That Night on Thistle Lane

by Carla Neggers

As she watched her mother pick up the copy of Le Petit Prince, Phoebe envisioned Elly O’Dunn—then Elly Macintosh—at twelve, conjugating French verbs. “What was Debbie Sanderson like?”

  “She never wanted to be a librarian, but she had a fantastic imagination and loved to read. She loved to dress up in exotic clothes and speak French to us, and she loved movies, gothic novels and poetry.”

  “Poetry?” That caught Phoebe by surprise since she hadn’t discovered any poetry books in the box.

  “That’s right. I remember because...” Elly set Le Petit Prince back on the table. “Oh, Phoebe. I haven’t thought about Debbie Sanderson in such a long time.”

  “Mom, you’re about to cry. We don’t have to talk about her—”

  “It’s okay. It’s not that. I just tend not to let myself go back too far into the past. I didn’t know your father yet when Debbie was tutoring me. He had just moved here. It wasn’t long after he got back from Vietnam. He’d put enough money together to buy a few acres and was building his shed. He was a recluse, really.”

  Phoebe pictured her father roaring with laughter when she and Maggie had told him about getting the better of the Sloan boys at the pond at the Frosts’ sawmill. Ava and Ruby had been toddlers at the time, and he’d had them bouncing on his lap.

  “He never liked being around a lot of people,” Phoebe said. “But he didn’t stay a recluse.”

  Her mother nodded, then said quietly, “Because of Debbie.”

  “Did they—were they an item, anything like that?”

  “It wasn’t like that. He stopped at the library for a do-it-yourself book on plumbing, and she was there. She introduced him to poetry. He couldn’t concentrate on a novel back then, but he could read a poem. He especially loved Robert Penn Warren’s poetry.”

  “I remember,” Phoebe said.

  “He went on to reading novels. Robert Parker, Tom Clancy, Ross McDonald. He had so many favorites, but he continued to read poetry, too.” She blinked back tears. “He was a wonderful man, Phoebe. I had him—we had him—for the time we did because of Debbie Sanderson and the library. They helped him heal. They saved his life. There’s no question in my mind.”

  Phoebe felt her throat tighten with emotion. “Do you know why Debbie came to Knights Bridge?”

  “She chose it because of her great-great-grandfather, but I think she came here to heal, too. I didn’t realize she liked to sew as much as she must have, or that she was so good at it that she could copy Hollywood dresses. I knew very little about her. Just what I’ve told you.”

  “Did she say goodbye when she left town?” Phoebe glanced around her small kitchen, wondered if it’d been much the same forty years ago. “Did anyone notice she was gone?”

  When her mother looked away, focused on the darkening night out the window by the table, Phoebe could see a glimpse of Elly Macintosh O’Dunn at twelve. “It was summer,” her mother said. “I didn’t even realize Debbie had left until I started school in September. I should have taken more of an interest. She was invisible, in a way.”

  “Mom, you were twelve.”

  “When I think back, I realize how young she was, too. Maybe twenty-one. She was such a dreamer. I could see it when she tutored me. She wanted a life that Knights Bridge couldn’t give her.”

  “And all Dad wanted was Knights Bridge,” Phoebe said quietly. “He read poetry to us as kids.”

  “Poetry helped him cope with his experience in combat,” her mother said. “He didn’t have a long life but he lived longer than many of the young men he served with. He took each day as it came and lived in the moment. Maybe that meant he wasn’t as good with money and planning as some.”

  “But we have the land because of him.”

  Her mother turned from the window. “I have a good life, Phoebe. I like my job. It gets me out every day. What would I have done with a big insurance policy?” She smiled, a spark coming back into her eyes. “Blown it on horses instead of making do with goats.”

  Phoebe smiled, too. “Now the goats are coming in handy with Maggie and Olivia’s soap making.”

  “Who’d have ever thought?” Her mother laughed, but her lightheartedness didn’t last. She leaned forward, took Phoebe’s hand. “Honey, I know you’ve helped me and I appreciate all you do, but I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you not to live your life—to feel tied to Knights Bridge—because of me.”

