Читать книгу That Night on Thistle Lane - Carla Neggers - Страница 10

Four

Maggie would have sworn the woman who had danced with Noah Kendrick was her sister Phoebe, but that just wasn’t possible. It was wishful O’Dunn thinking at its craziest.

Even crazier was thinking the pirate sauntering through the crowd was her husband.

She gulped more champagne than she should have. She was letting herself get upset over nothing. No way would any Sloan, and especially Brandon Sloan, show up for a masquerade ball.

Of course, if Brandon did show up, it would be dressed as a pirate. She needed to get a better look at him.

“It can’t be Brandon,” Maggie said under her breath. “It just can’t be.”

Olivia eased next to her. “The pirate, you mean?”

She was stunning in her black Audrey Hepburn dress, complete with a revealing slit up one leg and multi-strand pearls. Maggie didn’t feel nearly as elegant in her blue chiffon Grace Kelly dress.

“He reminds me of Brandon.” She tried to sound dismissive. “I must have had too much champagne.”

“Ah.”

Maggie gave her friend a sharp look. “Olivia? Is it Brandon?”

“I don’t know but I had the same thought when I saw the pirate. Dylan gave away so many tickets but he didn’t mention Brandon. Several of his hockey buddies are here. Maybe the pirate’s one of them.”

“That must be it. He’s one of Dylan’s NHL friends.”

“Do you want me to find out?” Olivia asked.

“No! Not when I’m dressed up as Grace Kelly. Brandon would suck all the fun out of the experience.” Maggie polished off the last of her champagne. It wasn’t the reason her head was spinning. That pirate was. She forced herself to smile at Olivia. “Several people have recognized my dress. I’m enjoying the fantasy, personally. The whole evening has been perfect.”

“I’m glad. You deserve this break, Maggie.”

“I do, don’t I?” She laughed, but she was on the verge of tears again. She had to put Brandon out of her mind. “But I wouldn’t change a thing about my life right now. I love my work, and the boys are the best—I’d walk on hot coals for them. You’re happy being back in our little hometown, aren’t you?”

“I don’t miss Boston as much as I thought I might,” Olivia said.

“Having Dylan up the road helps. Where is he, by the way, and when do I get to meet Noah? I’m glad you pointed him out to me. I’ve seen pictures of him but I’d never have recognized him in his costume.”

“It’s a great costume, isn’t it? Dylan’s with a couple of his NHL friends. I haven’t seen Noah but I want to introduce you to him.”

Given her relationship with Dylan, Olivia was naturally more attuned to the other attendees at the ball. Masks or not, most people had obviously recognized Dylan and were intensely curious about her. Maggie liked being able to enjoy the festivities with a measure of anonymity.

“Are you going to see Brandon while you’re in town?” Olivia asked.

“No,” Maggie said without hesitation. “I’m heading back home first thing in the morning and I’m Grace Kelly tonight. I’m not Mrs. Brandon Sloan. I won’t be for much longer, anyway. Might as well get used to it.”

“Maggie...”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought him up.”

Olivia hesitated, then smiled. “Would you like more champagne? And have you tried the mini frittatas? They’re great.”

Maggie frowned at her friend. They’d known each other since they were tots and Olivia was clearly not telling her something. They’d driven to Boston together, taking Maggie’s car. They’d dropped off Maggie’s things at the small apartment Olivia still had from her days with a Boston design studio and then walked over to the hotel. Dylan was already there, in costume, with Noah and his NHL friends.

Olivia drank some of her champagne. Her behavior was definitely awkward, Maggie thought. “Olivia? What’s going on?”

“I wouldn’t bet good money that Brandon’s at a sports bar watching the Red Sox tonight.”

“What? Olivia—is the pirate Brandon?”

“I told you I don’t know for sure.” Olivia again hesitated. “I think Brandon may have been in touch with Dylan.”

Maggie felt her mouth drop open but she quickly snapped it shut again. “In touch how? Why?”

“I don’t know. The Sloans are working on Dylan’s place. Maybe Brandon stopped by.”

“He doesn’t live in Knights Bridge. That’s my life.”

“His family’s there. The boys.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Maggie heard the bitterness in her own voice and regretted it. Don’t do this tonight, she told herself. Let Brandon live his own life. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? She shook off her confusion, her sense of violation—as if he had deliberately inserted himself into the new life she was building for herself, without him. She took in a deep breath. She prided herself on staying calm amid the chaos that her life sometimes threw at her as she juggled the multiple demands of her busy catering schedule, her two young sons, her three sisters, her widowed mother.

Her estranged husband.

