she’d hoped to nurture had died in the bud, smothered by too many other obligations. Several eligible men had shown some interest in dating her, but about the third time she broke a date, it was bye-bye.
“We’ll need to mail the invitations as soon as possible,” Lynette said as she laid out a timetable for all the preparations.
“Getting current addresses may not be all that easy,”
Robyn protested once again. “What about the descendants of Hugo Koleski, who built the house?”
“Well, several branches of the family lived on the estate until the lumber mill closed in about 1955. I believe that when the property was sold, all the Koleski family moved away.”
“Maybe they went back to Poland?”
“We’ll have to find out.”
“What about the other three owners of Stoneview, before you and Grandpa bought it? How will you track them down?”
“Don’t worry. I have friends in high places who have access to public records. I’ll make some calls,” Lynette assured her, as if that took care of the matter. “After I locate someone in each family, I’ll send you the addresses. In the meantime you arrange to have the invitations printed, and be ready to send them out.”
“Are you sure about this, Grandmother?” Robyn could not stifle a growing apprehension that such a reunion might dredge up dangerous and conflicting emotions. She didn’t know how to explain to her grandmother that on some deep level she sensed there were remaining energies in the house that should be left untouched. Even if she tried to verbalize such intuitive feelings, Robyn knew her grandmother would dismiss them with open disgust.
Sitting there in the warmth of the Florida sun, Robyn sought to deny an insidious warning rippling through her consciousness like the far-off rumble of a deadly storm.
AS SHE FINISHED OUT the school year, swamped by the closing demands of her classes and preparations to be away from her town house for the summer, Robyn had little time to think about Stoneview. She was department head of the romance languages department, and the high percentage of foreign students in the small college in Portland, Maine, put extra demands upon her time and energy. Although she found teaching gratifying and was pleased she could put her mastery of languages to good use, she realized she had let her life settle into a tedious routine. But her summer plans to explore some new and untried avenues for her personal development had to be shelved.
The hope that her grandmother would either lose interest in the project or come up short with addresses of the former occupants had been in vain. When the names and addresses arrived, Robyn had indulged herself in a brief period of childish rebellion, and ended up mailing them nearly three weeks later.
As she dropped them into the mailbox, she clung to the hope that her grandmother’s brainstorm might somehow be derailed.
Maybe nobody would come.
DETECTIVE BRIAN J. Donovan hated hospitals, especially when the innocent victim of a robbery and assault was an elderly man who had cashed his social security check, then stopped at a sleazy pool hall and bar to have a drink. A couple of druggies had waited for him, beaten him up and left him unconscious in the alley.
Police files were filled with such cases. Brian knew the chances of getting any solid leads from the victim were slight. At the age of twenty-eight, he’d seen enough selfish brutality to last a lifetime. There was an angry stiffness about him as he strode up to the hospital admittance desk.
“Evening, Detective.” The pretty nurse smiled as her appreciative glance passed over his tawny hair, brown eyes and athletic build. “You’re out late. The sun will be up in a few hours.” Her voice took on a flirtatious tone. “If you’re still around, I might offer to fix you some breakfast.”
Brian smiled, recognizing the intimacy in her invitation, but he’d learned to maneuver around such overtures, especially on the job. “I’ll take a rain check,” he answered lightly.
“Promises, promises,” she said, sighing. “What can I do for you tonight?”
Brian glanced at his notebook. “An elderly man, Joseph Keller, was brought in about eleven o’clock. Assault and battery.”
After checking her computer, she nodded. “Room 209. Condition stable.”
“That’s good. Thanks.” Brian knew the first few hours after an incident were the most productive in getting a line on criminal perpetrators. After that, imagination often took over and filled in the gaps. He reached the room just as a male nurse was coming out.
Brian flashed his badge. “Detective Donovan. Any chance I can spend a couple of minutes with Mr. Keller?”
“I just gave him a sedative, so you’d better make it fast,” the young man warned. “He’s beat up pretty bad. A tough old guy. Fought the thugs off pretty good, but they got his wallet.”
“Any other personal effects?” Brian asked. “Forensics might be able to get some fingerprints if the muggers went through his pockets.”
“He didn’t have much. There are a few things in the bedside drawer.”
“Thanks.” Brian eased inside the room and approached the bed quietly. “Mr. Keller?”
Even though the man’s prone body clearly showed his advanced age, there was a sharpness in his glare. Dark eyes in a bruised and scratched face narrowed as he stared at Brian. His voice was raspy and breathless as he croaked, “What the hell do you want?”
“We want to find the thugs who did this to you. I’m Detective Donovan.”
“You get my money back?”
“We’re going to try our best, Mr. Keller. Can you tell me what happened?”
He closed his eyes for a long moment and then looked at Brian as the words came painfully slow. “The bastards came up from behind. Dragged me into the alley. Went through my pockets. Knocked me out.”
“Can you tell me what they looked like?”
The Adam’s apple in his skinny throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Hoodlums. Young and white. Too dark to see much.”
Brian closed his notebook. Unfortunately, the old man’s description was too generic to be of value. “If you remember anything else, Mr. Keller, just call me.” He laid his card on the bedside table. “You take care of yourself.”
“If I’d been younger I’d have shown them a thing or two,” he rasped, and his slack jaw tightened a little. “Was a heavyweight boxer in my prime.”
“Really?” Brian smiled at the old man. “How about that?”
“Plenty of money and women, too.” He gave Brian a grin. “Owned the biggest estate on Lake Chataqua.”
“Lake Chataqua, Maine?” Brian’s eyes narrowed.
“Yep. Owned the Stoneview Estate, I did. You know it?”
“Yes, my father had a medical practice in Chataqua until I was almost seventeen, and we moved to Boston.”
Just