  “I’ve never felt tied to Knights Bridge because of you or anyone else,” Phoebe said. “I like my life.”

  Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. “Change is a part of life. Even if I knew deep down it was a delusion, I thought I’d grow old with your father. Instead I became a young widow with four teenage daughters. You have a big heart, Phoebe. Sometimes you ignore it so that you can be quote-unquote sensible. Don’t ignore it now, okay? Not because you’re worried about me, or your sisters. Open up your world if that’s where your heart takes you.”

  Phoebe shot to her feet, uncomfortable. She and her mother seldom had deep conversations and she didn’t know what to make of this one.

  “You have things to do,” her mother said, rising. “And I have more tomatoes to can tonight. I might turn them into sauce. I’ll decide on the way home.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Phoebe said as she followed her through the living room. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Phoebe...”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me, either, okay?”

  “I’m your mother. It’s my job to worry.” She laughed, and became her bouncy self again as she left.

  Phoebe returned to the kitchen and threw out the rest of her Diet Coke. She poured the last of a bottle of pinot grigio, took it out to the front porch and sat on the steps. So much for not drinking alone. It was quiet on Thistle Lane, but it always was. She sipped her chilled wine and smelled roses in the night air. A half moon created shadows that stirred in a gentle breeze.

  She’d brought her cell phone out with her and stared at it in her palm. She had Noah’s number memorized. That was a clue to her feelings, wasn’t it? She debated just texting him but instead dialed the number.

  He picked up right away. “Phoebe.”

  His voice was calm, deep and made her heartbeat quicken. “Hi. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time—”

  “Not possible.”

  She smiled and told him about Debbie Sanderson, her mother’s French lessons, her father’s poetry. He didn’t interrupt. She could feel him listening to every word she said. She told him she’d brought her sisters up to the attic room that morning but didn’t mention their questions about him.

  He asked about the fashion show and what she was doing, where she was right now.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” she said. “It’s nice after the heat.”

  “Helps since you have no air-conditioning.”

  “I only wish I had it a few nights a year. I have fans. I put one at the foot of my bed and...” Phoebe stopped herself. “I manage.”

  Noah was silent, and she wondered if he was picturing her lying on her bed in next to nothing, or nothing at all, with a fan on her.

  “Tell me about San Diego,” she said.

  “It’s warm, sunny and not humid.” He paused, and she could feel his smile. “The same.”

  “Have you been to your office?”

  “Yes. I had pencils to sharpen.”

  She laughed. “I love a good pencil.”

  “So do I, techie that I am. I’m meeting Loretta Wrentham tomorrow. She’s getting Julius Hartley down here.”

  “I hope you get to the bottom of what he’s up to.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Noah said. “Tell me again about Debbie Sanderson and her time in Knights Bridge.”

  Nineteen

  Loretta paced on Dylan’s porch while she waited for Julius Hartley to park his BMW and join her. She could smell the ocean and taste it on the breeze, but she didn’t care. That told her just how keyed up she was. She loved the oc
ean, the sand, the rocks, the birds, the colors of sky and water. Watching Navy SEALs run on the beach wasn’t bad, either. She lived in La Jolla but she enjoyed coming out to Coronado.

  Just not today.

  Dylan had disappeared with Olivia, saying something about stuffed giraffes from the zoo for kids back in Knights Bridge. Loretta knew what that meant: she was on her own. She’d helped make this mess with Hartley by trusting him, by not realizing sooner that he was Noah’s mystery man.

  Now she could clean it up.

  Noah was back in San Diego, on his way to Coronado. He and Dylan would have already talked. She didn’t know that for sure, but it was how the two of them operated. It was how it had always been and always would be. Friendships like theirs were rare. She’d seen that the first time she’d met them. Dylan and Noah had each other’s backs. Dylan had a woman in his life now who understood that. Loretta didn’t know if Noah ever would.

