That Night on Thistle Lane (12 page)

Dylan watched her walk past them into her gardens, mumbling about dealing with the basil before it went to seed. He glanced at Noah. “Not a word.”

“Nope. Not me.” Noah put his feet up on another chair and settled back in the late-afternoon warmth. “I don’t know which I want more—the identity of this stalker or of my princess. Wouldn’t you have said that was a Victorian dress?”

“I’d have said it was a dark blue dress.”

“It was dark brown, Dylan.”

He shrugged. “I’m not big on colors.”

“And you’re engaged to a graphic designer who loves color?”

“A case of opposites attracting, at least on that one. We have other things in common.” His gaze was fixed on Olivia, kneeling in a sunny herb patch, checking what Noah assumed was basil. Finally Dylan added, “Olivia and I are good together, Noah.”

“No question about it. I’m happy for you.”

“So, do you think she knows who your princess is?”

Noah debated answering, then said, “Yes, I think she does.”

Dylan sighed. “I’m betting she does, too.”

“A friend from Boston, maybe?”

He shifted his gaze to Noah. “I doubt it.”

“Then a friend from Knights Bridge?”

“It doesn’t have to be a friend. She knows everyone in town.”

Noah looked up at the sky and contemplated the cloud formations. “If my princess is from Knights Bridge, and Olivia and Maggie don’t want to tell me—”

“Then you need to forget about her,” Dylan said.

“Meaning they’ll never give her up and they’ll never forgive me if I find her and she doesn’t want to be found.” Noah dropped his feet onto the stone terrace and sat up straight. “She wrote the note.”

“Who? Olivia?”

“My princess.”

Dylan got to his feet. He looked pensive, tight.

“I’m not speculating, Dylan. I’m as certain about this as I was about starting my own company—about knocking on your window when you were sleeping in your car. She wrote that note and got it to you because she thought you might know who her swashbuckler was and could get it to him.”

“If that’s the case, she took great pains to conceal her identity.”

“Otherwise she would have just handed you the note herself, or Maggie and Olivia would have told you who she is.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want her swashbuckler to know who she is.”

Noah ignored the amusement in Dylan’s voice. “Olivia and Maggie know it was me dressed up like a musketeer last night. I don’t think they’ve told her. Olivia said she was to give you the note because you might know the identity of the swashbuckler mentioned in the conversation. You invited a fair number of the guests, after all.”

“She wasn’t asked to get it specifically to Noah Kendrick. You, in other words.”

“Right. No name.”

Olivia moved to another cluster of herbs. Noah didn’t think she could hear the discussion between him and Dylan but suspected she had a fair idea of what was on their minds. He was rarely confident of his ability to read body language with any accuracy. He really didn’t know what Olivia was thinking, or even his best friend of nearly thirty years. In contentious board meetings, dealing with the occasional backstabber, the ever-present sharks in the water, Dylan was better at getting at what was going on beneath the surface. Noah tended to focus on what he wanted. For the past four years, what he wanted had centered on business.

Not right now. Right now, what he wanted was his princess.

He got to his feet and stood next to Dylan. “My princess last night doesn’t know it was me behind the mask.”

“Do you think she’d be disappointed to find out she danced with the founder of NAK?”

Dylan spoke as if disappointment was unimaginable. Noah remembered the persona he’d adopted last night. “I’m no D’Artagnan,” he said.

“You’re as good with a sword as any musketeer.”

“That’s different. Anyway, if this woman has information on my mystery man, then it could help that I’m just…you know. Me.”

“Your average, garden-variety California billionaire,” Dylan said with some humor.

“All right, maybe it won’t help.”

His friend groaned suddenly. “Are you confused at all? A mystery woman, a mystery stalker, small-town loyalties…” He held up a hand before Noah could answer. “Never mind. I know you’re not confused.”

“Do you have a short list of possibilities of who my Edwardian princess might be?”

Dylan looked uncomfortable. “Noah…”

“Ah. A very short list. You don’t have to tell me. I won’t compromise you with your new friends here. I like a good challenge.”

“Then you still plan to stay?”

Noah hadn’t changed his mind. Not even close. “It’ll be fine. Nobody knows me in Knights Bridge except Maggie and her sister.”

