The Spring at Moss Hill

by Carla Neggers

  “She loves to read,” Russ said. “She read every book she could get her hands on when she lived here. Daphne is in honor of Daphne du Maurier, and Stewart is in honor of Mary Stewart. Have you ever read them?”

  “Rebecca and Mary Stewart’s Merlin books.”

  “I can’t imagine that many people around here being interested in a Hollywood fashion designer.” He leaned toward Kylie with a quick smile. “Don’t tell Daphne I said that.”

  “I won’t, but Knights Bridge isn’t as isolated and out of the way as you might think.”

  “It’s already turning out to be more interesting than I expected.”

  Although cluttered and overstuffed, the attic had been cleaned up somewhat since Phoebe’s discovery of the secret room, its door concealed behind a tin closet. Now the closet had been moved to one side and the door was easy to spot. Russ unlocked it and pushed it open, and Kylie followed him into the small room.

  Neither spoke as they took in the worktable, shelves, rods and hangers in the tiny space where a young woman had honed her craft and nursed her dreams. Most of the dresses and costumes Debbie Sanderson had sewn in secret forty years ago had now been removed for safekeeping from her hidden sewing room. A few bolts of fabric, notions, spools of thread and a couple of dresses were all that remained. Even the workhorse of a sewing machine had been put away. Kylie had seen pictures of it in the local weekly newspaper, which had done a piece on Daphne Stewart’s visit to Knights Bridge.

  Kylie stood in front of a small window that looked out on to the common. “Daphne had a good view, at least.”

  Russ picked up an old pair of scissors. “Wonder what I could get for them on eBay,” he said with a halfhearted smile. He set the scissors down again. “It’s different being here than imagining what it was like. Daphne didn’t grow up in Knights Bridge. She moved here to get away from her abusive father. I gather he was a real SOB.”

  “But she found herself here,” Kylie said, turning back to the window. One of the four-year-old boys from story hour was walking with his mother across the common to the country store. “Daphne never married after she moved west?”

  “She has three marriages under her belt. She says she’s done now.”

  “Never shut the door to love and romance. That’s what they say, anyway. She’s in her early sixties. There’s still lots of time.” Kylie glanced away from the mother and son on the common. “But Daphne’s never had kids, right?”

  “No kids.” Russ smiled. “Just my brother.”

  “He’s ex-navy, too?”

  “No.”

  Kylie expected him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

  He stood next to her at the window. “Daphne and Julius both warned me not to let appearances fool me—this little town is filled with secrets, and time’s never stopped here. What drew you here? Family, friends, some guy?”

  “Deadlines. I needed a place to hole up and work for a while. I rented a house thinking I’d stay two or three months, but that was ten months ago.”

  “You have a solitary career. Daphne sewed up here alone, without telling a soul, but she didn’t stay alone once she got to Hollywood. She worked hard and persevered to get where she is now.” Russ paused. “I looked you up on the internet.”

  “You didn’t find much,” Kylie said, beating him to it. She took a cue from him and didn’t elaborate. “What about you? Does being a Beverly Hills private investigator suit you?”

  “Some days more than others.”

  “You strike me as someone who knows what you want and goes after it. You don’t drift but you don’t rush, either. Am I right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He moved back from the window. Only then did Kylie realize he’d read into her words. “I should stick to drawing,” she said. “It’s incredible, thinking about a young woman sneaking up here to sew. At least she had a window with a nice view of the common.”

  “Where did you do your first drawings?”

  “I don’t remember not drawing, but my parents would tell you I started by drawing on my bedroom wall.” She realized he kept steering the conversation back to her and was relieved when she noticed Ruby O’Dunn down on South Main, crossing from the common to the library. “Are you meeting Ruby here?”

  Russ peered down at the street. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  “Maybe she’s returning a book.” Ruby had a determined, rushed look about her. Kylie noticed Russ’s rental car parked out front. Ruby could have recognized it. “Or maybe she has an update on the rumors her mother heard about Moss Hill.”

