Secrets of the Lost Summer

by Carla Neggers

  “Just thought I’d stop by. Mind if I look around?”

  “Sure. Here, I’ll go with you. Are you thinking about renovating Grace’s place?” Randy asked as he followed Dylan out to the showroom.

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Most people around here thought she wouldn’t be with us before her house had to be condemned. Kind of morbid, but that’s the truth.”

  “It needs a wrecking crane. I can’t see putting any money into it.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.” Randy walked over to a large window that looked out on the stream; next to him was a display of an assortment of moldings and trim. “We like to save our old houses around here, but Grace’s house wasn’t much even when it was built. It’s gone to hell in the meantime. Have you figured out why your father bought it? Is that why you’re back here?”

  “My father died before I even knew I owned a house in Knights Bridge.”

  Randy grinned. “Cagey answer, McCaffrey. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

  They went into a workroom, where a small crew of skilled craftsmen was getting set up for the day at their various machines. They seemed comfortable with Randy Frost, and respectful. He greeted them each by name and introduced Dylan. Most, but not all, were from Knights Bridge. Randy explained how the family sawmill had transformed into a company that provided quality custom millwork to builders, architects and homeowners, predominantly in the New England area.

  “Grace Webster’s father worked at the old sawmill for a few months before he died,” Randy said as he and Dylan returned to the showroom. “I think it was his last job.”

  “Does Grace have any family left in the area?”

  “Not anymore, no. She’s an only child. Her mother died in childbirth. Her father and grandmother raised her. My mother remembers them. They were never the same after the state took their home for Quabbin. I was fishing a few years ago and realized my boat was right over the spot where the Websters used to live. It was downright eerie.”

  “I didn’t realize fishing is allowed in Quabbin.”

  “March through October. There are restricted areas but they’re clearly marked, and you can’t go out on the water unless you have a fishing license. Pleasure boats aren’t allowed. I don’t fish very often. Louise gets nervous when I go alone, and most of the time I’m too busy. Some of my buddies fish, but they’re more serious about it than I am.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever even picked up a fishing pole.”

  “Gee,” Randy said with a grin, “what a surprise.”

  “Did you have Grace as a teacher?”

  “English my senior year. They say she’d mellowed some by then, but I’d have hated to see her when she was in her prime. She was tough. She was one of the best teachers I ever had, though.”

  “She left a lot behind when she moved out of her house.”

  “Shook the dust off her feet and moved on. I can admire that, but there’s not much room in her new place.”

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  “That’s up to her.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’ll give my mother a call. She and Grace are tight. I’ll see what she says.”

  The front door opened, and Olivia entered the showroom with two other women. Dylan immediately could see a family resemblance as Randy introduced his wife, Louise, and Jess, their younger daughter. Jess gave him a frank once-over, as though she suspected he might be an issue, if not a problem. Could she have found out he’d kissed her sister?

  “Good to meet you finally,” Jess said, then headed to the workroom.

  Randy motioned for Dylan to follow Olivia and her mother to the office. Dylan noticed Olivia’s expression tighten as she glanced at him, as if he were spying on her family, then turned her attention to the map of California tacked on the wall.

  Louise Frost settled at her rolltop desk. She looked up at her pictures of the coastal highway. “Have you visited any of the Central Coast wineries, Dylan?” she asked.

  He didn’t mention that Noah owned one. “Several. Beautiful country.”

  She swiveled around to him. “Randy says you were with the NHL. We do an ice rink on the town common every winter. If you stay in Knights Bridge, maybe you can give the kids a few pointers.”

  “It won’t be winter again for a while, I hope.”

  Louise laughed and nodded to her husband in the doorway. “You gave Dylan a tour of the place?”

  “The five-minute version,” Randy said. “He’d like to meet Grace. I thought I could run him over there and ask Ma to introduce him—”

  “I can take him,” Olivia said; she turned from the map and addressed Dylan. “We can go in my car. I can drop you off back here.”

  Meaning she wanted to keep an eye on him. Well, he thought, that was a two-way street. He smiled. “Sounds good.”

  She led the way out to her car, not glancing back to see if he was following her. He climbed in on the passenger side. “No dog hair,” he noted.

  “Buster doesn’t like cars.”

  Fabric swatches were stacked in the backseat, the range of colors and patterns reminding him that Olivia was a graphic designer, a woman with a creative flair. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body,” he said.

  She started the car and backed out into the parking lot, then turned on the road that would take them back into the village. “I’ll bet you do. You have to think creatively to be a hockey player and a successful businessman, don’t you?”

  “Those are learned skills.”

  “I’ve learned my skills, too. We need both—inspiration and craft.” She continued along the quiet road. “Money helps, too.”

  Dylan frowned at her. “You look tired, Olivia. Not enough coffee?”

  “I should have stuck around longer at breakfast. I was up late last night working on a project.”

  “Freelance or for Carriage Hill?”

  “Freelance. It’s not one I’m enjoying.”

  He considered her comment. “Because of the client or the job itself?”

  “The work is fine. I always enjoy the work. It’s a leftover job for a longtime client who decided to go with another designer.”

