Echo Lake

by Carla Neggers

  Adrienne kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you got Brody here to help you put your mind at ease. I’m glad nothing happened this morning.”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond and sailed up the stairs.

  Vic noticed a cobweb and a spider right out of Harry Potter and went up, too.

  Brody was alone in the kitchen. He’d poured coffee and sat at the table, feet up on another chair. He looked considerably less intense. “Heather took off.” He set his mug on the table. “She said to tell you she’s putting together sauna options for you.”

  “You don’t think I need a sauna, do you?”

  “There are needs and there are wants. A sauna would be a want.”

  Vic grinned, in spite of his general agitation. “Tell me that during the next nor’easter.”

  “I won’t be here for the next nor’easter. I’m sure a sauna will come in handy. Next you’ll want your own helicopter pad.”

  “That has a certain appeal, actually. Well, it did when I was important. Now I don’t have anywhere I need to be that I would call a helicopter—certainly that anyone would send one. To be honest, I was never that important.”

  “But you were important,” Brody said. “You had a great career. You could continue working, but you chose to retire.”

  “Retire to the country. Doesn’t it have a good sound?”

  “Depends. Are you hoping someone will try to persuade you to return to duty?”

  “No. I quit cold turkey.” Vic tapped the sheets of notebook paper on the table. “Anything interesting on our lists?”

  “You have a milkman. That one floored me, Vic. A milkman?”

  “One of life’s real pleasures. It’s a local dairy.”

  Brody was clearly mystified. He got up, took his mug to the sink and snatched the lists. “Later,” he said, and left, off to do whatever it was Brody did. As many DSS agents as he’d worked with over the years, Vic had never delved too deeply into the specifics of what they did, when, why—or, for sure, how they operated when they weren’t on assignment. Basically, he didn’t want to know how men and women like Brody thought. It might interfere with his own thinking, his ability to focus on his work.

  In the past, of course. Now he had Brody’s opinion on the necessity of a sauna and a milkman.

  Vic headed upstairs to his bedroom, where it was quiet and he was out of earshot of Adrienne, who was again at work in the dining room. He sat on the bed and called her mother.

  “Vic,” Sophia said when she answered. “Adrienne texted me two minutes ago that she asked you about Paris, and you wouldn’t tell her anything.”

  “That’s right. I wanted to talk to you first.” He stood, noting that gray clouds had formed over the lake. “What do you want me to tell her, Sophia?”

  “Whatever you want to tell her. You’re the diplomat. Adrienne is an adult, Vic. She knows I had a life before I married her father. And after, too, since he and I split so long ago.”

  Vic hadn’t quite been before Adrienne’s father. He’d been before their marriage, but that was splitting hairs. “Have you been happy?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. Very.” Sophia didn’t hesitate, and her tone was brisk, as if she never gave such matters any thought. “I’m not that great a mother by Adrienne’s standards, but she’s turned out fine. Proof’s in the pudding, right?”

  She wasn’t asking him, he realized. “You’re proud of her.”

  “I’m thrilled she’s able to do work she loves. Not everyone gets to. She’s quite the nomad these days, but she seems to enjoy house-sitting for you. She’s been out of the nest for a while now, Vic. We don’t talk every week, never mind every day. We both have busy lives.”

  “You always liked your freedom.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Vic heard the impatience bordering on irritation in Sophia’s voice. She’d never been one for introspection. All the thinking he’d done in recent weeks—she’d tell him he was wallowing in self-pity and should get on with his life, figure out what came next and do it. He doubted Sophia Cross Portale had ever had an indecisive moment in her sixty years. “I hate dithering,” she’d told him so long ago.

  He wouldn’t tell her about the incidents. She’d laugh at his idiocy, and he already felt foolish enough.

  Sophia wasn’t the one who’d gotten away. If that was what Adrienne was hoping to hear, for whatever reason, she would be sadly disappointed.

