River's End (10 page)

Her aching head spun, once, sickly, as he turned his head and saw her. She felt her knees tremble, but she pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket. Her mouth was dust dry, but she forced a polite smile on her face and started forward.

So did he.

For Olivia, at that moment, the woman and the young man who got out of the car faded into the background. As did the wall of great trees, the searing blue sky above them, the flutter of butterflies, the chatter of birds.

She saw only him, as she’d seen only him the night he’d opened the closet door.

“I’m Olivia,” she said in a voice that sounded very far away to her own ears. “Thank you for coming, Detective Brady.” She held out her hand.

How many times, Frank wondered, would this one little girl break his heart? She stood so poised, her eyes so solemn, her smile so polite. And her voice shook.

“It’s nice to see you again, Olivia.” He took her hand in his, held it. “Livvy. Don’t they call you Livvy anymore?”

“Yes.” Her smile warmed, just a little. “Did you have a nice trip?”

“Very nice. We decided to drive, so we needed my son’s car. It’s the only one big enough to be comfortable for that long. Celia?”

He reached out, then slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. It was a gesture Olivia noticed. She liked to study the way people were together. The woman fit easily against him, and her smile was friendly. Her eyes sympathetic.

“This is Celia, my wife.”

“Hello, Livvy. What a beautiful place. You know I camped in your campgrounds once, when I was Noah’s age. I’ve never forgotten this area. Noah, this is Livvy MacBride, her family owns the lodge.”

He glanced over, nodded—polite but distant. “Hey” was all he said as he tucked his hands in his back pockets. Behind the dark glasses, he took in every feature of her face.

She was taller than he expected. Gangly. He reminded himself his image of her was stuck on the little girl with her hands clamped over her ears and her face wild with fear and grief.

He’d never forgotten how she’d looked. He’d never forgotten her.

“Noah’s a man of few words these days,” Celia said soberly, but the way her eyes laughed had Olivia smiling again.

“You can leave your car here if you want while you check in. All the lake-view units were booked, but you have a really nice view of the forest. It’s one of the family units on the ground floor and has its own patio.”

“It sounds wonderful. I remember taking pictures of the lodge all those years ago.” To put Olivia at ease, Celia laid a hand on her shoulder and turned to study the building. “It looks as if it grew here, like the trees.”

It was grand and old and dignified. Three stories, with the main section under a steeply pitched roof. Windows were generous, to offer the guests stunning views. The wood had weathered to a soft brown and, with the deep green trim, seemed as much a part of the forest as the giant trees that towered over it.

Pathways were fashioned of stone with small evergreens and clumps of ferns and wildflowers scattered throughout. Rather than manicured, the grounds looked appealingly wild and untouched.

“It’s not intrusive at all. Whoever built it understood the importance of working with nature instead of beating it back.”

“My great-grandfather. He did the original building, then he and his brother and my grandfather added on to it. He named it, too.” Olivia resisted the urge to rub her damp palms on her jeans. “There’s no river that ends here or anything. It’s a metaphor.”

“For finding rest and shelter at the end of a journey,” Celia suggested and made Olivia smile.

“Yeah, exactly. That’s what he wanted to do. It was really just an inn at first, and now it’s a resort. But we want that same restful atmosphere and are dedicated to preserving the area and seeing to it that the lodge adds to rather than detracts from the purity of the forest and lakes.”

“You’re talking her language.” Frank winked. “Celia’s a staunch conservationist.”

“So is anyone with brains,” Olivia said automatically and had Celia nodding in approval.

“We’re going to get along just fine. Why don’t you show me around the lodge while these big strong men deal with the luggage?”

Olivia glanced back at Frank as Celia led her off. Impatience
all but shimmered around her, but she did as she was asked and opened one half of the great double doors.

“I never made it inside during my other trip,” Celia was saying. “I was on a pretty tight budget, and I was busy turning my nose up at any established creature comforts. I was one of the first hippies.”

Olivia stopped, blinked. “Really? You don’t look like a hippy.”

“I only wear my love beads on special occasions now—like the anniversary of Woodstock.”

“Was Frank a hippy, too?”