  “So you did get your ass kicked in Boston,” Dylan said, matter-of-factly.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “There are some sharp curves ahead. I should concentrate on my driving.”

  He shrugged. “By all means.”

  The road wasn’t that twisty, and Olivia obviously knew it well. She could have just told him to mind his own damn business but that, he realized, wasn’t her style. After another mile, he could see a rolling field with a low-slung building situated among stone walls, gardens and a sprawling lawn dotted with a mix of deciduous trees and well-maintained evergreens.

  “This is Rivendell, our local assisted living facility,” Olivia said. “The original residents named it when it first opened a few years ago. Mark Flanagan, Jess’s boyfriend, did the design. It’s small, but Grace and my grandmother love it here. It was a surprise for us as much as them, I think. They both get out, but Grace less so. My grandmother has her own car. Grace doesn’t drive anymore.”

  “She was retired by the time you were in high school?”

  “Yes, but she tutored until her mid-eighties.”

  “Did she tutor you?”

  “Not me, but I know she tutored Mark Flanagan. He didn’t tune into schoolwork until college. No one ever thought he’d become an architect.”

  “Did Grace do him any good?”

  “He read Shakespeare because of her,” Olivia said. “He wouldn’t have otherwise.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Othello dies in the end, you know. So does King Lear.” She turned off the car engine and shifted to him, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I hope I’m not giving anything away.”

  Dylan grinned at her. “That’s better. You have a lot
on your mind. You’re opening a new business, your sister’s exhausted and your parents are planning a trip to California that’s a source of tension—”

  “Are you profiling us?”

  “Just getting to know my neighbors.”

  She shot out of the car. He joined her on a brick walk to the main entrance. “I’m trying to keep everything in perspective,” she said. “I admit I’m a little tense. If Carriage Hill fails—”

  “It’s not going to fail.”

  “I hope not. Did you consider failure when you played hockey?”

  “What’s failure? I gave a hundred percent every time I got out on the ice and did my best, tried to learn from my mistakes and build on my strengths and not think about what I couldn’t control.” He eyed the attractive woman next to him, her ponytail loosening even more in the wind. “Why are you back in Knights Bridge, Olivia?”

  “You don’t give up, do you? It was perfect timing to pursue a dream.”

  “Did you leave behind a broken heart as well as a backstabber in Boston?”

  She didn’t answer and quickly went ahead of him and buzzed the intercom.

  Dylan eased in next to her. “Or did you take a broken heart back with you to Knights Bridge?”

  She gave him a cool look. “You’re the one who’s the good judge of people. You tell me.”

  An attendant opened the door, sparing him having to respond. He walked with Olivia down a wide corridor, past various rooms devoted to exercise classes, arts and crafts, board and card games, and reading. There was even a computer room.

  They entered a sunroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beautiful scenery. An elderly woman was settling into a chair with a pair of binoculars. “Olivia! Well, how nice to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too.” Olivia said. “Grace, this is Dylan McCaffrey. He’s—”

  The old woman narrowed her gaze on him. “You’re the son of that rogue who bought my house.”

  He bit back a smile. “I understand you met my father.”

  “I think I told you, Grace,” Olivia said quickly. “Dylan flew out from California after I wrote to him about the trash in the yard.”

  Grace Webster held her binoculars in both hands, her gaze fixed on Dylan. “Your father agreed to take the place as-is, with all my ancient appliances and anything I left behind. He didn’t ask me to do repairs or pack up so much as a dish I didn’t want to take with me to my new apartment here at Rivendell.”

  “Why do you think my father was a rogue?” Dylan asked.

  “Because he was. He was a treasure hunter. I read about him after he came by. I’d already moved. What lost treasure did he think was in Knights Bridge? Did he tell you?”

  “I didn’t know he’d bought your house until Olivia wrote to me and I realized he’d left it to me.”

  Grace’s expression softened. “When did he die?”

  “It’ll be two years in June.”

  “Not long after he was here, then. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. McCaffrey.”

  He was more affected by her words than he expected to be. “Thank you, Miss Webster.”

  “You can call me Grace. Everyone here does. I was Miss Webster to hundreds of students for more years than I can count.”

  “And I’m Dylan.”

  “Dylan,” she said, as if trying out the pronunciation. But she was clearly agitated and distracted, and Olivia gave him a sideways glance. She’d noticed, too.

  He backed off. “Your house is located in a beautiful spot, Grace. Olivia and I hiked up Carriage Hill.”

  “I remember hiking up there when we first moved to Knights Bridge. I’d look out at Quabbin as it slowly filled with water. It took eight years for it to reach capacity. It’s a lovely place, so quiet and peaceful, but I can still see the houses, the people who lived there.” Grace stared out the window. “I have so many memories. My grandmother and my father, but especially my father, never got over the loss, that they couldn’t go home again. The lanes and farms and shops they’d known all their lives were gone forever. We weren’t as mobile in those days as people are now. The valley was all we knew.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Olivia said.

  “We were never in physical danger. What happened to us was a deliberate act designed to benefit others. ‘The greater good,’ as Gran used to say. When I sold the house, I wanted to be able to walk away and make another home, here, even at this late date.” Grace’s cheeks were still flushed as she looked up at Dylan. “Where’s your home, Mr. McCaffrey?”

