Perhaps his guest had misunderstood what Rick had meant by ‘here.’ He’d been talking about the B&B, not Seaside Cove. “I wish you luck, sir. The salvage rights for the San Manuel are turning into a major battleground. I understand there could be millions of dollars at stake.”
“Hundreds…of millions.”
De la Guerra’s intensity was starting to make Rick sorry he’d thanked the man for coming. He’d only wanted to show his appreciation for choosing the B&B, not start an international incident. “It is a very large sum of money,” he agreed.
“We have every right to reclaim our heritage. Your daughter was also insinuating the treasure belonged to you Americans and I admonished her for such a foolish belief.” Mr. de la Guerra picked up his knife and fork and gave Rick a curt nod.
Alex was across the room, engaged with one of the couples staying at the B&B, but she kept glancing over at this table. Now Rick understood why. He leaned closer to his guest and lowered his voice. “Mr. de la Guerra, you may be a guest and you may have a difference of opinion with what my daughter believes, but that does not give you the right to reprimand her. Do you understand?”
Mr. de la Guerra held Rick’s gaze for a moment, then glanced away. “Perhaps I was more stern with her than I should have been. I will extend my apologies for my rude behavior.”
“I would appreciate that, sir. Now, I hope you enjoy your breakfast.”
The man slashed through his over-easy eggs with the knife and fork, then scooped the pieces onto the potatoes. Thank goodness Marquetta wasn’t here to see him butcher her food.
In truth, Rick had questioned whether the San Manuel was a good thing for the town. Supposedly, the Manila galleon had sunk off the coast in the sixteenth century. Supposedly, it lay in two-hundred feet of water somewhere within a few miles of the coast. The reality was, nobody had found it yet.
The reporter in Rick said he’d believe in the San Manuel when someone actually located it. But with every scuba diver, beachcomber, and archaeologist—professional and amateur—hungry to find the ship, his opinion didn't matter. Whether myth or reality, the San Manuel had created a substantial fever in Seaside Cove, one he’d prefer to put aside until at least after breakfast.
When the dining service ended, Rick took a breather in the kitchen with Alex and Marquetta. They sat on barstools at the center island. Rick and Marquetta had coffee; Alex, a mug half-filled with juice.
Rick heaved a sigh and leaned back on his stool. “My jaw aches from smiling so much,” he groaned.
“Try standing over a hot stove sometime,” Marquetta grumbled.
“Hey, what happened to our ever-effervescent cook?” Rick asked.
“She’s on break. I’m her evil twin—and I do bad things to people who cross me.”
“You’re not gonna do bad things to me, are you?” Alex smiled up at Marquetta.
“You get a cuteness exemption, Sweetie. I couldn’t do anything bad to you.”
Rick raised his open hand to his chest. “What about me?”
Marquetta slid her mug across the countertop and smiled. “You get to bring me another cup of coffee.”
Alex and Marquetta exchanged a high five as Rick went to the coffeemaker and poured her refill. “I said it before, you’re a taskmaster, Marquetta Weiss.”
Her lips tightened as Rick handed her the mug. “And don’t you forget it, boss,” she said, then looked at Alex and winked. “So what did you do at breakfast, Sweetie?”
“I got to talk to three different treasure hunters.” Alex beamed at Rick.
Rick nodded as he returned to his stool. “One of those was our Spanish friend, wasn’t it?”
Alex rolled her eyes and shook her head. “All I said was how awesome it would be when Miss O’Connor found the ship and he was like, that ship belongs to my government and you have no right to it. He totally got rude just ‘cause of one thing I said.”
Marquetta sat, her jaw hanging slack as she stared at Alex. “He was rude? Did he become aggressive?” She looked to Rick. “I don’t care how dreamy his accent might be, he has no right to get rude with Alex.”
“I agree. That’s why I talked to him as soon as he told me what he’d done.” Rick looked at Alex. “Did he apologize to you?”
