Read Online Keepsake by Antoinette Stockenberg - Free Book Online Page B

way his father had loved them. Francis Leary had been devoted to his job as gardener for the Bennetts; he' d loved every hosta, shrub, and ivy leaf as if it were his own. Like a country doctor, he had felt the need always to be there, which is why he rarely went out on his one day off.
    And then came the discovery of Alison in the quarry, and the first round of questions from the police, and the humiliating confrontation between his father and Olivia's father immediately afterward. Quinn could still remember every word of it. There had been no presumption of innocence, no strong expression of support by Owen Bennett; only a cold, seething declaration of shock and anger.
    After that came the coup de grace: Francis Leary was fired. Owen Bennett wanted him and Quinn out of the house within twenty-four hours. Quinn could still see his father standing in the small living room of the cottage with his head bowed, just ... taking it. Quinn had been so frustrated by his father's meekness that he had charged at Bennett with every intention of knocking him down and killing him, but his father had called him back with a single syllable: " Son."
    Such memories consumed Quinn as he parked the truck in front of the cottage that had been built expressly for lucky gardeners to live in. Farther up the winding drive was the main house, blessedly obscured from Quinn's view by a massive bank of rhododendrons. With any luck he'd be able to get in and then out of the cottage without the Bennetts being any the wiser.
    Maybe to Olivia the house looked different, but not to Quinn. True, the paint scheme had been changed from a drab gray to a pleasing slate blue with ivory trim and ruby- red shutters. But from the gingerbread gables to the dia mond-paned casements, the Hansel and Gretel cottage looked like ... well, like home. Home before the troubles came and forced them to leave it forever.
    "You're very quiet, Quinn, and it's making me nervous," Olivia said as he stared at the impossibly charming house.
    Quinn tried to lie himself out of his mood. "I thought I heard a mourning dove calling, and it's way too early in the year—that's all."
    Olivia seemed relieved. "Come on in, then. You won't believe what I've got for you." She scrambled out of the front seat and by the time Quinn caught up with her, she had fished a key from her bag and was letting herself in.
    She was right: The cottage didn't look or feel or even smell the way he remembered. The plain white walls were gone, and so was the vague but pervasive mustiness. All the dark trim had been painted out, and floral wallpaper made the place look both cozier and yet somehow larger than when he lived there. There was more furniture, much of it rattan and wicker. The lighting was warm and discreet, the refinished floors gleamed like spread honey.
    And the smell was downright fragrant: Quinn could swear it was coming from the wallpaper. Whereas before the cottage had had a kind of bland, rental quality to it, now it could probably hold its own in the pages of House Beautiful.
    Quinn gave the poofy, flouncy fabric over the windows a wary nod and asked, "Your work?"
    Olivia laughed and said, "No, my tastes run to simpler treatments than that. But my mother's a big fan of Mario Buatta; she made all her decisions based on his gospel. Lucky for her she comes from a family that can snag deep discounts on fabric."
    There were miles of it, florals and stripes and plaids everywhere Quinn looked. To him it was overwhelming, but what did he know? "That easy chair looks familiar," he ventured.
    "Well, okay, that is from before," Olivia confessed. "It's been slipcovered."
    "My dad used to like to read in it," Quinn said quietly. He tried to picture his father sitting in the chintz-covered chair with a book about Frederick Law Olmsted on his lap, but he came up empty. The room belonged to women now.
    Quinn turned to Olivia, who was watching him with an intensity that surprised him. Again the color sprang to her