Читать книгу Myth and Magic - Mae Clair - Страница 9

Veronica took the afternoon off. With the all the strange occurrences taking place, the vacancy rate was climbing. She’d managed to keep the incident with the hand in the fireplace low-key, but rumors were spreading. It helped the police had come up empty, smoothing over her guests’ jumpy nerves. Four remained at the lodge with five more expected by the weekend.

Leaving matters under the watchful eye of her caretaker, she agreed to meet Merlin for lunch at Coldcreek’s Bristlecone Tavern. Set on the fringe of town, the converted stone farmhouse was normally too rustic for her GQ boyfriend who preferred sushi and bottled water over sourdough sandwiches and homemade pies. He probably wanted their relationship back on track, and was obviously willing to make concessions. They hadn’t been exclusive for some time, but that wouldn’t stop Merlin from wanting to cozy up if he was in the mood. She’d given up trying to figure out his motivations long ago.

As she pulled into the parking lot, Veronica spied his sporty black Mercedes near the entrance. Flipping down the window visor, she checked her reflection. Her skin still carried a lingering hint of tan from the late summer sun and the amount of time she had spent outdoors.

As a child she’d enjoyed hiking Pennsylvania’s Blue Mountains, canoeing on lakes, and catching fish along the muddy banks of rivers and streams. It was why she’d bonded so well with Merlin, Caith, and Trask. They’d never really looked at her as a girl. At least Caith hadn’t. Not until the night before he’d left for college, and their friendship had taken an unexpected turn after a shared kiss.

Snapping the visor in place, she slid from the car and headed across the lot, pushed by a brisk October breeze.

“You look great.” Merlin smiled as she joined him at a table near the door. He bowed his head like a performer, offering a single red rose with exaggerated flourish. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“You’re sweet, Merlin.” She accepted the flower, twirling it beneath her nose to inhale the delicate scent. He often brought her flowers. Carnations, lilies, and red roses. Red because he thought it was her favorite. She knew his secretary was responsible for most of the flowers that came by courier, but never made a point to call him on it. The same way she never bothered to remind him yellow roses had been her favorite since childhood. Somewhere, years ago, she and Merlin had simply become convenient for each other.

“I already ordered you a soda.” He slid a menu across the table toward her.

She set the flower aside. “I hope you weren’t waiting long. I hit construction at the bottom of Fenbridge Road and had to detour.”

“Yeah, I saw they’re trying to widen that turn.”

He seemed on edge, almost jittery. Physically not a hair was out of place, his wavy gold locks were brushed into gleaming strands behind his ears. He wore a white Ralph Lauren shirt with black pants and a sweeping coat of Italian leather. Shrugging out of the coat, he draped it on the chair beside him. Veronica knew he’d bought it during a March trip to New York, yet another month when their relationship had been in a nosedive. She’d long grown accustomed to his cavalier personality and flighty emotions, surface-ripples that never penetrated with depth. When had he become so superficial?

She flipped open the menu. “Merlin, is something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking.” He smiled secretively. “I bet Galen and Aren haven’t told you about their latest scheme to stop problems at the lodge.”

Veronica scanned the menu. She had a feeling where the conversation was heading. It had been her suggestion that prompted Aren to consider hiring a private investigator in the first place, though she had no idea if he’d followed through on the recommendation.

“Aren tells me what I need to know as Stone Willow’s manager. He doesn’t discuss everything BI-related with me.”

“BI.” He snorted softly, stretching his arm over the backrest of his chair. “My great grandfather started this business building carousels for amusement parks. My father expanded until it became a leading manufacturer of multi-faceted recreational rides. You’d think someone would wake up and realize Coldcreek is no place to headquarter a multi-million dollar company.”

Veronica frowned. Privately, she supported Stuart Breckwood in his effort to keep BI where it was. “Your father never lost his small-town roots. Keeping BI headquartered here keeps Coldcreek afloat financially. Besides, there are BI offices in Boston and Baltimore for anyone who doesn’t like hayrides in October or May Fairs in the spring. I thought you were considering taking Aren’s position in Boston?”

“I’d rather have Baltimore.” Merlin sipped at his imported spring water, and then bobbed a straw in the glass, upsetting a floating lemon wedge. “There’s still opportunity for growth in Maryland with the right man calling the shots. Galen and Aren are bogged down. They’re growing static and Dad’s listening.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

Before he could answer, the waitress appeared with Veronica’s soda and asked if they were ready to order. Finding little on the menu she didn’t like, she settled on a hot turkey sandwich with provolone cheese and sourdough bread. Merlin ordered baked sole and wild rice, smiling at the pretty brunette who obviously found him attractive. Accustomed to his flirting, Veronica merely waited until the waitress left before continuing their conversation as though nothing had happened.