  “I’m finished here. Anything else you want to see?”

  Kylie shook her head. They left the attic room, locking the door behind them. She shut off the overhead, imagining Debbie Sanderson, now Daphne Stewart, doing the same thing so many times when she’d slip up here to sew.

  Russ glanced back at the attic. “I see Daphne now and think about what it must have been like for her, alone here...” He didn’t finish. “Let’s go.”

  Kylie stood back, making sure he went ahead of her down the stairs. If he knew it was a deliberate move on her part, he didn’t say so.

  When they reached the main reading room, they found Ruby chatting with Clare Morgan, making arrangements for Clare’s son to visit with Ruby’s nephews after school. “Maggie will be home,” Ruby said, referring to the boys’ mother, the O’Dunn sister who was married to Brandon Sloan.

  The matter settled, Clare returned to work.

  Ruby sighed. “I’ve been away at school so much that I forget what day-to-day life here is like. Maggie and Brandon used to live in Boston. I never thought Brandon would want to move back to Knights Bridge, but he loves it. It’s a good place to raise kids.” She clapped her hands, as if getting her own attention. “But that’s not why I’m here. Kylie, I’d like to make amends for my rude, crazy behavior yesterday. Chris and I will bring you and Russ dinner tonight, unless you have other plans. Maggie’s doing the cooking, so you’re in luck.”

  Kylie, caught off guard, stammered something unintelligible, but Russ was smooth, in control. “That sounds great, Ruby. See you and Chris later this evening, then.”

  “I have wine,” Kylie finally managed. “And wineglasses.”

  “Great,” Ruby said. “We’ll bring everything to your place.”

  She dashed out of the library with the energy of a woman with a dreaded mission accomplished.

  Kylie had meant she’d bring the wine and wineglasses to Russ’s apartment and meet everyone there for dinner. It was furnished, but maybe it didn’t have as many dishes as she did? Not that she had many. She didn’t entertain. Now all of a sudden Ruby O’Dunn, Christopher Sloan and Russ Colton were coming to dinner. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have to cook—Kylie had no idea what she’d do with them. Was this some kind of plot? Had Ruby and Russ conspired to get into her apartment? But that made no sense, unless Ruby really did believe Kylie was behind the rumors.

  Kylie forced herself to breathe. She had no evidence that dinner was anything but a friendly gesture.

  Russ eased next to her. “That worked out well,” he said cheerfully. “Dinner, wine and a chance to see how an illustrator works.”

  She manufactured a smile. “I’ll go home and sweep up the cobwebs before everyone gets there.”

  “Sounds good. I’m across the hall if you need help with the sweeping.”

  He sauntered—the only word for it—out the front entrance.

  Friendly gesture or not, he was definitely planning to seize the moment and turn dinner to his advantage. Even if he didn’t think she posed a threat to his client, he clearly had guessed she was hiding something.

  Kylie returned to the children’s alcove, noting a display of the first three books in the Badgers of Middle Branch series. The pages were dog-eared and w
orn.

  She touched the image of a white pine in front of the Badgers’ house on one of the covers. It was a good tree. It’d come to her quickly, not like the grandmother’s tree in her rendition of Little Red Riding Hood. It didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a good tree, too. It was just taking its time.

  She settled down, a plan developing for the next few hours. She had plenty of time to ride her bike to Moss Hill and clean her apartment before Russ, Ruby and Chris arrived.

  When was the last time she’d had company?

  She hadn’t had any, she realized—certainly not since she’d moved to Moss Hill. Before that, when she was in her rented house, she’d had her parents over once for brunch. They didn’t live that far from Knights Bridge. Most of the time she went to them. Same with her illustrator friends, who lived all over the place. They’d get together at restaurants—have coffee or lunch and talk about their lives and work.

  Company could be nice, Kylie thought, calming down, but she needed to get busy if she was to cleanse away any evidence of Morwenna Mills in her apartment at her renovated hat factory.

