An Unexpected Visitor
A Tale from Blythe Cove Manor
Lorraine Bartlett
Contents
Description
Acknowledgments
1. A Dark and Stormy Night
2. Dinner For Two
3. Happy Hollandaise
4. A Second Visitor
5. A Christmas Eve To Remember
Blythe’s Recipes
About the Author
Also by Lorraine Bartlett
Description
by
Lorraine Bartlett
A Tale From Blythe Cove Manor
All is quiet at Blythe Cove Manor as its proprietress, Blythe Calvert, anticipates a peaceful holiday along with her cat, Martha. But then a taxi pulls up and drops off a troubled, runaway teen looking for a safe haven. Can the magic of Blythe Cove Manor heal this young girl’s aching heart?
Copyright © 2016 by Lorraine Bartlett. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Publisher’s Note: The recipes contained in this ebook should be followed as written. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this ebook.
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For more information on Lorraine’s books, check out her website: http://www.LorraineBartlett.com
Other Books By Lorraine Bartlett
The Victoria Square Mysteries
A Crafty Killing
The Walled Flower
One Hot Murder
Dead, Bath and Beyond (with Laurie Cass)
Recipes To Die For: A Victoria Square Cookbooks
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Life On Victoria Square
(A companion series to the Victoria Square Mysteries)
Carving Out A Path
A Basket Full of Bargains
The Broken Teacup
* * *
The Lotus Bay Mysteries
Panty Raid
(A Tori Cannon-Kathy Grant mini mystery)
With Baited Breath
Christmas At Swans Nest
(A Tori Cannon-Kathy Grant mini mystery)
* * *
Blythe Cove Manor
A Dream Weekend
A Final Gift
An Unexpected Visitor
* * *
Tales of Telenia (adventure-fantasy)
THRESHOLD
JOURNEY
TREACHERY
* * *
Short Stories
Love & Murder: A Bargain-Priced Collection of Short Stories
Happy Holidays? (A Collection of Christmas Stories)
An Unconditional Love
Love Heals
Blue Christmas
Prisoner of Love
We’re So Sorry, Uncle Albert
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
My thanks go to my proofreaders: Mr. L, Linda Kuzminczuk, Debbie Lyon, and Donna Russell.
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Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
1
A Dark and Stormy Night
The sun set way too early in December, and on that evening, the snow fell fast and furiously. At least that was the impression Blythe Calvert got as she looked out the big picture window that overlooked her sleeping gardens. It was the perfect Christmas weather—even if the holiday was still two days away. Of course, once she turned off the outside light, the wind-whipped flakes seemed to disappear into the wintery gloom.
Cupped in her hands was a mug of cocoa that she’d spiked with half a shot of peppermint schnapps. It would be a quiet holiday at Blythe Cove Manor. It wasn’t that Blythe didn’t want to spend the day with her extended family or friends, but it had been a hectic year, and more than anything she craved peace and quiet. Not that she didn’t love taking care of her guests—she did. But she’d made a deliberate choice this year to have a few days before and after the holiday to be by herself and revel in solitude.
Of course, Martha’s Vineyard in December wasn’t exactly a destination spot. The cruel, raw wind off the ocean and the pelting snow were enough to make the toughest islanders long to hunker down before a blazing hearth. New Englanders were used to winter’s blitz—especially those born on the island. The local cemetery was full of Calverts who’d lived and died on the island for over two hundred years. The house where she now stood was almost as old. It had been added onto over the generations and the main house now boasted a dozen guest rooms. It was a stretch for one woman to operate such an establishment, but with seasonal help it was more than doable.
Blythe had given her most recent helper a nice holiday bonus, and the inn wasn’t scheduled to reopen until February for Valentine’s Day. That would give Blythe time to feel restored and plan for the boisterous summer to come.
She wandered into the living room and breathed in the scent of the ten-foot, spruce Christmas tree that decorated the southeast corner of the room. It held not only vintage family ornaments, but popcorn and cranberry garlands, as well as ornaments gifted by former patrons. It pleased Blythe to look at it.
In a basket filled with quilts that languished near the fireplace, Martha—Blythe Cove Manor’s mascot tabby cat—slept in heavenly peace. Blythe walked past her kitty, giving her pet a skritch behind the ear and was rewarded with a sleepy “Brrrp.”
Blythe ambled over to the TV. She’d set out a number of DVDs to choose from for her evening’s entertainment, but it was still too early to even contemplate what she would watch. Among the titles were White Christmas, Love Actually, and The Polar Express.
Blythe smiled. She wasn’t yet ready to make her decision. First she would make some New England clam chowder, eat a couple of homemade rolls spread with a thick coating of sweet butter, and then hunker down on the couch with Martha on her lap to enjoy one of her favorite holiday movies. But there were still hours and hours to pass before that would happen.