“Frank?” Celia threw back her head and laughed in sheer delight. “Oh no, not Mister Conservative. That man was born a cop—and a Republican. Well,” she said with a sigh, “what can you do? Oh, but this is lovely.”

She turned a half circle in the main lobby, admiring the floors and walls of natural pine and fir, the great stone fireplace filled in the warmth of August with fresh flowers rather than flames. Chairs and sofas in soft earth tones were arranged in cozy groups.

Several guests were enjoying coffee or wine while they sat and contemplated the views or studied their guidebooks.

There was Native American art in paintings and wall hangings and rugs, and copper pails that held generous bouquets of fresh flowers or greenery.

It seemed more like a sprawling living room than a lobby, which, Celia imagined, had been just the intention.

The front desk was a polished wood counter manned by two clerks in crisp white shirts and hunter green vests. Daily activities were handwritten on an old slate board, and a stoneware bowl of pastel-colored mints sat on the counter.

“Welcome to River’s End.” The female clerk had a quick grin for Olivia before she turned a welcoming smile on Celia. “Will you be staying with us?”

“Yes, Celia Brady and family. My husband and son are getting our luggage.”

“Yes, Mrs. Brady, we’re happy to have you.” While she
spoke, the clerk tapped her fingers over the keyboard below the counter. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Very.” Celia noted the name tag pinned to the vest. “Thank you, Sharon.”

“And you’ll be staying with us for five nights. You have our family package, which includes breakfast for three every morning, any one of our guided tours . . .”

Olivia tuned out Sharon’s welcome address and explanation and looked toward the door. Her stomach began to flutter again as Frank came in with Noah behind him. They were loaded down with luggage and backpacks.

“I can help you with that. Sharon, I can show the Bradys to their rooms and tell them where everything is.”

“Thanks, Livvy. You can’t do better than with a MacBride as your guide, Mrs. Brady. Enjoy your stay.”

“It’s this way.” Struggling not to hurry, Olivia led the way down a hallway off the lobby, turned right. “The health club is to the left and complimentary to guests. You can reach the pool through there or by going out the south entrance.”

She rattled off information, meal service times, room service availability, lounge hours, rental information for canoes, fishing gear, bikes.

At the door to their rooms, she stood back, and despite nerves found herself pleased when Celia let out a little gasp of pleasure.

“It’s great! Just great! Oh, Frank, look at that view. It’s like being in the middle of the forest.” She moved immediately to the patio doors and flung them open. “Why do we live in the city?”

“It has something to do with employment,” Frank said dryly.

“The master bedroom is in here, and the second bedroom there.”

“I’ll go dump my stuff.” Noah headed off to the other end of the sitting room.

“You’ll want to unpack, get settled in.” Olivia linked her hands together, pulled them apart. “Is there anything I can get you, or any questions . . . I—there are some short, easy trails if you want to do any exploring this afternoon.”

“Frank, why don’t you play scout?” Celia smiled, unable to
resist the plea in Olivia’s eyes. “Noah and I will probably laze by the pool for a bit. Livvy can show you around now and you can stretch your legs.”

“Good idea. Do you mind, Livvy?”

“No. No, I don’t mind. We can go right out this way.” She gestured to the patio doors. “There’s an easy half-mile loop; you don’t even need any gear.”

“Sounds perfect.” He kissed Celia, ran a hand down her arm. “See you in a bit.”

“Take your time.” She walked to the door after them, watched the girl lead the man toward the trees.

“Mom?”

She didn’t turn, kept watching until the two figures slipped into the shadows of the forest. “Hmmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, Noah?”

“That’s Julie MacBride’s kid, isn’t it?”

Celia turned now to where Noah stood in the doorway of his room, his shoulder nonchalantly propped against the frame, his eyes alert and just a bit annoyed.

“Yes. Why?”

“We didn’t come up here to play in the woods and go fishing. Dad hates fishing, and his idea of a vacation is lying in the hammock in the backyard.”

She nearly laughed. It was exactly true. “What’s your point?”

“He came up to see the kid. Does that mean something new’s come up on the Julie MacBride murder?”

“No. It’s nothing like that. I didn’t know you had any interest in that business, Noah.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He pushed away from the doorway and picked up one of the bright red apples in a blue bowl on the table. “It was Dad’s case, and a big one. People still talk about it. And he thinks about it.” Noah jerked his chin in the direction his father had taken. “Even if he doesn’t talk about it. What’s the deal, Mom?”

