Secrets of the Lost Summer (18 page)

“Buster doesn’t like cars.”

Fabric swatches were stacked in the backseat, the range of colors and patterns reminding him that Olivia was a graphic designer, a woman with a creative flair. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body,” he said.

She started the car and backed out into the parking lot, then turned on the road that would take them back into the village. “I’ll bet you do. You have to think creatively to be a hockey player and a successful businessman, don’t you?”

“Those are learned skills.”

“I’ve learned my skills, too. We need both—inspiration and craft.” She continued along the quiet road. “Money helps, too.”

Dylan frowned at her. “You look tired, Olivia. Not enough coffee?”

“I should have stuck around longer at breakfast. I was up late last night working on a project.”

“Freelance or for Carriage Hill?”

“Freelance. It’s not one I’m enjoying.”

He considered her comment. “Because of the client or the job itself?”

“The work is fine. I always enjoy the work. It’s a leftover job for a longtime client who decided to go with another designer.”

“So you did get your ass kicked in Boston,” Dylan said, matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“There are some sharp curves ahead. I should concentrate on my driving.”

He shrugged. “By all means.”

The road wasn’t that twisty, and Olivia obviously knew it well. She could have just told him to mind his own damn business but that, he realized, wasn’t her style. After another mile, he could see a rolling field with a low-slung building situated among stone walls, gardens and a sprawling lawn dotted with a mix of deciduous trees and well-maintained evergreens.

“This is Rivendell, our local assisted living facility,” Olivia said. “The original residents named it when it first opened a few years ago. Mark Flanagan, Jess’s boyfriend, did the design. It’s small, but Grace and my grandmother love it here. It was a surprise for us as much as them, I think. They both get out, but Grace less so. My grandmother has her own car. Grace doesn’t drive anymore.”

“She was retired by the time you were in high school?”

“Yes, but she tutored until her mid-eighties.”

“Did she tutor you?”

“Not me, but I know she tutored Mark Flanagan. He didn’t tune into schoolwork until college. No one ever thought he’d become an architect.”

“Did Grace do him any good?”

“He read Shakespeare because of her,” Olivia said. “He wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“That’s good.”

“Othello dies in the end, you know. So does King Lear.” She turned off the car engine and shifted to him, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I hope I’m not giving anything away.”

Dylan grinned at her. “That’s better. You have a lot on your mind. You’re opening a new business, your sister’s exhausted and your parents are planning a trip to California that’s a source of tension—”

“Are you profiling us?”

“Just getting to know my neighbors.”

She shot out of the car. He joined her on a brick walk to the main entrance. “I’m trying to keep everything in perspective,” she said. “I admit I’m a little tense. If Carriage Hill fails—”

“It’s not going to fail.”

“I hope not. Did you consider failure when you played hockey?”

“What’s failure? I gave a hundred percent every time I got out on the ice and did my best, tried to learn from my mistakes and build on my strengths and not think about what I couldn’t control.” He eyed the attractive woman next to him, her ponytail loosening even more in the wind. “Why are you back in Knights Bridge, Olivia?”

“You don’t give up, do you? It was perfect timing to pursue a dream.”

“Did you leave behind a broken heart as well as a backstabber in Boston?”

She didn’t answer and quickly went ahead of him and buzzed the intercom.

Dylan eased in next to her. “Or did you take a broken heart back with you to Knights Bridge?”

She gave him a cool look. “You’re the one who’s the good judge of people. You tell me.”

An attendant opened the door, sparing him having to respond. He walked with Olivia down a wide corridor, past various rooms devoted to exercise classes, arts and crafts, board and card games, and reading. There was even a computer room.

They entered a sunroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beautiful scenery. An elderly woman was settling into a chair with a pair of binoculars. “Olivia! Well, how nice to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Olivia said. “Grace, this is Dylan McCaffrey. He’s—”

The old woman narrowed her gaze on him. “You’re the son of that rogue who bought my house.”

He bit back a smile. “I understand you met my father.”

“I think I told you, Grace,” Olivia said quickly. “Dylan flew out from California after I wrote to him about the trash in the yard.”

Grace Webster held her binoculars in both hands, her gaze fixed on Dylan. “Your father agreed to take the place as-is, with all my ancient appliances and anything I left behind. He didn’t ask me to do repairs or pack up so much as a dish I didn’t want to take with me to my new apartment here at Rivendell.”

“Why do you think my father was a rogue?” Dylan asked.

