That Night on Thistle Lane

by Carla Neggers

  Noah assumed that Olivia and Maggie, who also had to know about Phoebe, didn’t realize that Brandon was in on the secret, too.

  Complicated, complicated.

  Brandon headed off, back over the stone wall and through the field up to the house—or what was left of it—that Dylan had inherited from his father.

  Noah went inside. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. Now what was he supposed to do?

  He’d take Buster for another walk, then see what Olivia had in terms of movies.

  And tomorrow?

  Tomorrow was supposed to be another hot day.

  Perfect for a trip to the Knights Bridge Free Public Library.

  Nine

  Loretta Wrentham parked in the driveway at Dylan’s stucco house on Coronado. He’d left her three messages while she was sweating through a horrid exercise dance class. She’d finally texted him that she’d be right over, then showered, reapplied her makeup, put on slim jeans, a white shirt and red heels and, feeling energized if not any happier about exercise, headed across the San Diego–Coronado Bay Bridge to the upscale island town where Dylan lived.

  He’d told her that Coronado wasn’t home for him like Knights Bridge was home for Olivia.

  Loretta believed him.

  Her cell phone trilled and she assumed it was Dylan again but saw Noah’s name on her screen. This couldn’t be good. Something clearly was up. She debated answering, but Noah was even worse about pestering her if he wanted a response. “Isn’t it the middle of the night on the East Coast?” she asked him, knowing perfectly well what time it was in New England.

  “It’s midnight. I’m listening to my owl. I have all the windows in the house open. The stars are out. It’s nice.”

  “I like stars. I heard an owl once on vacation in the mountains.” Of course, she realized he hadn’t called to talk about stars and owls. “What can I do for you, Noah?”

  “Julius Hartley, Loretta. Who is he?”

  She was silent. Hartley. No wonder she had so many messages from Dylan and now Noah was on the phone with her.

  “Loretta?”

  “He’s your mystery man,” she said.

  “Is that a question or do you know?”

  “I know now that you’ve said his name. How did it pop up?”

  “Dylan checked the guest list at the masquerade ball. He couldn’t resist. The name Julius Hartley stood out. He bought a ticket at the last minute, he came alone and he’s from Los Angeles. He left his street address blank. Dylan doesn’t know him.”

  Loretta swore under her breath. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Who is he, Loretta?” Noah asked mildly.

  She decided to tell him. “Julius Hartley is a scumbag private investigator who won’t return my calls.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I don’t. He showed up in my office a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t think about him as a possibility for our mystery man until you told me you’d spotted your stalker in Boston. Something about your description this time finally clicked. I tried reaching Hartley. I only have his cell phone number and he didn’t answer.” She needed air and got out of her car. A cool evening breeze was blowing onshore off the Pacific. Damn. Had she screwed up this time? “Where is Hartley now?”

  “I have no idea,” Noah said, no hint of impatience or exasperation.

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do and call you when I know more.”

  “What did he want when he came to your office?”

  “He asked me about Duncan McCaffrey.”

  “Dylan’s father? Why?”

  Loretta had told Noah as well as Dylan about her brief affair with Duncan shortly before his death. At least she wouldn’t have to rehash that indiscretion—which was what it was, even if she didn’t regret it.

  Finally she said, “Hartley told me he was fascinated with treasure hunts and was curious about what would happen to Duncan’s unfinished projects. Duncan’s been gone for two years, so I figured it was a lame cover story for worming information out of me about Dylan, about you and your work together at NAK, what’s next now that it’s gone public.”

  Loretta stood on the sidewalk in front of Dylan’s house so that the breeze off the ocean caught her full in the face. She could see Julius Hartley in her office in La Jolla, a good-looking man around her own age, cocky, not really giving a damn that she didn’t believe a word he was saying.

  She should have pegged him as Noah’s stalker from the get-go.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this, Noah,” she said.

  “I know you will,” he said, as calm as ever.