“But you’re determined to find out who your princess is,” Dylan said.

“As much as ever. I’ll just keep it to myself when I do. Relax, Dylan. Think of me as taking a few days to enjoy the bucolic surroundings.”

“You don’t like bucolic surroundings.”

“I do. I just don’t like mosquitoes. I’ll wear bug spray.”

Dylan was still obviously skeptical. “You’re sure you’re not just bored?”

“I was bored. I’m not now.”

Olivia started up a path toward the terrace. Dylan kept his eyes on her as he continued, “Are you avoiding San Diego? It’s an adjustment, going from controlling everything to do with NAK to—”

“Controlling nothing?” Noah gave a small smile. “No one’s going to feel sorry for me, Dylan, and I don’t feel sorry for myself. You and I are both moving on. We made our choices about how we’d take NAK public. We still have a strong interest in the company, but we wanted fresh blood. The last thing the new people need is the founders skulking around.”

“Founder,” Dylan corrected. “Singular.”

Noah didn’t argue with him. They’d had this argument countless times in the past four years. “We’re both pivoting to what’s next for us. I just didn’t expect you to fall for someone from a little town on the other side of the country.”

Olivia joined them on the terrace and smiled at Noah as if she’d told him all she knew about the identity of his princess. “I love it here but you’ll be roughing it by your standards.”

Noah returned her smile. “Like I just told Dylan. I’ll wear bug spray.”

*

On his first evening alone in Knights Bridge, Noah listened to an owl in the woods behind the house and chased a mosquito out of the kitchen. He’d have killed it if he’d had the opportunity but it followed him outside when he walked Buster.

He had no problem killing mosquitoes.

His assistant in San Diego had arranged for a messenger to deliver a new phone to Carriage Hill. Noah scanned his messages. Loretta Wrentham had called seven times. When he called her back, she was annoyed with him for not responding sooner but she had no news.

He sat down at Olivia’s white-painted kitchen table. “If you don’t know anything, why did you call me seven times?”

“Because you didn’t return my first two calls.”

“That makes no sense, Loretta.”

“It makes perfect sense to me. I hate being ignored.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“What were you doing?” she asked.

“I didn’t have a phone.”

A half-beat’s silence. “You didn’t have a phone? Really?”

He heard the skepticism in her voice. “Really,” he said. “I only got your voice mails just now.”

“Don’t you have an assistant who checks your messages?”

“Not one who checks my private number.”

“So are you and Dylan about to head back out here?”

“Dylan is already en route,” Noah said.

“Noah…” Loretta took in an audible breath. “Where are you?”

“Knights Bridge. I’m staying at Olivia’s place. I’m dog sitting.”

Silence on the other end of the connection.

“I almost wish it were cool enough tonight for a fire,” Noah added. “I like Olivia’s fireplace. Fireplaces, actually. There are five or six. They all share one chimney. It’s in the center of the house.”

“Dear God.”

He smiled into the phone. “Have you ever been to New England, Loretta?”

“Boston. Knights Bridge isn’t Boston.”

“Not even close.” But he didn’t mind that, he realized. At least for now. In another few days, it might make all the difference in the world. “Dylan and Olivia will be arriving in San Diego soon. Don’t let him get involved in this thing. He needs to show Olivia around town, take her to the zoo. Stuff like that.”

“You’re a romantic at heart,” Loretta said.

Noah laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to stay out there by yourself? You have a higher profile right now with NAK going public. You need to take your safety seriously. You’ve had corporate security training and you know fencing and karate, but if this guy’s actually stalking you—”

“I’m not worried, Loretta. I don’t want you to worry, either. Let’s just identify this man and figure out what he wants.”

“That high-IQ mind of yours is working the problem. I can feel it all the way out here on the other side of the continent.”

“The problem has gotten a bit more complicated since we last talked.”

She sighed. “Of course it has. Tell me.”

Noah explained about his princess and the note Olivia had handed him. “I’m positive my princess overheard our guy and wrote that note but I can’t prove it.”

“She doesn’t know who you are and you don’t know who she is,” Loretta said.

“But Olivia and her friend Maggie know both—who I am and who she is.”

