At Hidden Falls (Angel's Bay Novel)

by Barbara Freethy

  Today there was a lot of action going on inside. Seats were being pulled out to be reupholstered, two men were putting up a frame along the back wall of the stage, and various members of his family were standing around a long table at the front of the stage As usual, they all seemed to be talking at one time. Where there were actors, there were egos, and demanding needs for attention.

  He drew in a deep breath as he climbed the stairs. He loved his parents, his grandparents, his aunts, uncles, cousins . . . but they were all devoted to their theater world, and since his relationship with Kendra, he’d found it difficult to be a part of that.

  His mother looked up and saw him, giving him a welcoming wave. Pamela Strathmore Hartley had met his father, Paul, during a production of Phantom of the Opera in New York. She’d played the ingenue, and his father had fallen in love with his mother’s spectacular voice and beautiful face. Her hair was shorter now, with a dark red tint, but she still had a smile that could light up a stage. His father was a true leading man, with dark, handsome looks that always brought droves of women to the backstage door.

  His grandfather, Harrison Hartley, was also onstage. At six foot three, Harrison had an unmistakable presence and a deep, booming voice that carried to the last row of the theater. He’d played a lot of villains in his time, parlaying a sinister, menacing quality to his strong features into a successful career. His grandmother, Alice, was a foot shorter than her husband, and while the others had all been leading-role material, Alice was a character actress who always played the best friend or the sister or the nanny. She had a round face, pale blond hair, and a nervous manner. She could also cry on cue, her most marketable talent. His uncle Richard filled out the group, a boyishly charming man with a big personality and an even bigger smile.

  “You’re late, Nick,” his grandfather barked as he made his way onto the stage.

  “My fault, Grandpa,” Tory interjected. “I stopped him on the way in.”

  Despite being younger, Tory always tried to protect him. She’d sensed early on that someone needed to be a bridge or a translator between him and the rest of the family.

  “Are you ready to do some sketches for us, put together a plan?” his father asked.

  “I can get you started, but I’m not sure how involved I can be. I have some other projects going on and Megan to worry about. Frankly, you still need to figure out if you can even raise enough money to do the restoration.”

  “We’ve been working on some fundraising ideas,” his mother cut in. “Seat sponsors, endowments, that kind of thing. We have to find a way, Nick, because if we can’t bring the theater up to the new earthquake codes, then we’ll have to shut down. That can’t happen.”

  He couldn’t imagine what his parents and grandparents would do without the theater. But that might be a reality they would have to face.

  “Richard sketched out a few ideas for the renovation,” his father continued. “We want to keep as much of the history as we can.”

  Nick stepped over to the table, taking a look at his uncle’s rough drawings.

  “They’re not what you can do,” Richard said. “But I wanted to give you a jump start.”

  “I can see where you’re going.”

  “And we need you to help us get all the way there,” Richard said with a smile. “I know it’s a big job, but you’re up to it, right? I was down in Morro Bay the other day. I saw the work you did for their library. You’ve come a long way from the days when you used to hammer your nails in sideways.”

  “I was always better with concept than execution,” Nick admitted. His early construction days had helped him be a better architect. “Can I take these with me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “We really need your help, Nick,” his mother added pleadingly. “I can’t imagine anyone in this family surviving without this theater. It’s our livelihood.”

  “There’s always another theater, another town,” he pointed out. He’d spent half his childhood on the road, trading one backstage playground for another as his parents took roles in other productions during the off season.

  “We’re getting too old to traipse around like we used to,” Pamela said.

  “We know you want to refuse this job,” his father put in. “But we won’t make that easy for you. You’re good at what you do, and we need the best.”

  Nick felt an unexpected surge of pleasure at his father’s proud words. He’d never really known what his parents thought of his career. Although . . . as he studied the earnest faces surrounding him, he couldn’t help wondering if he wasn’t being played. This cast of characters could persuade anyone to do anything.

  “You also need the cheapest,” he said pragmatically. “Let’s be real.”

  His uncle grinned. “That’s true. And speaking of reality, I’ve got to run down to the hardware store and pick up some supplies. Paul, are you coming?”

  “Yes.” Paul turned to Harrison. “Dad, do you have that list of supplies?”

  “It’s in the office,” Harrison said. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  “Nick, we’ll talk soon,” his father said.

  “Sure.” Nick rolled up the rough sketches as they left.

  “We’re really glad you’re going to be in town for a while, Nick. We’ve missed you and Melanie,” his grandmother, Alice, said, giving him her sweet smile. He loved her, but she’d been flighty and forgetful even before she could blame old age as an excuse. “It’s Megan,” he reminded her. “My daughter’s name is Megan.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Melanie.”

  “Oh, well, it’s close,” she replied as she wandered off.

  “Is she all right?” he asked his mother.

  Pamela shrugged. “It’s difficult to say. She loves to act, even when we’re not performing.”

  “Like the rest of you,” he said dryly.

  His mother rolled her eyes. “We’re not that bad.”

  “You all live in dreamland. Renovating this theater is another example of your complete lack of reality.”

