Who was the woman who’d sewn here, most likely in secret? Had she despaired that she was living in a small, out-of-the-way town? Had she wanted something that Knights Bridge just couldn’t give her?
Phoebe ran her fingertips over a scarlet crepe flapper dress. Would Noah have noticed her if she’d worn it the other night, or was there something about the Edwardian dress that had caught his eye, fired his imagination?
She glanced out the window again and saw him crossing South Main to the common. He didn’t have any books with him. Had he returned to the circulation desk expecting to find her, or simply seized the moment to get out of there, leave her to her work? His princess, after all, had evaporated. She was a small-town librarian.
And her swashbuckler?
Phoebe watched him walk in the shade. He was one of the wealthiest people in the country, brilliant, successful, a master fencer, an expert in karate. As far as she could see, he was just missing the black cape, mask and sword at his side to be a real swashbuckler.
Had her seamstress looked out at the window at a man crossing the common, yearned for him—for a life other than the one she had, tucked up here with her fabrics and sewing notions?
Phoebe’s throat tightened at the thought of the carefully conjugated French verbs. A student doing homework, or a young woman dreaming of a different life?
Noah disappeared from her view. Phoebe shut the corner door, the little children rolling in the grass now, playing some kind of game.
Who was she kidding?
This Monday wasn’t like last Monday. Last Monday, she hadn’t met Noah Kendrick.
She left the hidden room, ran down the stairs and got back to work.
* * *
Phoebe left the library at four, as she did every Monday, and dropped off books at Rivendell, an assisted-living facility on a ridge just outside the village center. As she carried a box of fiction and nonfiction titles to the main entrance, she could see a peek of Quabbin in the distance, its pristine waters barely visible in the steamy haze. A number of the elderly residents remembered the Swift River Valley before it was flooded, and several were from the lost towns, including Grace Webster, Dylan’s newly discovered grandmother.
After leaving the books in the reading room, Phoebe went down a wide corridor to the sunroom, its tall windows overlooking the center’s beautifully landscaped grounds. Grace was seated next to Audrey Frost, Olivia’s grandmother, each with a set of binoculars. Grace, a retired teacher in her nineties, was an avid bird-watcher. Audrey, a former bookkeeper at the high school and a few years younger than Grace, was always up for a new hobby and was getting into the spirit of things.
“Phoebe, so good to see you, dear,” Audrey said, lowering her binoculars. She had told Phoebe that she loved assisted living because she didn’t have to cook every meal for herself, although she could if she wanted to, and she could still have her car. “Did you bring us some good books? Your friend says he saw you at the library this morning.”
Phoebe frowned. “My friend?”
“Noah Kendrick,” Grace said. “You know him, don’t you? He’s Dylan’s business associate and friend from San Diego.”
“He was here?”
“He still is here,” Audrey said. “He stepped outside for a minute to look at the view.”
Phoebe sank into a cushioned rocker and looked out at the array of bird feeders just outside the sunroom. They were empty now but would be kept filled over the winter. Bird-watching was a favorite activity for Rivendell residents.
The two older women eyed her. In addition to her work at the school, Audrey Frost had helped her late husband in his business specializing in custom reproduction millwork. Their son, Randy Frost, Olivia’s father, now ran the mill with his wife. It was located behind a nineteenth-century sawmill the Frosts had converted into a residence.
Until recently, people in Knights Bridge would have said they knew all there was to know about Grace Webster’s life. She’d moved to Knights Bridge as a teenager with her father and grandmother and became an English and Latin teacher. She’d lived out on Carriage Hill Road until two years ago, when she’d sold her house to Duncan McCaffrey and relocated to Rivendell. But Grace had her secrets. As a teenager, her family facing expulsion from their home ahead of the damming of the Swift River for Quabbin, she’d created a hideaway in a cabin on a small pond and met a British flyer on the run. They’d fallen in love, but he’d gone back to England, promising to return.
