Echo Lake

by Carla Neggers

  “We were.” Brody left it at that and smiled at her. “Now who’s asking questions?”

  “Can’t blame me for trying. You’re not going to give up, though, are you? Okay, to answer your question, I’ve been going nonstop for months and months. Work, friends, family, travel, life.”

  “And?”

  She shot him a look. “You can tell there’s more? They teach you that in DSS school or whatever it’s called? Never mind. I probably don’t want to know. I had a bad breakup with a guy. I finally realized I needed to slow down and get my head together, figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life—or at least the next year. I was in New York. I introduced myself to Vic, and he told me about his place here and retiring. I suggested I could house-sit while he geared up for renovations. It made life easier for him and for the architect and Sloan & Sons, and it was great for me.”

  “Who’s the ex-boyfriend?” Brody asked.

  “You do cut to the chase, don’t you? It’s no one you know. He owns a wine shop in New York. Upper West Side, near Columbus Circle. He doesn’t know Vic. He doesn’t know where I am now, in case you’re thinking he’s stalking me. He doesn’t care where I am or what I’m doing, and I don’t want him to care.”

  Brody considered his response. “I’m sorry you’ve gone through a difficult time.”

  “I appreciate that.” She faced the fire again, but not before he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “His name’s Thad, by the way. Thad Bowman. He made a ton of money in the stock market before he turned thirty and decided to quit and open up a wine shop.”

  “How long did you two see each other?”

  “Almost a year. We met at a Christmas party. He was drinking a merlot I loathe. I should have known then we weren’t meant to be.” She glanced up at Brody again, tears on her lashes but not any longer in her eyes. “What about you? How many broken hearts have you left behind since you became a DSS agent?”

  He smiled. “Maybe I’m the one with the broken heart.”

  She returned his smile. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Brody left her by the fire and headed back to the guesthouse. His fire in the woodstove had died down, but he didn’t revive it, preferring the cooling air as he sat on the sectional and called Greg Rawlings.

  Greg already knew about the ex-boyfriend on the Upper West Side. “Thad Bowman is what my dear departed grandmother would call a piece of work. I have other terms that would have offended her.”

  “You’ve talked to him?”

  “No. I went to his wine shop and saw him in the back room, looking important. My guess is he’ll get bored with wine and move on to the next conquest. It’s quite the shop, though. We’re not talking the corner liquor store where I grew up.”

  Brody could see stars over Echo Lake now, the sky already clearing after the storm. “What are you up to now, Greg?”

  “Doing my PT stretches because I didn’t do them earlier. I was checking out this wine merchant. It’s good I’m in the city that never sleeps since I don’t, either.”

  “You need your seven to eight hours.”

  “Yep. How’re you sleeping now that you’re back in your hometown, or shouldn’t I ask?”

  Brody thought of Heather and ground his teeth. Nothing about his return to Knights Bridge was turning out to be simple or straightforward. “Stay in touch.”

  “I see shouldn’t have asked was the right answer. I struck a nerve, didn’t I? Which is it, the jilted wine expert or the hometown girl who knows how to use a nail gun?”

  Brody pretended not to hear and disconnected, but he still had his phone in his hand when Greg texted him.

  It’s the hometown girl.

  You need sleep. Try chamomile tea.

  I’d be kicked out of the DSS for sure.

  Brody didn’t respond. He got up and walked over to the tall windows. No one would kick Greg Rawlings out of the DSS for drinking herbal tea. Greg had bigger issues than temporary insomnia.

  As he looked out at the dark lake, Brody remembered his father grumbling about winter. “I’m not sticking around Knights Bridge, Brody. Once you graduate, I’m out of here. Take my advice and get out, too. There’s nothing in this town for either one of us. Nothing.”

  It was one of the few pieces of good advice his father had given his only son.