She looked into the crowd to see if she could spot the pirate. It had to be Brandon.

She forced another smile at her friend. “We’ll sort everything out later. We’re Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn tonight, right?”

Olivia looked visibly relieved at Maggie’s cheerful tone. “Come on. Let’s go find Dylan. Noah’s around here somewhere, too. You’ll have to meet him.”

Maggie spotted Dylan alone by the doors out to the ballroom lobby. “He’s on his way over here now. Why don’t you two dance?”

“I’m not going to abandon you if you’re upset about Brandon—”

“Nothing I’m not used to. Don’t worry about me. If Brandon is the pirate, he had his chance to annoy me and resisted. I’m fine, honestly. Go.”

When Olivia turned, Dylan was already in front of her. He took her in his arms and whisked her onto the dance floor. He moved like a hockey player on ice, Maggie thought, smiling as her friend snuggled close to her fiancé. Olivia had reinvented her life, too. She was doing well, and Maggie was glad to see her so happy.

A thick arm went around her waist. “No wallflowers allowed,” the pirate whispered into her ear.

Brandon.

Maggie recognized his deep voice, his touch, but she pretended not to know it was him as she put a hand on his shoulder and let him spin her onto the dance floor. She’d be Grace Kelly in her flowing blue dress. Cool, calm, controlled, as if she were dancing with Cary Grant. But why was Brandon here? She let her questions die on her lips as he pulled her close to him. Did he know he was dancing with her—with his wife, the mother of his children?

Of course he knew.

He settled a hand on the curve of her hip. “Shh. Let’s just dance.”

It was what she wanted, too. Just to dance. To pretend he was about to lift her into his arms and carry her off as he had so many times in the past.

How long had it been since he had held her like this?

There had been only one man in her life. Brandon Sloan. They had been so right together...and then so wrong. Money, pride, dreams, the busyness of life. They’d let them all erode what they’d had together.

She had so many questions. So much she wanted to say to him.

“Do you know Dylan McCaffrey?”

Brandon didn’t hear her, or pretended not to as he held her close.

Maggie almost didn’t notice when the music stopped. He released her and smiled that rogue’s smile of his. “You’re beautiful, Maggie O’Dunn Sloan.”

Then he was gone, and by the time Maggie pulled herself together, she was standing alone on the edge of the dance floor, wondering if she’d imagined him. Tears burned in her eyes but she hoped, with the mask, that no one would notice.

Suddenly she felt hot in her Grace Kelly dress, ridiculous.

Noah Kendrick eased in next to her in his swashbuckler costume and slipped off his mask. “Maggie, I’m Noah Kendrick. Dylan’s friend. Can I get you a glass of water?”

“I’m all right, thanks. Just...just hot.”

“The costumes have their drawbacks.”

“They get us thinking about fantasies, don’t they?” Maggie appreciated his diplomacy. As Phoebe had said yesterday, it was a slippery slope to want what you knew you couldn’t have. Maggie cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, wondering if it really could have been her sister who had danced with the California billionaire. Dylan’s friend, and now Olivia’s friend. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Noah.”

He gave a mock bow. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Maggie.”

“Have you enjoyed your evening? Who was that you were dancing with?”

He frowned. “I never got her name. Did you see where she went?”

Maggie shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

His eyes settled on her. “Do you know her?”

“I never talked to her,” she answered carefully. What if it was Phoebe who had danced with Noah? Had she realized who he was? Would she want Maggie blabbing her identity to him?

She gave herself a mental shake. She was being crazy. It wasn’t Phoebe.

“I was just impressed with how you two danced together,” Maggie said.

“I was distracted for a moment.” He seemed to want to go on but sighed. “Well, it’s nothing for you to worry about. You and Olivia look lovely. Great costumes.”

“Thanks. They’re fun. My sisters helped. I should call it an evening. My mother has my sons for the night, and I want to check in. They’re live wires as it is, and she tends to—” Maggie broke off. She wasn’t going to criticize her mother in front of a man she barely knew. “They always have a great time together.”

“You’re feeling better, then?”

She nodded. “It was just one of those things. I’ve learned to have my moments and move on. Are Dylan and Olivia still dancing?”

“They’re good together,” Noah said simply.

“Yes, they are,” Maggie said without hesitation. “I hope you enjoyed your hike in the White Mountains.”

“It was an experience,” he said with a smile.

Noah was quiet, but he radiated a confidence that Maggie hadn’t noticed at first, probably due more to her preset ideas about him than anything else. She hadn’t expected a high-tech genius, a hard-driving entrepreneur, to be so self-possessed. “A good swordfight more to your taste than mountain climbing?”