  She watched Hartley mount the steps to the porch. He had on an expensive pale blue polo shirt and dark tan trousers, and he looked more like a country-club type than a scumbag private investigator. She’d dressed in a crisp black suit with her red heels and hoped she looked like she not only wanted to kick him down the stairs but could do it.

  He smiled at her, no sign he knew how mad she was. “Hi, Loretta. Nice day, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Southern California. It’s always nice.” She let him get onto the porch before she glared at him. “You took it upon yourself to snoop on Dylan McCaffrey and especially Noah Kendrick. You snooped on a little rural town in New England.”

  “Yeah. Sure. It’s what I do.”

  She pointed a red-nailed finger at him. “You’re a son of a bitch, Hartley.”

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Who were you on the phone with on Friday when Phoebe O’Dunn overheard you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter.” She paused to catch her breath. He was as roguishly good-looking up close, out of the sunlight. She reminded herself to stay focused. The man couldn’t be trusted. “Was it your client? Are you working for an attorney, or is this one of your private clients?”

  He turned and faced the water. “This is nice. McCaffrey’s giving up this place for Knights Bridge, huh?”

  “For Olivia Frost, and I don’t know that he’s giving it up. He hasn’t asked me to look into putting it onto the market. Not that he will.” Loretta gritted her teeth. “I’ll probably be banished from Noah’s and Dylan’s sight before cocktail hour tonight, thanks to you.”

  “That’s some drama going there.” Hartley gave her a sideways glance. “Am I supposed to—what? Feel guilty?”

  “You’re supposed to tell the truth. I can’t believe I didn’t see through you sooner, but I just didn’t take you for a snake.”

  “That’s because I’m not a snake.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I’m not always a snake. I can be when the situation calls for some slithering. I tried to be discreet with my scrutiny of Dylan and Noah, if that helps any.”

  Loretta shook her head. “It doesn’t.”

  “It was easier in Boston. Any stranger would stand out in Sleepy Hollow, but I really did. I had this thing in my head that I was looking into rich guys and should therefore try to blend in with them.”

  “Should have left the Rolex at home, huh?”

  “I’m just saying that I can see how people thought I was sneaking around.”

  “You were sneaking around,” Loretta said.

  “If I’d been sneaking around, no one would have ever known.” His dark eyes narrowed on her. No smile or hint of humor now. “Trust me on that, Loretta.”

  “Am I supposed to be intimidated?”

  He surprised her by laughing. “Damn, you’re a pain in the ass. I wanted to know what was going on with your two pals and this Sleepy Hollow little town in Massachusetts. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all, and Dylan and Noah can take care of themselves.” Loretta squinted out at the ocean, added without looking at him, “Are you providing intel to NAK corporate enemies?”

  “Let’s not play twenty questions, Loretta.”

  She ignored him. “The NAK board? Do Noah and Dylan have personal enemies I don’t know about?”

  A breeze off the water lifted the ends of Hartley’s gray-streaked dark hair but he didn’t seem to notice. “Noah needs to decide what’s next for him. It’s driving the NAK board crazy not to know if he’s going to try to run things there or open a fencing studio. But he knows that. You know that.”

  Loretta tightened her hands into fists at her sides. “You spied on my friends and you used me to do it.”

  “No one uses you, Loretta. I outwitted you. There’s a difference.”

  She raised her chin at him. Not all men were taller than she was. “I’m going to find out what you’re really up to.”

  He didn’t seem that threatened. “You understand I have to respect attorney-client privilege.”

  “You’re not an attorney. You’re a sleazy private investigator.”

  “Part right. I’m a private investigator. I’m not sleazy. Which you know. You’re just irritated because you’re not in control of what’s going on. You haven’t been since Duncan McCaffrey left Dylan that house in Knights Bridge and you didn’t know the whole story.” Hartley had some sympathy in his expression now. “You didn’t know Dylan would go out there and fall for Olivia Frost.”

  “I’m glad he did,” Loretta said stubbornly.

