Читать книгу Forever Wife And Mother - Grace Green, Grace Green - Страница 9

CAPRICE felt a sudden shiver ice her skin.

Which was odd, she mused, since the kitchen was so toasty warm with the wood fire roaring in the stove. What was it people said about those involuntary shudders? Someone stepping over your grave…

But she didn’t want to think about graves. It was only a week since she’d stood at her father’s, and losing him was almost more than she could bear. At least having the Angela mystery to solve would keep her busy—give her a goal.

But where to start?

It was too bad she’d rubbed Gabe Ryland the wrong way before she’d asked any questions about her father. She’d have to put out feelers elsewhere. Perhaps the best place to start would be the village she’d passed through last night. It was only ten minutes away.

She wouldn’t go till later, though; she was bushed. Closing her eyes, she leaned back in the cushioned walnut rocking chair and let her thoughts roam to her arrival at Holly Cottage that morning.

She’d been relieved to find her overnight bag on the porch where she’d abandoned it, but her relief had soon turned to frustration when she’d gone into the cottage and found the mess wrought by the panic-stricken bird.

It had taken her all morning to clean up. The only godsend had been that the caretaker had set the wood stove, so all she’d had to do was put a match to it. By the time she’d finished her scrubbing and mopping and was ready for lunch, the kitchen had been warm as pie.

Now, after a second cup of milky tea, she was not only bushed, she was sleepy. She’d doze for half an hour, she decided with a yawn, then she’d drive to the village and get her investigation under way.

“Thanks, Janet.” Gabe took his mail from the postmistress and started to turn away. “See you tomorrow.”

“Hang on, Angel.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. As a child, everyone had called him by his given name, Gabriel, but everyone called him Gabe now…except for Janet Black, who still referred to him by the nickname she’d given him when he was a toddler. And the words “Hang on, Angel!” usually indicated that she had a choice piece of gossip to pass on. “I’m in a bit of a rush today, Janet—”

“You’ll want to hear this.” The woman planted her sharp elbows on the counter and leaned forward confidentially. “We have a stranger in our midst!”

“The first of many, Janet. The tourist season’s getting under way and—”

“This one—” Janet threw a furtive glance toward the farthest aisle “—has been asking questions.”

Casually, Gabe looked around but could see no one. “About what?”

“About Malcolm Lockhart.”

Gabe turned slowly to the postmistress. “What kind of questions?”

The postmistress’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I knew that’d get your attention.” Keeping her voice low, she said, “She asked how long I’d lived in the valley. And I thought she was just being chatty so I told her. ‘Born and brought up here,’ said I. ‘And been postmistress for the past thirty years.’ ‘Oh,’ sez she, ‘I guess you’ll know just about everybody in the area then.”’

“And you said…”

“And I said, ‘Better than most folks. You can tell a lot about people by the mail they get!’ She laughed at that, and then she said, all airy-fairy-like, ‘Can you tell me anything about a man called Malcolm Lockhart—I believe he used to live at Holly Cottage, on the river?’ And the minute she said Malcolm Lockhart, my ears went on red alert. Well, Angel, we all know that story…and the first thing I think of is, is she a reporter? Has she come to poke around and do a write-up? After all, it’s coming up to thirty years since the scandal and—”

“What else—” Gabe’s voice was harsh “—did she ask?”

“That was it. As soon as I figured she was snooping, I closed up tighter than a bank on Sunday!” The postmistress sucked in a sharp breath. “There she is now!” She nodded urgently toward the front checkout. “She’s just leaving. Do you know her, Angel? You ever seen her before?”

Gabe followed her gaze…and felt his chest tighten. Oh, yes, he knew her. He knew her, all right. She had spent last night in one of his beds.

But what was Caprice Kincaid doing here? And why was she asking questions about Malcolm Lockhart?

“Gotta go, Janet.” His steps were already taking him from the postal counter. He strode up the aisle and reached the checkout just as the exit doors swung shut behind his quarry.

Pausing impatiently, he watched through the plate glass doors till she got into her car. As soon as she drove out of the car park he made for his Range Rover.

And he followed her, at a distance, as she took the river road north—the route he took to go to the lodge.

She drove steadily, and in less than ten minutes he could see the Ryland’s Resort sign. When he noticed her left turn signal blink, irritation coursed through him. Did the woman think he would let her stay at the lodge again tonight? No way! But even as he glowered at the Honda, it sailed past the entrance…

And turned, a few seconds later, onto the track that led through the forest to the old Lockhart place.

After dinner that evening, Will stood on the crest of the hill, staring with delight at the smoke puffing from Holly Cottage.

“Fang!” She kneeled down to hug him. “The first summer lady’s here!” She snuggled her cheek against his velvety ear. “But we can’t go visit her till Dad goes away, and that won’t be for at least two more weeks—”

“Hey!”

Will almost jumped out of her skin when her father’s voice came from behind her. Shooting upright, she whirled. “Dad! I thought you were watching the six o’clock news!”

