Secrets of the Lost Summer (31 page)

“That can’t be an easy way to live.”

“Her choice. Yours is to allow her to be who she is and let her go.”

“How did you get to be so philosophical?”

“I’m not. I’m just watching my language. It’s a little restaurant, and people know you here.” He winked at her. “Users and fakes bug the hell out of me.”

After lunch Olivia debated walking down to her apartment with him. She wasn’t self-conscious about showing it to a man who could afford to buy half the block, but it was time to give it up. Her landlord had a prospective tenant. Olivia had promised to borrow her sister’s truck and pack up the last of her stuff. When she explained the situation, Dylan offered to help. The man was worth a fortune, and he was willing to load a truck.

He was right, she realized. He was straightforward, and he wasn’t one to flinch. What people saw was what people got with him.

“Let’s go have a look at the building where Lord Ashworth was robbed,” she said.

They walked down Newbury to Arlington Street and an attractive, seven-story brick building, a former luxury hotel that had been converted into condos.

“Lord Ashworth’s suite probably faced the park.” Dylan glanced across the busy street at Boston Public Garden, lush with spring flowers and greenery. “He stayed here for a week in early September of 1938.”

Olivia looked up at the elegant 1920s building. “That wasn’t an easy year, or an easy month. War was brewing, the Depression was full on. The worst hurricane ever to hit New England struck a few weeks after the robbery. There was massive damage. Hundreds of people were killed. Why was Lord Ashworth in Boston?”

“Apparently no one knows,” Dylan said. “I’ve done more research but there’s not a lot to add. Ashworth wanted the United Kingdom to avoid war with Hitler at all costs. He might have been meeting with like-minded people here.”

“Why take a fortune in jewels with him? Was he married?”

“Not then.”

Olivia frowned. “Did he have a woman with him in Boston?”

“It’s possible, but it looks as if he came alone.”

“I wonder who our thief could have been. An American? A Brit? It’s hard to imagine, standing here all these years later, that Ashworth or the thief had anything to do with Knights Bridge.”

“What about Grace? Did she have any ties to Boston back then?”

“I don’t know. I doubt it.”

He took her hand suddenly. “Let’s forget this for a while. Want to show me the Public Garden?”

She pictured walking with him among the spring flowers and winding paths of the Victorian botanical garden and smiled. “I’d love to.”

Jess stopped at Rivendell after work and ran into her grandmother coming in from bird-watching. “I’m glad you’re here, Jess. I want another opinion. I don’t know if it’s just Grace being Grace or if she’s acting weird. Will you go see her? She’s in the sunroom.”

“Sure, Grandma.”

She insisted Jess go alone. Her presence would be a distraction, and Grace was already annoyed with her friend for “hovering.” Jess didn’t argue and headed down to the sunroom. She found Grace settled in a chair in front of the wall of windows. “Hey, Grace,” Jess said cheerfully. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Grace barely gave her visitor a glance before she turned back to the windows. “The birds are quiet today. They’re finding food elsewhere with the warm weather. That’s good. They’ll be back at the feeders this winter.” She put down her binoculars. “I know Audrey put you up to coming in here.”

“You two are lucky to have each other. You’ve been friends forever.”

She softened slightly. “I don’t take a good friend for granted.” She stared out at the empty bird feeders, then said, “Tell me about Olivia and Dylan McCaffrey.”

It wasn’t what Jess expected. “Olivia got him to clean up the yard at your old house. It was an eyesore. That’s all I know.”

“It’s not all you suspect.”

“Grace,” Jess said, firm but amused, “I’m not spying on my sister. If anything is going on with her and Dylan, she’ll tell me in her own good time.”

“No, she won’t. She’s a Frost. You’re all closemouthed about certain things.” Grace tilted her head back and frowned up at Jess. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m not here about me—”

“But something’s on your mind. I can tell. I was a teacher for many years, Jess. Here, sit. Talk to me.” Grace waved a bony hand toward the windows. “Even my cardinal’s deserted me.”

Jess figured she didn’t have much choice and sat on a cushioned rocker. “You’ve lived in Knights Bridge most of your life, but you’re educated, and you’re sophisticated in so many ways. Did you ever feel constrained living here?”

“This area is my home, and I didn’t have the choices you have now. I was a young woman during the Depression and World War Two. After that…” She was thoughtful, serious. “I had my life here. I had a job, and I’d made friends in Knights Bridge. Once my grandmother and my father were gone, I had no one else. I had to be practical.”

“Did you ever go anywhere? Have adventures?”