  Nine

  Russ took a stool at the counter at Smith’s and ordered a grilled cheese with onion and coffee. He needed coffee. He’d have pie for dessert, too. He noted the options under glass farther down the counter. Coconut cream, chocolate cream, apple, blueberry. A lot of carbs in pie and a sandwich, but he could go for another run this afternoon. Maybe he’d rent a bike while he was in Knights Bridge.

  None of which put his reaction to Kylie Shaw and Daphne’s library attic room behind him. It had left him with a tightness in his chest.

  His easy morning with nothing much to do had turned into something else altogether.

  Emotion. Damn.

  His sandwich arrived as a uniformed police officer entered the restaurant. Eric Sloan, the eldest of the six Sloan siblings. He bore a strong resemblance to his firefighter brother, Christopher. Russ figured he’d need a score card to keep everyone in town straight, but he was doing all right.

  Eric brought up the rumors. “My family’s in construction. They deal with all sorts of subcontractors. They have a steady core group of workers, but there’s high turnover with new hires. There’s a lot of work right now, so that’s not an issue.”

  “Are you investigating these rumors?”

  “Nothing to investigate. Just talk.”

  After Eric left, Russ decided on the apple pie. He was in New England. It seemed appropriate to have apple pie. Before long, spring fruits would be ripe. He wondered what grew around here. Peaches, plums, pears, strawberries? Probably all of them, but it was a short growing season.

  His attempt at distracting himself didn’t work, but his pie was as good as his sandwich had been—and he’d finally had his fill of coffee.

  He walked back across the town common to his car. As he unlocked the driver’s door, he glanced up at the attic windows of the library, picturing Daphne looking down at him as she’d hemmed an Audrey Hepburn or Elizabeth Taylor dress.

  And he pictured Kylie’s curves and smile, and he considered her contradictions—quick and straightforward on the one hand, quirky and funny on the other hand.

  Then throw in a third hand. Vulnerable, uncertain, secretive.

  Russ got in the car and yanked the door shut with more force than was necessary. He could see Daphne pulling off a secret room in the library attic. He didn’t know Kylie Shaw well enough to gauge what she would be good at pulling off. He could look into what she was hiding, but did it matter? Was it any of his business? The ambiguous rumors gave him a bit of latitude, but only a bit.

  Raindrops splattered onto his windshield as he headed out of the village toward Moss Hill.

  A rainy afternoon and evening in Knights Bridge.

  He could think of several ways to amuse himself, but not one of them was possible or wise. He was here on business, he reminded himself. He had a few non-Daphne work-related things he could do at his borrowed apartment—research, reports, calls and emails.

  He could stay busy while it rained and he waited for dinner across the hall.

  * * *

  The prospect of company pushed Kylie into high gear. She kicked off her trail shoes, tossed her jacket on to the couch and eyed her worktable. She’d left it cluttered with sketches, notes, pencils, erasers, markers and crayons. She’d pulled out all sorts of materials early that morning, before sunrise, before coffee, before setting out on her bike. She’d doodled by drawing badgers.

  Most of her serious, most Morwenna-revealing work was on her computer, which she would turn off and unplug, to help her stay calm with people in her space. It was password-protected. No one could accidentally access her files.

  Or deliberately access them, she thought.

  No question Russ was a thorough sort. She could see him sneaking a look at her computer while she was pouring wine.

  She stacked papers and tossed drawing tools into their appropriate containers. She’d held on to her privacy in the months since she’d moved to Knights Bridge. She wasn’t going to give it up now, when she was on edge and feeling vulnerable. She wanted to maintain control of when and how people learned about Morwenna.

  But it wasn’t just Morwenna. It was her work itself, too. She’d become accustomed to the isolation of the past months and the uninterrupted focus on her work. Pulling herself out of that pattern was good but not as easy as she’d expected.

  Having a sexy California investigator on her case didn’t make it any easier.