Celia lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “The
girl—Olivia—wrote to him. She has some questions. I don’t think her grandparents have told her very much, and I don’t think they know she wrote your father. So, let’s give the two of them a little room.”

“Sure.” Noah bit into the apple, and his gaze drifted toward the window where the tall young girl had led the man toward the trees. “I was just wondering.”

The trees closed them in, like giant bars in an ancient prison. Frank had expected a kind of openness and charm, and instead found himself uneasily walking through a strange world where the light glowed eerily green and nature came in odd, primitive shapes.

Even the sounds and smells were foreign, potent and ripe. Dampness clung to the air. He’d have been more comfortable in a dark alley in East L.A.

He caught himself glancing over his shoulder and wishing for the comforting weight of his weapon.

“You ever get lost in here?” he asked Olivia.

“No, but people do sometimes. You should always carry a compass, and stay on the marked trails if you’re a novice.” She tipped up her face to study his. “I guess you’re an urban hiker.”

He grinned at the term. “You got that right.”

She smiled, and the humor made her eyes glow. “Aunt Jamie said that’s what she is now. But you can get lost in the city, too, can’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you can.”

She looked away now, slowing her pace. “It was nice of you to come. I didn’t think you would. I wasn’t sure you’d even remember me.”

“I remember you, Livvy.” He touched her arm lightly, felt the stiffness and control a twelve-year-old shouldn’t have. “I’ve thought about you, wondered how you were.”

“My grandparents are great. I love living here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. People come here for vacation, but I get to live here all the time.” She said it all very fast, as if she needed to get out everything good before she turned a corner.

“You have a nice family,” she began.

“Thanks. I think I’ll probably keep them.”

Her smile came and went quickly. “I have a nice family, too. But I . . . That’s a nurse log,” she pointed out as nerves crept back into her voice. “When a tree falls, or branches do, the forest makes use of them. Nothing’s wasted here. That’s a Douglas fir, and you can see the sprouts of western hemlock growing out of it, and the spread of moss, the ferns and mushrooms. When something dies here, it gives other things a chance to live.”

She looked up at him again, her eyes a shimmering amber behind a sheen of tears. “Why did my mother die?”

“I can’t answer that, Livvy. I can never really answer the why, and it’s the hardest part of my job.”

“It was a waste, wasn’t it? A waste of something good and beautiful. She was good and beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, yes she was.”

With a nod, she began to walk again and didn’t speak until she was certain she’d fought back the tears. “But my father wasn’t. He couldn’t have been good and beautiful, not really. But she fell in love with him, and she married him.”

“Your father had problems.”

“Drugs,” she said flatly. “I read about it in newspapers my grandmother has put away in our attic. He took drugs and he killed her. He couldn’t have loved her. He couldn’t have loved either of us.”

“Livvy, life isn’t always that simple, that black-and-white.”

“If you love something, you take care of it. You protect it. If you love enough, you’d die to protect it.” She spoke softly, but her voice was fierce. “He says he didn’t do it. But he did. I saw him. I can still see him if I let myself.” She pressed her lips together. “He would have killed me, too, if I hadn’t gotten away.”

“I don’t know.” How did he answer this child, with her quiet voice and old eyes. “It’s possible.”

“You talked to him. After.”

“Yes. That’s part of my job.”

“Is he crazy?”

Frank opened his mouth, closed it again. There were no pat answers here. “The court didn’t think so.”

“But did you?”

Frank let out a sigh. He could see how they’d circled around now, see parts of the roofline, the glint of the windows of the inn. “Livvy, I think he was weak, and the drugs played into that weakness. They made him believe things that weren’t true and do things that weren’t right. Your mother separated from him to protect you as much, probably more, than herself. And, I think, hoping it would push him into getting help.”

But it didn’t, Olivia thought. It didn’t make him get help, it didn’t protect anyone.

“If he wasn’t living there anymore, why was he in the house that night?”

“The evidence indicated she let him in.”

“Because she still loved him.” She shook her head before Frank could answer. “It’s all right. I understand. Will they keep him in jail forever?”