“What is it you want to tell me about Galen and Aren?”

Merlin shifted, forced to refocus on business. “I’m surprised they didn’t already tell you since you’re the manager. They think the way to solve the problems up there is to hire a private investigator and have him pose as a guest.”

“An investigator?” Veronica tried to act surprised.

“You won’t believe what those idiots did.” Merlin smiled, but there was something off-kilter about his grin. “They hired Caith, Ron. My screwed up, black-sheep brother is coming home.”

* * * *

Veronica sat on the bank of Stone Willow Lake, the lodge looming over her shoulder on a treed hillside. The setting sun gleamed on the surface, kindling an iridescent dance of magenta and gold. Across the expanse of the water, the opposite shore was visible, dressed in the russet and cinnamon shades of fall. According to legend, the lake burned with fire when fate was sealed. She’d seen that quirky event only once in her lifetime, on the evening before Caith Breckwood left for college.

Damn Aren for bringing him back! She’d made a reasonable suggestion to get BI out of trouble, never expecting he’d hunt down his PI brother. The last person she wanted to see was Caith. She’d been in love with him since high school, too afraid to tell him, fearful any hint of real affection might shatter their fragile friendship. He’d grown introverted after Trask’s death, holding people at a distance. She’d stood by and watched him make a fool of himself over Kelly Rice only to have the prom queen dump him for the captain of the football team.

Idiot, she thought, and wasn’t certain if she was referring to Caith, Kelly, or herself.

The first year following Trask’s murder had been the worst. The trauma had left Caith emotionally unstable, frightened to venture anywhere alone, terrified those close to him might be plucked away and murdered. There had been counseling and doctors, lengthy stays in hospitals away from home. At first, the doctors had said it was best not to trigger memories, but eventually Caith returned to the town where he’d grown up, to the place where he’d been held captive and Trask was murdered.

Bidder Farm.

The house had stood abandoned for years until eventually the land was sold and a Quik-Mart sprouted in its place. She knew he’d never been comfortable going there, even after every trace of the dilapidated house and root cellar had been demolished. There were times, however, when he’d seemed almost recovered.

Like his last summer before college. She vividly remembered the two of them riding with Merlin in his red convertible, the top down, music blaring, the air rich with a mixture of honeysuckle, freshly cut grass, and chlorine from the community pool. But even among the laughter, there’d been sadness and distance in Caith’s eyes.

“I don’t understand why you can’t be like your brothers and do what your father wants,” she’d insisted.

Veronica closed her eyes, recalling Caith’s agitation and pain. They’d spoken on this same bank, sitting, shoulder-to-shoulder, a seventeen-year-old girl trying to hide her feelings, and a long-haired eighteen-year-old boy trying to explain his.

“And become another BI cog?” Caith’s eyes had flashed distaste. “My father wants me to become a business executive, Ron. To find ways to increase company revenue and expand the family business. I want to make the world a safe place to live. To contribute something beyond the next corporate advance. If that means being cut off from my family and the Breckwood fortune, I’ll accept the consequences.”

And he had. Instead of attending an Ivy League college as his father expected, he’d excelled at a less prominent eastern university. A straight-A student, his naturally inquisitive mind and innate problem solving ability had aided him well in his decision to pursue criminal justice. But it had also placed him at a permanent crossroads with his father, Stuart Breckwood.

That evening, sitting side-by-side on the bank of the small lake, it had hurt to think of life without him. She’d suffered through watching him date Colleen Parker and Toni Charleston, then make a fool of himself over Kelly Rice.

Behind them, the sun had sank into the horizon, the brooding shadow of Barrister House looming over their shoulders. Sun and moon merged on the water with the vermillion kiss of flame.

“Look at the lake,” Caith whispered in awe.

Dazzling bands of ruby-red and flaming gold unraveled beneath the surface as though the sun melted into the water. Liquid silver defined the edges where moonlight webbed the shoreline in a sparkling tapestry of color and magic.

“It’s beautiful,” Veronica breathed, entranced. “Like it’s on fire.”

“Like the legend. Sealed fate.” Caith lifted a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ronnie…” His voice caught. “I…I’ll miss you.” Then as if sensing something he’d long overlooked, he’d leaned forward and kissed her, a shy, experimental touch of his lips. When she responded, he drew her into his arms, giving rein to something they would later regret.