  “He hasn’t turned up in Knights Bridge, has he?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  A stiff gust of wind brought with it the smell of saltwater. She could taste it as she tried to picture Noah alone in the out-of-the-way little New England town and found that she couldn’t. Not that she’d ever been to Knights Bridge herself, but she’d never seen Noah outside of Southern California. Well, once at his winery on the Central Coast. He and Dylan had invited her up for a party celebrating NAK’s fourth anniversary.

  Optimist that she was, when Dylan had told her he’d agreed to work with Noah, she’d figured NAK would go bust within months. But Dylan had been broke, going nowhere after ignoring one piece of good advice after another from her.

  A good thing she’d kept her mouth shut about NAK.

  Dylan and Noah had done well in their work together, and Loretta had done well by Dylan and got to know and like Noah, even if she’d never understand him.

  What the hell did Julius Hartley want with him?

  “Got anything more going on than listening to owls and watching the stars?” she asked Noah, hoping she didn’t sound as out of sorts as she felt.

  “Olivia’s dog keeps breaking out of the mudroom and getting up on the couch.”

  “The legendary Buster,” Loretta said, then promised to keep Noah informed and disconnected.

  Her attempt at good humor didn’t last. Dylan had come out onto his front porch and was waiting for her. She tossed her phone into her handbag and headed up the steps, the wind at her back now. Dylan had his eyes narrowed on her in that distinctly McCaffrey manner. She’d known him since his early days with the NHL. He was more aggressive than Noah. He’d pounce. With Noah, she thought, you could be bleeding on the floor before you knew he’d even come close to you.

  “Does Julius Hartley work for you?” Dylan asked.

  “No. Never. He works up in L.A. He stopped by my office a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought he was fishing for information on you and Noah. I kicked him out.”

  “As only you can,” Dylan said.

  Loretta turned to look out at the darkening ocean and sky. The stars would be out here soon, too. She didn’t know about owls.

  Dylan stared at the Pacific, white caps visible as waves rolled onto the wide beach. “I can’t just step back from this, Loretta. Whatever Hartley is after involves Noah or me, or both of us.”

  “Could someone in Knights Bridge be a threat to Noah?”

  “Like who?”

  Loretta waved a hand. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Who was Hartley talking to on Friday?”

  She shook her head. “No idea. No idea who his client is, either. I’ll find out. You and Noah don’t need to worry about this.”

  Dylan didn’t look convinced but Loretta wasn’t surprised. He’d had Noah’s back for four years, allowing his friend to focus on his strengths in building NAK into a highly profitable company. It wouldn’t be easy for him to give that up.

  A fair-haired woman Loretta took to be Olivia Frost, Dylan’s fiancée, stepped out of the house. Dylan introduced them, and any misgivings Loretta had about their sudden romance quickly disappeared. Olivia was smart and sophisticated, but also natural, and down-to-earth. She was perfect for Dylan. And Loretta saw that Dylan was perfect for Olivia,
too.

  “How do you like San Diego so far?” Loretta asked.

  Olivia smiled. “I absolutely love it. It’s so different from Knights Bridge. That’s where I’ve lived most of my life.”

  Olivia’s eyes lit up when she mentioned her hometown. Then Loretta saw it, too. What Dylan had been trying to tell her. That as much as Olivia might like other places, her town on the edge of the Quabbin Reservoir was home. That meant Dylan would make Knights Bridge his home.

  So what were she and Noah supposed to do?

  Maybe that was why he was dog sitting, listening to owls and chasing a masked princess. In his own way, he was trying to figure out what he’d do with his best friend and business partner—a man who was like a brother to him—living on the other side of the continent.

  And if Noah and Dylan both ended up in Knights Bridge?

  Loretta didn’t want to think about it.

  She’d focus on tracking down Julius Hartley instead.