She nodded. “He got super nice the next time I was near him. It’s okay, Daddy. Marquetta, you always say the guests can get kinda cranky. I’m good.”
He glanced at Marquetta and smiled. “Such resilience.”
Alex sipped from her glass, then said, “Thanks for talking to him, Daddy. It was nice that he apologized. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.”
“I’ll keep my eye on him,” Marquetta said.
“So will I. And Alex, if he gets nasty again, let me know. I’ll handle him.”
Marquetta leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her mug nestled between her hands. “On a lighter note, the honeymooners never came down.”
“When I grow up I wanna go on an around-the-world cruise for my honeymoon.”
Rick did a double take and gazed at Alex. “Whoa. Where did you get that idea, kiddo?”
“From Miss O’Connor. She’s been on a bunch of cruises. All over the world. I wanna do it all at once.”
“We’ll, um, have to start saving money.” Right after he paid off the mortgage, repaired the roof, fixed the dumbwaiter, and found a magic way to save for his daughter’s college education. He said, “Speaking of Miss O’Connor, she never showed up either.”
“How odd. I talked to her yesterday afternoon. She was looking forward to the Scotch Eggs.” Marquetta paused and rolled her neck in a circle before she continued. “She has a healthy appetite, so something big must have kept her away. Do you suppose she found the wreck?”
Rick stood and went to the bank of windows over the sink. He picked up his mug and gazed out at the bright sunshine.
“She’s been here a week and hasn’t missed a morning,” he said. “Let’s hope she’s okay.”
CHAPTER 4
RICK
By quarter after eight, no late stragglers had shown up. Alex had finished her juice and Rick was anxious to get started on the day. “Looks like the Washingtons are out of luck if they want breakfast here,” he said.
Marquetta’s eyes lit up as she giggled. “Newlyweds.”
When Alex mimicked her, a little chill ran through Rick’s spine. It scared him to think how many of the “facts of life” his daughter knew already. He worried she was growing up way too soon. “I’ll replenish the coffee stations,” he said.
“Upstairs and down?” Marquetta asked. “What about the dining area?”
“I’ll straighten up.”
“My, my, you’re industrious. What do you want?”
“Can you get Alex started on her breakfast?”
Alex pushed back her stool and hopped up. “I can do it.”
“Good girl.” Marquetta gave Alex a high five. “Why don’t you go change, and then we’ll get started?”
“Okay.” Alex hugged Marquetta, then Rick.
When Alex was out of the room, Rick said, “She’s growing up so fast.”
“They do. You’ve got a very smart daughter, Richard Atwood.”
He nodded. “And apparently a bit of a philanthropist.”
Marquetta smiled at him. “You should be proud of her. I’ve heard from several people how thankful the Sachettis are for the help they received. The entire family.”
“I am proud. Who would have thought about holding a fundraiser here at the B&B?”
“Alex.”
Rick nodded. “Yeah, Alex.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. For Rick’s part, he was content to enjoy the moment. Did Marquetta feel the same? When Alex returned, Marquetta stood and smiled at her.
“Come on, Sweetie, let’s get you going. We can have some girl time while your dad does some real work.”
The tray Rick needed was on the counter. He grabbed it, kissed Alex on the forehead, an
d headed for the butler door. He did a quick check of the dining area as he passed through. All the room needed was a little straightening up. Later, they’d remove the tablecloths, launder them, and prepare the room for tomorrow.
On the way out of the room, he found a stray chair one of the guests had left in the line of traffic. He picked it up and took it back to the table where it belonged and shoved it into place.
A small voice yelled. “Ow!”
Rick stepped back, pulled the chair away, and lifted the tablecloth. “What are you doing under there, Marcus?”
The boy’s smile fell, and he glared at Rick. “I wanted to surprise you, but you never got close enough.”
Unbelievable. Alex wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t go around trying to scare people for fun. He’d never tolerate behavior of that sort. “Do your parents know where you are?”
“No.”