There are so few forevers, Frank thought. “He was given a sentence of twenty years to life, the first fifteen without possibility of parole.”

Her eyes narrowed in a frown of concentration. Fifteen years was longer than she’d been alive, but it wasn’t enough. “Does that mean he can just get out in seven more years? Just like that, after what he did?”

“No, not necessarily. The system . . .” How could he possibly explain the twists and turns of it to a child? “He’ll go before a panel, like a test.”

“But the people on the panel don’t know. They weren’t there. It won’t matter to them.”

“Yes, it will matter. I can go.” And he would, Frank decided, and speak for the child. “I’m allowed to go and address the panel because I was there.”

“Thank you.” The tears wanted to come back, so she held out a hand to shake his. “Thank you for talking to me.”

“Livvy.” He took her hand, then touched his free one to her cheek. “You can call or write me anytime you want.”

“Really?”

“I’d like it if you did.”

The tears stopped burning, her nerves smoothed out. “Then I will. I’m really glad you came. I hope you and your family have a good time. If you want, I can sign you up for one of the guided hikes while you’re here, or I can show you which trails you can take on your own.”

Going with instinct, Frank smiled at her. “We’d like that, but only if we can hire you as guide. We want the best.”

She studied him with calm and sober eyes. “Skyline Trail’s only thirty-one miles.” When his mouth fell open, she smiled a little. “Just kidding. I know a nice day hike if you like to take pictures.”

“What’s your definition of a nice day hike?”

Her grin flashed, quick and surprising. “Just a couple of miles. You’ll see beaver and osprey. The lodge can make up a boxed lunch if you want a picnic.”

“Sold. How about tomorrow?”

“I’ll check with my grandfather, but it should be all right. I’ll come by about eleven-thirty.” She glanced down at his scuffed high-tops. “You’d be better off with boots, but those are okay if you don’t have them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Livvy?” he called when she turned back toward the trees. “Should I buy a compass?”

She tossed a quick smile over her shoulder. “I won’t let you get lost.”

She walked into the trees, going fast now until she was sure no one could see. Then she stopped, hugging herself hard, rocking, letting the tears spill out.

They were hot and stinging; her chest ached with them as it hitched. But after they’d fallen, after she was able to breathe again, to scrub her face dry with her hands, she felt better.

And at age twelve, Olivia decided what she would do with and how she would live her life. She would learn all there was to learn about the forest, the lakes, the mountains that were her
home. She would live and she would work in the place she loved, the place where her mother had grown up.

She would, over time, find out more about her mother. And about the man who killed her. She would love the first with all her heart. Just as she would hate the second.

And she would never, never fall in love the way her mother had.

She would become her own woman. Starting now.

She stopped to wash her face in the stream, then sat quietly until she was sure all traces of tears and tattered emotions were gone. Her grandparents were to be protected—that was another promise she made herself. She would see to it that nothing she did ever caused them pain.

So when she walked into the clearing and saw her grandfather weeding his flowers, she crossed to him, knelt beside him with a smile. “I just did this over at the lodge. The gardens look really nice there.”

“You got my green thumb, kiddo.” He winked at her. “We won’t talk about the color of your grandmother’s.”

“She does okay with houseplants. A family just checked into the lodge. A couple and their son.” Casually, Olivia uprooted a weed. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she thought it wisest to skirt around the bare truth. “The mother said she’d hiked around here when she was a teenager, but I don’t think the other two know a bush from a porcupine. Anyway, they’d like me to go out with them tomorrow, just a short hike. I thought I’d take them to Irely Lake, along the river so they could take pictures.”

He sat back on his heels, the line of worry already creasing his forehead. “I don’t know, Livvy.”

“I’d like to do it. I know the way, and I want to start learning even more about running the lodge and campground, more about the trails and even the backcountry areas. I’ve gone along on guided hikes before, and I want to see if I can do one by myself. It’s just down to Irely. If I do a good job, I could start training to guide other hikes during the summer and maybe give talks and stuff for kids. When I’m older, I could even do
overnights, and be a naturalist like they have in the park. Only I’d be better, because I grew up here. Because it’s home.”

