through what Bob had in mind if she hadn't gotten away.
She goes to the bed, reaches out to shake her sister awake.
x
His shirt off and pants open, wanting to be ready for the surprise to come, Ventura jumps when Darla's shriek slices through the house.
"BOB!"
Before the shrill cry can fade, Robert, clutching his open pants about his waist, dashes to the door and slides to a halt, astonished.
Darla's standing at the bed, but there's a woman lying upon it. Darla shakes the woman frantically and it takes a moment for him to recognize her. His heart seizes as he understands the significance of the grey face and disheveled hair. His wife looks up at him, her cry crams the room. "I CAN'T WAKE HER UP!"
x
As surprises go, this is almost too much, but with training ingrained by half a lifetime in the Navy, Ventura closes his belt and goes to his wife's aid. But when he gets close he sees the grey/blue skin isn't a trick of the dim light, the flaccid muscles aren't just relaxed in sleep and he touches the cool flesh and smells the utterly unmistakable odor so associated with tragedy.
He knows it's too late.
Darla continues to shake the still body, tries with increasingly frantic desperation to rouse the woman. Robert doesn't waste breath asking why his sister-in-law is in his bed. He can barely believe the situation, can barely say the toneless words.
"Cheryl's dead."
x
Darla falls to her knees with the cry of a soul torn in half and clings to the unresponsive body. Her wails and screams echo through the room as Robert stands beside the shattered women, trying to come to his own terms with what's happened.
A part of his mind tells him you're not supposed to touch or move the dead, the more practical part assures him that's no longer an issue. His hysterical wife has done far more than move her already. She clings to her, sobbing, and her wails reverberate through the room.
Unable to think of anything that could get through to Darla, Robert pulls his cell phone from his belt, opens it and presses 9-1-1.
Unable to hear anything clearly, he steps out of the room.
A minute later he returns, wishing he could leap from the hill rather than say: "Honey, I can't reach anyone."
She reacts just as he'd expected. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T REACH ANYONE?"
"I don't know. I can't get a signal."
"CAN'T GET A SIGNAL? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T GET A SIGNAL? CHER'S DEAD AND YOU CAN'T GET A SIGNAL?"
He tries again. "Honey, I don't know. I can drive into–"
"YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE! YOU CAN'T DRIVE THAT ROAD IN THE DARK! YOU'RE NOT LEAVING ME HERE ALONE!"
x
It takes fifteen minutes to work through hysteria, to get Darla to understand that if he can't call he must go to get help, that she must be strong until he can return with doctors, with someone, anyone. He already knew she wouldn't want him to go out on the road at night, so it takes even longer to win this part.
Finally, laden with promises of a rapid return, she allows him to go. They close the bedroom door, she waits in the living room, unable to think of what to do as he goes to his car.
The headlights withdraw along the wall behind her, reverse their earlier arc. They seem to take with them all the hope and joy they'd announced so short a time ago.
x
Darla Ventra, left alone in the house with her dead sister - how can she be dead? - can barely think past the unreality. How can Bob think of navigating this road in the dark? She has kittens doing it in the daytime! How can Cheryl, so alive, so vital, be dead? She can't be!
Darla is on her feet, about to go back into the room, to prove them both wrong - Cheryl can't be dead - when she sees the phone on the counter. 'Bob used his cell phone. He always uses that cell phone. Did he even try–?'
She picks up the receiver - gets the tone - presses the buttons.
/9-1-1 operator, what is your emergency?/
xx
Thirty agonizing minutes later Darla watches the Sheriff's Deputy's car pull into the driveway. It arrives alone. 'What took them a half hour? Where's Bob?' She's through the front door, hurries down the incline to the white car. He's not inside, only two uniformed strangers. "Where's Bob?"
The driver's face is filled with the most horrendous sympathy. "Ma'am," he begins, "I'm sorry." He gets out of the car, his partner joins him from the other side.
"You're– you've got to help my–"
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, there's been an acciden–"
"Bob! My husband! He drove down the hill to get you. You had to pass him! Where is he?"
The two men exchange glances, the other Deputy says "I'm sorry, ma'am."
"What do you mean, you're 'sorry'? You haven't even seen her! Come on," she clutches his hand, "maybe you can help–"
"Ma'am!" The first officer's sharp tone breaks through to her. He softens his voice. "Ma'am, there was an accident. A car went off the road ... off the cliff..."
Darla Ventura stares at the man, the words seeming to come to her long after they'd been spoken and his sympathetic expression stops her heart. The night is silent save for the far away chirruping of crickets.
Darla's shriek slashes through the night.