  “Coronado. It’s an island near San Diego—”

  “Where the Navy SEALs train,” Grace said.

  Dylan smiled. “That’s the place. I’ve been there three years. It’s the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was a kid.”

  “What about your father?”

  “He never stayed in one place for long. He loved being on the go.”

  “That might be difficult with a child at home.”

  “My parents divorced when I was young.”

  Grace raised her binoculars, her hands visibly trembling. “There.” She pointed out the window. “There’s my cardinal. He comes by every day. His bright red color attracts the female to him.”

  “Ah,” Dylan said. “Maybe I should watch more cardinals.”

  Grace laughed, but she looked tired as she placed her binoculars on her lap. “I just came from yoga class. Are my cheeks still flushed, Olivia?”

  “They’re rosy,” she said, smiling. “You look healthy. It’s good to see you, Grace. You’ll come to my opening day tea?”

  “It’s a mother-daughter tea. I’m not a mother, and my own mother’s long dead—”

  Olivia leaned over and gave the old woman a quick hug. “I want you there, Grace.”

  “I’ll come, then, of course.”

  Halfway down the hall, Olivia said, “That was decent of you to distract her.”

  “She knows something about why my father came to Knights Bridge.”

  “You’re not going to ask her.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Dylan said, “No, I’m not going to ask her.”

  “Because she can’t possibly know anything about some crazy treasure hunt your father was on.”

  They passed the arts-and-crafts room, where a half-dozen senior citizens were setting up easels. Dylan glanced at them as he spoke. Could a retired teacher in her nineties know anything about a fortune in missing British jewels? It seemed unlikely. “I meant what I said, Olivia. I don’t care about lost treasure.”

  She spun around at him. “Then what do you care about?”

  He didn’t answer, if only because he didn’t have an answer. Not an easy one, anyway. She went ahead of him and didn’t say another word until they were back in her car. She looked at him in the seat next to her. “Dylan…” She sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Does Grace always tremble?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Were her cheeks flushed from yoga class?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “She definitely knows something, Olivia.”

  “She’s been around for nearly a century. I imagine she knows quite a lot.”

  And that was that. Dylan noticed that Olivia had no trouble navigating the twisty road back to the mill.

  Twelve

  After she dropped Dylan off at his car, Olivia returned to Rivendell and found Grace bundled up in front of the windows, as if she couldn’t get warm. Her pink cheeks were ashen now. “Grace, are you all right? Should I call the doctor?”

  “I’m fine. Did you come back just to check on me?”

  “I did. You were looking upset—”

  “Don’t worry, Olivia. I promised your grandma I’d have dinner with her tonight. She keeps me going.” Grace seemed to drift off. “McCaffrey. I never knew any McCaffreys. I’m sure I didn’t.”

  “In Knights Bridge, or when you were growing up?”

  “Anywhere. Where are Dylan’s people from?”


  “I don’t know. Grace…”

  But she was vague, lost in her own thoughts. “I have no one in my life,” she whispered. “My family’s gone. My home’s gone. So many of my friends are gone.”

  “Grace, maybe you shouldn’t sit here alone.”

  “Why not? I am alone.” She looked up at Olivia and smiled. “You go on. I’m fine. I’ll take it easy the rest of the day.”

  On her way out Olivia asked the manager to keep an eye on Grace.

  Dylan’s rented Audi wasn’t in his driveway when Olivia passed his house. The day had warmed up nicely, and when she reached her own house, she grabbed Buster and headed down the road with him. By the time she got back, Maggie O’Dunn’s van was parked out front, Maggie sitting on the kitchen steps with a glass of iced tea. “I helped myself,” she said, squinting up at Olivia. “Did you forget we had an appointment?”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t forget. How long have you been waiting?”

  “Hours and hours.” She grinned, tossing her head back, her strawberry-blonde curls catching the midday sun. “Seven minutes. I figured you were off with Buster. How is the big brute?”

  “Acclimating,” Olivia said, just as Buster decided to stick his nose in Maggie’s face.

  She stood, gently pushing him aside. “Shall we?”

  They went into the kitchen. Olivia wiped Buster’s muddy paws and gated him in the mudroom while she and Maggie went over the menu for the mother-daughter tea. Scones with clotted cream and local jam and a variety of little sandwiches, tarts and teas. They would do herbal potpourri sachets for favors. Maggie suggested having a table of goodies and teapots for sale, focusing on locally made items, but Olivia wasn’t sure. “I don’t want anyone to feel pressured to buy anything. This is supposed to be an open house.”

  “They’ll want to buy things,” Maggie assured her. “You could do a hutch that’s part of your decor.”

  “If I could find an old one to paint, that would be great.”

  “I might have one in my cellar. I’ll have a look. Everything’s in that cellar. I’ll be old and gray before I can go through it all.”

  She left samples of goodies and appetizers for Olivia to try. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by her to-do lists, Olivia envisioned her house and garden filled with guests enjoying themselves on a spring afternoon. Buster barked, and she noticed Dylan at the door. She let him in.