“I loved to take long walks, and friends would invite me to their lake houses and sea cottages. Cape Cod—”

“I don’t mean in New England.”

“Ah. I went to Europe once, after my grandmother died. I went to London, Amsterdam and Paris, and I spent some time in the English countryside. I was gone most of one summer. My grandmother had left me a cookie jar of money, and that’s what I decided to do. I didn’t have children. I was doing all right financially as a teacher, and I didn’t want any more property. I gave a little to the church, and I went on a trip.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Every minute.”

“I want to see Paris,” Jess whispered.

“Then go,” Grace said. “If you can afford to, just go. Flights are easier nowadays. There’s so much information. Go if that’s what you want.”

“My mother—”

“Your mother will be fine. Jessica, your mother doesn’t want you not to live your life because she’s afraid of living hers.”

Jess’s eyes widened in shock.

“I’m old,” Grace said with satisfaction, “but I’m not unaware of what’s going on. Your parents’ marriage isn’t in danger. Your mother’s happiness with herself is.”

“What about Olivia?”

But Grace had drifted off, and Jess reported back to her grandmother before heading home to her sawmill apartment.

Mark was sitting out by the dam. Jess stood over him, her hands on her hips. “I’m going to Paris.”

“I know you are.”

“Then I’m going to other places. Vancouver, San Francisco, Prague, London, Ireland. You have Irish ancestors. Don’t you want to go to Ireland?”

“My Irish ancestors are all dead.”

“Mark!”

She realized he was kidding, yet he also had no real love of traveling. He was a workaholic, and he enjoyed hiking. His vision as an architect wasn’t limited because of his limited desire to travel. She wasn’t going to make this about him, or try to talk him into liking something he didn’t like. But she was going to Paris.

“I don’t think you’re boring,” she said. “I won’t get tired of you even if you won’t go to Paris. Even if you go just for me but don’t like it. We can go hiking in the Alps. I want to see them, too.”

“What about Knights Bridge?”

“It’s home. I can love other places and still want to be home.”

Twenty-One

D
ylan paced in Grace Webster’s former dining room and dialed Loretta’s cell phone. Olivia had dropped him off at his car and disappeared, mumbling about needing to get home and walk her dog. He suspected she was just as restless as he was after their day together.

He didn’t wait for Loretta to say hello before he pounced. “Did my father ever mention the Frosts? Did he go to Boston? Did he check out the old hotel where Lord Ashworth was robbed?”

Loretta sighed. “No, I don’t know and I don’t know.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Loretta?”

“How’s Knights Bridge? Snow melted?”

He immediately thought of walking hand-in-hand with Olivia in Boston but refused to let Loretta divert him. “I deal with people who want to hide things from me all the time. I’m not saying you’re being dishonest. I am saying you haven’t told me everything.”

“What else do you want, Dylan? Any other questions? Some of us have to work for a living.”

The tart response was just a cover. Dylan took no offense. He was dealing with a savvy lawyer. She’d stall and all but lie. He had to be smart if not patient. “All right, then. Let me rephrase. What do you suspect and not necessarily know for sure that you’re not telling me?”

She sighed, hesitating longer this time. “Nothing I can grab hold of. I
am
a lawyer, Dylan, and I try to deal in facts and not get carried away with speculation.”

“When you do have facts, you’ll tell me.”

“No promises.”

No promises? The woman had backbone, Dylan gave her that. “I’m still trying to figure out why my father thought there might be a connection between the Ashworth jewelry robbery and Knights Bridge.”

“I understand your curiosity, Dylan.”

Another careful answer. “I haven’t told you yet. I also found an article about the robbery torn out of a newspaper, with
Isaiah Webster
and
Knights Bridge
handwritten on the edge.”

There was silence on the other end. “I have to go.”

Dylan didn’t pressure her. Whatever she wasn’t telling him—he’d get it out of her eventually.

He sat at the old English teacher’s table with a pad of paper and put everything he knew about 1938 in chronological order. His father had been an interesting, often frustrating mix of impulsiveness and careful calculation. He could easily have lined up the same set of facts and, instead of analyzing them, went with whatever his gut told him.

He’d left a message with his mother in Los Angeles. She finally called him back, and he asked her the same questions he’d asked Loretta. She had nothing to add to what she’d already told him—until she said, “Your father did mention wanting to see Boston after his mother died. That was a long time ago.”

“What did Boston have to do with his mother?”

“She grew up there. She left after she married your grandfather. They lived in New York City before they moved west after he was born. I think that’s right. Dylan, I hate to tell you this, but the blunt truth is that your father wasn’t a big part of my life—except for you.”

