That Night on Thistle Lane (18 page)

Brandon and his brothers, ever Phoebe’s champions, had wanted to chase down the weasel, but she’d stopped them. Maggie had looked him up on Facebook last year. He was a lawyer now, married and living in Orlando. She knew Phoebe would never look him up herself but hadn’t told her that she had.

Knowing Phoebe, she wished him well.

Maggie didn’t.

Her ability to hold a grudge was something Brandon used to appreciate about her. He didn’t anymore. “Let it go, Maggie,” he’d tell her. “Just let it go.”

“Mom,” Aidan said from the back. “When can we go camping with Daddy?”

“He has a tent,” Tyler said, sitting next to his brother.

Maggie’s idea of camping was a cabin with heat and indoor plumbing. “We’ll work out a date with your dad, okay?”

They thought that’d be great and proceeded to regale her with all that they’d do with their father on their camping trip, even if it was just in Dylan McCaffrey’s backyard.

That was Brandon, wasn’t it? Always able to fire up their sons, fill them with can-do optimism. Even at his darkest moment, when he’d watched his dreams go up in smoke, when a temporary lay-off had dragged into flat-out unemployment, he hadn’t taken his disappointments out on Tyler and Aidan. Maggie wasn’t even sure if he’d taken them out on her, but she’d felt them, internalized them, let them make her bleed.

She hadn’t wanted him to throw his dreams overboard and yet she’d known they were weighing them down, hurting their chances of creating a stable life for their sons. For themselves.

Now here he was, in their hometown, working for Sloan & Sons.

“If I ever go back to Knights Bridge, Maggie, you’ll know I’ve failed.”

He’d been seventeen then.

Things changed, she thought. People grew up.

And yet, as she drove along the common and turned onto her own pretty little side street, she couldn’t help but feel that Brandon had given up. That he did see himself as a failure…and maybe so did she.

*

After Maggie O’Dunn Sloan whirled out with her two sons, Noah got two beers out of the refrigerator, opened them and took them out to the terrace. He handed one to Brandon, who’d dried off a couple of chairs at Olivia’s round table. He took a long drink. “So, Noah. You may be good with a sword, but if I’ve misplaced my trust and you do anything to upset my wife or her sisters—”

“You’ll key my car?”

Brandon grinned. “Right. Key your car. You really are a trip. You don’t even have a car here.” He drank more of his beer. “Why are you here? Really.”

Noah sat down. A cool breeze stirred. He swore he could smell pesto but assumed it was just rain-drenched basil. Finally he looked across the table at Brandon. “A Los Angeles private investigator named Julius Hartley has been on my tail. I don’t know why. I saw him several times in San Diego. Then I saw him in Boston.”

“At the masquerade?”

“That’s right. I can’t say for sure that he followed me east.”

“But it’s a safe bet,” Brandon said.

Noah didn’t disagree. “I stayed in Knights Bridge in part to make sure he’s not hanging around here.”

“Do you think he was hired by someone from here or from California?”

Brandon Sloan obviously had grasped the situation immediately. Noah drank some of his beer, appreciating the cooler, drier evening. How frank could he be with this man? “It could be either one,” he said finally.

“Explain.”

Noah told Brandon what he knew, but he left out his reaction to Phoebe—and her reaction to him. The attraction they’d experienced at the ball hadn’t been just a fleeting thing born of their anonymity and the roles they were playing.

Phoebe O’Dunn, his princess.

If anything, he found her even more appealing with her wild red hair, in her element making pesto, working at the Knights Bridge Free Public Library, talking to Audrey Frost and Grace Webster at Rivendell.

Her baggy sweater that morning at the library wasn’t in the same league as her elegant Edwardian gown, but Noah didn’t care. It’d been chilly in the library and Phoebe had obviously grabbed the sweater from the collection of vintage clothes for the upcoming fashion show. He appreciated her ease with herself and her surroundings.

He’d also noticed the swell of her breasts as the old sweater had slipped off her shoulders, but he blocked that image from his thoughts, in case Brandon Sloan could read minds and decide to throttle him.

These were treacherous waters he was navigating, Noah thought.

“Do you think Maggie and Phoebe have anything to do with this Hartley character?” Brandon asked. “Because if you do, you’re wrong.”