He was staring at the puffs of gray smoke. “I have to go down there.”

“But Lockhart land’s off-limits!”

“It is off-limits…but this is just a one-shot deal. That lady who stayed over last night—”

“Mrs. Kincaid?”

He nodded. “I believe she may be staying at Holly Cottage, and I need to talk to her.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “She’s one of the summer ladies?”

“Seems that way.”

“Why do you need to talk to her?”

“I told her I didn’t want her to pay for her room, but she left money anyway, and I want to return it because—”

“Because if she’s one of the Lockhart summer ladies, she’s going to need it. They’re usually poor, aren’t they?” Even as she spoke, Will’s mind was racing. If her dad went down there and Mrs. Kincaid invited him in, he might see the drawings on the fridge. Oh, cripes, she was going to be in the biggest trouble she’d ever been in her life!

“Dad,” she said in a rush, “if you give me the money, I’ll run down and give it to Mrs. Kincaid.”

“We’ll both go…but we won’t take Fang. I wouldn’t want him to get confused—he knows it’s a rule that he can’t go beyond the fence, and it wouldn’t be fair to allow it tonight and then change the rule back again tomorrow.”

“Oh, Dad, you and your rules!” But Will wasn’t even thinking about his rules—or how confused Fang must be already, because she’d taken him beyond the fence more times than she could count! All she could think about was what might happen if her dad got inside Holly Cottage.

Caprice was in the kitchen tidying up after dinner when someone hammered loudly on the back door.

Startled, she paused, a dish towel in her hand. Who could it be? Setting down the towel, she peeked out the window above the sink and saw Gabe Ryland and his daughter standing on the step. What on earth did they want?

She unlocked the door and opened it. Will was nervously curling a finger around a strand of her yellow hair; her father’s rugged face was set in a dark frown.

“Hi,” Caprice greeted them warily. “How can I help you?”

“You can help me—” Gabe thrust a narrow roll of bills at her “—by taking this back. I told you I don’t want your money—”

“And,” Will added, “you prob’ly can use it. The Lockhart summer ladies gen’r’lly find it hard to make ends meet.”

Ah. They thought she was here courtesy of Break Away.

“How did you track me down?” she asked.

Gabe’s eyes fixed on her steadily. “I heard in the village that you’d been asking about Malcolm Lockhart and I thought that was odd, because I got the impression last night that you were a stranger just passing through. But later I saw you drive in here, and I figured you’d been asking about Lockhart because you wanted to know more about the man who let the Break Away group use his cottage.”

Caprice hesitated. If she told him who she was, how could she explain having asked the postmistress about Malcolm Lockhart? Besides, wouldn’t it make her quest easier if she let the locals believe she was from Break Away? People in small communities often shut out strangers who asked questions. The postmistress had been proof of that.

“This is a very good place,” Will said, “to have a holiday. You can have nice walks in the woods, and along the riverside path. We can’t get to the river from our place, which is a real sore point with my dad because—”

“Will.” Her father’s interruption was brusque. “Mrs. Kincaid doesn’t want to hear about my problems.” He thrust out the roll of notes again. “Here. Take it.”

Caprice realized that if she did she would be lying by omission and confirming Gabe’s belief that she was from Break Away. But sometimes, she told herself, the end justified the means.

Squashing her feelings of guilt, she took the money. “Thanks. But please let me repay you in my own way for your hospitality. Would you both come for dinner tomorrow night?”

Will’s eyes flew wide open, and to her surprise Caprice saw a flash of panic in them. Panic that faded when her father said, “I appreciate the offer but this is a busy time for me, getting ready for the next batch of guests.”

“You do have to eat,” Caprice said. “And I won’t mind if you leave right after. I’m a very good cook,” she added. “Will did indicate that you have a…limited repertoire.”

A reluctant smile flickered briefly around his lips then disappeared. “Yeah. But I am going to be busy.”

“Well.” Caprice adopted a teasing tone. “I plan on making lemon meringue pie for dessert, so if you happen to change your mind, come on down. If not, maybe Will could come by herself.”

Before Will could respond, Gabe set his hand firmly on the child’s shoulder. “I need Will to help me.”

Although the child slumped with disappointment, she didn’t argue. And meekly followed her father as he left.

Caprice went inside. She felt as disappointed as Will, but for a different reason. If Gabe Ryland had accepted her invitation, she could have slipped her father’s name into the conversation, just to see where it might lead.

Now she was at a dead end again.

“Why couldn’t we go to Mrs. Kincaid’s for dinner, Dad?”

Gabe lifted Will off the top of the stile. Taking her hand, he walked with her up the grassy slope. “She was just being polite. Besides, I don’t want to get involved.”

“Because she’s a Lockhart summer lady?”

“Because she’s on Lockhart property.”

“How come you don’t like the Lockharts?”

He looked at her, and seeing the serious expression in her eyes, decided it was maybe time to tell her a bit of the family history. “It goes back a long way, honey. Malcolm Lockhart owns Holly Cottage now, but years and years ago, your great-grandpa Judd Ryland not only owned this place up here, he owned the Lockhart property, too.”

