The truth was, Amanda didn’t really know why. She certainly wasn’t going to ask her in-laws, as she could see it was still a source of pain for them, especially for James’ mother. James wasn’t providing any easy answers anyway, and it was one of the few things in their relationship that wasn’t free and open with each other. When Amanda had brought Gable up a couple of times James had gone suddenly silent, his face nearly stony when he told his bride that there was nothing that could be done, and not to worry about Gable.
“He’s very good at taking care of himself,” he’d told her once, and the restrained anger in his words was enough to keep her from asking him about Gable.
Mrs. Granger handed Amanda a pen, snapping her out of her reverie. “Well, if you don’t have news about Gable that’s okay, honey. Most families don’t get along all the time anyway, but if you’re going to stand here and talk with us the least you could do is sign the petition.”
Chapter 5
It was a glorious spring day in Ravenwood, and Amanda could feel every one of her worries drifting away as she gazed upwards at the perfectly blue sky. "Have you ever seen anything so lovely?" she asked her newest guest, Mr. Abbott. "I mean, the sea air, the blue sky, the apple trees in full bloom. I could see this every day of my life and never get tired of it."
Mr. Abbott was a short, dapper little man with a pencil mustache and a quiet sort of concentration that he was using to his full advantage. Today, every bit of his focus was on the game of croquet they were playing on the lush back lawn of the Inn. He kept his head down, intent on whacking his green-striped ball toward the wicket. "Oh, I completely agree, Mrs. Landon. It's a perfect day. I think this must be what heaven looks like," he said, right before he swung his mallet and his wooden ball careened off wildly into a nearby rhododendron. Oscar, the Inn's huge orange cat, had been peacefully snoozing under the huge bush and gave a startled hiss as he quickly leaped out of the way.
Making a grimace of disgust, Mr. Abbott walked off in pursuit of his errant ball. "Well, without the croquet game, that is," he added. "I doubt I’d make mistakes like that in heaven. Do you normally get to play outside with your guests?"
Amanda stooped over and petted Oscar, trying to soothe him after he'd almost been beaned by Mr. Abbott's bad play. "Not usually, but I love getting outside when the weather's good. To be honest, I'm playing hooky today."
He stopped swiping his mallet under the bush to find his ball and straightened up to look at her. "Hooky?" he asked, and Amanda smiled.
"I have some mail I'm supposed to deliver today and I'm feeling a bit nervous about going. I’m doing my best to avoid the whole thing."
Mr. Abbott looked intrigued. "You don’t seem like the nervous sort. Do you need some company to go with you, Mrs. Landon? I assure you, I know several types of martial arts and would be happy to go as your protector." He smiled. "Don't be deceived. I'm tougher than I look."
The thought of the petite man flinging himself into danger’s way to defend her was both comical and very sweet, and Amanda was grateful for his offer. "I appreciate it, really I do, Mr. Abbot, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm just being a bit of a coward, that's all."
Her guest returned to poking his mallet under the bushes, then gave a shout of triumph and bent down. He finally emerged from under the foliage with a leaf-covered croquet ball. “Got it!" he said, walking over to her and setting it back on the ground. "Suit yourself, but know the offer is always open. My hands can be deadly weapons, you know."
As he drew back his mallet to whack the ball again, Oscar gave a growl of absolute disgust and raced away, not wanting to be a victim of Mr. Abbott's bad aim a second time.
***
What a difference a bit of time makes, Amanda thought to herself as she followed her friend Meg into Columbia's sweet little tea shop, Honeybee Tea. Just a few months back, Meg had been really worried about competing with the shop, and she’d been secretly snooping around to see what sort of goodies they were serving and how popular the place was. Even though Meg hadn't talked to the owner of Cuppa, Tory Sherwood, about checking out the new competition, she'd taken it upon herself to figure out if it was a threat to her job.
Things had changed for the better since then. Ever since Columbia’s partner, Ruben Bishop, had been killed, Meg had slowly formed a friendship with Columbia. Today, Meg and Amanda were stopping by to let her know that they wanted to throw her a baby shower at the Inn.
