Nora Roberts - Blood Brothers

“Stone fireplace,” she said. “See, that’s an excellent place to hide something.” After crossing to it, she began to poke at the stones. “Plus there’s an attic. Essie said they used it for storage. Still do. They keep the folding tables and chairs up there, and that kind of thing. Attics are treasure troves.”

“Why is it buildings like this are so cold and creepy when no one’s in them?” Layla wondered.

“We’re in this one. Let’s start at the top,” Quinn suggested, “work our way down.”

“ATTICS ARE TREASURE TROVES,” CYBIL SAID twenty minutes later, “of dust and spiders.”

“It’s not that bad.” Quinn crawled along, hoping for a loose floorboard.

“Not that good either.” Courageously, Layla stood on a folding chair, checking rafters. “I don’t understand why people don’t think storage spaces shouldn’t be cleaned as regularly as anyplace else.”

“It was clean once. She kept it clean.”

“Who-” Layla began, but Cybil waved a hand at her, frowned at Quinn.

“Ann Hawkins?”

“Ann and her boys. She brought them home, and shared the attic with them. Her three sons. Until they were old enough to have a room downstairs. But she stayed here. She wanted to be high, to be able to look out of her window. Even though she knew he wouldn’t come, she wanted to look out for him. She was happy here, happy enough. And when she died here, she was ready to go.”

Abruptly, Quinn sat back on her heels. “Holy shit, was that me?”

Cybil crouched down to study Quinn’s face. “You tell us.”

“I guess it was.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Damn, got one of those I-drank-my-frozen-margarita-too-fast-and-now-have-an-ice pick-through-my-brain headaches. I saw it, her, them, in my head. Just as clear. Everything moving, like a time-action camera. Years in seconds. But more, I felt it. That’s the way it is for you, isn’t it-going the other way?”

“Often,” Cybil agreed.

“I saw her writing in her journal, and washing her sons’ faces. I saw her laughing, or weeping. I saw her standing at the window looking into the dark. I felt…” Quinn laid a hand on her heart. “I felt her longing. It was…brutal.”

“You don’t look well.” Layla touched her shoulder. “We should go downstairs, get you some water.”

“Probably. Yeah.” She took the hand Layla offered to help her up. “Maybe I should try it again. Try to bring it back, get more.”

“You’re awfully pale,” Layla told her. “And, honey, your hand’s like ice.”

“Plenty for one day,” Cybil agreed. “You don’t want to push it.”

“I didn’t see where she put the journals. If she put anything here, I didn’t see.”

IT WASN’T THE TIME, CAL DETERMINED, TO TALK about a broken stone or property searches when Quinn was buzzed about her trip to the past with Ann Hawkins. In any case, the bowling center wasn’t the place for that kind of exchange of information.

He considered bringing it up after closing when she dragged him into her home office to show him the new chart Layla had generated that listed the time, place, approximate duration, and involved parties in all known incidents since Quinn’s arrival.

He forgot about it when he was in bed with her, when she was moving with him, when everything felt right again.

Then he told himself it was too late to bring it up, to give the topics the proper time when she was curled up warm with him.

Maybe it was avoidance, but he opted for the likelihood it was just his tendency to prefer things at the right time, in the right place. He’d arranged to take Sunday off so the entire group could hike to the Pagan Stone. That, to his mind, was the right time and place.

Then Nature screwed with his plans.

When forecasters began to predict an oncoming blizzard, he kept a jaundiced eye on the reports. They were, in his experience, wrong at least as often as they were right. Even when the first flakes began to fall midmorning, he remained unconvinced. It was the third blizzard hype of the year, and so far the biggest storm had dumped a reasonable eight inches.

He shrugged it off when the afternoon leagues canceled. It had gotten so people canceled everything at the first half inch, then went to war over bread and toilet paper in the supermarket. And since the powers-that-be canceled school before noon, the arcade and the grill were buzzing.

But when his father came in about two in the afternoon, looking like Sasquatch, Cal paid more attention.

“I think we’re going to close up shop,” Jim said in his easy way.

“It’s not that bad. The arcade’s drawing the usual suspects, the grill’s been busy. We’ve had some lanes booked. A lot of towners will come in later in the afternoon, looking for something to do.”

“It’s bad enough, and it’s getting worse.” Jim shoved his gloves in the pocket of his parka. “We’ll have a foot by sundown the way it’s going. We need to send these kids home, haul them there if they don’t live within easy walking distance. We’ll close up, then you go on home, too. Or you get your dog and Gage and come on over and stay with us. Your mother’ll worry sick if she thinks you’re out driving in this at night.”

He started to remind his father that he was thirty, had four-wheel drive, and had been driving nearly half his life. Knowing it was pointless, Cal just nodded. “We’ll be fine. I’ve got plenty of supplies. I’ll clear out the customers, close up, Dad. You go on home. She’ll worry about you, too.”

“There’s time enough to close down and lock up.” Jim glanced over at the lanes where a six-pack of teenagers sent off energy and hormones in equal measure. “Had a hell of a storm when I was a kid. Your grandfather kept her open. We stayed here for three days. Time of my life.”

“I bet.” Cal grinned. “Want to call Mom, say we’re stuck? You and me can ride it out. Have a bowling marathon.”

“Damned if I wouldn’t.” The lines around Jim’s eyes crinkled at the idea. “Of course, she’ll kick my ass for it and it’d be the last time I bowled.”

“Better shut down then.”

Though there were protests and moans, they moved customers along, arranging for rides when necessary with some of the staff. In the silence, Cal shut down the grill himself. He knew his father had gone back to check with Bill Turner. Not just to give instructions, he thought, but to make sure Bill had whatever he needed, to slip him a little extra cash if he didn’t.

As he shut down, Cal pulled out his phone and called Fox’s office. “Hey. Wondered if I’d catch you.”

“Just. I’m closing. Already sent Mrs. H home. It’s getting bad out there.”

“Head over to my place. If this comes in like they’re whining about, it might be a couple days before the roads are clear. No point wasting them. And maybe you should stop, pick up, you know, toilet paper, bread.”

“Toilet…You’re bringing the women?”

“Yeah.” He’d made up his mind on that when he’d taken a look outside. “Get…stuff. Figure it out. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He clicked off, then shut down the alley lights as his father came out.

“Everything set?” Cal asked.

“Yep.”

The way his father looked around the darkened alley told Cal he was thinking they weren’t just going to lose their big Friday night, but likely the entire weekend.

“We’ll make it up, Dad.”

“That’s right. We always do.” He gave Cal a slap on the shoulder. “Let’s get home.”

QUINN WAS LAUGHING WHEN SHE OPENED THE door. “Isn’t this great! They say we could get three feet, maybe more! Cyb’s making goulash, and Layla went out and picked up extra batteries and candles in case we lose power.”