  Ten

  Phoebe dressed for a hot August day but the library was cooler than she expected when she arrived early, well before eight o’clock. Mondays were generally quiet, and she was the only full-time employee. The part-time staff and volunteers wouldn’t start arriving until after the library opened at nine-thirty but she appreciated the time to herself.

  With a shiver, she grabbed an old sweater off one of the stacks of sorted vintage clothes on the stage. The sweater was several sizes too big and a dingy coral acrylic that didn’t go at all with her sunflower-colored sundress but she wouldn’t need it for long before the library warmed up.

  She’d planned to shelve books and catch up on paperwork but instead went up onto the stage and sorted a box of clothes that had come in over the weekend. For the most part, donors had respected the specifications for the show and weren’t just dropping off junk, although not everything could be used—including the awful sweater she’d thrown on.

  The front door creaked open at the stroke of nine-thirty. Phoebe looked up from her box, filled with a colorful collection of maxi skirts, fringed vests and headbands from the early 1970s. She expected to see her administrative assistant, but instead it was Noah Kendrick entering the library.

  Phoebe stood up, realized she still had on the old sweater. She wished she’d taken it off, then decided it was just as well. She hated the stereotype of the dowdy, introverted librarian and knew it didn’t fit her or most professional librarians she knew, even if Noah was thinking exactly that right now. She was practical. She’d been cold and the sweater had been handy. She wasn’t a princess.

  Not that Noah had recognized her as the woman he’d danced with.

  She certainly had no intention of telling him.

  He smiled, maintaining a stillness about him as he approached the stage. “I half expected a ghost.”

  “Lots of people have said they’ve encountered ghosts in here, going back to when the library first opened in 1872.”

  “What a surprise,” he said mildly.

  She went to the edge of the stage. She expected to jump down to him on her own, but he caught her by the waist and lowered her to the hardwood floor with the same ease and sureness with which he’d swept her across the dance floor on Friday night.

  Glad for the dim light in the library, Phoebe pushed back strands of hair that had come out of its pins. Her oversize sweater had come off her shoulders. She let it drop to the floor and shoved it aside with one foot, then got control of herself.

  “Good morning,” she said politely, stepping back from Noah. “What can I do for you?”

  It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw a spark of pure male sexiness in his deep blue eyes, as if to say that she could do a hell of a lot for him. But he simply said, “I was thinking I might borrow a book or two. Is that allowed?”

  “Sure. We’ll figure it out. Wander around.” Phoebe realized she wasn’t cold anymore. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

  Noah peered up at the stage. “The fashion show is shaping up well?”

  She nodded. “Some of the clothes we’ve received are amazing. Others, not so much. The historical society is interested in checking out some of the unique items.”

  He shifted his gaze back to her. “Are you involved in the historical society, too?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  She didn’t know why she felt defensive. There was nothing condescending in his tone or manner. His eyes were half closed, almost navy in the dim light by the stage. They lingered on her shoulders, then lifted to meet hers.

  He knows.

  She couldn’t pinpoint what had tipped her off, but there was no question in her mind that Noah Kendrick had figured out that she was the woman in the Edwardian gown on Friday.

  Had he known yesterday?

  She felt the heat of embarrassment but hoped he didn’t notice her discomfort. “The fashion show is turning out to be a lot of fun for everyone.” Her throat was dry, tight, as she suddenly tingled with the memory of their brief kiss just two nights ago. They’d gotten carried away. No question about it. She added, “Every donated garment has a story behind it.”

  “What’s the story behind Maggie’s and Olivia’s dresses?”

  “And yours?” Phoebe could almost hear him ask.

  “They’re copies from movies,” she said. “As I’m sure you know.”

  “To Catch a Thief and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

  “That’s right.” She didn’t explain further. She had no intention of telling him about the hidden room when she still hadn’t told her sisters and Olivia—anyone—about it. “Maggie and Olivia had a great time at the ball.”