Rick was about to tell the boy he’d take him back to his room when Alex appeared. He crooked his finger for her to come closer, pointed at Marcus, then asked her to return the boy to his parents in the Captain’s Quarters.
Alex tilted her head toward the front stairs and led Marcus away. He was almost positive he heard her tell Marcus how lame it was to be hiding and trying to scare people. Rick finished straightening up, then headed for the front of the house.
A young woman stood in the open doorway as though deciding whether to enter the B&B or not. Michelle Steele looked almost as though she were a statue, frozen in place with a brown paper lunch sack in her hand.
“Hey, Michelle, what brings you here?”
She thrust the bag out in front of her and bit her lower lip. “This is for you—and Alex. My mother—I mean, I thought you might like them. They can’t compete with Marquetta’s, but it will be a change.”
Rick set his tray on the front desk, took the bag, and opened it. Cookies. “They’re still warm. And they smell terrific.”
“Thank you.”
Her cheeks flushed bright pink and she glanced away. She gave Rick a weak smile and tugged nervously on a strand of strawberry-blonde hair. It looked like she was about ready to have a panic attack. Standing in the midst of a room with ten-foot ceilings and traditional white wainscoting on the walls, her jeans and oversized purple T gave her the appearance of a little girl stranded in a different time.
“I’m sure they’ll be delicious.” Rick held the bag up and took another whiff. “Chocolate chip. My favorite. What’s the occasion?”
Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red as she glanced around the room. She said nothing until her gaze settled on something behind Rick. Her smile fell and it almost looked like she might cry. She raised a hand and winced. “Hi, Marquetta.”
“Hey, Michelle. What brings you our way?”
“I…brought…I have to go.” Michelle spun around and fled out the door.
Rick watched her hurry down the front stairs with her purse clutched to her chest. She kept her head down and took short, rapid steps. In no time, she’d disappeared from view. Rick frowned and handed the bag to Marquetta. “If that isn’t the strangest thing.”
Marquetta peered inside, then chuckled as she closed the bag. “Flora’s been busy.”
“But that was Michelle.”
“Flora’s her mother. I think Michelle is sweet on you, boss.”
“No way, it’s just cookies.”
“You say cookies. Her mother says it’s the way to a man’s heart.”
“Oh no.”
“Yup. Flora wants grandkids. That means Michelle needs a husband. If I know Flora, she made those cookies this morning. I’d bet my next paycheck she goaded Michelle into delivering them. You saw her. Poor girl’s embarrassed beyond belief.”
Rick rubbed his neck and stared at the chandelier hanging in the entryway. “The marriage game in this town sucks. I don’t want to play.”
Marquetta smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have a choice. Michelle is twenty-two and single. According to Flora, Michelle’s at her prime.”
“Good God, we’re not breeding stock. How do I convince the soap girl’s mother I’m not a good match for her daughter? She’s too young. It would be like marrying a high-school cheerleader.”
“Flora’s a determined woman, boss. She doesn’t want an old-maid daughter.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You could find Michelle a husband.”
Rick groaned and stared at the brown bag of doom in Marquetta’s hands. “Do you know what you’ve done to my day? It’s not exactly like I can return a sack full of cookies.”
“I’m surprised Flora didn’t have Michelle toss in some of her handmade soap.”
Rick ran his hand through his hair and stared at Marquetta. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he had to. “Why…why would she make soap for me?”
“It would be something Michelle made with her own hands that touches your body.”
“No! No way.” The heat began low in Rick’s chest and radiated all the way up to his cheeks. “I can’t make that image go away. Put the cookies somewhere. Anywhere. Give them to a guest. Take them home. I don’t care.”
“What are you going to tell Michelle the next time you see her?”
Frankly, he had no idea whatsoever. He swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
“That’s what I thought.” Marquetta closed the bag and smiled at him. “Twenty-two mothers, boss. They have you in their sights.”
As she walked away, he was sure he heard her laughing to herself.
A male voice said, “Sure wish I had your problem.”
Rick spun on his heel and saw one of the guests standing a few feet away. “Excuse me, Mr. Spaulding?”
