the reservoir, but no confirmed sightings.
“The bird feeders are a nice touch,” she said.
Grace sank into the cushions of her high-backed chair. “We take care of them ourselves. How are you, Olivia? Your grandmother and I have yoga class together in a little while. She’s younger than I am, but I hold my own.”
Of that, Olivia had no doubt. “I’ll stop by and say hi, but I also wanted to see you. I’m wondering if you’ve thought more about the man who bought your house.”
She gazed out the windows as three chickadees darted at the feeders. “I haven’t, no.”
Stonewalling, Olivia thought. “Apparently he died and left the house to his son in San Diego. He’s here.”
That got Grace’s attention. She peered up at Olivia. “He’s in Knights Bridge?”
“He arrived yesterday and spent the night at your old house.”
“You asked him to clean up the yard?”
Olivia nodded. “I told him it’s become an eyesore since you sold the house.”
“Hoodlum teenagers. I left the washer and refrigerator on the back porch for the new owner to get rid of. That was part of our deal. I didn’t want to be bothered with taking them to the dump…” Grace sniffed, a touch of the old-fashioned, formidable teacher coming out in her. “I wish I’d been there to catch the little devils having their fun. I’d have had every one of them arrested for criminal mischief.”
“Just as well you weren’t there, Grace.”
“That’s why kids run wild these days. There’s no one to take a firm hand. We don’t want to be bothered. Look at me here, holed up in an old folks’ home, watching birds....”
“You did your bit for the youth of Knights Bridge.”
Grace loosened her grip on her binoculars and raised a hand, pointing one finger at Olivia. “I don’t believe for one minute the brats who vandalized my house were from Knights Bridge.”
By their own account, some of the adults in town who had been students of Grace Webster back in her days as an English and Latin teacher were still afraid of her. Olivia could understand why. Grace in her prime must have been something.
She was something now, Olivia thought, and steered the conversation back to her reason for being there. “The son—the man who inherited your house—is named Dylan McCaffrey.”
Grace lowered her hand, her brow furrowed as she waited a moment before speaking. “McCaffrey. Yes, I remember now. His father was also a Dylan?” She shook her head, stopping Olivia from responding. “No, it was something else.”
“Duncan,” Olivia said.
“That’s right. Exactly so.” Grace kept her eyes on the bird feeders. “This Dylan McCaffrey—he’s a scoundrel, isn’t he?”
Scoundrel? Olivia bit back her surprise, as well as a smile. “Why would you think he’s a scoundrel?”
“His father was a treasure hunter.”
“A what? Grace—”
She raised her binoculars again. “Spring’s here despite last night’s storm. I’ve seen robins. I’m sure I saw a bluebird, too, but your grandmother isn’t so sure.”
“Grace,” Olivia said, “if you know of any reason I should be wary of Dylan McCaffrey, you need to tell me.”
“I would think you would be wise to be wary of any man who mysteriously inherited a house on the other side of the continent from a dead father.” She set her binoculars back in her lap and fixed her gaze on Olivia. “Is this Dylan McCaffrey single?”
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