River’s End

plans, she absently swiped a hand over her cheek and smeared it with soil.
    She’d brushed her hair and smoothed it into a neat ponytail that she’d slipped through the opening in the back of her red cap. She wore jeans and a River’s End T-shirt. Both had been clean that morning, and though she’d tried to keep them that way, the knees of her jeans were soiled now.
    That would only prove that she’d been working, she told herself. That she was responsible.
    They should be here by now, she thought. They had to be here soon, they just had to. Otherwise her grandfather might come back. He might recognize Frank Brady. He probably would. Grandfather remembered everyone and everything. Then he’d find ways to keep her from talking to Frank, to keep her from asking questions. All the planning, the care, the hopes she had would be for nothing if they didn’t get there soon.
    A couple strolled out onto the terrace, sat at one of the little iron tables. One of the staff would come out to serve them drinks or snacks, Olivia knew. Then she’d lose the solitude.
    Olivia worked her way along the border, half listening as the woman read about the trails in her guidebook. Planning tomorrow’s hike, debating whether to take one of the long ones and order one of the picnic lunches the lodge provided. Ordinarily Olivia might have stopped working long enough to recommend just that plan, to give her own description of the trail the woman seemed to favor. The guests enjoyed the personal touch, and her grandparents encouraged her to share her knowledge of the area with them. But she had too much on her mind for chitchat and continued to work steadily down the edge of the terrace until she was nearly out of sight.
    She saw the big old car bumping up the drive, but noted immediately that the man driving it was too young to be Frank Brady. He had a pretty face—what she could see of it, as he wore a cap and sunglasses. His hair spilled out of the cap, wavy and sun-streaked brown.
    The woman in the passenger seat was pretty, too. His mother, Olivia guessed, though she didn’t look very old either. Maybe she was his aunt, or his big sister. She ran through the reservations in her head, trying to remember if they had a couple coming in that day, then she spotted another figure sprawled in the backseat. Her heart began to thud in her chest, the answering echo a dull beat in her head. Slowly she got to her feet as the car coasted around the last turn and parked. She knew him right away. Olivia didn’t consider it at all strange that her bleary memory of his face shot into sharp focus the minute Frank stepped out of the car. She remembered perfectly now, the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way his hand had felt, big and gentle on her cheek.
    Her aching head spun, once, sickly, as he turned his head and saw her. She felt her knees tremble, but she pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket. Her mouth was dust dry, but she forced a polite smile on her face and started forward. So did he.
    For Olivia, at that moment, the woman and the young man who got out of the car faded into the background. As did the wall of great trees, the searing blue sky above them, the flutter of butterflies, the chatter of birds.
    She saw only him, as she’d seen only him the night he’d opened the closet door.
    “I’m Olivia,” she said in a voice that sounded very far away to her own ears. “Thank you for coming, Detective Brady.” She held out her hand.
    How many times, Frank wondered, would this one little girl break his heart? She stood so poised, her eyes so solemn, her smile so polite. And her voice shook.
    “It’s nice to see you again, Olivia.” He took her hand in his, held it. “Livvy. Don’t they call you Livvy anymore?”
    “Yes.” Her smile warmed, just a little. “Did you have a nice trip?”
    “Very nice. We decided to drive, so we needed my son’s car. It’s the only one big enough to be comfortable for that long. Celia?”
    He reached out, then slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. It was a gesture Olivia noticed. She liked to study the way people were together. The woman fit easily against him, and her smile was friendly. Her eyes sympathetic.
    “This is Celia, my wife.”
    “Hello, Livvy. What a beautiful place. You know I camped in your campgrounds once, when I was Noah’s age. I’ve never forgotten this area. Noah, this is Livvy MacBride, her family owns the lodge.”
    He glanced