As soon as the door swung open, Columbia was heading toward them, a three-tiered display rack of frosted cookies and tiny sandwiches in one hand, and a huge smile on her face. The cozy tea room was packed with mid-day customers, chatting and laughing as they sat together at the little lace-covered tables. Several tea carts were scattered around the room, offering antique teapots full of at least a dozen types of delicious tea, and plates of small cakes and scones were set next to bright bouquets of spring flowers. The theme of honeybees was apparent everywhere, from the wallpaper to the hand-painted sign out front.
It was charming and a bit formal, as different from Cuppa Coffeeshop's relaxed atmosphere of big chairs and people with laptops working as it could be, and it hadn't taken long for Meg to figure out that Columbia and her little business was no threat.
"Ladies!" Columbia said with a welcoming smile. "I’ll be with you in just a second. Go ahead and sit anywhere you please," she added, stopping by the table with a pair of elderly matrons. She put the tall rack of tasty treats on their table, making sure the china plates were situated so the chocolate-covered strawberries were shown off to their full advantage.
Amanda and Meg found a table for two near the back of the small room. The swirling bends of the thick wire used to form the chairs looked delicate, but the seats were sturdy and comfortable for people to sit on and added a feminine touch. After Columbia had checked in with a couple of tables to see if there was anything she could get for them, she stopped by Amanda's, still smiling.
"What would you like today, ladies? I've got a brand new lemon-ginger tea, just in. Want a sample?"
Amanda was going to tell Columbia that they were there to see what day would be best for throwing the very pregnant shop owner a baby shower when Meg interrupted.
"Do you have any of that chocolate tea? I had it back when you first opened, and it was wonderful."
Columbia put a hand on her round belly. "I'm sure I can find some for you. Anything else? The petit fours today are great. I was trying out a new baker who needed work, and I think she hit it out of the ballpark with these. They're amazing!"
"New baker?" Amanda asked. "You're not poaching my awesome cook, Jennifer, are you?" she teased, but Columbia smiled and shook her head.
"No, but this new lady mentioned how much she liked your Inn. She's never worked in Ravenwood before and apparently being a housekeeper for some rich guy isn't enough work to keep her busy, so she stopped by with a box of samples and asked me if I was interested."
"Some rich guy?" Amanda could feel her hackles go up." She wouldn't be working for Buster Radcliffe, would she?"
Columbia looked pleased. "Oh, you've met Elizabeth Porter then. She's a peach, isn't she?" she said.
"No, we haven't met yet, but I've heard a bit about her," Amanda said. "So, she's staying here in town?"
"No, she's been living in Likely, I guess. That's her over there by the fireplace." Columbia gestured toward a young woman sitting by herself, her eyes downcast as she put a teacup up to her full lips. She had a loose mop of black hair and was dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a bright red sweater. An oversized leather shoulder bag sat on the floor next to her.
Meg peered around Amanda, taking a good, long gander. "Maybe we should go say hello to her," she said. "If she's working with a guy like Radcliffe she could probably use some friends. From what I’ve heard, he sounds like he'd be a real pill to have as an employer."
Apparently, Columbia agreed. "You should go meet her. She seems kind of lost here in town, and it wouldn't be a bad idea
for you to introduce yourself, in case Jennifer goes on vacation and you have some extra hours she could pick up at the Inn. It's going to take me a few minutes to get your chocolate tea ready anyway." As Columbia walked toward the kitchen, Amanda turned to Meg.
"Why would a stranger say she likes my inn? I don’t remember ever seeing her there before." She thought for a moment and made a snap decision. "That just seems kind of odd to me." She could see the young woman set her cup down and glance toward them, but Amanda quickly turned her head away, just as Columbia walked up with a plate of small tea cakes. Meg grinned and picked up a pink one.
As soon as she took a bite she gave a happy sigh, and Columbia smiled in satisfaction. "I told you they're good," she said.