  “Or perhaps an example of our faith and commitment to keeping this place going. Angel’s Bay needs this theater, and so does our family. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Don’t try to talk her out of it,” Tory warned. “You’ll only be wasting your breath.”

  “I want us to have a family dinner,” his mother interjected. “We haven’t sat down together, all of us, since Megan arrived. We’ll do it this weekend.”

  He nodded, but he wouldn’t be surprised it didn’t happen, since she’d made the suggestion three times already without following through.

  “Hello? Excuse me?”

  Nick whirled around, shocked to see Isabella coming up the steps. What was she doing here?

  “Can I help you?” Tory asked.

  “I saw this flyer and thought I’d offer my services,” Isabella said, holding out a yellow piece of paper. “I’m Isabella Silveira.” She gave Nick a cautious look. “Hi. I didn’t realize your meeting was here.”

  “You’re Joe’s sister,” Tory said. “And that means . . .” Her gaze darted between Isabella and Nick. “You’re the one Nick rescued last night.”

  “You’re the woman?” his mother echoed, curiosity in her eyes. “I’m Pamela, Nick’s mother.”

  “And I’m Tory, Nick’s sister.”

  “It’s nice to meet all of you,” Isabella said. “Anyway, I’m a costume designer, and I normally work in L.A., but I’ll be in town for a while, so I thought I’d see if you needed any help with costumes. I’d be happy to volunteer to do whatever.”

  Great, Nick thought with a sigh. Not only was Isabella spectacularly pretty, with a body that a man would happily die for and a touch that had made him feel as if he was going to spontaneously combust, she was also a theater person. No wonder alarm bells had gone off in his brain.

  “We can always use help with the costumes,” Tory said, “especially experienced help.”

&
nbsp; “Particularly this year,” his mother added. “Our designer, Mariah Olin, has been having health problems, and I didn’t know what we were going to do. We have some ladies who can sew but no designers—no one to help us create a new look to go with the new production. You’re like an angel sent from costume heaven.” She smiled at Nick. “And you were the one to save her. How perfect is that?”

  “Just perfect,” he drawled. “I need to get back to my office.”

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted,” Isabella said quickly.

  “You didn’t at all,” Tory said, waving off her apology. “I’ll take you down to the costume shop, so you can see what you’re getting into. We’re still trying to figure out what costumes we can reuse and what we need to create.”

  As they turned to leave, they ran into his grandfather. Harrison stopped abruptly, his gaze catching on Isabella. His face paled, and he drew in a quick breath as he put a hand to his chest.

  “Grandpa, are you all right?” Tory asked.

  He made it up the last two steps, his gaze still fixed on Isabella. “Your eyes,” he murmured, and shook his head in disbelief. “It can’t be you. It’s not possible.”

  As his grandfather began to sway, Nick rushed to his side. His sister grabbed a nearby chair, and they helped him into it.

  “Should I call nine-one-one?” Tory asked with concern.

  “No. I’m okay,” Harrison said quickly, putting up a hand as Tory reached for her cell phone. “I just need—water.”

  “I’ll get some,” Nick’s mother said, running down the stairs.

  “Is it your heart?” Tory asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” Harrison said, his voice stronger now. He patted her hand. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just need to sit for a minute. I didn’t eat anything today.” His gaze darted back to Isabella.

  Nick glanced at Isabella, who returned his look with a silent question that he had no idea how to answer. It was obvious that his grandfather was unsettled by her appearance. “Why don’t you take Isabella to the costume shop?” he suggested to Tory. “I’ll stay with Grandpa until Mom gets back with the water.”

  “All right,” Tory said, still a bit hesitant. “Grandpa?”

  “It’s okay. Go.” He waved her off.

  As Tory led Isabella down the steps, Nick pulled up another chair and sat down across from his grandfather.

  His grandfather gave him a scowl. “I’m fine. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

  “Well, I need an explanation. What happened? You looked at Isabella as if she were a ghost. I thought you were going to pass out.”

  “She reminded me of someone for a second, that’s all. What did you say her name was?”

  “Isabella Silveira. Her brother is the chief of police. Is that who she reminded you of ?”

  “I don’t think she should work on the production,” Harrison said abruptly, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You need to get rid of her, Nick. She’s not for you.”

  A shiver ran down his spine at his grandfather’s words. “I never thought she was for me.”

  His grandfather’s gaze met his. “She’ll take you in, and she won’t let go. She’ll cast a spell over you. And all your plans, your goals, will get pushed aside. You need to make her go away before it’s too late.”

  Harrison Hartley was the king of drama, but there was a fear in his words that Nick had never heard before.

  “Find a way,” his grandfather added as he stood up.

  “If you want her gone, then you need to do something,” Nick replied. “I don’t have any say over what goes on in the theater. If Isabella wants to work on the costumes, I can’t stop her.”

  “She didn’t come here to make costumes. She came here for you.”

  “We barely know each other.” But as he finished speaking, he flashed back to when Isabella had looked into his eyes and said, “It’s you,” as if she’d recognized him, as if she’d known all along that he would be the one to save her.