So she picked up the remote for the stereo system, cranked up the sound, and enjoyed yet another carol from the five-disk CD player. Yes, it would have been pleasant to spend the holiday with friends or family, but she was also quite comfortable being alone with her cat.
Blythe settled in on the couch and sipped her cocoa, letting the holiday music saturate her soul like a sponge soaking up water. The warmth of the crackling fire was pleasant, and as she sipped the last of the chocolate, she reflected on Christmases past spent with her parents, her grandparents, aunts and uncles, and a myriad of cousins—far too many of whom had passed on during the years. While she mourned their loss, she also celebrated their lives and how they had enriched her own.
The wind seemed to pick up, howling even louder, but Blythe wasn’t at all concerned. No matter what Mother Nature delivered, she knew the big gas-powered generator on the south side of the inn would keep her—and the old homestead—safe from the elements.
And so it was that she hunkered deeper into the reaches of the big leather couch, setting her feet on the old blanket chest that served as a coffee table, and felt every muscle in her body begin to relax. As she was about to give in to drowsiness, she felt a soft presence settle on her thighs and knew that Martha had decided to abandon her quilt haven for the warmth of her owner’s lap.
All was right with the world, and nothing could spoil Blythe’s seren
ity.
And then she heard the sound of a car engine outside the front of the manor, and seconds later, the sound of someone hammering on the front door.
“Sorry, Martha,” Blythe said as she set her mug aside and lifted the cat off her lap, then got up to answer the door.
She looked through the peep hole and saw Ed Thomas, a local taxi driver. What in the world?
Blythe threw open the door.
Ed stood before her, huddled into his worn corduroy jacket, a hunting cap with the earflaps pulled down, and rubbing his hands for warmth. “Hey, Ed, what brings you out on a night like this?”
“I’ve got a customer for you.”
“I’m closed,” Blythe said firmly. “I won’t reopen until Valentine’s Day weekend. You know that.”
“Yeah, well … the little lady didn’t think ahead to make reservations. And,” he said regretfully, “I suspect she hasn’t got any money, which is why I didn’t take her to the big inn in Edgartown. Truth is, I don’t even know if she can pay me for bringing her out here.”
“Little lady?” Blythe asked. “A child?”
“Not much more than. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. I think she might be a runaway. I figured if she was, that you might be the one who can best deal with her.”
“There is the police station.”
“Aw, Blythe—it’s almost Christmas.”
So it was.
There went Blythe’s plans for a solitary holiday—or at least evening. And if the girl was a runaway, then what must her parents be thinking—wherever they were? Probably hoping that the girl ended up with a sympathetic individual who would take care of their precious daughter. Blythe had never walked away from a problem before; she wouldn’t now.
She sighed. “Okay. Bring her in.”
Ed nodded and went back to his vehicle. Blythe watched as he opened the back passenger side door, spoke to his charge, and then offered a hand to help her out of the back seat. The young girl wasn’t dressed for the weather, wearing a light jacket inappropriate for the weather, a minuscule black skirt, tights, with her feet clad in black flats. She stood in the cold, waiting for Ed to grab her luggage from the trunk of his car. Then he toted it up to the front door, with her following behind.
“This here’s Blythe Calvert. She owns Blythe Cove Manor.” The girl said nothing, her brown eyes wide and scared. “You won’t find a nicer place to stay on the island,” Ed said.
The girl looked back to him. “Thank you.”
The three of them looked at each other as the wind blew in the terrible cold air.
“What do you need, Ed?” Blythe asked.
“Not a damn thing, Blythe. Merry Christmas—and to you, too, little lady.”
The young girl said nothing.
Ed gave a wave and headed back to his taxi. The girl and Blythe watched him return to his vehicle, then back out and drive down the dark drive.
“Come in before we both freeze,” Blythe said. The girl grabbed the handle on her small suitcase and dragged it inside. Blythe closed the door and the two of them stood in the entryway, looking at one another.
“You know my name; I guess it’s time you told me yours.”
“Shelby ”
“Hi, Shelby. Do you have a last name?”
The girl shook her head.
The child wasn’t going to make this easy.
Blythe forced a smile. “Welcome to Blythe Cove Manor.”
“Did you name your hotel after yourself?” Shelby asked.
Blythe shook her head. “No. My parents named me after the cove.”
“What’s a cove?”
“A safe inlet from the sea.”
“Is this a safe place?” Shelby asked, her voice wobbling.
“Yes, it is.”
Shelby looked like she might want to cry. What was this poor little girl running away from?
“Can I take your coat?” Blythe asked.
Shelby shook her head. She looked chilled to the bone. “It’s such a cold night. I just had a cup of cocoa to warm me up. But after opening the door, I think I might need another one. How about you?”