Meg nodded, her mouth still full.
"Columbia, we're actually here to talk to you," Amanda said, just as Columbia was going to walk away. She turned, surprised, and Amanda smiled warmly. "We'd like to give you a baby shower, whenever you say. We just need to know what date works for you, so we can get everything planned and send out the invitations. Would that be okay with you?”
Columbia pinkened, a blush spreading over her cheeks, and seemed slightly shocked. "I... that would be... that's so nice of you," she stammered, and Amanda could see the pleasure in her eyes.
"We'd love to do it. How about at the Ravenwood Inn, maybe on an afternoon, and with a tea shop theme?"
Columbia took a deep breath and finally gave a rueful smile. "Afternoon sounds great, but can I just make one tiny request?" she asked. "Please, please, nothing to do with tea!"
Amanda could help but laugh. She’d been wondering about that, but didn’t want to disappoint anyone who would be expecting a traditional shower, especially the guest of honor.
Columbia seemed apologetic, but her voice was strong. "I mean, I'm not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but I'd be happy to have it in a bowling alley or a laundromat. Anywhere that has nothing at all to do with fussy finger sandwiches and pastel frosting." She leaned forward, her eyebrows drawn together in cautious concern. "I love my shop, and I love my job. Making people happy in a beautiful place with great, traditional food is fun, but the truth is that at the end of the day all I want to do is prop up my big, swollen feet and eat an entire pizza while watching Lifetime TV."
Meg laughed. "I do that all the time," she admitted. "Well, not eating the whole pizza bit, I mean. After dealing with people demanding that their coffee be a certain temperature or with some sort of exotic nut milk in it, at the end of the day I just want some time to myself and to relax."
"Ha!" Columbia said in complete understanding. "Glad to know it's not just me." She lowered her voice. "Just don't tell my clientele, okay? I have to keep up appearances, you know, and I do love this place."
"Mum's the word," Amanda promised with a grin, as she pulled a small notepad out of her purse. "Now, let's get down to the important stuff. Pink or blue?"
As Meg and Amanda walked out of the teashop, mulling over plans for a green or yellow color scheme for Columbia’s shower, Meg was already searching on her phone, trying to find an address for a nearby bowling alley.
Chapter 6
The whole time Amanda was driving toward the old Grayson house, she kept trying to talk herself out of going. She’d left Jennifer by herself at the Inn, to finish up the cleaning and prep work for evening snacks, and as soon as she was halfway to Radcliffe’s house she was absolutely dreading walking up to the door. It was true that she could’ve simply forwarded the misdelivered mail through the post office, but after hearing Mrs. Granger’s scathing opinion of Radcliffe she had to admit she had some curiosity about what he was up to, now that he was back in Ravenwood Cove.
The route to his house wound down through the center of town and dropped toward the bay. It then took a sharp turn left and up a narrow road, finally ending on a wide lot at the top of a small hill about three miles south of the Ravenwood Inn. Tall firs, sculpted by decades of ocean breezes, framed a stately home that sprawled across an expansive lawn. Other large houses flanked Radcliffe’s home, but his was definitely the biggest in the neighborhood.
Amanda had seen the house several times before, but as she got out of the car her mouth dropped open in utter dismay at its transformation. The entire building, once built with such hopes for its wealthy family, had fallen into neglect and disrepair over the years, and the people of Ravenwood were used to ignoring the decaying hulk as they drove by. The care and expense for maintaining such a large home had grown beyond the means of the many families that had moved in and out over the years, and each decade seemed to bring more bad remodeling attempts or complete neglect and indifference.
From what Amanda could see, someone was doing their level best to be sure all the past neglect was obliterated. The old house had been painted a faded gray years ago, as if there had been a sale on cheap paint and someone just sprayed the whole thing the same color, but now the original, brilliant Victorian hues were restored, with every bit of trim a rich shade that complemented the others around it. The peeling, sagging porch of the derelict house had been completely replaced with a brand new one, punctuated with superbly detailed gingerbread decorations. Patched holes on the roof had been visible from the street for years, but now were gone, and had been replaced with what looked like a dark gray slate roof instead. There were two wheelbarrows to the side of the house, full of several green bushes with their roots wrapped in burlap. A small pickup and white work van were parked in the driveway, and two extension ladders leaned against the side of the building. She could see sawhorses by the narrow garage, and an extension cord ran out to a large table saw set up on a stand.
