“Good to know,” Noah said mildly.
It was as clear a warning between two men as one could get without Brandon Sloan coming right out and saying that he’d be watching and Noah had best behave himself with Phoebe O’Dunn.
And why would Brandon think that Noah might not behave himself?
Because he knew that his sister-in-law had dressed up as an Edwardian princess the other night and had seen her dancing with her swashbuckler, who was now dog sitting in Knights Bridge.
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.