  * * *

  Brody hadn’t bothered with the blinds and drapes and woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the windows and sparkling on the freshly fallen snow. Coffee, toast, a shower and clean clothes, and he was off, duly noting it was one hell of a cold morning. He’d already noted the two soup bowls in the sink from last night. That stung him more than the frigid temperatures.

  Heather, Heather.

  Why couldn’t Justin have been overseeing renovations? Not as fun as his sister by a stretch but much less complicated. He and Brody sure as hell wouldn’t have chopped veggies and had soup together last night.

  The walks and driveway were crunchy with snow, ice and sand, but Brody saw that Heather had just arrived, a van following right behind her. She jumped out of her truck, talking to him as if they’d parted two minutes ago instead of twelve hours. “It was slow getting home last night, but the roads are in good shape this morning. We’d never get anything done if we hung around waiting for good weather.” She nodded to the van as her brother Adam got out. “Adam and I are discussing the stonework for Vic’s house. The outside work will have to wait for warmer weather.”

  “Brody,” Adam said. “Still here, I see.”

  “Yeah. I’ll try not to overstay my Knights Bridge welcome home.”

  Adam grinned but the fourth Sloan sibling had little else to say as he and Heather got to work, all that Sloan focus and energy well in evidence this morning. Brody went inside, helped himself to coffee and found Vic reading War and Peace by the fire.

  “It was in a box of books I brought here years ago from my folks’ place,” he said, holding up the tome. “My father left school at sixteen to help earn money for the family. He worked hard and did well, better than he ever expected. He and my mother wanted my sister and me to have a good education. I found a set of encyclopedias, too. Now all that stuff’s on the internet. It’s not the same.”

  “No incidents this morning?” Brody asked.

  Vic’s cheeks reddened slightly. “No, unless you want to call fighting with Rohan over a tennis ball an incident. I’m going to read a few chapters and check another box. I’m not unpacking anything because I’ll just have to pack it up again for the renovations.” He placed the book in his lap and pointed at a yellowed page. “I wrote notes in the margins. A precursor to my life with the Foreign Service, perhaps.”

  “Adam Sloan is here.”

  “The stonemason Sloan. I keep trying to imagine this place finished. It’ll be grand, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely.”

  Vic narrowed his eyes on Brody. “You’ll come back to see it, won’t you?”

  “I haven’t planned that far out. I don’t know what I’m doing this afternoon, never mind a year from now.”

  “You’ve always liked spontaneity in your life. You can have your pick of assignments after the past few years. Any thoughts?”

  Brody shook his head. “Not right now.”

  “All right,” Vic said. “I’ll read my book and leave you alone. One day it wouldn’t hurt for you to talk to someone about your life, you know. What you want, who you are, what you’ve done.”

  “I’ll do that, Vic.”

  “Oh, you will not. You’re about as introspective as a hunk of cordwood, and opening up—acknowledging your human vulnerabilities—goes against your personal code.”

  Brody frowned, trying to suppress a grin. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but a hunk of cordwood?”

 
“I didn’t call you cordwood. I was making an analogy. Obviously, I’m not Tolstoy when it comes to words.” Vic waved a hand. “Never mind. Rohan could use some fresh air.”

  “So could I now.”

  “Good. His leash is by the back door. He needs to get used to it.”

  “You’re okay, Vic?”

  “Yes. I feel like the boy who cried wolf for calling you, but there’s no wolf about to show up. You don’t have to stay on my account. You’re welcome to, of course, but if being here is causing problems for you, feel free to be on your way.”

  “No problems.”

  Vic scowled. “I knew that’s what you’d say. I had hoped coming back here would be good for you, even this time of year.”

  “It is good. Thanks for having me.”

  “Seriously, Brody?”

  “Sure.”

  Vic pointed a finger at him. “You’re full of it, and you know it. Cocky bastard. Go away.”

  Brody grinned and returned to the kitchen. Heather was there with Adam and Adrienne, all three about to descend into the basement, presumably to discuss stonework having to do with the sauna and wine cellar. Brody didn’t need details. He grabbed Rohan and the leash.