“I get it, I get it. You want to find this woman and your stalker, and you think staying in Knights Bridge will help. How, I don’t know, but you’re the genius. What are you doing tonight, since it’s too warm for a fire?”

“I’m listening to an owl right now.”

Muttering, Loretta disconnected.

Noah got up from the table and stepped past a slumbering Buster onto the terrace, the early-evening air still and warm, fragrant with flowers and herbs. He looked out at the stone walls, fields and hills silhouetted against the darkening summer sky. He’d never been to this part of Massachusetts during his college days. On breaks, he’d gravitated to the beaches or gone home to Los Angeles. Not ever—not once—had he considered that Dylan might end up in a small New England town. He’d discovered that he had roots in the Swift River Valley—a grandmother he’d never known, a woman now in her nineties who’d given up his father at birth.

Hence Duncan McCaffrey’s purchase of the house up the road and Dylan’s presence in Knights Bridge.

As much as Dylan appreciated the answers he’d discovered last spring, Noah knew they weren’t why his friend was still here. Dylan was in Knights Bridge because of Olivia Frost. If she fell in love with San Diego and wanted to live there part-time, he would do that. He had the freedom to make whatever came next for him work for her, too.

The Farm at Carriage Hill was charming and sophisticated, and Olivia had every reason to be proud of what she’d accomplished in such a short time. It wasn’t a traditional bed-and-breakfast that took in the odd overnight guest, and there were no events scheduled during his stay. Maggie O’Dunn would stop by during the day but for the most part Noah would have the place to himself.

Well, he and Buster would.

Olivia had lined up several painting projects in case he got bored.

She had a sense of humor. Noah did a lot of things but he didn’t paint.

He headed upstairs to choose a bedroom for his New England sojourn. Only one, a small bedroom overlooking the side yard, didn’t involve antique lace.

That was the one he chose.

Eight

Phoebe took the call from Maggie in her back garden. They’d planned to head over to Carriage Hill and deal with Olivia’s basil—make a nice Sunday afternoon of it—but Maggie couldn’t. “Ava and Ruby got their wires crossed and neither one will be around today,” Maggie said. “Mom needs help with the goats, although, of course, she insists she doesn’t. The boys and I will go over there and do what we can.”

“Nineteen goats are too many for her,” Phoebe said.

“One goat is too many,” Maggie added in exasperation, then sighed. “I know she loves the goats. She’s never asked for any of us to help take care of them, but you know she’d never manage without us.”

Phoebe didn’t disagree. “Getting into goat’s milk soaps could make a difference.”

“She says she’s looking into selling a few of the goats. She knows she has to. We don’t need nineteen, even if the soaps do well.”

“Let me know if I can do anything to help,” Phoebe said.

“Oh, we’ll manage. The boys are still young enough to think mucking out the stalls is fun. Enjoy your quiet afternoon. We’ll make the pesto later this week.”

“I have all the ingredients. I can head over to Olivia’s and see how much I can get done on my own this afternoon.”

Her younger sister took in a sharp breath. “Phoebe…”

“It’ll be okay, Maggie. I can follow a recipe. If I screw up the pesto, there’ll be more basil.”

“What about Buster?”

“He and I get along just fine.”

Maggie started to say something else, but Phoebe assured her she’d manage the basil on her own and got off the phone, eager to be on her way on what was turning into a hot, humid afternoon. Perfect for making pesto, she thought as she went back inside.

Not that she’d ever made pesto.

Given the heat, she pinned up her hair and changed into shorts, a sleeveless linen top and flip-flops.

Fifteen minutes later, she parked at Carriage Hill, grabbed her canvas bag of pesto-making ingredients and headed up the stone walk to the kitchen ell. Maggie would have been by early to see to Buster, and Phoebe expected to have to use the extra key Olivia kept hidden behind a gutter. Instead she found the main door to the kitchen open and Buster nosing the screen door.

“Hey, Buster, did Maggie forget to lock up?” Phoebe pulled open the door and stepped past the big, rambunctious dog into the country kitchen. Buster went from nosing the screen to nosing her as she set the bag on the counter. “Easy. You remember me. I’m Phoebe. Olivia’s friend.”

“I do remember you.”

Phoebe jumped, startled at the sound of a man’s voice, coming from the adjoining living room.