“I know. It is what it is.”

“I love you, and I know he loved you.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

Olivia Frost,
but he said, “Curiosity.”

His mother laughed, as Dylan knew she would. “Now you sound just like your father,” she said as she hung up.

There was no internet connection in the house. If he planned on staying in Knights Bridge much longer, he had to hook up Wi-Fi.

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to stay. He didn’t belong here. He would only end up breaking Olivia’s heart.

Or his own, he thought as he considered his options. In his years playing hockey and then operating in Noah’s cutthroat business world, he’d learned to act decisively, but Knights Bridge was different. The stakes were different. Losing a game, losing money—they mattered, but they weren’t the same as dealing with the people in a close-knit community and their dreams and secrets.

He had to think. He had food in his little fridge. The weather was good, so leaks weren’t an issue for the moment.

He could take his time.

Loretta Wrentham settled into the comfortable, ergonomic chair at her desk in her La Jolla home office and contemplated the situation in Knights Bridge on the other side of the country. She remembered Duncan McCaffrey walking into this room on a stormy afternoon two years ago. “You get a few drops of rain in Southern California, and people suddenly forget how to drive. They all talk about the oil buildup on the roads, but I think they just can’t deal with rain.”

She’d smiled at him. “Come back and live here awhile, and you’ll remember.”

“You’re my son’s lawyer.”

“Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. Just…” He hadn’t wanted to tell her anything but finally relented. “I’m leaving everything to Dylan except for what I’m giving to a foundation that specializes in historical archaeology.”

“Are you ill?”

Duncan hadn’t looked shocked or dismayed. He had seemed, in fact, amused and pleased by her bluntness. “I’m not ready to croak yet. Soon, maybe. I’ve never expected to live to a ripe old age. No, Lori—”

“Loretta,” she’d supplied.

“Loretta. That’s a pretty name.”

She couldn’t swear to it, but she suspected she’d blushed. “Thank you.”

“Loretta, I’m on a treasure hunt that might lead me somewhere I shouldn’t go. Not that I don’t want to, but shouldn’t. If I die before it’s complete, I’ll have left Dylan a few clues. It’s up to him if he doesn’t do anything with them. It’s up to him if he even looks at a thing I’ve left him.”

“All right.”

“I know you represent him and not me, but I want that to be clear. I don’t want to reach out from the grave and screw up his life for him.”

“It’s about this treasure?”

“Yeah. If he inherits a house in a little town in New England called Knights Bridge, then you know I didn’t finish.”

“Knights as in knights in armor or nights as in—”

“Armor. I think the Knights were a family in the area. Who the hell knows.”

“You know more than you’re saying.”

He grinned at her. “Yeah, I do, but not as much as you think.”

“Why did you buy this house? Does it have to do with this reluctant treasure hunt?”

“What would you do if you thought someone close to you had been involved with a long-ago crime?”

“Depends on the statute of limitations and the type of crime. Mr. McCaffrey—”

“Duncan. Anyway, I’m not telling you the details. The less you know, the better.”

“Did this crime involve murder? There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

“No murder. I’m not out to unearth people’s secrets. We all deserve our secrets, don’t we?”

Loretta didn’t know how it happened, but they’d ended up in bed together. In his early seventies, Duncan had been a vigorous lover. She’d known there’d been a long string of women before her and it was meant to be a momentary interlude. She’d given herself up to the night. He had seemed complex, a man who loved life and knew who he was and yet was lost, didn’t know where he belonged. When he left in the morning, she had a feeling she would never see him again.

And she didn’t.

Being with him had rekindled a desire for love, and sex, in her life. She had started dating again. There’d been no repeat of such a one-night stand—she wasn’t the type and had never run into another Duncan McCaffrey—and she had no interest in letting his son know, or even hinting to him, that they’d been intimate.

She’d done what Duncan had asked and had simply paid the bills on the house in Knights Bridge; until Dylan started asking questions. Now the questions included a 1938 robbery involving a British aristocrat and jewels going back to Queen Victoria.

The treasure hunt, obviously, that had absorbed Dylan’s father.

In her view, Duncan had spoken with her under the assumption he had attorney-client privilege, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

“I’m not out to unearth people’s secrets.”

Loretta told herself that unless there was an urgent reason to do otherwise, she needed to respect Duncan’s secrets.

Plus, she realized he’d wanted his son to carry on the hunt on his own, without any goading from her.

Whatever was going on in Knights Bridge was meant for father and son.