Seven
It was nearly 5:00 p.m. when Rachel reached Lachlan. She’d almost forgotten how beautiful Florida was and how good the warm air smelled. She was glad she’d driven down from Connecticut, so she had her own car. She’d managed the long trip in three days. She was tired now and knew the best thing would be to go to a hotel in Fort Lauderdale and settle in for the night. She wasn’t scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.
But when she saw the sign for Lachlan, she took the exit. She told herself she’d just drive by and look at the exterior of the house, then she’d leave.
The steering wheel seemed to turn on its own and before she knew it, she was pulling into the driveway of Lachlan House. Her first thought was what a shame that so many houses had been built nearby. The first time she’d been there, the big house had been surrounded by land and trees that still bore citrus fruit.
She couldn’t keep herself from stopping the car and getting out. There were no lights on that she could see, so maybe the house was empty. It was probably prepared for when people arrived tomorrow.
The house looked good. The brick appeared to have been recently power washed and the woodwork had been freshly painted. She was glad to see the beautiful old house being cared for. She’d worried that lazy Billy had allowed it to go to ruin.
She stretched a bit, then started to get back into her car, but she hesitated. What was the back of the house like? And how was the big guesthouse? And what about the cute little cottage?
She took a moment to decide, then she walked around the side of the house to the back. Cautiously, she looked up at the house. If any lights were on, she’d leave. She didn’t want to bother anyone with her early arrival. The house was dark.
Not far away, she could see the guesthouse. It too looked like it had been freshly scrubbed and painted. Through the trees, she could see the little cottage and it didn’t look as though it had been touched in years. Vines covered it and the paint was peeling.
Rachel turned away, and to her surprise, she found herself heading toward the very back of the property. Was the mausoleum still there, or had Billy sold it off to buy yet another pair of Tod’s loafers?
She was relieved to see that the mausoleum of James Lachlan and his wife was there, set under big trees and surrounded by bushes. It hadn’t been cleaned, so green moss was on the two steps and up the sides. It was a plain stone structure. No angels weeping, no poetic sentiments carved into the stone. Beside the heavy double doors was a plaque, giving the names and dates of James Lachlan and his wife, Mary. He was born in 1895, died 1981, while she was born in 1899 and died in 1944.
Her death date brought back memories. Billy used to darken the room, light some candles, and tell them the story of James Lachlan’s horrible year of 1944. She had an idea that a lot of it was made up, but it was great drama. It ended with liqueurs and everyone trying to guess what happened to Mr. Lachlan’s son. The consensus was that he’d joined the army and was lost.
“Did you know them?”
Rachel didn’t jump at the voice. She’d figured someone might see her car. Turning, she saw a tall young man, blond, and pleasant looking. About fourteen or fifteen, in the awkward stage between boy and man. He wasn’t the kind of boy that would make the hearts of teenage girls do somersaults.Too bad, she thought, as this young man was what girls needed. “No, I didn’t know them.” She was working not to smile at his assumption that she was old enough to know someone born in 1895. But at forty-one, she sometimes felt that old. “They were long before my time. I like the quiet here. Who are you?”
“Quinn Underhill,” he answered. “My dad and Jack redid the house.”
She thought for a moment. “Jack Wyatt? Roy’s son? He was just a kid when I was here. He was a very pretty boy.”
“Dad says he’s too pretty for his own good.”
She smiled. “So was Roy. He was good at fixing things.”
Quinn nodded. “Dad and Jack are partners now. They renamed the company Lachlan Construction. Better than Wyatt-Underhill.”
“Too much like a Hobbit?”
His eyes brightened. “That’s just what she said.”
“Your mother?”
“No. Sara said that. My mother died last year.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it.
“It’s okay. I didn’t know her. Dad says I’m the product of a one-night stand.” He said it as though he might have to defend himself.
Rachel looked him up and down. “I’d say it was a pretty good night for your father.”
He laughed at that. When it started to sprinkle, he ducked his head. “Come inside and I’ll show you the house.”
She couldn’t imagine that the boy was there alone. “I don’t want to wake anyone. I’m a day early. I’ll go to a hotel, but tonight I couldn’t resist looking at the place.”
“It’s just Dad here, and he could sleep through a storm. We’ll be quiet.”
His persuasion, coupled with her desire to see the place, won. The soft Florida rain was beginning to come down harder. They ran together and he went to a door at the back of the house and opened it.