  “Look, Vic, I hate to cut this short, but I’m in New York for some meetings. Tell Adrienne whatever you think is best. That’s what I did.”

  “We had less than a week together.”

  “I know. It meant nothing to either of us. It was an interlude. I’ve only good memories of our days together. The timing wasn’t the greatest, I admit, but I suppose it should have been a wake-up call that Richard and I weren’t going to work out. But we were young, and I wouldn’t trade Adrienne for the world.” She sniffed, taking charge. “Now. Off I go. I don’t know how you retired at sixty-two, Vic. I can’t believe you don’t miss this.”

  “Enjoy your meetings,” Vic said as she disconnected.

  He stood at the window. The wind had picked up. He could feel the cold through the glass panes. He’d appreciate having an energy-efficient house once renovations were complete, but he’d miss the creaking and rattling of the old windows and doors—if not of turning them into a stalker.

  “Ah, Sophia.”

  Her parting comment about his retirement hadn’t been offhand. She’d wanted to remind him that she was still a player—to dig at him to make herself feel more important. He’d learned a long time ago not to let that sort of competitive jab get to him, whether from an ex-lover like Sophia or anyone else.

  But he was raw from his scare that morning, and Sophia’s jab had penetrated.

  He remembered feeling as though he’d dodged a bullet when he’d found out she was engaged and he’d been a diversion before her wedding day. Her husband was a great guy, and somehow they’d all stayed in touch on and off despite going in three separate directions. Sophia was a special woman in many ways—witty, energetic, smart, driven—but she was also self-centered and emotionally controlling. Whatever you did or felt was fine with her provided it was what she wanted you to do or feel.

  Deep down, Adrienne had to know that about her mother. Learning about his brief affair with Sophia in Paris wouldn’t help Adrienne or tell her anything she didn’t already know.

  They’d had a hell of a time together, he and Sophia, all those years ago.

  Below him in the front yard, Vic noticed Adrienne walking with Rohan. Brody joined her, but he turned back to the house while she and the puppy continued down to the lake. Vic stood by his opinion that Brody would do well with a woman like Adrienne—she would be suited to his own nomadic lifestyle as a DSS agent.

  Heather was a homebody. She wasn’t going anywhere, any more than one of the big old oak trees on the shore of Echo Lake was going anywhere. Sparks or no sparks between her and Brody, that was the fact of the matter.

  Vic turned from the window and headed back downstairs. He’d never been much of a matchmaker, for himself or for anyone else. He’d often told himself he didn’t want a permanent relationship. He’d always believed in marriage, just not for himself. It wasn’t regret and loneliness chirping in his ear, throwing him off. He had friends. He could get involved with another woman.

  No, he thought, it was the newness and the uncertainty of abandoning a career that had consumed him for four decades.

  Had his ambivalence about retirement prompted him to imagine things? Like Sophia’s barbed comment, was he exaggerating the “incidents” to make himself feel important?

  He stopped at the front door. It was shut tight now.

  “All’s well that ends well,” he muttered, retu
rning to his chair, iPad and crossword puzzles.

  * * *

  After lunch, Vic forced himself to get some air. He put on snowshoes and trudged down to the lake and back. It helped restore his mood, although he was aware Brody was keeping an eye on him. Nothing he wasn’t used to from his Foreign Service days. By late afternoon, Heather had returned with her sauna options. He told her to do whatever she thought would work best. Adrienne talked her into staying for wine and hors d’oeuvres.

  All in all, the day was turning out far better than it had started.

  They gathered in the dining room. Adrienne, Heather, Brody and Vic. Adrienne had set the table with Wedgwood china Vic had brought down from his parents’ house after their deaths. She lit two slender white candles in silver candlesticks that he didn’t recognize. He assumed she’d discovered them in the back of some cupboard.

  “I collected several local artisan cheeses and handcrafted wines available at the country store in town,” Adrienne explained, gesturing to her array on the dining room table. “We have an aged cheddar, a soft goat’s cheese, a hard goat’s cheese and a blue cheese, plus assorted accompaniments—grapes, apples, crackers, olives, roast peppers.”