Noah appreciated the other man’s confidence. “I understand your concern but I don’t think anything. I’m trying not to speculate.”

“You sound like my cop brother.”

Noah thought that was a compliment, or at least a neutral observation, but he couldn’t be sure and therefore said nothing.

Buster put his head on Brandon’s lap. Brandon scratched behind the big dog’s ears as he looked out at Olivia’s garden. “How much do you know about Phoebe?”

“She’s the director and sole full-time employee of the Knights Bridge library.” Noah started to add that she could dance but reconsidered and said instead, “She’s the eldest of four sisters. Phoebe, Maggie, Ava and Ruby.”

“Their mother is Elly. Elly O’Dunn. She’s still around.” Brandon patted Buster, then motioned for him to lie down on the terrace, which, miraculously, he did. “Their father died when Phoebe was a junior in college. Maggie had just started her freshman year. The twins were still in school here in town. His death was sudden. An accident. He was trimming branches on a white pine and cut corners with safety. He fell and that was that. Broke his neck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Noah said. “It must have been a terrible shock.”

“Patrick O’Dunn was a good guy but I don’t think he ever figured he’d live a long life. He worked in forestry. He knew how to trim a tree. He made a mistake he shouldn’t have made. I’m not saying he meant to die that day.” Brandon drank more of his beer. “It’s all history now, anyway.”

“Was Phoebe close to her father?”

“They all were. He left Elly and the girls more or less penniless. Elly’s managed to keep things together but I don’t know that her daughters always see it that way, Phoebe especially. She likes to think of herself as the sensible O’Dunn.”

“You’ve known them all a long time,” Noah said.

Brandon nodded thoughtfully, then grinned. “As far back as I can remember, I’ve been arguing with one O’Dunn or another. Maggie and I have been together forever.” He sighed, serious now. “Were together forever, I guess I should say now.”

“What happened between you? Do you mind if I ask?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’ll hear different stories around town. I was the dreamer she wanted but all my dreams went to hell. That’s the short version.” He held up his beer bottle. “Now I’m having a beer with you instead of going home with my wife and sons.”

“You’re protective of all of them,” Noah said, not certain Brandon Sloan would appreciate the observations of an outsider. “Maggie, Phoebe, their twin sisters. Their mother.”

“I guess I am. Just don’t tell any one of them. I don’t have anything against you or Dylan, Noah. In fact, so far, I like you both. Dylan’s given my family work and therefore me work, and I’m happy to pitch a tent at his place. I hear talk about both of you—you two are getting into venture capital, he’s dabbling in adventure travel, finishing up some of his father’s treasure hunts.”

“Those things are true.”

Brandon shrugged. “Some people thought his interest in Olivia would fizzle once he got used to the idea that his father had come here looking for his birth mother as well as a fortune in missing jewels. I can see that’s not going to happen.”

“He and Olivia love each other,” Noah said simply.

“They do. I saw that for myself Friday night. You and Phoebe…” Brandon grimaced as if he were questioning whether he should have begun his next thought that way. “Phoebe’s the sweetest person in Knights Bridge. She has a true heart of gold. Everyone here is protective of her.”

“Point taken,” Noah said. “I gather there’s no man in her life?”

Brandon looked straight at Noah and said, “No. There’s no man in her life.”

Noah wondered at the certainty in Brandon’s tone. Also the finality. He wasn’t saying anymore. Noah appreciated the history between the people in this little town, and he understood that he wasn’t part of it.

He knew when he was the outsider.

Brandon finished his beer and headed back to his tent.

Noah hooked a leash on Buster and let the big dog lead the way down the road, in the opposite direction of Dylan’s place—Grace Webster’s former home. He tried to picture the road before Quabbin, when it wound into a picturesque valley populated with small New England towns. Now Dana, Greenwich, Enfield and Prescott were gone.

He and Buster came to a yellow-painted gate that marked the border of the Quabbin watershed. The old road continued on the other side of the gate, eventually leading into the water’s edge, as if the lost towns still were there.

“Sorry, Buster,” Noah said. “No dogs allowed. We have to turn around.”

They walked back up the road to Carriage Hill. The dog pulled hard on the leash and Noah noticed a squirrel chattering at them from a pine branch. He could hear birds, but otherwise it was a cool, quiet summer evening, the daylight graying with the approach of dusk.

