Secrets of the Lost Summer (27 page)

“Are you coming?” Grace asked, pausing at the bottom of the porch steps.

She nodded and smiled. “Right behind you.”

Dylan would be there, she thought. She didn’t know how being out on the water—being with her—had affected him. He’d turned off the engine of their rented boat and sat for a while, fishing, listening to the birds and the wind on the water and in the trees on the shore. For miles and miles, there was nothing but wilderness. They’d spotted an eagle nest high in a spruce tree. Olivia wanted to see a moose. Maggie O’Dunn had said she’d seen a moose in Quabbin last fall.

Using an island—once a hill—to orient themselves, they located the area where Grace had grown up. The water was deep, impenetrable, no old foundations or anything else visible on the bottom.

“Olivia,” Grace said quietly.

She snapped out of her thoughts. “Sorry. Dylan and I went out in a boat today. We wanted to find the spot where you grew up.”

She smiled. “Did you catch any fish?”

“Not a one.”

Dylan had seemed taken in by both the history and the beauty of Quabbin. Olivia had been taken in by him. He wasn’t just a sexy jock or just a hard-driving businessman. Out on the water, those stereotypes didn’t hold, and, she realized, they had nothing to do with him. He was who he was. He didn’t play games. He was, she thought, completely authentic, and would stand for no less from the people in his life. It was why he and Noah Kendrick got along. Noah couldn’t be anyone but who he was.

Grace mounted the steps slowly but without hesitation. She straightened when she reached the porch. “This place looks seedier than I remember. Was it this seedy when I sold it to that rogue Duncan McCaffrey?”

“I wasn’t in town when you sold it,” Olivia said.

Grace sighed at the cracked, warped front door. “I suppose one’s eye gets used to certain things. In my last years here, I was terrified that I wouldn’t notice bathroom odors as I aged. I was staying home for longer periods. One’s senses adjust. It’s like people who don’t notice pet odors.” She glanced at Olivia. “I made your grandmother promise to tell me if she walked in here and the place smelled like pee.”

Olivia laughed in surprise. “Grandma probably would have told you even if you hadn’t asked her to.”

The door opened and Dylan greeted them. “Hello, Grace, Olivia.” His tone was polite, neutral, as he stood back and motioned for them to come inside. He’d obviously showered since fishing on Quabbin that morning. The ends of his dark hair were damp and he’d changed into a warm gray sweater and canvas pants that fit closely on his athletic, muscular frame. “I was restless and cleaned this afternoon,” he said with a smile as they stepped past him. “Don’t forget to notice the floors. I mopped.”

Olivia suppressed an image of him with his sleeves rolled up, cleaning house. She had to get her attraction to him under control. If Grace noticed, she made no comment. She entered the living room, placing a hand tentatively on the door frame. The floors did look better, and the room smelled fresh, not as dank and musty.

After a moment’s hesitation, Grace walked through the living room to the dining room. “I used to grade papers here,” she said, rubbing her fingertips over the newly polished table. “You can see the marks from my red pencil. I always used a red pencil.”

“My folks remember,” Olivia said.

“Your father enjoyed Shakespeare but he pretended he didn’t like reading. He could have made the honor roll all through school, but he didn’t want to put in the effort. Your mother was different. She pushed herself to do well.”

“She wasn’t as smart as Dad?”

“I didn’t say that. Randy could get by with no work. Louise couldn’t, not because she wasn’t smart. She would get paralyzed if she wasn’t prepared. Your father didn’t mind winging it.”

Dylan stood in front of the bay window. “Were they artistic like Olivia?”

“Randy liked to draw but I wouldn’t know about artistic skill. I taught Latin and English. It was a long time ago but I remember him and Louise well, perhaps because Audrey and I were friends.”

“No secrets in a small town,” Dylan said.

Olivia followed his gaze as he glanced out the window. No rain yet, but it was gray, blustery.

Grace looked past him to the overgrown yard. “I beg to differ. Small towns have their secrets, possibly more so than the city because we in small towns have reason to keep them. The city can afford more anonymity. What difference does it make if a stranger discovered your secret? You can just blab away and go home, knowing you’re unlikely ever to see them again.”

“Do you have any secrets?” Dylan asked.

She ignored him. “The house is clean but it’s so run-down. I suppose I’m spoiled. Everything at Rivendell is new.” She moved over to one of the bookcases. “I didn’t do much when I was here. I kept it clean, but I hated to spend money on anything but the most critical repairs. I loved the view, the gardens, my favorite chair and my books. I tidied up but I never saw any need to redecorate or to replace anything that still worked. My family…” She paused, deep in thought. “Gran liked it here well enough, but my father never felt at home. I did, but my idea of home changed after the state took our land.”

“Who owned Olivia’s place before she did?” Dylan asked.

“There were several owners during my time here. The most recent—the couple who sold her the house—planned to convert it into a bed-and-breakfast but ran out of money. They put a lot of work into the place. A new roof, new furnace, new wiring.”