  “Looks great,” Vic said. “Thanks for doing this.”

  Adrienne beamed. “As you can probably tell, I’m enjoying myself.” She pointed to three wine bottles lined up behind the food trays. “We’ll be tasting a variety of wines from the local Hardwick Vineyard and Winery. I adore their Massetts Cranberry. It’s an award-winning blend of ninety-percent white grapes and ten-percent cranberries.”

  Vic picked up the bottle and noted the clear red color of the wine and the classic New England house on the label. “Festive,” he said, placing the bottle back on the table.

  “It’s wonderful to see small wineries take hold in rural New England,” Adrienne said. “I want to do the different wine trails and visit as many vineyards and taste as many varieties of wine as I can.”

  “It’s all fascinating,” Heather said.

  Vic noticed she went easy on the wine, no doubt because she had to drive home on back roads in the January dark. He also noticed that Brody stayed close to her and when she got ready to leave, offered to walk out to her truck with her. Vic tried not to grit his teeth, but those two...there was just no way.

  Heather slipped her vest on. “I’ll be fine. The bears are still hibernating, and the driveway’s freshly sanded.”

  “Not worried about a bad guy who likes to leave doors open?” Vic asked with a self-deprecating grin.

  “No, but I don’t mean to make light of your worries.”

  “Please do,” he said. “I’d rather be overreacting than be dealing with a real stalker.”

  Adrienne sampled a bit of her artisan cheddar and apple. “Brody, do you think you should move from the guesthouse into one of the guest rooms here? They aren’t well furnished, but I’m sure we could figure something out.”

  Vic didn’t give Brody a chance to answer. “No need to go to any trouble. We can get Brody here in seconds, but it won’t be necessary unless I sleepwalk and fall down the stairs in the dark.” He tried to keep his tone light, but he felt his heartbeat race at the prospect of another incident. Having Brody at the guesthouse helped, and it was enough. Setting him up in a guest room would only escalate the internal tension—in other words, the made-up fears—that Vic had been trying to quell all day. “There’s no reason for alarm,” he added, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

  Adrienne pointed her wineglass at Brody. “Do you agree?”

  He shrugged. “I do.”

  “I guess we wouldn’t be here enjoying wine and cheese if you thought there was any reason for alarm. Are you sure there’s nothing to these incidents?”

  Vic raised a hand. “I got ahead of myself, I’m embarrassed to say. That’s all there is to it.”

  “But what if that’s not all there is to it?” Adrienne set her glass on the table and splashed in more wine. “What if these incidents of yours are for real but you’re not the target? Brody, either. What if whoever is responsible is after Heather or even me?”

  “Why would either of you be a target for something like this?” Brody asked evenly.

  Adrienne sipped her wine. “I don’t know. I have a popular wine blog, and people can be weird and nasty on the internet. The Sloans are well-known in town. They could have enemies.”

  “Everyone has enemies,” Vic said. “I don’t know how someone would get in here and do the things I’ve mentioned. The hang ups on the phone are easy to explain, but the other stuff—I’m just nuts is all.”

  Heather helped herself to a slice of apple. “Did our lists produce anything of interest?” she asked Brody.

  “Not at first glance,” he said.

  Adrienne seized on his answer, almost spilling her wine. “There you go. What if a local guy who knows the house—knows the lay of the land around here—has been sneaking in here? What if it’s about the property itself, some grudge rekindled by the renovations?”

  “Now we’re deep into the land of speculation,” Vic said. “We’ll keep Brody’s number handy and call or text him if anything happens, or just shout from the back door. Heather, what about you? You live alone. I hope we’re not making you nervous with our talk.”

  “Not at all. I’m within shouting distance of three of my brothers. Brandon lives in town, and Eric and Christopher are both on duty tonight.”