Beneath the encroaching veil of twilight, they shared the electric passion of exploratory touches and moist, open-mouthed kisses. Kisses that sent her emotions careening out of control, her body responding in ways she hadn’t imagined possible. Her skin burned with the need to be touched, her mind consumed with the desire to be loved only by him. Every fantasy she’d entertained about being in his arms had fallen dreadfully short of the reality.

Far too experienced for a boy of eighteen, he’d stroked, nuzzled, and caressed until her flesh burned with the same raging fire as the lake, and her body arched beneath his, silently begging release from the shocking torment. His lips brought ecstasy and his hands coaxed her over the edge.

All she’d cared about was him. The insatiable need for flesh-to-flesh contact and the raw, painful love in her heart.

The red-gold glow of the lake washed over them, and Veronica had willingly surrendered her heart with her virginity, certain there would never be another man.

The next day Caith had kissed her and left for college, promising to call. Three weeks later he sent a letter telling her the evening had been a mistake and he’d met someone else. Veronica never replied.

In the years that followed, she’d heard rumors from his family. How he’d supported himself through college on scholarship money and tips earned working nights as a waiter in a steak house. How he’d changed his name, eventually becoming a homicide detective with Boston’s police force, then later a private investigator. He’d had a child with a woman he never married, taking up residence in an upscale neighborhood where homeowners worried more about the state of their lawn than who might be selling drugs to their children.

Veronica drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She propped her chin on her knees. It wasn’t fair. Not of Aren, not of BI and, especially, not of Caith.

She could combat almost anything. The strange occurrences at the lodge, jittery guests glancing over their shoulders at every stray noise, even her staff spreading rumors about ghostly visitations and things that went bump in the night. But the one thing she couldn’t fight, the one thing from which she’d never fully recovered, was her childhood love for Caithelden Breckwood and the damage he’d done when he’d broken her heart.

* * * *

Caith pulled the blankets beneath Derrick’s chin, tucking them close. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving slightly under his weight. Beside him, the glow from a bedside light washed over the wall, illuminating a decorative paper border of freshwater fish, rods, and reels. A desk in the corner was littered with the toys his son liked best: fire trucks and police cars; yellow earthmovers with fat, oversized tires; and a drawstring pouch of colorful multi-sized marbles, a leftover of Caith’s own childhood.

“Dad?” Derrick plucked at the blanket, sending an uncertain glance to his father. “Will I get to see Grandpa when we go to Coldcreek?”

Caith wet his lips. “He’s not there right now, Derry. He’s on vacation with Grandma. I don’t think they’ll be back before we leave.”

Looking dejected, Derrick lowered his eyes and nodded.

As he’d often done in the past, Caith felt guilty over his son’s quiet acceptance. “Hey.” Leaning forward, he rested a hand on the silky crown of Derrick’s hair. “You know Grandpa loves you. He sends you gifts and cards every birthday, every Easter and Christmas, and he calls you on the phone all the time.”

“But I’ve never seen him,” Derrick protested. “He won’t visit with Grandma, and you never wanna go home.”

“I’m going home now.”

“But he won’t be there.”

Caith exhaled. A snippet of memory danced at the edge of his mind. A cold room, moldy and dark…the sharp reek of model car glue. His throat closed up.

“I know it’s difficult to understand.” He swallowed with effort, focusing on his son and the clear gaze of his eyes. The imaginary odor faded. “Grandpa and I have problems. Grownup things we need to work out.”

“Is that how come our last name’s different?”

“Is that why our last name’s different,” Caith corrected. His son groaned and rolled his eyes. Caith chuckled. “I think it’s too late to be talking about this.”

“Dad.”

“It’s past your bedtime, partner. Now give me a hug goodnight.”

As he did every night, Derrick wrapped his arms around Caith’s neck. Unwilling to let go, Caith kissed him on the temple, remembering a childhood when his father had done the same to him. When the days were filled with skipping rocks on the lake, shooting marbles after school, and climbing trees so high his mother had once grounded him for going beyond the measure of safety.

“Get some sleep.” Caith rubbed Derrick’s back. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to school and we’ll talk to your teachers about going to Coldcreek.”

“Okay.” Derrick scrunched beneath the covers.

Caith tucked them close a final time, pausing to brush the floppy curls from his son’s forehead. He switched off the light and stepped from the darkened room into the hallway.

With his back to the wall, he drew a slow breath, forcing quiet the childhood memories he’d resurrected. When he’d collected himself, he headed down the steps and into the kitchen where he found Aren. His brother was seated at the table, bent over his iPad, a cup of black coffee at his elbow.