“Because he was. He was a treasure hunter. I read about him after he came by. I’d already moved. What lost treasure did he think was in Knights Bridge? Did he tell you?”

“I didn’t know he’d bought your house until Olivia wrote to me and I realized he’d left it to me.”

Grace’s expression softened. “When did he die?”

“It’ll be two years in June.”

“Not long after he was here, then. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. McCaffrey.”

He was more affected by her words than he expected to be. “Thank you, Miss Webster.”

“You can call me Grace. Everyone here does. I was Miss Webster to hundreds of students for more years than I can count.”

“And I’m Dylan.”

“Dylan,” she said, as if trying out the pronunciation. But she was clearly agitated and distracted, and Olivia gave him a sideways glance. She’d noticed, too.

He backed off. “Your house is located in a beautiful spot, Grace. Olivia and I hiked up Carriage Hill.”

“I remember hiking up there when we first moved to Knights Bridge. I’d look out at Quabbin as it slowly filled with water. It took eight years for it to reach capacity. It’s a lovely place, so quiet and peaceful, but I can still see the houses, the people who lived there.” Grace stared out the window. “I have so many memories. My grandmother and my father, but especially my father, never got over the loss, that they couldn’t go home again. The lanes and farms and shops they’d known all their lives were gone forever. We weren’t as mobile in those days as people are now. The valley was all we knew.”

“I can’t imagine,” Olivia said.

“We were never in physical danger. What happened to us was a deliberate act designed to benefit others. ‘The greater good,’ as Gran used to say. When I sold the house, I wanted to be able to walk away and make another home, here, even at this late date.” Grace’s cheeks were still flushed as she looked up at Dylan. “Where’s your home, Mr. McCaffrey?”

“Coronado. It’s an island near San Diego—”

“Where the Navy SEALs train,” Grace said.

Dylan smiled. “That’s the place. I’ve been there three years. It’s the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was a kid.”

“What about your father?”

“He never stayed in one place for long. He loved being on the go.”

“That might be difficult with a child at home.”

“My parents divorced when I was young.”

Grace raised her binoculars, her hands visibly trembling. “There.” She pointed out the window. “There’s my cardinal. He comes by every day. His bright red color attracts the female to him.”

“Ah,” Dylan said. “Maybe I should watch more cardinals.”

Grace laughed, but she looked tired as she placed her binoculars on her lap. “I just came from yoga class. Are my cheeks still flushed, Olivia?”

“They’re rosy,” she said, smiling. “You look healthy. It’s good to see you, Grace. You’ll come to my opening day tea?”

“It’s a mother-daughter tea. I’m not a mother, and my own mother’s long dead—”

Olivia leaned over and gave the old woman a quick hug. “I want you there, Grace.”

“I’ll come, then, of course.”

Halfway down the hall, Olivia said, “That was decent of you to distract her.”

“She knows something about why my father came to Knights Bridge.”

“You’re not going to ask her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dylan said, “No, I’m not going to ask her.”

“Because she can’t possibly know anything about some crazy treasure hunt your father was on.”

They passed the arts-and-crafts room, where a half-dozen senior citizens were setting up easels. Dylan glanced at them as he spoke. Could a retired teacher in her nineties know anything about a fortune in missing British jewels? It seemed unlikely. “I meant what I said, Olivia. I don’t care about lost treasure.”

She spun around at him. “Then what do you care about?”

He didn’t answer, if only because he didn’t have an answer. Not an easy one, anyway. She went ahead of him and didn’t say another word until they were back in her car. She looked at him in the seat next to her. “Dylan…” She sighed. “Never mind.”

“Does Grace always tremble?” he asked.

“No.”

“Were her cheeks flushed from yoga class?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“She definitely knows something, Olivia.”

“She’s been around for nearly a century. I imagine she knows quite a lot.”

And that was that. Dylan noticed that Olivia had no trouble navigating the twisty road back to the mill.

Twelve

A
fter she dropped Dylan off at his car, Olivia returned to Rivendell and found Grace bundled up in front of the windows, as if she couldn’t get warm. Her pink cheeks were ashen now. “Grace, are you all right? Should I call the doctor?”

“I’m fine. Did you come back just to check on me?”

“I did. You were looking upset—”

“Don’t worry, Olivia. I promised your grandma I’d have dinner with her tonight. She keeps me going.” Grace seemed to drift off. “McCaffrey. I never knew any McCaffreys. I’m sure I didn’t.”