With a war on, starting her life over in a new town, Grace had discovered she was pregnant and realized her British flyer wasn’t coming back to her. She gave birth to a baby boy in a Boston area hospital, put him up for adoption and went back home to Knights Bridge, only her grandmother and father ever aware of her secret.
Seventy years later, Dylan’s treasure-hunting father showed up in Knights Bridge and unearthed the story of his birth mother—met her—just before he died. Only he’d failed to tell his son, leaving Dylan to find out on his own. Even Grace hadn’t realized that the handsome daredevil in his early seventies was the baby she’d never even held.
Phoebe felt a rush of emotion, as she did whenever she thought of Grace’s story. No one in town had ever guessed. People were still getting used to the idea that the starchy retired teacher was Dylan McCaffrey’s grandmother.
Phoebe realized that Audrey Frost was peering at her. “What’s on your mind, Phoebe?” the older woman asked.
She collected her thoughts. “I was wondering if you remember anyone from your days at the high school who was especially good at sewing, maybe took French and had an interest in Hollywood. She might have worked at the library, either as an employee or a volunteer.”
Grace frowned. “What brought this up?”
“I found some dresses that someone sewed and hid away. I’m not sure how long ago. Forty years, at least, I’d guess. I don’t have enough information to talk about the details yet.”
Both Grace and Audrey had no immediate memory of anyone who could fit Phoebe’s vague description but promised to check their records.
The two elderly women smiled suddenly, pointing as Noah came into view out among the bird feeders. Audrey said, “He’s as good-looking in his own way as Dylan, don’t you think?”
Grace concurred. “You can tell he’s a master fencer. He has the poise of a swordfighter.” She glanced at Phoebe. “He told us he helped you make pesto yesterday.”
“We had to do something with Olivia’s basil,” she said, suppressing any reaction that might alert Grace or Audrey that something was up between her and Noah.
He entered the sunroom through a set of French doors and greeted the two Rivendell residents before turning to Phoebe. “We do keep running into each other, don’t we?”
“It’s a small town.” She got to her feet, noticing that gray clouds were moving in from the west. “I should get going. Grace, Audrey, good to see you.”
Phoebe quickly left the sunroom and got almost to her car when Noah caught up with her. “Where’s your car?” she asked him.
“I don’t have one. Olivia said I could borrow hers, but I walked into town and then out here.”
Phoebe stopped abruptly. “You walked?”
He smiled. “It’s something to do.” He pointed up at the threatening sky. “I didn’t think about the fact that it rains more often here than in San Diego. Looks as if we’re expecting a downpour.”
“You don’t worry about getting kidnapped walking around on your own? Not because Knights Bridge is a dangerous place, but given your—” She waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I don’t worry about kidnappers, no. I take reasonable precautions and I don’t advertise my whereabouts. Besides, who would pay the ransom if I was the one snatched?”
His tone was reassuring, not at all dismissive. Phoebe imagined he’d gotten over any surprise or disappointment he’d felt at discovering his Edwardian princess was one of Olivia’s friends from Knights Bridge.
“A ride would be great, thanks,” he said.
Phoebe got behind the wheel and waited as he came around to the passenger side. He settled next to her and snapped on his seat belt. She started the car, wondering if she’d flat-out lost her mind.
She tried to think of something innocuous to say. “We’re supposed to get scattered thunderstorms this evening. You don’t have many thunderstorms in San Diego, do you?”
“We don’t.”
“Have you heard from Dylan and Olivia? Do you know how she likes it out there?”
“Dylan and I spoke last night. It was early evening in San Diego.” Noah’s tone was unreadable, as if deliberately so. “He and Olivia had just come back from a walk on the beach.”
“That sounds so romantic.”
“Yes, it does,” Noah said quietly.
Phoebe felt his gaze on her and wished she hadn’t mentioned romance. She drove out of the Rivendell parking lot, then turned toward the village. She heard a rumble of thunder in the distance. “A front’s moving through,” she said. “I won’t mind saying goodbye to this heat and humidity.”