  “You’re glad he has someone in his life. You wish it was a woman from La Jolla instead of an out-of-the-way little town on the other side of the country. Now Noah’s falling for this redheaded librarian.” Hartley’s sympathy turned to a knowing grin. “I can just see you at the Knights Bridge Free Public Library. It’s haunted, you know.”

  Of course it was haunted. Loretta forced her palms open, tried to release some of her pent-up tension as Hartley pivoted and walked back down the steps without another word.

  She inhaled deeply. She’d never been good with men.

  She called to him. “Do you like Mexican food?”

  He glanced up at her. “I hate it.”

  “I love it.” She followed him down to the sidewalk. “There’s a great place down the street. You can have a salad. Let’s go. We can walk.”

  “You’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met. I think that’s why I like you.” He angled her a knowing look. “Is Kendrick meeting us at this restaurant?”

  Loretta didn’t bother hiding her surprise.

  “This one wasn’t even hard to figure out,” Hartley said with a bark of a laugh. “You’d have had me meet you in La Jolla at your office if you weren’t involving Dylan and Noah.”

  “Mr. McCaffrey and Mr. Kendrick to you,” she said, sounding petty even to herself.

  “Sure thing, Loretta. I have a son their age. He probably wants me to call him Mister, too.”

  “A son?”

  He grinned at her. “Relax. I’m divorced.”

  She didn’t relax but she didn’t want to kill him as much as she had twenty minutes ago. They walked to a cluster of shops and restaurants, and for seconds—or maybe only one second—she pictured them as one of the honeymooning couples at the Hotel del Coronado. She’d never been married. Never had kids. Dylan’s engagement had her thinking about what might have been, even if she had a good life, even if she had no regrets.

  No serious regrets, anyway.

  They got a table in the courtyard of the bustling restaurant. Loretta ordered a margarita and guacamole made fresh at the table. Hartley ordered a beer.

  She dipped a warm tortilla chip into chunky, spicy salsa. “You’re going to tell Noah and me everything.”

  “No, I’m not. You know better than to ask.”

  “Then you are working for an attorney.”

  “I’m not saying.”

  “Why did you come if you’re going to stonewall?”

 
His beer arrived. “Because you asked nicely.”

  She hadn’t, but whatever. “What did you think of Knights Bridge?”

  “I suffered. Goats, Loretta.” He drank some of his beer, helped himself to a chip and salsa. “Olivia Frost and the O’Dunn sisters are making soap out of the goat’s milk.”

  “Goat’s milk soap is nice.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Hartley...”

  “Julius, okay?”

  Loretta helped herself to another chip. “Julius, did you check out the goats?”

  “Almost. I pretended I was going to buy one.”

  “And they bought that?”

  “No.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “The O’Dunns and their allies were about to get out the hot tar and pitchforks, so I made my exit. They’re little goats, by the way. Nigerian Dwarf goats.”

  Loretta felt laughter bubbling up despite how mad she was. “Have you ever seen a goat in real life?”

  “The zoo.” He sat back, looking at ease, comfortable in his own skin. “Then there are the herbs for the soaps. The nineteenth-century library. The town common with its Civil War statue. The country store.”

  “It sounds idyllic.”

  “It’s pretty,” Hartley said, making it sound like a concession.

  “Dylan says not to be fooled,” Loretta said. “Despite any evidence to the contrary, time hasn’t stopped in Knights Bridge.”

  “Time never stops, does it?”

  Loretta heard a note of wistfulness in Julius’s voice, or thought she did. Maybe she was projecting. Maybe that was why she hadn’t figured out what was going on with him to begin with. She’d wanted him to be someone he wasn’t because she herself was coming to terms with the changes in her life. She’d been Dylan’s attorney and business manager for a long time. She’d loved his father, even if for a short time.

  “I’ll have to see Knights Bridge myself soon,” she said, digging into the fresh salsa. “Dylan and Olivia have invited me to their wedding.”

  “It’s at Christmas, you know.”

  She nodded. “So I get to go there when it’s freezing. I’ll have to find myself a cute country inn with a fireplace, flowered wallpaper and a decent liquor cabinet.”