  It wasn’t any warmer outside, but the puppy didn’t seem to notice. Brody snapped on the leash. Rohan looked offended at first then bolted toward the lake.

  “Not that way,” Brody said. “The snow and ice will wear you out. We’re taking a different route.”

  They walked out to Brody’s land. Rohan handled the leash reasonably well. When they reached his lakeside acres, Brody unsnapped the leash and let the puppy ramble. He could see himself out here on a similar winter day, shoveling snow, wondering what he would end up doing with his life. He’d known he didn’t want to be a fishing guide in the Florida Keys like his father.

  He made a fist-size snowball and tossed it onto the road. Rohan dived after it.

  Brody laughed. “Can’t forget you’re a retriever, can we?”

  He looked out at the lake again, the sky clear and as blue as in his dream before Vic’s call.

  He could see Heather out here with him the other day. Feel how much he’d wanted to kiss her.

  He turned from the lake and whistled for Rohan. Heather’s life was in Knights Bridge with her family.

  His life wasn’t here. It never had been, and it never would be.

  * * *

  When Brody got back, he saw Vic alone down by the lake, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Maybe wishing he’d bought a condo in Lisbon, Brody thought, taking a wet, muddy Rohan with him to the guesthouse. He cleaned him up, gave him a bowl of water and let him collapse in the living room. He debated starting a fire in the woodstove. He could also pack up his car and get out of here. Heather’s truck, he’d noticed, was still in the driveway, but Adam’s van was gone.

  Brody got out an old Risk game he and the Sloans had played as teenagers. He’d brought a few things up from the cabin before he’d demolished it. Vic had left the boxes untouched in a closet, no surprise to Brody now that Vic had told him about War and Peace and the encyclopedias.

  He set the game on the coffee table. When they were kids, Heather had wormed her way into a game with Justin and Brandon. It was a warm summer night, and they had set up on the Hancock cabin porch. She rode her bicycle up from the O’Dunn place and arrived sweating, hair tangled, pink rubber bands on her braces. Brody remembered being annoyed.

  She was different now. Way different.

  He was relieved when his phone rang. He needed a distraction. But he recognized Heather’s number on the screen. Not the distraction he had in mind. He answered. “What’s up?”

  “Do you have a second?”

  “I do. I have many seconds. Rohan and I are here with my old Risk game.”

  “You and my brothers always shut me out except for one time.”

  “I remember. You were ruthless.”

  “Conquering the world.”

  Brody smiled at the memory. “What can I do for you?”

  He heard Heather suck in a breath. “Adrienne has a bunch of Vic’s old photos out in the dining room. I think you should come have a look.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  As he grabbed his coat, he got a call from Greg Rawlings. “Our Adrienne Portale isn’t quite who she says she is,” Greg said.

  “Meaning?”

  “She’s a wine expert. That part’s true. Her mother is Sophia Cross Portale, a woman Vic met in Paris thirty years ago. Also true.”

  He sounded more animated, more like the old Greg. Brody opened the front door. “Her father?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting. Richard Portale isn’t Adrienne’s biological father. I don’t know how long he and Sophia have known, but Adrienne has only known for the past six months. She’s in quote-unquote emotional turmoil.”

  “Who are you quoting?”

  “Friend of a friend of a friend who knows all of them—the Portales and our good ambassador. You know how it works. We operate in a small world.”

  “Adrienne thinks Vic is her father,” Brody said.

  “Yep.”

  “Is he?”

  “Don’t know. If he is, he doesn’t know. I’m sure of it. This woman—Sophia—sucks the oxygen out of every room she’s in. Self-absorbed but irresistible. Knows what buttons to push. I’ve been known to not resist that type myself. You get sucked in for a few days, and then you find yourself rotting on a beach, being pecked by seagulls. You check your wallet and your body parts to make sure everything’s intact. It usually isn’t.”

