“You didn’t answer my question, you know.”
“Good night, Heather.”
That was two good-nights. Time to be on her way. She got out of the car and made her way up the walk, which she’d shoveled herself after the last storm. Her brother Adam had plowed the driveway. She’d thrown fresh sand on the walk and the driveway before leaving that morning, never imagining she would rescue a puppy, slip into a brook and run into Brody Hancock, formerly of Knights Bridge, Massachusetts.
He waited until she was on the small porch and had the front door open before he turned around and headed back down Thistle Lane. Heather didn’t know why the prospect of him watching her made her feel so self-conscious, but it did.
Probably shouldn’t have mentioned the ice-skating bruises on her butt.
She ran inside and turned up the thermostat in the short hall between the front room and kitchen. No point keeping the place toasty warm when she wasn’t there. Not that she kept it toasty warm when she was there. Most evenings she watched television under a quilt and then went to bed.
Alone.
She’d hoped moving into town from the apartment above the Sloan & Sons offices in her parents’ converted barn would help her social life. Specifically, her romantic life. It wasn’t just being on top of her parents and her brothers all the time that discouraged “suitors,” as her grandmother called them. It was also that with such a big family, she had a built-in social network. They all lived in Knights Bridge. One of them was bound to be available to hang out. She had friends, too, but she decided to stay in for the evening.
She heated up a can of black bean soup and took it into the front room with her. It was a quiet, dark night, and very cold. Even indoors, she was aware of the dropping temperature. She glanced around the attractive room, feeling oddly out of place. Phoebe and Noah had met at a costume ball in Boston, a charity fund-raiser. Phoebe had been dressed as an Edwardian princess, Noah as a swashbuckler. He’d had no idea she was a small-town librarian. She’d had no idea he was a billionaire.
So romantic.
Heather wasn’t sure she’d know a swashbuckler if she saw one. Sometimes she wondered if she had a romantic bone in her body.
She reached for her laptop. What would happen if she did an internet search for Diplomatic Security Service agent Brody Hancock?
Would she learn anything interesting?
Would he find out?
She smiled but felt a quiver of uneasiness, too. She put aside her laptop and investigated the shelves of books. She chose a worn copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel and took it to bed with her, but abandoned it after seven pages and went back downstairs for her laptop. She brought it upstairs with her and, with a deep breath, did an internet search to see what she could find out about the Diplomatic Security Service.
She eyed the list of results, suspecting it would be best if she returned to her swashbuckler tale and put aside her questions about Brody Hancock and his return to their little hometown.
Three
Brody opened a beer and sat at Vic’s kitchen table. Rohan was racing back and forth between the refrigerator and the back door with a chew toy that Heather had brought for him, at least according to Vic. Brody wasn’t confident his old friend was paying close attention to the puppy goings-on in his Knights Bridge home.
He had helped himself to a plate of hors d’oeuvres, but he’d never been a big wine drinker. He’d only taken a few sips of Adrienne Portale’s selections for the evening. She hadn’t seemed to mind. Brody couldn’t remember Vic ever mentioning Adrienne or her parents, Sophia Portale, a marketing whiz with her own firm based in San Francisco, and her ex-husband, Richard Portale, a corporate lawyer also in San Francisco. Adrienne’s house-sitting arrangement with Vic didn’t strike Brody as anything out of the ordinary.
Just as well nothing was jumping out at him to cause alarm since he doubted Heather Sloan would give up on trying to find out why he was in her little town. She was a Sloan. Every last one of them was stubborn. He doubted that had changed in his absence.
Heather wasn’t what he’d expected. Pretty, sexy, curvy...
He didn’t need that kind of distraction right now. An attractive woman—one from the hometown he’d sworn he would never step foot in again.
Also one with five older brothers. Bad enough if he stopped right there, but he couldn’t. He’d left Knights Bridge while Heather’s brothers were heating up the tar and gathering the feathers.
His negative history with the Sloans aside, Brody didn’t need them or anyone else in town meddling in whatever was going on with Vic. If Vic was being paranoid, no one else needed to know. Knights Bridge was his home now. That kind of gossip wouldn’t help him.
“What a day,” Vic said, yawning as he entered the kitchen. He put his full wineglass on the table, pulled out a chair and flopped down. “Adrienne’s reading by the fire. I think she’s disappointed we didn’t drink all the wine, but one more sip and I’ll pass out on the floor.”
“The leftover wine will keep. She’s got some gadget that helps.” Brody took a swallow of his beer. “You weren’t close to passing out, though.”
“I was. I don’t hold my alcohol like I used to.”
“Another of the myths you live by these days.”
Vic quirked an eyebrow. “Another?”
“You’re an optimist and a romantic at heart, Vic. Maybe that’s why you lasted as a career diplomat for as long as you did.”
“Forty years. Damn, that makes me feel old.”
Brody grinned. “You are old.”
“Hell, no. Sixty is the new forty.” Vic watched Rohan tear across the kitchen. “The little fella’s no worse for the wear, anyway. Heather didn’t recognize you right away. That surprise you?”