“Which helped me,” Olivia interjected. “I can concentrate on cosmetic work instead of infrastructure.”

“Did you always live here alone?” Dylan asked, standing by the piano.

“After both my father and grandmother died, yes. I often considered taking in a boarder, but I never did. I would see students and teachers all day.” Grace ran her fingertips over a row of books. “I’d go to church, and to dinner and the movies with friends. I loved the quiet here and I appreciated my solitude. I’d watch the birds, work in my garden, read, build puzzles. I’d listen to the radio but I seldom watched television. I got a DVD player when I couldn’t get out as much anymore.”

“A good life,” Olivia said.

Grace turned from the books. “It still is a good life. Since I never married and have no close family, I never had the illusion that I would have someone else around to take care of me in my late senior years.” She laughed, her light blue eyes sparking with sudden humor. “Although I never thought I’d live this long.”

Dylan nodded to the shelves of adventure novels. “You’ve left me some good reading.”

A little unsteadily, Grace touched the copy of
The Scarlet Pimpernel.
“I loved these books. I have no room for them in my apartment. When I get a hankering to read about swashbucklers and such, I borrow a copy from the library.”

“These don’t have sentimental value?” Dylan asked.

She looked up at him. “They have great sentimental value. I left them for your father to enjoy. I’m sorry he didn’t get that chance. I hope they’re not too far gone for you.”

“Not at all. I’m reading
The Count of Monte Cristo.
”

Grace smiled. “That’s a good one. You’re enjoying Knights Bridge, then? Have you had a chance to hike up Carriage Hill yet?”

“I have,” Dylan said.

She walked over to the bay window, pulled back a sheer curtain, then craned her neck as if to get a view of the hill. “I haven’t been up there in years. There’s a pond on the other side. Carriage Hill Pond. When I was a girl…” She seemed to struggle to find the right words as she let go of the curtain and stood straight. “I used to read books in a small cabin there, before it was torn down for Quabbin.”

Grace was visibly tired, and Olivia exchanged glances with Dylan. He slipped an arm around Grace. “Will you allow me to walk you back to the car?”

She beamed a smile up at him. “You
are
a scoundrel.”

He laughed. “I think I prefer swashbuckler.”

Once Grace was safely into the passenger seat, Olivia returned to her house and collected her grandmother, then took both women back to Rivendell. A half-dozen residents were gathered around a large television, cheering on the Red Sox against the Yankees. Olivia’s grandmother joined them, but Grace wasn’t interested. “I’m going to have hot chocolate, read and go to bed early,” she said, pensive.

“Sounds good,” Olivia said cheerfully. “I might go home and do the same.”

“Are you happy being back in Knights Bridge, Olivia?” Grace asked as they came to her apartment door.

“Yes, absolutely. I was never far away in Boston. In some ways it’s as if I never left.”

Grace unlocked the door and pushed it open, then turned to Olivia, her steady gaze a reminder of her reputation as a stern teacher. “Dylan McCaffrey is a nomad at heart, isn’t he?”

“Maybe. I don’t know him that well. His father was, at least from what I can gather. Dylan must have been on the go all the time as a hockey player. Nowadays, he has the means to do whatever he wants.”

“He can even wash floors if he so chooses,” Grace said with unexpected levity.

Olivia left her to her hot chocolate and drove back to Carriage Hill. She had deep roots in Knights Bridge. Dylan had none, but it wouldn’t have mattered. She’d seen that morning that new things—new discoveries, new adventures—energized him. His work and his lifestyle opened the world up to him. He could get on a plane in a heartbeat if he wanted to go somewhere.

Her hands shook, and she felt light-headed, early signs of a full-blown panic attack at the thought of flying. Buster didn’t seem to notice her agitated state. He wandered into the mudroom and lapped the water in his dish.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Olivia said, grabbing his leash.

She welcomed the cool air and light rain as she and Buster headed out the driveway and down the road. Dogs weren’t allowed in Quabbin but they wouldn’t go that far. She just wanted to give the exercise and quiet surroundings a chance to soothe her. It wasn’t just the thought of flying that had frayed her nerves, she realized. It was Grace. It was her mother, Jess, Mark Flanagan. The uncertainties of her own life and work. Duncan McCaffrey and the Ashworth jewels.

And it was Dylan, she thought.

She smiled as she and Buster rounded a curve. Mostly it was Dylan.

He was strolling toward them in the mist as if he’d lived in Knights Bridge his entire life.

Olivia did her best to cover for any lingering visible effects of her moment of panic. “The rain’s nice right now, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I think Grace appreciated seeing the house again. Thanks for doing that, but don’t you wonder what she isn’t telling us?”

He nodded. “Whatever it is might not have anything to do with my father or the 1938 robbery.”

“Weird to think Grace could know anything about a fortune in missing jewels.”

“Maybe she doesn’t.” Dylan patted Buster on the head.

“How far do you two plan to go? The rain’s supposed to get worse.”