The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  The Bradys would be there soon.

  She’d been relieved when her grandfather had been called to the campground right after lunch to handle some little snag. It hadn’t been hard to make excuses to stay behind instead of going with him, though she’d felt guilty about being less than honest.

  The guilt had her working twice as hard as she might have on cleaning the terrace outside the lodge dining room and weeding the gardens that bordered it.

  It was also the perfect spot from which to watch arrivals and departures.

  Olivia weeded the nasturtiums that tumbled over the low stone wall in cheery yellows and oranges, deadheaded the bright white Shasta daisies behind them and kept one eye on the turn toward Reception.

  Her hands sweated inside her garden gloves, which she’d worn only because she wanted to be adult and shake hands with the Brady family without having grime on her fingers and under her fingernails. She wanted Frank to see that she was grown-up enough to understand about her mother, about her father.

  She didn’t want him to see a scared little girl who needed to be protected from monsters.

  She was going to learn to chase the monsters away herself, Olivia thought. Then, despite her plans, she absently swiped a hand over her cheek and smeared it with soil.

  She’d brushed her hair and smoothed it into a neat ponytail that she’d slipped through the opening in the back of her red cap. She wore jeans and a River’s End T-shirt. Both had been clean that morning, and though she’d tried to keep them that way, the knees of her jeans were soiled now.

  That would only prove that she’d been working, she told herself. That she was responsible.

  They should be here by now, she thought. They had to be here soon, they just had to. Otherwise her grandfather might come back. He might recognize Frank Brady. He probably would. Grandfather remembered everyone and everything. Then he’d find ways to keep her from talking to Frank, to keep her from asking questions. All the planning, the care, the hopes she had would be for nothing if they didn’t get there soon.

  A couple strolled out onto the terrace, sat at one of the little iron tables. One of the staff would come out to serve them drinks or snacks, Olivia knew. Then she’d lose the solitude.

  Olivia worked her way along the border, half listening as the woman read about the trails in her guidebook. Planning tomorrow’s hike, debating whether to take one of the long ones and order one of the picnic lunches the lodge provided.

  Ordinarily Olivia might have stopped working long enough to recommend just that plan, to give her own description of the trail the woman seemed to favor. The guests enjoyed the personal touch, and her grandparents encouraged her to share her knowledge of the area with them. But she had too much on her mind for chitchat and continued to work steadily down the edge of the terrace until she was nearly out of sight.

  She saw the big old car bumping up the drive, but noted immediately that the man driving it was too young to be Frank Brady. He had a pretty face—what she could see of it, as he wore a cap and sunglasses. His hair spilled out of the cap, wavy and sun-streaked brown.

  The woman in the passenger seat was pretty, too. His mother, Olivia guessed, though she didn’t look very old either. Maybe she was his aunt, or his big sister.

  She ran through the reservations in her head, trying to remember if they had a couple coming in that day, then she spotted another figure sprawled in the backseat.

  Her heart began to thud in her chest, the answering echo a dull beat in her head. Slowly she got to her feet as the car coasted around the last turn and parked.

  She knew him right away. Olivia didn’t consider it at all strange that her bleary memory of his face shot into sharp focus the minute Frank stepped out of the car. She remembered perfectly now, the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way his hand had felt, big and gentle on her cheek.

  Her aching head spun, once, sickly, as he turned his head and saw her. She felt her knees tremble, but she pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket. Her mouth was dust dry, but she forced a polite smile on her face and started forward.

  So did he.

  For Olivia, at that moment, the woman and the young man who got out of the car faded into the background. As did the wall of great trees, the searing blue sky above them, the flutter of butterflies, the chatter of birds.

  She saw only him, as she’d seen only him the night he’d opened the closet door.

  “I’m Olivia,” she said in a voice that sounded very far away to her own ears. “Thank you for coming, Detective Brady.” She held out her hand.

  How many times, Frank wondered, would this one little girl break his heart? She stood so poised, her eyes so solemn, her smile so polite. And her voice shook.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Olivia.” He took her hand in his, held it. “Livvy. Don’t they call you Livvy anymore?”

  “Yes.” Her smile warmed, just a little. “Did you have a nice trip?”

  “Very nice. We decided to drive, so we needed my son’s car. It’s the only one big enough to be comfortable for that long. Celia?”

  He reached out, then slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. It was a gesture Olivia noticed. She liked to study the way people were together. The woman fit easily against him, and her smile was friendly. Her eyes sympathetic.

  “This is Celia, my wife.”

  “Hello, Livvy. What a beautiful place. You know I camped in your campgrounds once, when I was Noah’s age. I’ve never forgotten this area. Noah, this is Livvy MacBride, her family owns the lodge.”

  He glanced over, nodded—polite but distant. “Hey” was all he said as he tucked his hands in his back pockets. Behind the dark glasses, he took in every feature of her face.

  She was taller than he expected. Gangly. He reminded himself his image of her was stuck on the little girl with her hands clamped over her ears and her face wild with fear and grief.

  He’d never forgotten how she’d looked. He’d never forgotten her.