Shelby didn’t answer; just nodded vigorously. Hungry, too, Blythe would bet.
“Come into the kitchen and keep me company while I make a fresh batch.”
“Okay.” Shelby grasped the handle of her small suitcase, pulling it behind her as she followed Blythe into the long galley kitchen. She took in the pleasant space, her eyes widening. “What is that?” she asked, eyeing the massive, ivory Aga cooker.
“It’s a stove. A cooker, actually. It’s English. It’s probably not like what you’re used to seeing in a kitchen.”
“No,” Shelby said, her eyes wide, her voice a whisper.
“It’s really very efficient…once you get a handle on how it works.”
Shelby looked skeptical, but said nothing. She watched in silence as Blythe measured the milk, cocoa powder, and sugar into a saucepan.
“Do you like cookies?” Blythe asked.
Shelby nodded, still looking like a loud noise might make her bolt for cover.
Blythe reached over to a covered plastic container, lifted the lid, and offered the girl a cut-out cookie. She’d made them earlier in the day, taking her time to decorate each and every one. Half of them were hearts covered in pink frosting, which she would freeze and bring out to guests during her Valentine’s weekend. Shelby shook her head and Blythe replaced the canister.
“So, you’re not from around here,” Blythe said as she stirred the milky mixture.
“No,” Shelby admitted.
“New to the island?”
“Sort of. I came here two years ago with my Aunt Alicia.”
“It’s a nice place to visit. And an even better place to live—if you can stand the winters,” Blythe said rather blithely.
“We came in the summer,” Shelby admitted. “But it was the best vacation I ever had. Well, it was the only vacation I ever had.”
“So where do you hail from?” Blythe asked.
“Around,” Shelby answered evasively.
“I was born right here on the island—like many generations of my family.”
“Where is your family?” Shelby said, looking around. “You seem to be alone here.”
“Yes, I am. And this year, it’s by choice.”
“How come?”
Blythe shrugged, still stirring the cocoa. “I needed some time on my own. Martha and me.”
“Who’s Martha?” Shelby asked, looking around as if expecting someone to jump out of the shadows.
“My cat. Didn’t you see her when you came in?”
Shelby shook her head.
“Do you have any pets?”
“Rick has a pit bull. I’m afraid of it.”
“Rick?” Blythe asked.
“My mother’s boyfriend.”
“What’s the dog’s name?”
“Dog.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Rick keeps him tied up outside most of the time. I tried to make friends with it, but it’s too wild.”
“And why’s that?”
“Rick has him trained to fight.”
Blythe’s stomach did a flip-flop. “The poor thing.”
“Yeah,” Shelby said, her gaze fixed on the tile floor.
Bubbles began to form around the edges of the mixture. Blythe added the vanilla, stirred, and then took the pan off the hob. “Cocoa’s ready. Reach up into that cupboard overhead and you’ll find some mugs.”
Shelby did as she was asked and came up with two matching mugs with cats on them. Blythe had bought them from a local potter several years before. The sight of one or both of them always made her smile.
She poured the cocoa into the mugs, settled a couple of green-frosted Christmas cookies onto a plate and set everything on a tray. “Come on. Let’s take this into the living room.”
Still pulling her small suitcase, Shelby followed Blythe past the tables in the dining area to the big couch and
chest, where Blythe set down the tray. Thanks to the fire, the area was toasty warm, and finally Shelby unzipped her coat.
“Can I hang it up now?” Blythe asked.
Again, Shelby shook her head.
They sat down. Shelby made sure her case was situated beside her—in case she had to make a fast getaway? Blythe picked up a mug and a cookie, and sat back. Shelby settled on the edge of the cushion farthest away from her hostess and looked around, as though assessing the threat of danger. What was the poor girl afraid of?
“A little later, I thought I might watch a movie. How would you like that?”
Shelby shrugged. Her gaze had focused on one of the cookies.
“They’re good cookies,” Blythe said. “I made them myself.”
“The frozen kind you bake?”
Blythe shook her head. “No, from scratch.”
“What does that mean?”
“I measured the flour, sugar, and other ingredients, then I rolled out the dough, used cookie cutters for the various shapes, and baked and frosted them.”
“It seems like a lot of work for something that just gets eaten.”
“I enjoy baking and cooking. Some people say that cooking is an expression of love.”
“We eat McDonalds. It’s cheap.”
“I guess so,” Blythe reluctantly agreed.
Shelby’s gaze went once again to the cookie, and she quickly snatched it up, devouring it in two bites. Then she grabbed the mug of cocoa and drank it down in less than ten swallows. The kid must have been starving.
She set the mug back down, and wriggled out of the sleeves of her jacket. This time, Blythe didn’t ask to hang it up.
“So, is this some kind of hotel?” Shelby asked.
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