“He did?”

“Yup. But he lost Holly Cottage and the riverside acreage in a poker game to Drew Lockhart, who was Malcolm Lockhart’s father. Judd and Drew had been best friends till that happened—Drew worked for your great-grandpa and had the use of Holly Cottage—but after the game, your great-grandpa accused Lockhart of cheating. They had a big fight, and Lockhart took out a gun and shot your great-grandpa—”

“Did he kill him?” Will’s eyes were wide.

“Uh-uh, he just shot him in the leg. Anyways, the case ended up in the courts and the judge sent Drew Lockhart to jail for six months for the shooting…but he ruled that Lockhart had won the land fair and square in the poker game. After he got out of prison, Drew Lockhart moved into Holly Cottage. But your great-grandpa Judd still swore he’d been cheated out of the land, and the Rylands and the Lockharts have been sworn enemies ever since.”

They had reached the crest of the hill, and Will halted. Swiveling around, she gazed at the chimney tops of Holly Cottage and was silent for several thoughtful moments. Then she looked at him, her eyes puzzled.

“I can understand,” she said slowly, “why Great-grandpa Judd would be so mad at Drew Lockhart, but how can you be mad at somebody you didn’t even know…and for something that happened such a long long time ago?”

“There’s a bit more to it,” Gabe said. And that was an understatement! “But I’ve told you enough to be going on with. When you’re older, I’ll tell you the rest.”

“Is it still about Great-grandpa Judd and Drew?”

He shook his head. “No, honey, it’s about my father and my mother and Malcolm Lockhart.”

Caprice spent the evening poking around in Holly Cottage, hoping to find some personal items belonging to her father, items that might help shed some light on his secret.

The ground floor consisted of the gloomy kitchen, a small bedroom—the one she had chosen to use—and a bright sitting room that overlooked the river. Upstairs there were two larger bedrooms and a bathroom.

Despondently, she ended up at one of the upstairs bedroom windows, staring out over the river, whose waters rippled peacefully against the sturdy wooden dock. She had found nothing in the cottage to help in her quest. The only items of any interest had been in the kitchen, and they had nothing to do with Malcolm Lockhart—a collection of drawings plastered to the fridge with magnets.

They were the work of a child. Each garishly colored sketch was of a different young woman, her name printed in felt pen at the top of the page. Emily. Sally. Adrienne. Juanita. Rosie. Ling. Janice.

And each drawing had three things in common. The subject was cuddling a dog that looked remarkably like Fang. The setting was the kitchen at Holly Cottage with its blue Formica table, wood stove and cushioned rocking chair. And the artist’s signature was printed at the foot of the page. Willow Ryland.

Willow. What a pretty name, Caprice reflected. Why on earth had her father shortened it to Will?

But what Caprice found even more puzzling was the fact that the little girl had undoubtedly spent time in Holly Cottage. Yet only that morning Will had told her she wasn’t allowed on Lockhart property. Caprice frowned as she recalled the look of panic in the child’s eyes when Caprice had issued the dinner invitation to father and daughter. Had Will been afraid her dad would see the pictures?

Will must have been coming to Holly Cottage regularly in the summer months without her father’s knowledge when Break Away clients were here. Caprice found the idea intriguing. And if she ever got the opportunity, she decided, she would ask Will to explain why she had so blatantly disobeyed one of her father’s strictest rules.

Next morning, Caprice woke at six-thirty, and after showering and dressing in jeans and a pretty striped turtleneck sweater, she wandered to the river, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug.

She was standing at the end of the dock, watching the brisk breeze ripple the water’s surface, when she heard a shout. Turning, she saw Will racing toward her.

She stopped breathlessly when she reached Caprice. “Mrs. Kincaid,” she blurted, “can you do me a favor?”

“Will, good morning! I thought you weren’t allowed to come down here—”

“I’m not supposed to! But I had to come down to get my pictures back! They are still on the fridge, aren’t they?” she asked, her eyes wide with anxiety.

“Oh, yes, they’re still there.”

“Then can I have them please?”

“Of course.”

Caprice led the child into the cottage, and as she gathered the drawings, she said to Will, “Did you often come down here to visit the ladies?”

“As often as I could…but only when Dad was away. I knew I’d get into big trouble if he found out…but for me it was worth it. And for Fang, too. He makes sad people feel better—dogs do that, you know.”

What a courageous little girl, risking punishment and her father’s displeasure to help people in need. Caprice felt guilty as she handed over the pictures. Will believed her to be one of those needy women; how she hated deceiving the child.

“Thanks.” Will stuffed the papers inside her sweatshirt. “And thanks for inviting us for dinner. I didn’t want to come in case my dad saw the pictures. But now they’re down, I wish I could eat dinner here! Lemon pie’s my favorite dessert. It’s my dad’s favorite, too, only he can’t make it. He tried once, but it was like eating cardboard and yellow glue!”