  Was she crazy? Was he? Or was he letting his grandfather’s imagination fuel his own?

  His cell phone rang, and the name of the high school appeared on the screen. Damn. This could not be good. “I’ve got to go, Grandpa.”

  He punched in the school’s number as he jogged out of the theater.

  FIVE

  Isabella didn’t know why she was surprised to see Nick in the theater. Ever since she’d started on this trip, she’d felt as if she were dancing to someone else’s tune. She’d been meant to have that accident and meet him, meant to find the flyer, meant to go to the theater. She didn’t know why, but she would eventually. When it came to her visions, trying to rush to a conclusion never worked. She wouldn’t know until it was time to know.

  “I hope your grandfather is all right,” she told Tory as they walked down the stairs and into an adjacent building housing props and costumes. The older man’s reaction to her had been unsettling. He’d looked at her as if she were someone else, as if he knew her.

  “I hope so, too. He has such a strong voice, I sometimes forget that he’s eighty-three years old.” Tory paused, giving her a thoughtful look. “I probably should have asked you if you wanted to do this now. You must still be feeling the aftereffects of your accident.”

  “I’m a little sore, but I’m okay. And I’d love to see the costume shop.”

  “Here it is.” Tori pushed open the door and waved Isabella inside.

  As soon she stepped through the doors, Isabella felt a rush of excitement. She stopped to drink in the atmosphere, the racks of clothes and shoes, bolts of material, shelves laden with hats, buttons, belt buckles, zippers, and other accessories that would be used to transform ordinary people into extraordinary characters. A trio of sewing machines lined one wall. Large work tables were in the center of the room, surrounded by empty dress forms. This was her world, and she loved it.

  “We’ve accumulated quite a bit over the years,” Tory said. “For this particular production, we’ll need both alterations and new pieces. We open just four weeks from this Friday, and saying that makes my heart race! It always feels like a rush, but somehow we get it done.”

  “I’m happy to help. It’s been a long time since I’ve worked on a stage production, and it will be a nice change.” Isabella paused. “I’m not sure your brother is too excited about me working here, though. I went to his office earlier to say thanks for saving my life, and I got the impression he barely wanted to talk with me.”

  Tory gave a dismissive wave. “That’s just Nick. He keeps most people at arm’s length these days; I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s a little distracted right now with his teenage daughter, Megan. She is trouble with a capital T.”

  “Most teenagers are.”

  “True, but Megan is carrying around a lot of extra emotional baggage. Her mother took her away from Nick when she was three years old. She’s only recently come back.” Tory took a breath and smiled. “And Nick would kill me for gossiping. Anyway, I hope they can find a way to make things work. They both really need each other, even if they don’t know how to admit it. Nick’s ex-wife is Kendra Livingston—maybe you’ve heard of her.”

  “Oh, wow,” Isabella murmured. Kendra Livingston was an accomplished stage and film actress and had won several awards for her work. She was also gorgeous, a leggy Marilyn Monroe look-alike.

  “Wow is right. She’s a piece of work. Anyway.” Tory paused, glancing around the room. “I know Mariah left a list of things that need to get done first. Let me see if I can find it, to give you an idea of what we’re working on.”

  While Tory searched for the work list, Isabella wandered around the room. One wall was lined with photographs of actors and actresses from various productions over the years. A lot of famous people had played in this theater. It would be a shame if they couldn’t find a way to keep it going.

  “We actually did this play onc
e before,” Tory said as she riffled through the papers on a nearby counter. “The run ended early because of a fire. We lost almost all of the costumes, except those few over there.” She tipped her head toward a sparsely filled rack of costumes near the door.

  Isabella moved closer to take a look. As her fingers curled around the material of one dress, her nerves began to tingle, and a wave of heat ran through her. Tory’s voice faded away.

  A woman called for help as the flames drew closer and the smoke grew thicker. She could feel the heat, a burning sensation in her chest, terror pounding through her veins.

  “Isabella?”

  Tory’s voice brought her back to the present.

  She let go of the dress and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her jangled nerves.

  “Everything okay?” Tory queried as she walked over with a sketchbook in her hands.

  Isabella tucked her hair behind one ear, needing some movement to expel the sudden rush of adrenaline. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

  “Well, you can come back tomorrow or even the next day. You should probably be home resting.”

  “Did anyone die in the fire?” she asked, still feeling shaken by the brief vision, the emotional connection to someone in the past. She’d never had a costume trigger a flashback or a vision. The clothes were part of a pretend world, worn by characters, not by real people, and they’d never had any effect on her before. So why now?

  Tory gave her an odd look. “Yes, my grandfather’s sister, Caitlyn, died in the fire. She was sixteen. My grandparents don’t like to talk about it. Some people think putting on this revival is a big mistake, that the show is cursed, because it was the one and only production that never finished its run. But theater people tend to be superstitious. I hope that doesn’t scare you off.”

  A chill ran through Isabella’s body, in direct contrast to the heat she’d felt moments before. “Not at all,” she said. But she had a feeling that the fire was another clue to deciphering her dreams.