I glanced over at Kevan, conscious suddenly that he watched me, a questioning look reflected in his eyes. Was he my mirror, like the moon to the sun, or was I the moon and he the sun? Regardless, he didn’t ask my thoughts. Instead, he pointed to a white Range Rover parked about ten feet from us. “Do you want to follow me out to the house?”
“Sure.” My stomach did a flip-flop.
The three of us walked to his car, Shakespeare panting from the warmth of the afternoon and the exertion. When we arrived, Kevan opened up the back door and leaned down to take off Shakespeare’s leash. The dog sat on his hind legs, looking up at his master, an expression of shame and gratitude on his wizened face. “He can’t get up by himself,” said Kevan. “Poor old man.” He leaned over and lifted the dog into the car. Glancing inside, I saw the backseats were down and there was a large and soft-looking bed. Kevan placed Shakespeare there, patting him on the head. “It’s okay, buddy. We all need a little help now and then.” Shakespeare tapped his tail four times and then closed his eyes.
Kevan shut the door and turned to me. “I got him for Rori when she was little. I can’t even think about this guy leaving me but he’s twelve and fading. Just last year he used to be able to jump into the car without a problem.”
I reached for his hand, involuntarily, and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. He loves you. He has a lot to live for.”
He looked into my eyes, cocking his head to the side in a way that reminded me of his dog, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
Home?
I followed him out to his place in my car, the dust of the dirt driveway billowing and settling on the shiny black paint. There were moments as I drove along, music turned up loudly, that I wondered for the hundredth time if I was doing the right thing, but I dismissed it. There was no harm in it, I told myself. The kids were not with me. It wasn’t like I could do damage to anyone but myself. And surely anyone as gentle and loving with a dog could not be anything but good?
When we arrived at the house, several cars lined the driveway. Parked near the garage were a black sports utility vehicle and a blue roadster with the top down. I pulled up behind them while Kevan opened the garage and drove inside. I turned off my engine and grabbed my suitcase from the trunk just as Kevan came out of the garage with the hardware store bag. Shakespeare loped behind him. He met me, taking the suitcase and pointing toward the guesthouse, set behind the main house by a hundred yards or so, near a large oak with an enormous trunk and curved branches with green leaves fluttering in the breeze. A table with eight chairs nestled under the branches, looking cool and comfortable. From the outside, the guesthouse appeared a miniature version of the main house, with the same windows and A-shaped slant to the roof mimicking its larger sister.
“There’s a running trail through much of the property,” said Kevan. “It’s good for walking or jogging. It follows the creek for some portion and will take you past my brothers’ homes. Feel free to use it.” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward his house. “Go on, Shakespeare. I’ll be there in a minute.” After a few wags of his tail, the dog, careful on the gravel, moved slowly toward the house.
We walked inside the guesthouse to a small sitting area and mini kitchen, all with the same clean, modern lines as the main house. Decorated in blacks and tans, a couch and two chairs encircled a gas-burning fireplace. “There’s Wi-Fi available. The password’s on the desk.” He pointed to a small desk set in front of the large windows. “And we have satellite television, like a million channels, none of which are worth watching. The bedroom’s through that door. It’s small but should be fine, I think. I’ll set your suitcase and ranch duds in there.”
I stood, watching his lean frame move across the room and into the bedroom. I set my purse on the couch, feeling awkward and then frightened. Should I be here? Was I safe?
When he came back to the main room, he gestured toward the outside. “My mother’s here from California. It’s her birthday and we’re having a dinner for her tomorrow.”
I didn’t say anything, thinking of my own mother.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts, he went to the windows. “She’ll only stay a couple of days, I hope. Since she tore down the old house she always stays with me. She likes to stay here rather than with my brothers because of Rori. Fortunately, my brothers and I live far enough away from each other that we can pretend the other doesn’t exist.”
“Are you the only one who lives here full time, then?”
“Right. My mother divides her time between here and San Francisco. After my father died, she sold the house in Boise, tore down the house here, and moved to California. She grew up there and never quite adjusted to life in Idaho. My brother Ardan lives in Ketchum most of the time. He runs a boys’ boarding school there. Ciaran roams the world. Literally.” He turned away from the window. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. I asked my housekeeper, Minnie, to stock the refrigerator for you but I’d consider it a favor if you’d join us for cocktails and dinner tomorrow evening for my mother’s birthday.”
“Oh, yes, sure.” I was pleased for the invitation, curious about these Lanigans.
He glanced down at the floor, shuffling his feet. “Do you have a cocktail dress you could wear? My mother doesn’t allow casual dress at the table. Well, unless it’s breakfast. She makes an exception for breakfast.”
“I have one nice dress with me. I think it’ll work.”
“That’ll be fine, I’m sure.” But he looked worried.
When he was at the door, I called out to him. “Kevan, wait, there’s something I want to show you. I didn’t want to show it to you until I was sure we weren’t being watched.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the note and held it out to him. I held my breath as he read it, looking for clues to his guilt or innocence.
The muscles of his cheek flexed. He looked up at me, a baffled expression on his face. Was it real or put on for effect? “I don’t understand this.”