He reached out to skim his knuckles over her cheek. He could see Julie in her eyes, Julie, when she’d been a young girl and telling him of her dreams to be a great actress. Her dream had taken her away from him. Olivia’s would keep her close.

“You’re still young enough to change your mind a dozen times.”

“I won’t. But anyway, I won’t know if I’m good or if it’s really what I want until I try. I want to try, just a little bit, tomorrow.”

“Just down to Irely?”

“I showed the father the loop trail from the inn before I left. He kept talking about getting lost.” She shared an easy chuckle with Rob. “I think Irely’s about all he can handle.”

Knowing she’d won, she got up, brushed off her jeans. “I’m going to go see if Grandma needs any help with dinner.” Then she stopped, leaned down to wrap her arms around Rob’s neck. “I’m going to make you proud of me.”

“I am proud of you, baby.”

She hugged tighter. “Just wait,” she whispered, then darted inside.

Olivia was exactly on time. She’d decided that would be important to how she lived her life from now on. She would always be prompt; she would always be prepared.

She arrived early at the lodge to collect the boxed lunch for the hike. It would be her job to carry the supplies. She was young and strong, she thought as she stowed them in her backpack. She would get older, and she would get stronger.

She shouldered the pack, adjusted the straps.

She had her compass, her knife, bottled water, spare plastic bags to seal up any trash or garbage, her camera, a notepad and pencils, a first-aid kit.

She’d spent three hours the night before reading, studying, absorbing information and history. She was going to see to it
that the Bradys had an entertaining, and an educational, afternoon.

When she walked around to the patio entrance of the unit, she saw Noah sitting in one of the wooden chairs. He was wearing headphones and tapping his fingers restlessly on the arm of the chair. His legs were long, clad in ripped jeans and stretched out to cross at the ankles of high-top Nikes.

He wore sunglasses with very dark lenses. It occurred to her she’d yet to see him without them. His hair was damp as if he’d recently come from the shower or the pool. It was casually slicked back and drying in the sun.

She thought he looked like a rock star.

Shyness wanted to swallow her, but she straightened her shoulders. If she was going to be a guide, she had to learn to get over being shy around boys and everyone else. “Hi.”

His head moved a little, his fingers stopped tapping. She realized he’d probably had his eyes closed behind those black lenses and hadn’t even seen her.

“Yeah, hi.” He reached down to turn off the cassette that was singing in his ears. “I’ll get the troops.”

When he stood up, she had to tip back her head to keep her eyes on his face. “Did you try the pool?”

“Yeah.” He gave her a grin and had the woman’s heart still sleeping in the child’s breast stirring. “Water’s cold.” He opened the patio door. “Hey, the trailblazer’s here.” There was a muffled response from behind the bedroom door before he turned back to Olivia. “You might as well sit down. Mom’s never ready on time.”

“There’s no hurry.”

“Good thing.”

Deciding it was more polite to sit since he’d asked her to, she lowered herself to the stone patio. She fell into a silence that was part shyness and part simple inexperience.

Noah studied her profile. She interested him because of her connection to his father and to Julie MacBride and, he admitted, because of her connection to murder. Murder fascinated him.

He would have asked her about it if he hadn’t been certain both his parents would have skinned him for it. He might have risked that, but he remembered the image of the small child with her hands over her ears and tears flooding her cheeks.

“So . . . what do you do around here?”

Her gaze danced in his direction, then away. “Stuff.” She felt the heat climb into her cheeks at the foolishness of the answer.

“Oh yeah, stuff. We never do that in California.”

“Well, I do chores, help out at the campground and here at the lodge. I hike and fish. I’m learning about the history of the area, the flora and fauna, that sort of thing.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“My grandmother teaches me at home.”

“At home?” He tipped down his sunglasses so she got a glimpse of deep green eyes. “Some deal.”

“She’s pretty strict,” Olivia mumbled, then leaped to her feet in relief when Frank stepped out.

“Celia’s coming. I figured I should go get our lunch.”

“I have it.” Olivia shifted her pack. “Cold fried chicken, potato salad, fruit and pound cake. Sal, that’s the chef, he makes the best.”

“You shouldn’t carry all that,” Frank began, but she stepped back.

“It’s part of my job.” Then she looked past him, saw Celia and felt shy again. “Good morning, Mrs. Brady.”