“In Knights Bridge, or when you were growing up?”

“Anywhere. Where are Dylan’s people from?”

“I don’t know. Grace…”

But she was vague, lost in her own thoughts. “I have no one in my life,” she whispered. “My family’s gone. My home’s gone. So many of my friends are gone.”

“Grace, maybe you shouldn’t sit here alone.”

“Why not? I
am
alone.” She looked up at Olivia and smiled. “You go on. I’m fine. I’ll take it easy the rest of the day.”

On her way out Olivia asked the manager to keep an eye on Grace.

Dylan’s rented Audi wasn’t in his driveway when Olivia passed his house. The day had warmed up nicely, and when she reached her own house, she grabbed Buster and headed down the road with him. By the time she got back, Maggie O’Dunn’s van was parked out front, Maggie sitting on the kitchen steps with a glass of iced tea. “I helped myself,” she said, squinting up at Olivia. “Did you forget we had an appointment?”

“I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t forget. How long have you been waiting?”

“Hours and hours.” She grinned, tossing her head back, her strawberry-blonde curls catching the midday sun. “Seven minutes. I figured you were off with Buster. How is the big brute?”

“Acclimating,” Olivia said, just as Buster decided to stick his nose in Maggie’s face.

She stood, gently pushing him aside. “Shall we?”

They went into the kitchen. Olivia wiped Buster’s muddy paws and gated him in the mudroom while she and Maggie went over the menu for the mother-daughter tea. Scones with clotted cream and local jam and a variety of little sandwiches, tarts and teas. They would do herbal potpourri sachets for favors. Maggie suggested having a table of goodies and teapots for sale, focusing on locally made items, but Olivia wasn’t sure. “I don’t want anyone to feel pressured to buy anything. This is supposed to be an open house.”

“They’ll want to buy things,” Maggie assured her. “You could do a hutch that’s part of your decor.”

“If I could find an old one to paint, that would be great.”

“I might have one in my cellar. I’ll have a look.
Everything’s
in that cellar. I’ll be old and gray before I can go through it all.”

She left samples of goodies and appetizers for Olivia to try. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by her to-do lists, Olivia envisioned her house and garden filled with guests enjoying themselves on a spring afternoon. Buster barked, and she noticed Dylan at the door. She let him in.

He glanced at the goodies on the table. “You’ve been busy.”

“My friend Maggie was just here. She’s a caterer. These are all her doing.”

“Tough to resist.”

“Impossible. I just put on tea. It’s warm enough to eat outside. Care to join me?”

They gathered dishes, tea and goodies and headed out back to the terrace, setting everything on a round wood table, grayed from the weather. Olivia helped herself to a mini currant scone, aware that the intensity and sparks between her and Dylan, so evident last night, hadn’t disappeared. They were just banked, ready to flare up again with the least provocation.

She broke open the scone and ate a bite plain, without jam or clotted cream. “I checked on Grace on my way home. She was quiet, in her own world.”

Dylan reached for a tiny cucumber sandwich. “I won’t do anything to upset her. If I can’t get answers without her, then I won’t get answers.”

Olivia believed him. He might be a lot of things, but a man who would sacrifice the peace of mind and health of an old woman wasn’t among them. She dotted the other half of her scone with clotted cream. “Tell me about your life in San Diego. What’s Coronado like?”

“Paradise,” he said lightly. “Have you ever been to San Diego?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Does your mother plan to stop there on her trip?”

“I don’t think she’s getting that far south. I’ve seen pictures of a huge, curving bridge. It leads to Coronado, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “The San Diego-Coronado Bridge. That’s what I take to and from my house.”

“Every day?”

“Most days. It’s a different lifestyle from here, but Coronado is a small town in its own way.”

Olivia tried one of the smoked salmon sandwiches. She’d never liked smoked salmon that much, but if anyone could make her, it was Maggie. One nibble, though, and she set it aside. “Still not a fan of smoked salmon. Does your house have a view of the water?”

“The Pacific, yes. I go for runs on the beach. My office is in the city.”

“I can map out a running route here if you’d like. There should be some great days for running now that the weather’s warming up.” She settled back in her chair with a lemon tart that, she hoped, would get the smoked salmon taste out of her mouth. “Assuming you’re staying long enough to bother with runs.”

“As I said, I don’t have a set date to go back to San Diego.”

“You’re taking a vacation?”