“Me either. Obviously, someone heard me asking about him, either at the library or the coffee place.” I hesitated, keeping my voice innocent and perplexed. “Do you think there’s a chance foul play was involved in their deaths?”
He shook his head, obviously agitated. “Absolutely not. There’s no evidence of it. According to the deputy that arrived on the scene, they hit a patch of black ice and slid into a tree. Death was instantaneous.”
I let out a sharp breath. I hadn’t fully thought of Finn’s last moments. Had he been in pain? Did he know he was dying? Apparently, these thoughts were reflected on my face because Kevan moved closer to me and touched the side of my arm with the tips of his fingers. “They said neither of them suffered. It was too fast.”
I sank onto the nearest chair, my chest pained, letting his words come into my nervous system. “I hate to think of it.”
“I know.” He sat across from me. “I’ve had three years to get used to the idea. I realize this is all new to you.”
“It’s so stupid. It wasn’t like he was part of my life but it hurts.”
“He wasn’t part of your present but he was part of your past. He meant something to you, whether it was today or thirteen years ago that you last saw him.”
I was quiet for a moment, gathering my emotions inside so they would not spill out onto the clean floor.
“Blythe, this note doesn’t make any sense unless there’s something someone doesn’t want us to know, which means you’re in danger if you keep asking questions. Just let this go. No good can come of it.”
“Don’t you want to know the truth?”
“The only truth I know is that my favorite brother was leaving town with my wife. How they died doesn’t change that fact.” He rubbed under his left eye. “Would you like to see the barn?”
I nodded and followed him out the door.
***
Horse stalls lined both sides of the long and high barn. It smelled of hay and manure and dust. Hor
ses occupied three of the stalls: Boo, Peep, and Buttercup. Kevan’s face turned soft as he introduced me to them. “They’re all old and no one wanted them any longer. That’s where I come in. I can’t stand the thought of them being killed just because they’ve worn out their usefulness. Second chances. For them and me.” He picked three apples from a bin in a room with rakes, shovels, buckets, and saddles. He handed one to me “Want to feed it to Buttercup?”
Wanting to say no, I felt my eyes widen. I felt afraid of these large creatures with their loud noises and wide nostrils and dark eyes. “Out of my hand?” The question came out a squeak.
He smiled and offered his arm as we walked over to Buttercup’s stall. “Just hold out your hand. She’ll take it from you.”
I did so, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Buttercup moved her mouth to my hand and with one gushing, sucking motion, grabbed the apple in her mouth and began to chew. She almost looked like she smiled at me, with those big teeth bared and the way her eyes looked at me. After she finished, Kevan stroked her nose, murmuring what I can only describe as sweet nothings, all the wariness he had with people having disappeared completely. I watched him, soaking in the beauty of the man and the horse. Something shifted inside me once again. I was soft, my insides liquid. Was it possible to fall in love with someone at first sight? I dismissed the thought, along with the desire to press myself against his back, slide my arms around his neck, and breathe him in.
With one last pat on Buttercup’s nose, he turned to me. “I have to go deal with my mother. Riona Lanigan cannot be ignored.”
“Riona? It’s so regal.”
“Isn’t it, though?” He laughed. “Come along. Let me walk you back to the guesthouse.”
We did so, walking in silence.
At the door, he tapped his fingertips on my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner, okay? Five for cocktails. At seventy-three, Riona has remained true to the cocktail hour always starting promptly at five.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.” He left without another word.
I unpacked my belongings and explored the small house, finding a washer and dryer in the bedroom closet and a surprisingly large bathroom with a soaking tub. The refrigerator was stocked with apples and grapes, cheese and salami. The freezer held stacks of the frozen low-calorie diet dinners I’d mentioned the other night. Did the man remember every detail? The freezer also had a large bottle of vodka. I chuckled over that, knowing it was Kevan’s way of teasing me. A man capable of these thoughtful details—could he be capable of murder? Or did the noticing of these details indicate an obsessive personality, one that couldn’t let go? One that would murder his wife and her lover rather than let them betray him?
My stomach growled. It was nearing three, I realized, surprised. I tore off a piece of the bread, paired it with a couple pieces of salami, and ate it standing over the sink in the kitchen. This was like the guest room portion of Clementine’s Barbie house, I thought. Only I was a middle-aged Barbie, and Ken was dead.
After I finished eating, I plopped on the couch and opened a novel about a beach romance but it didn’t hold my attention. I rubbed under my eyes and stared at the sky out the window. Here I was chasing ghosts. Was I making more of a mess of things? I rose from the couch, drank a glass of water, and spent an hour or so on my laptop, writing an email to Lola and Clemmie. I’d recently allowed Lola an email account so she could write to friends. She didn’t use it much but I was glad to be able to send her a note now. I wrote my sister next, filling her in on the latest events, hoping I wouldn’t immediately get a response that I should go home and not put myself in any danger. Then, I looked at the news online; it was the normal reports of tragedies and political worries. From my temporary desk here, looking out on the mountain, the world felt far away.
I spent the next several hours getting to know my new camera. There was no reason not to learn to use it, I told myself. Even if nothing came of it.