“Where’s Galen?”

Aren glanced up briefly before making a change to the screen. “He went back to the hotel.”

“He didn’t have to.” Caith stepped past his brother and opened the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of beer. Discarding the cap, he joined Aren at the table. “He could have stayed here.”

“I think he’s uncomfortable around you. It’s been eight years since you’ve spoken.”

“And that’s my fault?”

Aren stared pointedly. “I’m not going to get into a debate with you, Caithelden. We’ve been down this road before.”

“You’re right.” Caith took a swig of beer. “I’m an ungrateful bastard who bailed on his family, then committed the ultimate sin when I changed my name.”

Exhaling loudly, Aren slumped in the chair. “We should probably talk about something else.” Another tap on the iPad. “Galen and I have already started working out the details to get you in place at Stone Willow. Logan airport has an eight-fifteen flight on Saturday morning, or a later one at twelve-twenty. I booked you on the early flight but if you’d rather—”

“Cancel it.”

“What?”

Caith set the beer on the table. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his eyes. “I’ll drive. I’d rather have my own vehicle.”

“Caith, that’s going to take you close to eight hours.”

“Good. It’ll give me time to clear my head.” Reclaiming the beer, he rubbed his thumb over the label, more focused on the black and silver foil than his brother’s frustrated stare. In the living room, the grandfather clock struck the hour, sending chimes like magic bells bouncing through the house. He smiled faintly. “When we were kids, Mom used to tell us every time a clock chimed, something magical happened.”

“Mom used to tell us a lot of things. She named her kids for knights and a wizard.”

“And a raven who collects souls of the dead,” Caith added softly, thinking of his name and its dark association. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ronnie and Merlin?”

Aren shook his head. “Does it matter?”

“We were friends once…Ron, Merlin, Trask, and me.”

“You were. But that was before Trask died, before you left. I don’t know what happened between you and Merlin, and I don’t want to know. But I do need to know if you can work with Veronica. She’s an integral part of Stone Willow. If you can’t function with her there, we have a problem.”

“Why would I have a problem with Ron?”

“Because of the way you left things.” Aren leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “I know what happened between you before you left for college.”

Caith frowned. “There’s a surprise.”

Aren shrugged. “Veronica let it slip one night when she was visiting. She’d been having problems with Merlin and was talking to Melanie. I happened to be there.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, there’s no sense dancing around the issue. You slept with her, then bolted. You slept with a lot of girls back then. I just want to make sure Veronica won’t be a problem.”

“That was a long time ago.” Caith didn’t want to remember that night by the lake, his confusion afterward, or the mucked-up way he’d left things. “Let’s get something straight, Aren. I’m going to Coldcreek to do a job and get paid. It’s about money. Not about family, friends, or going home.”

Aren scowled. “I’m disappointed in you, Caithelden. I didn’t think it was ever about money. I thought it was about saving the world.” Standing, he collected his iPad and coffee. “I think I’ll finish this in my room. We can work out the details of the trip tomorrow. When you aren’t being a jackass.”

Not bothering to acknowledge the comment, Caith downed his beer. It wasn’t his fault Derrick didn’t know his grandfather or that Ron and Merlin had problems. They’d all made their choices long ago. Hadn’t he done the same?

Like an idiot, he’d walked away from Veronica after their night at Stone Willow Lake. She’d twisted his heart, leaving him gasping and foolish, so head-over-heels in love it scared the hell out of him. People who got close to him ran the risk of ending up dead. It was why he’d ditched the Breckwood name. What happened to Trask would never happen to Derrick.

It was why he’d lied when he’d written that damn heartless letter to Veronica. There’d never been anyone else. His heart had belonged to her from the moment he’d given it that moon-drenched night at the lake, but he’d known it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be responsible for getting her killed. It was better she found someone safe. Someone who didn’t have a family with a multi-million dollar business, who wasn’t a target for kidnappers, extortionists, and killers.

Trask had learned the cost of that friendship when the two of them sat hunched shoulder-to-shoulder in the damp basement of the old farmhouse. When he’d crouched in fear, certain he was going to die.

It should have been me. Stupid, fucking Trask, getting in the way like some kind of asshole hero.

Lurching from his chair, Caith snatched the empty bottle from the table and began to pace. He was going home…to Veronica and the guilt he’d left in Coldcreek. Like fog rolling across a hillside, the imagined taint of model glue returned. Was he out of his freaking mind?

But there was no turning back. He’d already promised Derrick, and the one thing Caithelden Lairen would never do was go back on a promise he’d made to his son.

Lies had consequences.

He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his father.