A fat raindrop splattered on her windshield, then another. Lightning flickered, followed immediately by a clap of thunder. By the time she pulled in front of Olivia’s house, they were in the middle of a downpour.
Phoebe looked at Noah next to her. “You don’t have an umbrella or raincoat. Anyway, you don’t want to get struck by lightning. I don’t mind waiting until the storm’s passed. It’ll probably be just a few minutes. Rain’s one thing but lightning...”
“Lightning can hurt,” Noah finished for her, with a smile.
She switched off the engine and watched the rain stream down the windshield. It made the car feel even smaller. “At least there’s not much wind,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t walk back here in this weather.”
“I’d have ended up playing Scrabble with Audrey and Grace until the storm passed. They’d have beaten me for sure. I’ve never had the patience for word games.”
“For a lot of other things, though.”
“Yes,” he said.
She’d meant his patience for his work with NAK but something in his tone made her throat catch, made her think about his patience as a lover. She flashed on him bearing toward her at the masquerade. He’d moved with purpose and intention. Not patience. Patience, she thought, was something different.
He traced a raindrop as it slid down the other side of the passenger window. “The rain’s subsiding already,” he said, then looked over at her. “Thanks for the ride, Princess Phoebe.”
She placed her hands on the steering wheel and stared straight out the windshield. “How long have you known?”
“Not long enough.”
“Since yesterday?”
“When I saw the flyer about the fashion show. I was suspicious before then, but not when we met here on Saturday.” He paused, then added, with a hint of humor, “The slugs threw me.”
“I’m not fond of slugs,” Phoebe said, then made herself breathe as she looked at him. “I recognized you yesterday, too. I didn’t want to say anything in case you didn’t recognize me, or in case you just wanted to forget the masquerade. It’s not as if it was that big a deal. We dressed up for a benefit. We danced.” She pried her fingers from the steering wheel. “I’m talking too much.”
“You’re fine,” he said. “Olivia and Maggie know?”
“Yes. Well, I know Maggie does, and that means Olivia does.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.” Phoebe remembered her brother-in-law and gave an inward groan. “Wait. Brandon, Maggie’s husband. He saw me and recognized me straight off.”
Noah smiled. “I’ve only met him briefly but I can see that he would. Do you two get along well?”
“We always have, but he knows Maggie’s my sister.”
“You’re on her side.”
“Always, but I hope there are no sides. He won’t say anything about seeing me at the ball.”
“Neither will I. I don’t want to disrupt your life, Phoebe. I enjoyed our dance. I’m glad you were there that night.”
She realized it was getting steamy in the car; the windows were fogging up. The worst of the brief downpour was over. She pushed open her door, welcoming the rush of air. She heard the water high in the stream across the road, tumbling toward the reservoir. Finally she said, “We were both playing a part.”
“What part were you playing?”
“A bold, daring princess who’d let a swashbuckler sweep her off her feet.”
“You played your part well, princess.”
She jumped out of the car, gulping in a breath as she leaned against the hood, ignoring that it was wet. She was vaguely aware of Noah getting out, shutting his door, walking around the hood to her. This would all be easier, she thought, if he didn’t play the role of a daring swashbuckler so well in real life.
He stood next to her but didn’t lean against the car and get himself wet. “Are you okay, Phoebe?”
She nodded. “I overheard that man talking about you.” She could feel the cool rainwater soaking into the back of her sundress. “I wrote the note Olivia gave you.”
“I’m sorry you had to run into him. I’d spotted him. That’s why I left you. I went to find him but I lost him. He must have slipped into the coatroom to make the call you overheard.”
“You don’t know who he is or what he wants?”
Noah hesitated, as if debating what to tell her. “His name is Julius Hartley. He’s a private investigator in Los Angeles. He does work for a prominent law firm there but that’s not his only client. I saw him on my tail a few times in San Diego. I didn’t expect him to show up in Boston.”