CHAPTER 14
IN THE MORNING, I dressed in my workout clothes and running shoes. After stretching, I set out along the path, using the country beat of the music through my iPod to set a decent pace. The path started just outside my quarters and first took me around the lake and then, as Kevan had said, along the creek. The level ground had no tree trunks or slippery mud to worry about like many of the paths I ran at home. I gazed ahead instead of at my feet and enjoyed the natural beauty of blue sky and yellow grasses and Blue Mountain. I guessed the weather to be in the low 70s, and with the arid air it was the perfect running weather. When I ran, my mind was at rest, almost empty from thoughts as I focused on moving my feet forward. Around mile two I saw a house designed like a ski lodge, with wide planks and a large deck jutting out of the second floor. I wondered what brother this house belonged to? Ardan or Ciaran? I ran another mile and was just rounding a corner when the sight of something stopped me cold.
Finn reclined against the trunk of a tree, reading a book. I pulled the buds from my ears; they hung like limp strands of hair down the sides of my body, as the beat of the music penetrated the silence of the Idaho afternoon. Sweat ran down the back of my running jersey. I stared. It was Finn. How could it be? I wiped sweat from where it ran into my eyes, blinking to dispel the imagined image. But it remained. It was Finn, under the tree, reading a book. He wore tan pants like fly fishermen wore, with loads of pockets down the sides, and a T-shirt the color of mustard. A fly rod and tackle box sat next to him. I couldn’t read the title of his paperback from where I stood ten or so feet away. Then, Finn looked up, in a way that seemed startled. Hadn’t he heard me approaching? For one brief, mad moment I thought he might be a ghost. But then he jumped to his feet, a wary look to his face. I had startled him. Did he recognize me? I took an unplanned step toward him.
And then I knew. It was not Finn. He was too short to be Finn. But his face, my God, it was so like him. I swallowed, feeling foolish. Was I so spooked with all this ghost chasing that I thought I’d seen one? This was one of the brothers, obviously. He was blond with light blue eyes and a sensitive looking mouth, just like Finn.
His head was cocked to the side, the book tucked under his arm. “Can I help you?” he asked, like I was lost and needed directions home. Perhaps I was lost. But I knew the way home. And for the hundredth time in the span of several days, I wondered why I hadn’t yet headed there.
“I’m a guest of Kevan’s,” I finally managed, my voice sounding strangled in the back of my throat. I had one of those moments when I could almost see myself from above. The words didn’t feel like my own. “Staying at his guesthouse. I’m just out for a run.”
His face relaxed. He smiled and moved closer. “Oh, yes, well, you startled me.” Holding up the book as if for evidence, he said, “I was engrossed in my book here and had lost track of all time and place. Then, I looked up to see a beautiful woman, which I’m sorry to say is almost unheard of on the Lanigan property other than my niece and my mother, neither of whom run. I’m Ardan. Ardan Lanigan.”
Pronounced like Are Dawn, I thought, as I told him my name.
“Nice to meet you, Blythe. Do I know you from someplace?” He shook my hand. He wore a chain with a cross around his neck.
“I don’t think so.” The first and last words of my sentence halted and stuttered.
He peered at me closely, biting his bottom lip. “What made you look like you saw a ghost when you saw me? Have we met and I don’t remember? I’m sorry if that’s the case. I have a terrible memory, although usually just for names, not faces.” The timbre of his voice was low-pitched yet lively, like someone used to speaking in front of a crowd or a camera.
“I knew Finn. A long time ago. You look very much like him and it was like seeing a ghost, actually.”
His eyebrows went up in surprise and it was his turn to stutter. “You knew Finn?”
“Briefly. Thirteen years ago.”
His eyes changed from searching to knowing. “What did you say your n
ame was?”
“Blythe. But Finn knew me as Lou.”
“Holy God.” That was all, just those two words uttered in complete shock and surprise. Apparently Kevan wasn’t the only brother who had heard the story of runaway Lou.
Before he could ask the obvious questions, I told him how I came to be running this particular path on this particular day, including my divorce and subsequent decision to come find Finn but meeting Kevan by chance. When I was done, as Kevan had when I told him my story, Ardan shook his head, without taking his eyes from me.
“So you came looking for him after all these years and ran into Kevan? What are the odds of that?”
Was he suspicious of me? I couldn’t tell. “Well, statistically speaking, this is a town of less than a thousand people, so the odds aren’t that slim.”
Reaching for the chain around his neck, he pulled out the cross. It was plain and made of silver. He rubbed it between a finger and thumb in a way I suspected was habitual when he was thinking something through. “Still, it’s quite amazing.” He motioned to the blanket near the tree. “Would you care to sit for a moment?”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to get back on the trail and run until I could no longer think, until I could no longer be bombarded by the thoughts echoing through my head. However, like a cat and the curiosity that killed it, I followed him. I sat on the edge of the blanket, still sweating from my run and nervousness. My headphones still hung at my sides. I turned off the music and stuffed it all in the pocket of my running shorts.
Blue Midnight (Blue Mountain Book 1) Page 14