“Than staying a step ahead of a cloud of mosquitoes, for sure.”

Maggie laughed, feeling more herself again. “Brandon and I climbed Mount Washington before the boys came along. What an experience. The views stay with you forever, don’t they?”

“I liked the hot dogs at the top,” Noah said with a wink.

Dylan and Olivia joined them, and Maggie pulled off her mask. The evening was winding down and she wanted to change back into her regular clothes, forget any wild fantasies she’d had. She glanced around for her pirate husband, but he had disappeared. She expected to feel relief but she had to acknowledge a pang of disappointment, too.

And of loneliness, she thought. For so long, she and Brandon had been at each other’s sides. Lovers, best friends, parents to their two little boys.

How had they let that get away from them?

Maggie pasted a smile on her face. She wasn’t going to think about what had gone wrong between her and Brandon right now. She turned down Olivia and Dylan’s offer to walk with her back to Olivia’s apartment and instead headed out alone.

The night was warm and still, Copley Square filled with people. Maggie told herself she needed this time on her own. She’d loved living in Boston, but she didn’t miss city life as much as she thought she would when she’d packed up herself and the boys and returned to Knights Bridge. Her hometown had plenty to offer, and it was a great place for Tyler and Aidan. They’d made new friends, loved being close to family. It was the same for Maggie. Even her work was better in Knights Bridge. In Boston, she’d worked part-time for different caterers. Now she had her own catering business, and it was getting off the ground faster than she’d anticipated or even had hoped it would.

She cut down to Commonwealth Avenue and continued on to attractive, residential Marlborough Street. She’d always wanted to live in Back Bay, but she and Brandon had rented a series of apartments in less expensive parts of the city. It wasn’t just a question of finances, she’d finally realized. It was what he wanted, where he was comfortable. Back Bay wouldn’t suit him.

She used Olivia’s keys to get into the apartment. Olivia planned to give it up, but it definitely came in handy tonight. Maggie wouldn’t have wanted to drive home after her evening as Grace Kelly.

She caught her reflection in the entry mirror. She’d managed to avoid mirrors all evening and was a little shocked at how she looked. Sexy, a little devil-may-care. Leave it to Ava and Ruby to get creative and theatrical. Phoebe’s discovery of the look-alike dress from To Catch a Thief was perfect, but the twins were responsible for the subtle Grace Kelly makeup, the push-up bra, the blond wig and the glittery mask.

Maggie pulled off the wig, then unpinned her hair and let it fall to her shoulders.

Already she looked and felt more like Maggie O’Dunn, mom to two young boys, second of four sisters, caterer to showers, weddings, meetings, reunions, fundraisers and even the occasional wake.

If not always the most practical person, she was at least able to manage on her own.

Did she look and feel like the wife of Brandon Sloan anymore?

Had he left the hotel and found his way to a sports bar?

Everyone liked Brandon. He was easy to like since he didn’t have to deal with the details of paying bills, raising their sons, figuring out their future. When faced with unemployment, he’d taken off for the mountains with a backpack and his dreams. He’d never meant to be a carpenter forever. He was good at it, he even liked it—but he thought he should be doing something else. Maggie didn’t even know what anymore. She doubted he did, either.

She put him out of her mind and dialed her mother’s house. Tyler picked up. “Gran’s making hot chocolate.”

“Hey, Tyler. Why are you still up?”

“The bat woke us up.”

“I see.” Bats weren’t unheard of at her mother’s farmhouse, especially in summer. “Where’s the bat now?”

“Gran shooed it outside with a broom. I helped.”

“Good for you. What about your brother?”

“He hid under his blanket. He’s having hot chocolate, too.”

“All right. Well, you two be good and help Gran. Tell her I called, okay?”

“I will, Mom. When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Did you see Dad?”

She couldn’t lie to her son. “I did, but just for a few minutes.”

“He’s taking me and Aidan camping.”

Maggie heard the questioning note in Tyler’s voice and responded without hesitation. “Yes, absolutely, he’s taking you and Aidan camping.” That was one thing she knew for certain: Brandon would keep his promise to his sons. “Go enjoy your hot chocolate. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When she disconnected, she threw her phone onto the entry table and sank onto the sofa. It opened out into a bed. She would sleep there.

She kicked off her shoes and noticed a side seam in her flowing dress had split an inch, probably from dancing with her husband.

“Why aren’t you here with me, Brandon?”

She hugged her arms around herself and burst into tears.