  “Nice image, Greg. So Adrienne Portale could be the daughter Vic never knew he had.”

  “Or she contacted him because she needed space from her mother and wanted to find out about her life in Paris.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  “Adrienne was in the midst of this emotional turmoil when she got mixed up with this rich idiot in New York with the wine shop.”

  Brody stepped outside, a stiff breeze kicking up snow. “Got it.”

  “What you don’t know, Agent Hancock,” Greg said, “is that in an effort to bind Mr. Bowman to her, Adrienne bought a golden retriever puppy.”

  “Rohan is hers?”

  “Yep. Your abandoned rider of Rohan is hers.”

  Thirteen

  Heather sat at the dining room table while Adrienne fingered one of the photographs scattered in front of them. “I was trying to find photos of Paris when Vic and my mother met there before I was born,” Adrienne said. “I got a little carried away.”

  “I’ve never been to Paris,” Heather said, picking up a photo of a dark-haired woman with the Eiffel Tower rising behind her. “My friend Jessica Frost used to dream about going to Paris. She talked about it all the time. She works for Frost Millworks, another family-owned business here in town. Anyway, she finally went with Mark Flanagan.”

  “The architect Vic’s working with on the renovations.”

  “Mark and Jess got married in September.”

  “Oh, right.” Adrienne gave a feeble smile. “I’m starting to get all these small-town connections down.”

  Heather set the photograph back on the table. “You haven’t told us everything about why you’re here, have you, Adrienne?”

  “Wine and nostalgia.”

  “Nostalgia for a time before you born? How does that work?”

  She noticed that Brody had entered the room. Adrienne didn’t look up from the photos spread out in front of her but had to be aware of him. With one finger, she slid a picture across the table to Heather. “A young Vic Scarlatti with a young Sophia Cross, my mother,” Adrienne said. “What do you think?”

  Heather shook her head. “Adrienne...”

 
“No, no, go ahead, Heather. Please. It’s all right. Take a look.” Adrienne raised her gaze to Brody. “Do you want to take a look, Agent Hancock?”

  “I don’t need to,” he said.

  “I thought not from your expression when you came in here. Your investigation has borne fruit, as they say. It’s tough to hide anything from your lot, but my mother managed to for a very long time. All my life, in fact.” Adrienne returned her gaze to Heather opposite her. “Vic could be me in that picture, couldn’t he?” She managed another weak smile. “Except for the men’s clothes, of course.”

  The expression on the younger Vic Scarlatti...the stance...

  Heather slid the photo back to Adrienne. “You believe Vic is your father,” she said.

  “The resemblance isn’t as strong now as it was when he was younger. It’s not enough by itself, I know.” Adrienne cleared her throat, obviously struggling to control her emotions. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

  “Did you know?” Brody asked quietly.

  “I suspected. Technically, I still don’t know. My mother won’t confirm or deny that she and Vic had an affair in Paris, and I haven’t...” Adrienne gulped in a breath, fighting tears. “I didn’t say anything to Vic at first. I wanted to get to know him better. I didn’t want any drama about biology affecting our relationship. I only asked him about an affair the other day. He squirmed and didn’t give me a straight answer.” She pushed back her chair and sprang to her feet. “Now I’ve made a complete mess of things.”

  “Where’s Vic now?” Brody asked, staying on his feet.

  “Upstairs going through another old box,” Adrienne said. “He’s been brooding all day. He’s in the middle of a major life change with retirement, and now here I am, the long-lost daughter.”

  Heather collected some of the photos and returned them to their box. “Do you think he has any idea, Adrienne?”

  “I don’t know. He’s so innocent in some ways. It wouldn’t occur to him that my mother would deliberately not tell him she came home from Paris expecting his baby. I accept that she did what she thought was best. I don’t know if he will.” Adrienne cleared her throat, her eyes on the Paris photo. “My dear mother.”