“The marriage thing. You know, all those prospective brides. Wow.”
If only Mr. Spaulding weren’t wearing black socks and shoes with a Hawaiian shirt so bright you needed sunglasses to look at it. If only he didn’t come across as a dog in heat. The way he leered at women was disgusting.
Rick raised one hand as though he were taking an oath. “I’m not in the market for a wife, Mr. Spaulding. I’m more concerned about raising my daughter. Michelle’s mother has good intentions, but her daughter’s way too young for me.”
“I hear you. But she’s hot. I wouldn’t mind.” The corners of Mr. Spaulding’s mouth curled downwards and his red, bushy eyebrows shot up a couple of times. He growled long and low, then laughed. “You know what I mean. Oh yeah, you do.”
Rick laughed politely, but chalked up another if only. The guy needed a real sense of humor, not whatever this was. Too many if only’s for the man to ignite the passions of a twenty-something prospective bride—especially a sweet girl like Michelle.
“Are there really twenty-two mothers in this town who’d love to marry off their daughters?”
Mr. Spaulding made a noise Rick didn’t understand, but assumed had something to do with the man’s baser instincts. He needed to quell this discussion right now.
“Yes,” Rick said. “It’s some sort of bizarre marriage competition.” He quickly added, “It’s a small town and they all want their daughters to settle down here.”
Mr. Spaulding’s eyes lit up. “What do they look like?”
“Who?”
“The daughters. Or maybe the mothers.” Mr. Spaulding waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
Oh, good God. Carve another notch in the DOA gun belt for his guest. What part of “Mid Forties Lecher” being a bad image did he not get? It was way past time for a change of subject.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Spaulding?”
“I’m a glass blower. I’ve discovered over time I do better in a physical job. Working with my hands is my strength. I’m visiting this little berg because I’m looking for a place to relocate my business.” He adjusted his glasses and peered at Rick. “I’ve run a successful operation in Minneapolis for twenty years, but it’s time for me to find new inspiration. This town appears to be full of that.”
Finally, thought Rick. The man had assets. A business. Ambition. Maybe there was hope for Mr. Spaulding yet.
“I’m sure you’ll do well here. If you’re thinking of relocating, you might want to talk to our mayor. She runs Scoops & Scones. It’s the ice cream shop in town.” He paused and looked out the front door where he saw Deputy Cunningham ambling up the steps, his uniform crisply pressed, the black leather of his utility belt brightly polished.
Rick introduced the two men, but it was obvious the deputy had something he wanted to talk about.
“What’s up, Adam?”
The deputy took a deep breath, then tilted his head toward the nearby staircase. “I need to talk to you alone, Rick.”
“I’m heading into town,” Mr. Spaulding said as he waved goodbye. “I’ll let you two talk.”
When his guest had gone out the front door and disappeared from view, Rick chuckled. “Poor man, his shirt is bright enough to light up my dining room.”
“Maybe he’s colorblind. Can we go someplace private?”
“How about my office? What’s this about?”
“Flynn O’Connor.”
CHAPTER 5
RICK
Rick led the way upstairs. As he unlocked his office door, he had a rush of thoughts. Had he left a mess on his desk? Were papers strewn everywhere? Why was he so worried about making a good impression? To cover his bases, he made an excuse before opening the door.
“It’s been a busy couple of days with all the guests we have. I’ve barely had time to look at my desk,” he said.
“No worries.” Deputy Cunningham tapped himself on the chest. “I happen to be a bit disorganized myself. If I don’t have a bunch of papers, books, and miscellaneous crap on the desktop, I can’t think. It drove my father nuts because he was the exact opposite.”
When they entered the room and Rick saw his cleared-off desk, he shrugged. “Well, look at that. Guess I did straighten up. Like I said, we’ve been swamped.” He gestured at the chair on the other side of the massive desk he’d inherited from his grandfather. “You said this was about Miss O’Connor?”
Clues in the Sand Page 2