  “Noah’s a man of few words these days,” Celia said soberly, but the way her eyes laughed had Olivia smiling again.

  “You can leave your car here if you want while you check in. All the lake-view units were booked, but you have a really nice view of the forest. It’s one of the family units on the ground floor and has its own patio.”

  “It sounds wonderful. I remember taking pictures of the lodge all those years ago.” To put Olivia at ease, Celia laid a hand on her shoulder and turned to study the building. “It looks as if it grew here, like the trees.”

  It was grand and old and dignified. Three stories, with the main section under a steeply pitched roof. Windows were generous, to offer the guests stunning views. The wood had weathered to a soft brown and, with the deep green trim, seemed as much a part of the forest as the giant trees that towered over it.

  Pathways were fashioned of stone with small evergreens and clumps of ferns and wildflowers scattered throughout. Rather than manicured, the grounds looked appealingly wild and untouched.

  “It’s not intrusive at all. Whoever built it understood the importance of working with nature instead of beating it back.”

  “My great-grandfather. He did the original building, then he and his brother and my grandfather added on to it. He named it, too.” Olivia resisted the urge to rub her damp palms on her jeans. “There’s no river that ends here or anything. It’s a metaphor.”

  “For finding rest and shelter at the end of a journey,” Celia suggested and made Olivia smile.

  “Yeah, exactly. That’s what he wanted to do. It was really just an inn at first, and now it’s a resort. But we want that same restful atmosphere and are dedicated to preserving the area and seeing to it that the lodge adds to rather than detracts from the purity of the forest and lakes.”

  “You’re talking her language.” Frank winked. “Celia’s a staunch conservationist.”

  “So is anyone with brains,” Olivia said automatically and had Celia noddi
ng in approval.

  “We’re going to get along just fine. Why don’t you show me around the lodge while these big strong men deal with the luggage?”

  Olivia glanced back at Frank as Celia led her off. Impatience all but shimmered around her, but she did as she was asked and opened one half of the great double doors.

  “I never made it inside during my other trip,” Celia was saying. “I was on a pretty tight budget, and I was busy turning my nose up at any established creature comforts. I was one of the first hippies.”

  Olivia stopped, blinked. “Really? You don’t look like a hippy.”

  “I only wear my love beads on special occasions now—like the anniversary of Woodstock.”

  “Was Frank a hippy, too?”

  “Frank?” Celia threw back her head and laughed in sheer delight. “Oh no, not Mister Conservative. That man was born a cop—and a Republican. Well,” she said with a sigh, “what can you do? Oh, but this is lovely.”

  She turned a half circle in the main lobby, admiring the floors and walls of natural pine and fir, the great stone fireplace filled in the warmth of August with fresh flowers rather than flames. Chairs and sofas in soft earth tones were arranged in cozy groups.

  Several guests were enjoying coffee or wine while they sat and contemplated the views or studied their guidebooks.

  There was Native American art in paintings and wall hangings and rugs, and copper pails that held generous bouquets of fresh flowers or greenery.

  It seemed more like a sprawling living room than a lobby, which, Celia imagined, had been just the intention.

  The front desk was a polished wood counter manned by two clerks in crisp white shirts and hunter green vests. Daily activities were handwritten on an old slate board, and a stoneware bowl of pastel-colored mints sat on the counter.

  “Welcome to River’s End.” The female clerk had a quick grin for Olivia before she turned a welcoming smile on Celia. “Will you be staying with us?”

  “Yes, Celia Brady and family. My husband and son are getting our luggage.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Brady, we’re happy to have you.” While she spoke, the clerk tapped her fingers over the keyboard below the counter. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

  “Very.” Celia noted the name tag pinned to the vest. “Thank you, Sharon.”

  “And you’ll be staying with us for five nights. You have our family package, which includes breakfast for three every morning, any one of our guided tours . . .”

  Olivia tuned out Sharon’s welcome address and explanation and looked toward the door. Her stomach began to flutter again as Frank came in with Noah behind him. They were loaded down with luggage and backpacks.

  “I can help you with that. Sharon, I can show the Bradys to their rooms and tell them where everything is.”

  “Thanks, Livvy. You can’t do better than with a MacBride as your guide, Mrs. Brady. Enjoy your stay.”

  “It’s this way.” Struggling not to hurry, Olivia led the way down a hallway off the lobby, turned right. “The health club is to the left and complimentary to guests. You can reach the pool through there or by going out the south entrance.”

  She rattled off information, meal service times, room service availability, lounge hours, rental information for canoes, fishing gear, bikes.

  At the door to their rooms, she stood back, and despite nerves found herself pleased when Celia let out a little gasp of pleasure.

  “It’s great! Just great! Oh, Frank, look at that view. It’s like being in the middle of the forest.” She moved immediately to the patio doors and flung them open. “Why do we live in the city?”

  “It has something to do with employment,” Frank said dryly.

  “The master bedroom is in here, and the second bedroom there.”

  “I’ll go dump my stuff.” Noah headed off to the other end of the sitting room.

  “You’ll want to unpack, get settled in.” Olivia linked her hands together, pulled them apart. “Is there anything I can get you, or any questions . . . I—there are some short, easy trails if you want to do any exploring this afternoon.”