“Not really. She wasn’t pretending. She’s not one to hold back what’s on her mind. I didn’t ring a bell at all.” Brody set his bottle on the table. He’d spent far too much time thinking about Heather Sloan ice-skating. “Why didn’t you tell me a Sloan was working on this place?”
Vic shrugged. “I didn’t think of it. Nobody remembers your fallout with the Sloans. You haven’t been back here since then, so it’s on your mind. That’s understandable. Anyway, they didn’t run you out. You left of your own accord. You’re a federal law-enforcement officer now. A respected agent with the Diplomatic Security Service. You’re as big a hard-ass as any Sloan.”
“Not Heather. She could kick my butt.”
“Ha. I have no doubt.” Vic lowered a hand at his side and snapped his fingers to get Rohan’s attention. The puppy bounded to him. “His fur’s so soft. He wore himself out on his romp in the woods, but he’s got his energy back now. What would have happened if Heather hadn’t found him when she did?”
“I’d have found him,” Brody said.
“You’re just saying that so I don’t feel like an incompetent fool for having lost him in the first place. I’d have had to sell the house if I’d let the poor little fellow freeze to death in that brook. More to the point,” he said, sitting up straight as Rohan ran off again, “I’d have felt terrible.”
“You’re new to puppy care.”
“Trial by fire.”
The puppy careened into the mudroom and climbed into his bed with his chew toy. Watching him helped Brody anchor his thinking. Too many memories in this town. There were some good ones, but the bad ones were clawing at him now. Heather Sloan wasn’t a kid anymore. That didn’t help. He hadn’t considered her—that she would be overseeing Vic’s house renovations—when he’d agreed to return. He’d expected to have a chat with Vic, talk some sense into him and leave after a couple of nights.
Brody took his beer bottle, still half-full, to the sink. It was pitch-dark outside, and dead quiet. Vic’s was the only house on this part of the lake. “You’re not used to the qui
et and isolation out here, Vic. It’s worse now with the cold weather.”
Vic pushed his wineglass aside. “It’s been a while since either of us has been in a cold climate during winter.”
“Yes, it has.” Brody hadn’t expected to appreciate the bracing temperature and stark-white landscape—the quiet. Only the puppy’s playful growling disturbed the silence. He turned to Vic. “How are the renovations? Are you decisive, or do you dither?”
“We’re still pulling everything together and making decisions, but I wouldn’t say dither. I deliberate.”
Brody grinned. “Sounds like dithering to me.”
“I haven’t driven Heather crazy yet. I think the architect is about to bail on the project. Heather says not to worry, that’s just how he is. Mark Flanagan. You know him?”
“I did. He used to sleep in the back of class. Now he’s an architect?”
“A damn good one, too. He left town and came back again. He married a local woman in September. Jessica Frost.”
“I remember her. She’s younger—more like Heather’s age, as I recall. I didn’t have much to do with either one of them.”
Vic stretched, looking stiff and tired. “The Frosts still have their sawmill. They’re doing the custom woodwork on this place. Jessica’s sister, Olivia, married Noah Kendrick’s business partner on Christmas Eve.”
“Dylan McCaffrey.”
“I see you’re up to speed on the newcomers.” Vic didn’t sound surprised. “Dylan and Noah are exceptionally wealthy. What if their presence in Knights Bridge has attracted whoever is harassing me?”
“Harassing is a strong word, Vic.”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe the goings-on haven’t escalated to that level. Not yet, anyway.”
Brody leaned back against the sink. He had no concrete reason to suspect Vic was in real trouble. He was only weeks into retirement, but there were no lingering threats against him. “Sure you’re not just having trouble transitioning to retirement? Turning a draft into a suspicious incident.”
“I’ve never been a worrywart.”
“You worked nonstop in a high-pressure, high-profile environment, and now you’re chasing puppies and renovating your country house and stocking a wine cellar.”
“I was thinking about taking up bird-watching, too,” Vic added dryly.
“It’s not the life you’re used to.”
“It’s one I’ve been dreaming about for years.” He watched Rohan wander back into the kitchen. “Elly O’Dunn told me not to let him run wild.”
“Puppies need structure and a steady, firm hand. You need to be the alpha dog, Vic.”
“This is why I never was a father. I’d have had nothing but spoiled brats. I need to find him a good home. Winter’s a deterrent. People tend to get puppies in warmer weather. It’s no fun to train a puppy in January, but I can’t imagine someone abandoning the little guy out here.”
“Think that’s related to what’s been going on with you?”
“I hope not. We’re dealing with a real sick SOB, then. It’s been long enough that you’d think if he were lost an owner would have come forward by now.” Vic pulled his gaze from the puppy. “Why don’t you adopt Rohan, Brody? You can have a dog in the Diplomatic Security Service.”
“Not the places I’ve worked the past few years.” Brody stood straight. “Rohan seems to be at home here. Why not adopt him yourself? You could use the company now that you’re retired. You could take a puppy-training class so you know what you’re doing. It’s not too late. It would give you something to do.”
“Besides fretting about odd occurrences that don’t sound odd to you, you mean?” Vic put up a hand. “Don’t answer. Did you ever have a dog when you were growing up? I don’t remember.”