  “So did I.” His eyes held hers. “More than I ever imagined.”

  Phoebe reminded herself that she was a professional, experienced librarian, accustomed to dealing with tricky situations with the public. She would think of Noah as just that. A member of the public. She motioned toward the stacks. “I’ll let you get on with your browsing.”

  “Thanks.” He walked over to the fireplace, then glanced back at her. “Ever light a fire in here?”

  “Not in years.”

  “The library’s centrally located. Do many people from out of town stop in to ask for information on residents?”

  “Some.” She knew he was thinking about the note about the phone call she’d overheard. Did Noah realize she’d written the note? Was that why he was here? She pushed back her own questions and focused on what he’d asked her. “We don’t give out private information on anyone. That would include Olivia’s guests, in case you’re wondering.”

  “So you won’t be spreading the word that I’m staying in town?”

  Phoebe went behind the curved circulation desk and tried to act as if it was just another Monday morning. “That’s right.”

  Noah glanced up at the oil portrait of an imposing George Sanderson. “Has anyone been asking about Dylan or me?”

  “Not that I know of. Do you have anyone specific in mind?”

  Noah moved back from the fireplace and scooped up the coral sweater she’d had on. He laid it on the stage. She had a feeling he knew it wasn’t hers. “What would you do if someone did ask about us?” he asked.

  “I might offer to take down a name, address and phone number and give them to Dylan, or to you if you’re still in town.” Phoebe shrugged, still containing her reaction to Noah’s presence. “Otherwise I stay out of personal business involving anyone in town.”

  “Smart. If someone does ask about either Dylan or me while I’m here, you’ll let me know?”

  She nodded. “Happy to.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll check out what you have on fencing. It’s a hobby of mine. Classical fencing. In fact, Dylan couldn’t resist having me dress up as a swashbuckler on Friday.” Noah smiled. “He has a sense of humor.”

  “So I’ve discovered.”

  He headed off to the stacks, but Phoebe knew he wasn’t serious about checking out what the libr
ary had on fencing books or anything else. Once he was safely out of sight, she sat at her computer and let out a long, cathartic breath.

  Vera Galeski, Phoebe’s part-time assistant, arrived, cheerfully grumbling about the heat. In winter, she grumbled about the cold. She was a high-energy woman in her early sixties, devoted to books, married to a retired teacher, mother of four, grandmother of six and ever hopeful that Phoebe would find a man.

  Vera nodded vaguely in the direction Noah had just gone. “Who’s that man dressed head-to-toe in black on a hot day like today?”

  “One of Dylan McCaffrey’s friends,” Phoebe said, hitting a few random keys on her keyboard to help herself look nonchalant.

  Vera’s pale blue eyes widened. “Not Noah Kendrick,” she whispered.

  Phoebe nodded, then added quickly, “It’s not something we’re advertising.”

  “Of course not. I understand perfectly. Oh, my. I read an article in a magazine at the hairdresser’s that mentioned him. It was about that actress...I can’t think of her name. The one on that Sunday-night show that just got canceled. She played a lawyer.”

  “I should read more gossip magazines,” Phoebe said with what she hoped was a credible laugh, then made an excuse to go upstairs.

  Without so much as a glance in Noah’s direction, she headed to the back stairs and ran all the way up to the attic without stopping. She switched on the dim overhead, then squeezed between the freestanding twin metal closets and entered the hidden sewing room. It was hot, airless. She opened the second door in the corner, letting in daylight from the small window overlooking the common. Children from a nearby daycare were sitting in a circle in the shade in front of the Civil War statue.

  Noah Kendrick’s arrival notwithstanding, nothing in Knights Bridge had changed. This Monday was like last Monday.

  And next Monday?

  Phoebe pulled her gaze from the window and unzipped one of the garment bags. Inside were four dresses in various shades of red, as well as accessories carefully draped on hangers—bright red scarves, sequined belts, gaudy costume jewelry.