  “Frank, why don’t you play scout?” Celia smiled, unable to resist the plea in Olivia’s eyes. “Noah and I will probably laze by the pool for a bit. Livvy can show you around now and you can stretch your legs.”

  “Good idea. Do you mind, Livvy?”

  “No. No, I don’t mind. We can go right out this way.” She gestured to the patio doors. “There’s an easy half-mile loop; you don’t even need any gear.”

  “Sounds perfect.” He kissed Celia, ran a hand down her arm. “See you in a bit.”

  “Take your time.” She walked to the door after them, watched the girl lead the man toward the trees.

  “Mom?”

  She didn’t turn, kept watching until the two figures slipped into the shadows of the forest. “Hmmm?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what, Noah?”

  “That’s Julie MacBride’s kid, isn’t it?”

  Celia turned now to where Noah stood in the doorway of his room, his shoulder nonchalantly propped against the frame, his eyes alert and just a bit annoyed.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “We didn’t come up here to play in the woods and go fishing. Dad hates fishing, and his idea of a vacation is lying in the hammock in the backyard.”

  She nearly laughed. It was exactly true. “What’s your point?”

  “He came up to see the kid. Does that mean something new’s come up on the Julie MacBride murder?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. I didn’t know you had any interest in that business, Noah.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” He pushed away from the doorway and picked up one of the bright red apples in a blue bowl on the table. “It was Dad’s case, and a big one. People still talk about it. And he thinks about it.” Noah jerked his chin in the direction his father had taken. “Even if he doesn’t talk about it. What’s the deal, Mom?”

  Celia lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “The girl—Olivia—wrote to him. She has some questions. I don’t think her grandparents have told her very much, and I don’t think they know she wrote your father. So, let’s give the two of them a little room.”

  “Sure.” Noah bit into the apple, and his gaze drifted toward the window where the tall young girl had led the man toward the trees. “I was just wondering.”

  eight

  The trees closed them in, like giant bars in an ancient prison. Frank had expected a kind of openness and charm, and instead found himself uneasily walking through a strange world where the light glowed eerily green and nature came in odd, primitive shapes.

  Even the sounds and smells were foreign, potent and ripe. Dampness clung to the air. He’d have been more comfortable in a dark alley in East L.A.

  He caught himself glancing over his shoulder and wishing for the comforting weight of his weapon.

  “You ever get lost in here?” he asked Olivia.

  “No, but people do sometimes. You should always carry a compass, and stay on the marked trails if you’re a novice.” She tipped up her face to study his. “I guess you’re an urban hiker.”

  He grinned at the term. “You got that right.”

  She smiled, and the humor made her eyes glow. “Aunt Jamie said that’s what she is now. But you can get lost in the city, too, can’t you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you can.”

  She looked away now, slowing her pace. “It was nice of you to come. I didn’t think you would. I wasn’t sure you’d even remember me.”

  “I remember you, Livvy.” He touched her arm lightly, felt the stiffness and control a twelve-year-old shouldn’t have. “I’ve thought about you, wondered how you were.”

  “My grandparents are great. I love living here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. People come here for vacation, but I get to live here all the time.” She said it all very fast, as if she needed to get out everything good before she turned a corner.<
br />
  “You have a nice family,” she began.

  “Thanks. I think I’ll probably keep them.”

  Her smile came and went quickly. “I have a nice family, too. But I . . . That’s a nurse log,” she pointed out as nerves crept back into her voice. “When a tree falls, or branches do, the forest makes use of them. Nothing’s wasted here. That’s a Douglas fir, and you can see the sprouts of western hemlock growing out of it, and the spread of moss, the ferns and mushrooms. When something dies here, it gives other things a chance to live.”

  She looked up at him again, her eyes a shimmering amber behind a sheen of tears. “Why did my mother die?”

  “I can’t answer that, Livvy. I can never really answer the why, and it’s the hardest part of my job.”

  “It was a waste, wasn’t it? A waste of something good and beautiful. She was good and beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, yes she was.”

  With a nod, she began to walk again and didn’t speak until she was certain she’d fought back the tears. “But my father wasn’t. He couldn’t have been good and beautiful, not really. But she fell in love with him, and she married him.”

  “Your father had problems.”

  “Drugs,” she said flatly. “I read about it in newspapers my grandmother has put away in our attic. He took drugs and he killed her. He couldn’t have loved her. He couldn’t have loved either of us.”

  “Livvy, life isn’t always that simple, that black-and-white.”

  “If you love something, you take care of it. You protect it. If you love enough, you’d die to protect it.” She spoke softly, but her voice was fierce. “He says he didn’t do it. But he did. I saw him. I can still see him if I let myself.” She pressed her lips together. “He would have killed me, too, if I hadn’t gotten away.”

  “I don’t know.” How did he answer this child, with her quiet voice and old eyes. “It’s possible.”

  “You talked to him. After.”

  “Yes. That’s part of my job.”

  “Is he crazy?”

  Frank opened his mouth, closed it again. There were no pat answers here. “The court didn’t think so.”