  Vic thought he saw Brody smile—or maybe it was something between a smile and a grimace. He’d never understood the dynamics at play in Brody’s relationship with the Sloan boys. Hadn’t tried to understand. He’d tried, simply, to help Brody figure out what he wanted to do with his life besides go fishing and get into trouble.

  Adrienne polished off the last of her wine. “Three brothers. Wow. Honestly, Heather, I don’t know if you realize how lucky you are to come from a big, tight-knit family. I didn’t even have a pet growing up.”

  “Having five brothers has its advantages.” Heather smiled her bright, unaffected smile. “But I can handle myself. I’m also within reach of a baseball bat.”

  Vic saw her remark went up one side of Brody and down the other, but his young DSS agent friend recovered almost immediately. When Heather started out to the kitchen, he went with her. She didn’t argue.

  Adrienne raised her eyebrows. “I know I’ve had too much wine—which isn’t like me—but I’m not seeing things. Our two Knights Bridge natives are very interesting together, aren’t they?”

  “Interesting. Yes. Apt description.”

  Vic grabbed his wineglass. He was partial to the Yankee Girl Blush, perhaps because it was nicknamed “summer in a bottle.” He’d been cold all day despite the slightly warmer temperature and his reluctant snowshoe trek. He blamed his dour mood more than January in New England.

  “Anything I should know?” Adrienne asked.

  He’d lost her train of thought. “About what?”

  She sighed. “Heather and Brody.”

  “Oh.” He made a dismissive motion with his glass. “Wine makes my mind wander. I don’t know anything you don’t know about Heather and Brody.”

  “Heather is so open and optimistic. It’s her roots here in Knights Bridge, I think. That big family of hers. She knows who she is. She knows where she’ll be when she’s eighty. I don’t. I don’t know where I’ll be eight months from now.” Adrienne sank into a chair at the table and looked out at the black night. “Brody’s had a rough time recently, hasn’t he?”

  “He’s had some tough assignments the past few years. His choice, and he’s good at what he does.”

  Her dark eyes lifted to Vic. “He must be accustomed to keeping his emotions at bay. Has he always been like that? Controlled, careful, hard to read?”

  Vic shook his head. “He us
ed to be a troublemaker.”

  “When he was growing up here? He’s ripe for falling for someone like Heather, isn’t he? The path not taken.” Adrienne reached for a couple of green olives. “Do you think she’s ripe for falling for him?”

  “Adrienne...”

  She grinned. “You look like I just stabbed you with a fork. I’ll be quiet.”

  “What about you and Brody?” he asked.

  “Me and Brody? Now, there’s a thought that hadn’t occurred to me.” She popped the olives into her mouth and shook her head as she wiped her fingers on a cloth napkin. “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?”

  She stood again. “Some things aren’t meant to be, Vic, and that’s one of them.” She peered under the table. “What happened to Rohan?”

  “He vacated the premises for a spot by the fire.”

  “He’s so spoiled. I’ll take the last of my wine and join him. What about you, Vic? A quiet dessert wine by the fire on a cold winter night?” She smiled, hooking her arm into his. With her free hand, she snatched up one of the wine bottles. “This is your new life, you know.”

  “It’s a good one.”

  “You sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself. Once you settle in here and get a few hobbies, you’ll be fine. I predict you’re going to want to keep Rohan, though. He’ll be excellent company.”

  “Should I buy a pipe and a tweed jacket, too?”

  She laughed. “I thought you already had a pipe and a tweed jacket.”

  Vic appreciated Adrienne’s laughter, but when they reached the living room, she had drifted into a thoughtful silence. She set the wine on a side table and sat on the floor next to Rohan, sprawled out on the hearth, and stroked his soft fur. Vic sat in a chair. He could hear the wind, which had picked up over the past hour, buffeting the old house, whistling through the trees and rattling the windows.

  Adrienne reached up for the wine and poured some into his glass. He noted she hadn’t brought her glass in with her. “Here you go, Vic. More wine”