“He wasn’t in the mountains with you?”
“No. Do you recognize his name?”
She shook her head. “It’s new to me.”
She was aware of Noah watching her as she stood straight, brushed her wet backside with one hand. “Phoebe, tell me the rest. What wasn’t in the note?”
She didn’t meet his eye. “Hartley—if that’s who it was—told whoever was on the other end that you were with, quote, some woman dressed up like she’s about to board the Titanic, unquote. He said he didn’t know who she was but would find out. That it shouldn’t be hard.”
Noah was silent as she stepped into the middle of the quiet road and picked up a small stone. Everything was wet, dripping. Leaves, flowers, weeds, The Farm at Carriage Hill sign with its hand-painted signature clump of chives.
“It wasn’t unnerving.” Phoebe tossed the stone into the stream. “I’m not worried or afraid Hartley will find me. He didn’t see me, and he has no reason to think I was with Olivia or Maggie, or even that I’m from Knights Bridge. Only Brandon saw me and he was sneaking around himself.”
Noah stood with her on the edge of the road, in front of the stream. He brushed off a mosquito that had found him, then picked up another stone and pelted it into the water, the energy of his throw all that suggested he wasn’t calm, wasn’t unmoved by the prospect of an L.A. private investigator coming to find her. As he turned to her, Phoebe noticed the tension in the muscles in his forearms.
“I left right after I overheard the conversation,” she said. “I thought it could be a marital situation. I didn’t know... I knew he was talking about the swashbuckler I’d danced with but I didn’t know the swashbuckler was you. I was avoiding Dylan and Olivia. Maggie, too. Otherwise you and I might have met as—” As what? Phoebe smiled. “As ourselves.”
“I’m sorry about this, Phoebe.”
“It’s not your fault. If I remember anything else, I’ll let you know, but I’m sure I’ve told you everything.”
He came closer to her. “If you see Hartley or hear from him—”
“I’ll
tell you right away.”
“Call me. You have Olivia’s landline, and I’ll give you my private cell phone number.” He gave a small smile. “I had a new phone delivered. I was angry at myself for having lost you and threw my last one in the sink on Saturday morning. I tend to go through phones.”
“You can only take so much intrusion.” When he seemed surprised at her observation, she added, “There’s a core stillness about you, and you concentrate deeply, even if you have a number of thought threads going on at once. My nephew Tyler is a bit like that. Not Aidan.” She paused. “Of course, I don’t know you well. I just observe a lot of people in my work.”
“I imagine you do,” he said. “I want your number, too, Phoebe.”
She saw the relentless entrepreneur in him. The drive. The self-possession. The focus on the next step he had to take—on action. “I understand. Noah, if this man is a threat to you—” She broke off, took a moment to collect her thoughts. “A man in your position must have enemies. If Hartley thinks someone in Knights Bridge is involved in whatever bone he has to pick with you, that could be a problem.”
Noah winked at her. “You have backbone, Princess Phoebe.” He touched the wet bark of a tree. “This is almost the same color as your dress the other night. It was a richer brown.”
“Beautiful, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I wish—”
When she broke off, he fastened his blue eyes on her, his intensity almost palpable. “You wish what?”
“Nothing. I don’t even know what I was going to say.” Which was true, and not like her. “Thank you for dancing with me. It was fun.”
Noah started to say something but she pulled away from him when she saw her brother-in-law ambling down the road. Thunder rumbled in the distance, to the east, but rays of late-afternoon sun were shining now on puddles and dripping leaves.
“Hey, Phoebe,” Brandon said. “Here for more basil?”
She shook her head. “I gave Noah a ride back from Rivendell. What are you doing here?”
“I’m working up the road,” he said, a tightness to his expression.
“At Dylan’s place?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “That’s right.”
That Night on Thistle Lane Page 13