“Two before we moved to the lake and one after. No golden retrievers, though. Whatever’s up with you, Vic, doesn’t have to do with puppies.”
“No. Rohan’s a handful, but he’s not our culprit.” Vic grabbed his wineglass but didn’t take a sip. “Things not in the same place I left them. Anonymous hang ups. They aren’t a puppy’s doing.”
“Were the hang ups on your landline or cell phone?” Brody asked.
“Both. I think someone’s been pawing through my files, too. My physical files in the library. I haven’t given up my apartment in New York yet, but I’ve been moving things here bit by bit. It’s like...” He paused, his eyes distant then focused again on Brody. “I don’t know. It’s like I’m being watched. Studied.”
“Only here? Nothing in New York?”
“Only here.”
“When you’re here alone, or when Adrienne and Heather are here?”
Vic shrugged. “Mostly when I’m here on my own. I had a hang up at least once when Adrienne was here. It was shortly after she started house-sitting for me in early December. She’s not here all the time. She went out to San Francisco for a week after New Year’s, and she pops down to New York every now and then.” He shook his head, as if he were reading Brody’s mind. “It’s not Adrienne.”
“What about Heather Sloan?”
“Heather? Why would she want to spook me?”
“I’m not concerned with whys right now,” Brody said. “How often is she here?”
“As necessary. She’s in charge of renovations. There’s a hell of a lot to do. We’re down to it now, so she’s been here every day since I arrived last week. There will be people in and out of the house once renovations start, but there aren’t now. I’m telling you, Brody, something weird is going on around here.”
As Vic spoke, Rohan yawned and headed for the his bed in the mudroom. Brody was ready to do the same with his spot in the guesthouse. He didn’t want to delve deep into Vic’s mind, but he knew he had to, at least to a degree. “Could you have moved things and not remember?” he asked.
He half expected Vic to spring up out of the chair, offended, but instead he tapped a finger on the rim of his wineglass, thoughtful. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. I admit that I’ve wondered if I’m losing it. I asked myself that repeatedly before I contacted you. I decided no. If I had decided yes, I would have called a doctor instead of you. I’m retired, but I’m in good mental and physical health.”
“I had to ask,” Brody said.
“I know you did.” Vic sucked in a breath and smacked a hand down on the table, an unusual display of frustration for the career diplomat. He exhaled. “I’ve nothing concrete to give you, Brody. No evidence. It’s possible someone toyed with me for a while and figured out I’m not that interesting, and that’s that.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect you’re in danger, Vic?”
“I have enemies. There’s no question about that.”
There wasn’t, but it wasn’t Brody’s point. “Is one of them in Knights Bridge?”
“That’s why I asked you to come here, Brody.” Vic’s voice was quiet but intense, his frustration with his situation unabated if under control. “I need your objectivity and professionalism to help me figure out what’s going on.”
Brody crossed his arms on his chest. How many times had he stood in this same spot as a kid, getting Vic’s advice? How many times through college, training and his years with the DSS had he counted on Vic Scarlatti to be a phone call or an email away?
“All right,” Brody said. “We’ll figure this out. Anything else you can think of?”
“I was followed,” Vic said. “I didn’t mention that. The other day this black car followed me from Amherst right to my driveway, then kept on going out toward the upper lake. You tell me that was a coincidence, Brody. You tell me.”
“Did you get the plate number?”
“Did I—” He stared at Brody, looking baffled. “No, I didn’t get the plate number. I had my hand on my cell phone in case I had to call
the cops.”
Brody lowered his arms to his sides. Vic wasn’t paranoid by nature, and even now Brody didn’t sense that his mentor and friend was afraid. Curious, annoyed, uncertain. Not fearful.
At this point, Brody couldn’t tell his old friend anything except that he was here now, and he’d have a look around.
He felt a cold draft coming through the kitchen window. The place needed work. It had for a long time, and Sloan & Sons was the outfit to do the job.
He didn’t need to go there right now.
He shifted back to Vic. “You could have called the police and asked them to look into these incidents instead of calling me.”
“I don’t want to sound like a crazy old man. I call the cops, it’s a thing.”
“It’s a thing when you call me, Vic.”
“I asked you here as a friend with experience in these matters. I know you’re a law-enforcement officer. That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the local cops. Heather’s brother is a police officer. Knights Bridge is a small town. I’m an unknown. People are curious. They gossip.”
“I’ll need to bring in the police if it looks as if there’s more going on here than a bored retired diplomat with an overactive imagination.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Once I decided to contact you, I knew there was no good outcome. Either I’m overreacting, or something’s going on.” Vic pushed back his chair, the legs scraping on the worn floor. “You’re not here just because of me, anyway, are you, Brody?”
He glanced at the window above the sink but could only see the darkness and the reflection of the lights in the kitchen. “I dreamed about Echo Lake right before you got in touch with me.”
“A sign, you think?”
“A sign it’s time I saw about the land I own here.”
“Think you’ll put it on the market?”
He shrugged without answering Vic’s question.
A gust of wind rattled the kitchen windows. The age and condition of the house could be responsible for some of what had Vic unnerved, or at least for triggering him into ratcheting up normal occurrences.
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