* * *

Phoebe could hear the pitter-pat of rain on the library roof as she sat cross-legged on the wood floor of the hidden attic room. Too wired to sleep after the masquerade ball and the drive back to Knights Bridge, she’d changed into yoga pants and a lightweight fleece tunic, intending to do a few stretches on the living room floor, but she’d ended up grabbing a flashlight and heading out into what was then a light drizzle. As she’d breathed in the damp night air, she imagined her swashbuckler’s arms around her.

What a night it had been.

She’d walked down Thistle Lane to the library, letting herself in through the side door. Putting aside thoughts of ghosts, she’d debated a moment before starting up the back stairs. A more formal set of stairs in the main room led just to the second floor. In her five years with the library, she’d seldom ventured up to the attic. One of those rare times was two weeks ago, and it had resulted in the discovery of the dresses that she, Olivia and Maggie had worn tonight.

It was pouring rain now, pitch-dark outside. Phoebe had never been up to the attic at night. She half expected a bat to fly out from its dark recesses, crowded with cast-off library furnishings, archives, books and everything her waste-not, want-not predecessors over the past century-plus had thought might come in handy someday.

She’d come upon the hidden room accidentally, when she’d lifted a small paper bag sitting on top of an old filing cabinet and a dozen antique marbles broke out of the bottom. They dropped onto the floor, rolling every which way. Several rolled under two tin closets standing side by side, filled with more junk and treasures. She’d edged between the closets, determined to collect the marbles.

As she’d bent down to retrieve a colorful swirled boulder, she noticed a door behind the free-standing closets. She’d had no idea it was there. Madly curious, she’d tucked the marble in her dress pocket and shoved the closets back just enough to give her room to get at the door. It was unlocked but obviously hadn’t been opened in a while. It hadn’t given way easily.

She’d expected to find that it was a closet, probably stuffed with more of the mishmash of materials in the rest of the attic. Instead the door opened into a small room that she hadn’t even realized existed. It was lined with shelves and cupboards neatly arranged with fabric, patterns, buttons, zippers, needles, thread, notions, buttons—everything an avid seamstress might need.

A secret sewing room.

It felt like a hideaway, a tiny retreat where someone could sit and work in peace and quiet. Another door opened onto a remote corner of the sprawling attic, by a small window that overlooked the town common. A dusty sewing table was positioned so that a seamstress could work with a pleasant view and a bit of natural light.

The only thing that seemed to be missing for a fully equipped sewing room was an actual sewing machine.

Phoebe had done a quick survey of the contents of the room and discovered the Hollywood-inspired and period dresses in two matching cedar-lined trunks and several hanging garment bags. Leaving everything undisturbed, she’d replaced the tin closets in front of the door and decided to keep the room her secret for the time being.

A few days later, she’d gone back and picked out the three dresses to be cleaned.

Now, tired, a little spooked with the dark night and rain, she raised the lid on a sewing basket. Given the conditions, she was ever-watchful for mice and spiders but the sewing kit yielded only pins, needles, thread, embroidery floss, a tracing wheel, cards of zigzag and seam binding.

Who had sewn up here? Why leave so much behind?

Phoebe took a sharp breath. Had the sewer of all these clothes died? Was that why the incredible dresses were still here?

I have to know.

She pulled all the notions and other items out of the sewing kit and laid them on the floor, looking for any clues that would help identify who had sewn the dresses she, Maggie and Olivia had worn to Boston tonight.

Her Edwardian gown had attracted her swashbuckler and hidden her from the scrutiny of the mystery man in the coatroom.

A night of mysteries, she thought, untangling several zippers.

A browned sheet of paper was matted to the bottom of the sewing basket. Phoebe carefully peeled it off and saw that it was a practice sheet of the conjugation of the French verb to be in a neat, feminine handwriting: Je suis, tu es, il/elle est, nous sommes, vous êtes, ils/elles sont.

Phoebe had taken French in high school and college but she was rusty and wasn’t sure she could have managed to conjugate even a simple verb. Had the seamstress gone to high school in Knights Bridge? Had she been a student when she’d set up this room?

So many questions.

Phoebe returned the sheet of French verbs to the sewing kit and carefully replaced all the supplies. She stood, finally feeling the effects of her long day. She grabbed her flashlight and shut the door, moved the closets back into place, then headed back down the steep, dark stairs. The creaks and groans of the old building normally didn’t faze her, but the hidden room had her thinking about ghosts as she locked up.

It was still raining when she started back down Thistle Lane. She’d gone out without a raincoat or umbrella, but it was a warm, gentle rain, as if to remind her what was real and what wasn’t real.

Pretending to be a princess and dancing with a mysterious swashbuckler at a Boston charity ball had been a fleeting fantasy, a peek into another kind of life.

Someone else’s life. Not hers.