He smiled at her. “Time off.”

“What’s Noah Kendrick like?”

“I don’t know. He’s a friend.”

“And that covers it? ‘He’s a friend.’” Olivia pushed back an unwelcome image of Marilyn. “What will you do here? You’ll be bored after a few days. A hockey player, a mover and shaker—you won’t sit still.”

He tried a ham salad sandwich and a lemon tart. The tarts and scones were the size of a fifty-cent piece, the sandwiches no bigger than a folded dollar bill. His dark blue eyes leveled on her with a mix of intensity and humor that she found sexy, unsettling and utterly intriguing. Finally he said, “No, I won’t sit still.”

Olivia ignored a surge of heat and kept her voice light. “Do you need to borrow a shovel to start digging for buried treasure?”

He leaned back. “I already have one. Grace left a shovel, hoe, rake and a whole host of tools.”

“Where are you going to start? Are you going to knock out walls, crawl through the cellar? It’s a dirt cellar. There are probably snakes and mice down there.”

“A garter snake and a couple of mice aren’t going to throw me off the trail.”

“There is no trail,” Olivia said.

“Not much of one.”

“Are you trying to get closer to your father?”

Dylan kept his gaze on her, but his expression was unreadable. “The time to get closer to my father has passed.”

Olivia looked out at her garden, the herbs and flowers bursting into life after the long New England winter. “My grandfather on my father’s side died when I was fifteen,” she said, thoughtful. “I know that’s different from losing a father, but I’ve found my relationship with him has continued. He lived in Knights Bridge his entire life. He loved to garden. I talk to him when I weed the herbs.”

“Your mother grew up in town, too, I gather.”

“Her father moved here when he got married. My grandmother’s from here. He worked at Amherst College. It’s a long commute, but he didn’t mind. My uncles both moved out there but my mother stayed.”

“Because of your father?”

“As far as I know, neither one of them wanted to live anywhere else.”

“Were you ever involved in Frost Millworks?”

“I worked there in high school, and I designed the logo and website. Now that I’m in town, I suppose I can do more, but I’m focused on getting this place open and making enough to stop freelancing.” She glanced across the table at him. “How did we end up talking about me?”

“Just making conversation.” Dylan looked out at the yard, the view of Carriage Hill across the fields. “It’s a good life here, Olivia. Do you miss Boston?”

“Sometimes, mostly at night. Knights Bridge doesn’t have a lot going on at night.”

His gaze again settled on her but he said nothing. Olivia felt herself grow hot and jumped to her feet. “I have a second coat of paint to put on some chairs,” she said, not even sure if she did.

They gathered the dishes and remaining goodies and headed back to the kitchen. Olivia had forgotten about Buster and for a moment thought he might have escaped again, but he was curled up in the living room, asleep.

“I do have a good life here,” she said, turning to Dylan, startled by his effect on her. Her attraction to him hadn’t lessened with his return; if anything, it was more intense, impossible to ignore. She cleared her throat. “I’ll help you in any way I can, short of upsetting Grace.”

He pulled open the front door. If he could tell that her insides were churning, he didn’t say. “It’s okay. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing here. My father could have dropped whatever he was after once he realized real people were involved.”

“It’s not like he had to worry about the crew of a sunken sixteenth-century Spanish galleon turning up. Here…” Olivia pictured Grace in the sunroom with her binoculars. “Grace has some good days ahead of her.”

“I hope so.” Dylan’s eyes were distant as he changed the subject. “Thanks for the treats. You and your friend Maggie know what you’re doing.”

“We’ve been friends since first grade—like you and Noah Kendrick.”

After Dylan left, Olivia rousted Buster and walked out to the field with him. She had to burn off tarts, scones and an hour sitting on her terrace with her sexy neighbor. He definitely wasn’t one to sit still. When she spotted him going for a run on their quiet road, she wasn’t surprised. Never mind tarts and scones. He had energy to burn off.

She returned with Buster and went into the back room where she was doing most of her painting. She did have chairs to paint.
Good,
she thought, and got busy.

Grace Webster’s former bathroom didn’t have a shower. Dylan had to stick his head under the faucet in the claw-foot tub, which he didn’t actually mind as much as he thought he would. He even rinsed his hair with cold water. Why not? It might help him think straight.

He couldn’t tell Olivia about the Ashworth jewels. Not until he knew more.

Not until he was sure no one in Knights Bridge knew anything about them.