By the time he and Buster arrived in Olivia’s kitchen, Noah was hungry. First, he’d feed Buster, then he’d heat up soup she’d frozen. He could always add some of Phoebe’s pesto, or go pick a few herbs in the garden. He’d already learned that Knights Bridge had only one restaurant, so he better save that option. By the standards of the people who lived there, the town wasn’t isolated—they were used to driving to stores and restaurants in nearby towns.

By Noah’s standards, it was the middle of nowhere.

He found a rag in the mudroom and wiped the dog’s muddy paws. “Well, Buster, my friend, there may not be a good Mexican restaurant within thirty miles, but we can consider ourselves lucky they take in strays around here.”

While his soup heated, he called Dylan but didn’t reach him and hung up without leaving a voice mail.

Two minutes later, Dylan called back. “You’re bored,” he said.

Noah stirred his simmering soup with a wooden spoon. “How could I be bored? There’s always something to do here. If I’m not walking the dog, I’m giving him food and water, and if I’m not doing that, I’m dodging bees in the catmint.”

“Catmint, Noah?”

“It’s the purple stuff by the terrace.”

“I know what it is. Olivia told me. Who told you?”

“Maybe I already knew.”

“You didn’t already know,” Dylan said, confident.

Noah wished he hadn’t brought up catmint. “How does Olivia like San Diego?”

“Loves it. Who doesn’t? We’re out on my porch now looking at the ocean.” Dylan paused. “Anything new on Julius Hartley?”

“Not on my end. I haven’t talked to Loretta yet today. Why don’t you forget about Hartley and enjoy the ocean breeze with Olivia?”

“She got a good dose of what Loretta’s like last night. We had martinis and talked about your stalker private investigator while we admired the sunset over the Pacific.”

Noah sighed. “I miss the Pacific.”

Dylan ignored him. “Any sign of Hartley in Knights Bridge?”

“No. I’m sorry you found out about him. Two years ago, we wouldn’t have paid any attention. We’d have been too busy. Now you’re busy and I’m…” Noah frowned, noticing that Buster had wandered into the living room and jumped up on the couch. “Does Olivia let Buster on the couch?”

“No. Noah?”

“I have to go. Buster and I need to straighten out who’s boss.”

“Good luck with that,” Dylan muttered.

Noah hung up and shooed Buster back onto his spot in front of the fireplace. The soup was bubbling on the kitchen stove. He found a pottery bowl and dumped in a healthy serving. The soup was orange and had a faint, pungent smell he couldn’t identify. He checked the handwritten label on the freezer container.

Carrot soup.

Not much help. He knew carrots, but that wasn’t what he smelled. He debated calling Dylan back to ask him. Or he could call Phoebe, eldest of the O’Dunn sisters. She’d probably know.

Instead he brought his soup into the living room and sat with Buster in front of the cold fireplace. “I’m a lonely man, Buster,” he said with a laugh. “A lonely, lonely man.”

And completely insane. All he had to do was dial his assistant, and he could have a car at The Farm at Carriage Hill in an hour and be on a flight somewhere—anywhere—before the sidewalks folded up in Knights Bridge.

He wondered if Brandon Sloan was managing to have a decent dinner up in his tent, but Brandon was a Knights Bridge native as well as a grown man. He could figure out what to eat for dinner.

And Phoebe? What was she up to this quiet summer evening?

Was she regretting that he hadn’t kissed her when he’d had the chance during the storm, then again after the storm? Noah pictured her luminous turquoise eyes against the gray rain, and he could see her lick her lips. He squirmed as he felt pressure in his groin. Everyone in Knights Bridge could regard her as untouchable, but he didn’t.

All he wanted to do was to touch her.

To make love to her.

He could see her wet skirt as she’d walked away from her car.

He took a long, slow, deep breath, held it, let it out again and tried his soup.

Ginger.

That was what he’d smelled. It was carrot-ginger soup, and it wasn’t bad on a cool summer night on a dead-end road, with only a big, ugly dog for company.

Twelve

After a quiet, uneventful day at the library, Phoebe walked across the common to the Swift River Country Store and made her way back to the wine section. She was debating between two different brands of merlot when she heard a man talking up by the register. His voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. Abandoning the wine, she edged to the end of the aisle and peered past a display of homemade baked goods.