  “Sexy’s the word for him, too,” she muttered, heading to her utility closet for cleaning supplies. She’d dust, mop, wipe down the counters and clean the bathroom. Fluff the pillows on the couch. “What else?”

  The forecast rain had started as she’d arrived at Moss Hill, and now fog was forming along the river, the fields on the opposite bank lost in swirling gray. Rain dripped off the black iron balcony rails.

  By late afternoon, Kylie was satisfied. Her loft-style apartment gleamed.

  She lit a few candles on the coffee table. She didn’t want the place to smell as if she’d just whipped through it, madly cleaning ahead of company.

  Russ Colton and Ruby O’Dunn arrived together. Kylie welcomed them with a smile and a cheerful greeting, ignoring a quickening of her heartbeat at having company.

  Ruby, wearing one of her long skirts, set a basket on the counter next to one of the lit candles. “Food for the evening, compliments of Maggie,” she said, then spun around to Kylie and Russ. “Chris couldn’t make it. He had a fire call at the last minute. And I’m going to bow out. I’m all butterflies about Saturday. I’ll ruin your evening.”

  “Butterflies are all the more reason to stay,” Kylie said. She had butterflies of her own. She pointed at the wine and wineglasses she’d set out. “And there’s wine. It’s a good merlot, bought on sale at our own little country store.”

  “I’m sorry. I just...” Ruby bit down visibly on her lower lip, her turquoise eyes shining with tears. She rallied, giving a small laugh. “I need to go curl up in a fetal position for the evening. I’m making myself crazy. Daphne called this afternoon, and it was weird—I think she probably has butterflies, too, although she’s done much scarier things than teach a class in Knights Bridge. Accept an Oscar in front of a billion people, for one.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Russ said.

  “It’s okay. I don’t want to upset her more by getting you on her case.” Ruby shifted to Kylie. “Can I take a rain check on dinner and wine? I’m too restless to be good company.”

  Kylie could feel Ruby’s agitation and regret. She smiled, putting aside her own uneasiness at being alone with Russ. “Anytime, Ruby.”

  “I’ll get past this. Chris and his fire calls don’t help. But that’s what happens with firefighters, right? They fight fires.”
She gave a halfhearted smile. “I’ll see you both later. Maggie’s an incredible cook. You’ll love whatever she’s put together.”

  Russ saw her out, shutting the door behind her. He walked over to the counter and the dinner basket. “I can put together a plate and take it to my apartment if you want the evening to yourself.”

  Ball to you, Kylie, she thought. “I lit candles. I dusted. I think I can handle company. Show you a little New England hospitality instead of letting you sit in the rain by yourself.”

  “You’d be sitting in the rain by yourself.”

  “Ah, but I’m used to it. Not much rain in LA. Also, I’ve already opened the merlot. If the rain lets up, or even if it doesn’t, we could drink it on the balcony.”

  “That sounds tempting. I haven’t seen this kind of rain in a while.”

  She noticed he was eyeing her tidy worktable. She liked to keep sketch pads and basic tools within arm’s reach, regardless of whether she was working on her computer. Her other materials—scanner, computer pen tools, art board, color wheels, rulers, staplers, tape and whatnot—were stacked on shelves next to her worktable.

  Russ picked up the bottle of wine. “Do you work mostly on computer?”

  “Mostly, yes, but I do a lot by hand. Some of my friends work solely on computer. I know a few illustrators who work solely by hand, but not many anymore. Everything ends up on the computer.”

  “What was your latest project?”

  “Hansel and Gretel. I’m working on a series of fairy tales.”

  “Will you get artistic credit?”

  “I’m focusing on the work right now, but, yes, I’ll get credit, one way or the other.”

  He glanced at her, clearly not satisfied with her answer. “I guess I don’t need to know all the ins and outs of being a children’s book illustrator.”

  “I’m enjoying delving into the world of fairy tales. Do you have a favorite?”

  “Beauty and the Beast.” He grinned. “Always hope for us beasts. What’s your favorite?”