Picking her way through the workers' equipment, Amanda touched the railing of the porch steps tentatively, making sure the strong smell of fresh paint didn't mean it was still wet. Satisfied, she walked up to the front door and knocked, smiling at a landscaper with a bright orange ballcap who popped his head around the corner of the house to peer at her. When the door finally opened the worker disappeared, apparently satisfied that someone was helping Amanda, and she was left standing before a large, heavyset man with a bristling gray mustache and thick eyebrows. He was definitely the same person Mrs. Granger had pointed out earlier. Odd patches of hair were missing from his balding head, and he’d done his best to hide them by some skillful combing. He was holding an oversized grilled cheese sandwich in one hand, and Amanda had the sudden impression of a very big walrus with a combover and a cluster of crumbs on his snout.
"Can I help you?" the walrus asked, and she bit back a smile.
"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your lunch, but I'm Amanda Graham. Are you Mr. Radcliffe?"
The man took a huge bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, looking Amanda over as if she were an interesting specimen who had just showed up on his front porch.
"Are you going to serve me with legal papers if I say I am?" he asked, and Amanda's eyes widened in surprise.
"Um...I don't...well, no, I'm not."
Seemingly satisfied, the walrus stepped to the side and gestured with his sandwich. "Well, then, won't you come in."
Whatever Mrs. Granger’s opinion was of Buster Radcliffe, Amanda had to give credit where credit was due. Peering past Radcliffe has he lumbered inside, Amanda could see every bit of effort and expense that was going into restoring what once had been a grand and gracious home. The polished woodwork on the trim and massive stairwell gleamed with new wax and care, and a stunning set of turn-of-the-century lights hung in original splendor from a large plaster embellishment on the tall ceiling. Whatever Radcliffe was, he certainly wasn’t someone with no money or terrible taste.
As she walked into the beautiful front room, her mind briefly flashed to the fact that most of the town seemed to hate this man, who was now gulping down the last of his sandwich in two huge bites. Still chewing, he turned back toward her and gave her a smile that didn't go quite up to his eyes.
Amanda smiled back. “What a lovely hous
e you have.” The compliment was genuine, but he didn’t seem impressed.
"Hah!” he scoffed. “The contractors around here are all a bunch of crooks and thieves," he said. "I've had people say they're going to show up and never appear, and I've had to replace the electrician twice, since the first two did such a terrible job. The roofers are probably the worst, though, and should all have been locked up as scammers. I have a leak in the ceiling to my own bedroom, right under the restored tin ceiling, and it's discolored the tin halfway across the room.” He gave a snort of disgust. “I can’t believe I even paid them in the first place."
Amanda stood silently, not sure how to sympathize with his outburst. Finally, the man looked at her and sighed.
"Okay, fine. I'm Buster Radcliffe, the one and only. What can I do for you, Miss... what did you say your name was again?"
"Amanda Graham." She tried to keep her voice free of irritation. "I own the Ravenwood Cove Inn. It's a bed and breakfast up on the bluffs, and it appears there's been some sort of mix-up. " She dug a bit in her satchel and pulled out several large envelopes, holding them out. Taking them from her, Radcliffe wiped the last bit of grease from his fingers onto his grey slacks and quickly thumbed through the mail.
Amanda flipped the cover of her bag closed. "It seems that I'm getting your mail. Are these yours?"
He grunted in response, still looking through the envelopes, so she continued.
"The postal carrier brought them to me. He says since they were addressed to ‘bed and breakfast, Ravenwood Cove, Oregon’, and our zip code, he thought they were probably mine."
Jam, Jelly and Just Desserts Page 3
