Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel)

by Sophie Moss

  Taylor.

  “We’re not doing an interview,” Annie said coldly, striding across the room and taking the picture back.

  Grace blinked. “What?”

  “An interview,” Annie repeated, tucking the picture into her back pocket. “We’re not doing one.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  Annie turned away. She grabbed the nearest box, ripped the tape off and started pulling out dishes.

  In the days following the shooting, every major newspaper and TV news network had called for an interview. They’d told her how sorry they were, that they couldn’t imagine what she and Taylor were going through, but they needed a firsthand account from the sole survivor. They needed a statement from Annie.

  Some had even had the nerve to show up at the restaurant, at her workplace, hoping for a comment.

  It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to get out of there. She didn’t want Taylor’s childhood to be defined by what had happened at Mount Pleasant. She wanted a fresh start, for both of them. “We came here to get away from that.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Grace said quietly.

  When Annie looked up and saw the compassion in Grace’s eyes, she took a deep breath and set the dishes down.

  “Listen,” Grace said. “If you’re not doing anything later, you should come to Rusty’s. My brother and a bunch of our friends will be there. I’d be happy to introduce you around.”

  “Isn’t that the bar at the end of Pier Street?” Annie asked.

  Grace nodded. “The sign on the door says Rusty Rudder but everybody around here calls it Rusty’s.”

  “I’m not sure I should bring my daughter to a bar.”

  “It’s not like the bars you’re used to in D.C. It’s a family place. Lots of kids will be there. Your contractor will be there. In fact,” she said, glancing down at her watch, “he’s probably there now.”

  Annie turned slowly to face her. “Now?”

  Grace nodded. “If you come in tonight, find me first. I want to watch you give him hell for standing you up.”

  The wind gusted through the streets, sending a flurry of leaves into a spin. “How do you know he’s standing me up?”

  “Jimmy Faulkner’s damn good at what he does, but he never makes it to an appointment unless you drag his ass off the bar stool.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Don’t worry.” Grace’s sneakers squeaked over the tiles as she walked to the door. “You’ll get the hang of how things work around here, but don’t expect anything to operate on D.C. time.” She laid her hand on the doorknob, glancing back at Annie. “When were you thinking of opening?”

  “December.”

  “I’d plan for February or March, to be safe. You should expect to open at least two to three months after the date he gives you.”

  Two to three months? She didn’t have enough savings to survive with no income until March. She was barely going to make it to December.

  Grace opened the door and a cold wind swirled into the room, carrying the salty scent of the Bay.

  Annie walked out onto the porch after her. “You’re sure Jimmy’s at Rusty’s?”

  “I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet.”

  Annie slammed the door behind them. “I think I’ll go have a chat with him now.”

  Annie marched into Rusty’s, her gaze landing on the five men sitting on swivel stools at the wooden bar. “Which one is he?” she asked Grace, who’d insisted on tagging along.

  “Second from the right,” Grace said.

  Annie’s eyes locked on a man in a blue flannel shirt and ripped jeans. He wore a faded ball cap and his dark brown hair was shot with gray. He was probably in his mid-forties.

  “Jimmy Faulkner,” she called, raising her voice over the baseball game blasting from the flat screen TV behind the bar.

  Jimmy turned, a lazy smile on his tanned weathered face.

  Annie crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you forget something?”

  He looked her up and down, raising a brow in appreciation. “Honey, whatever it is I forgot, let me make it up to you.” He shoved playfully at the man on the stool beside him. “Move it, Robbie. The lady wants to sit down.”

  “I do not want to sit down.” Annie walked toward him. “I want to know why you never made it to our appointment this afternoon.”

  Jimmy took a pull from his Budweiser bottle. “So you’re the one who bought the Peasleys’ place.”

  “I am.” Annie’s blood boiled when she saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. “You were supposed to meet me there over an hour ago.”

  Jimmy tapped his fingers on the bar. “Dave,” he said, his deep voice calling for the bartender. “How about a drink for our lady friend?” He swiveled back to face Annie. “What are you having?”

  “I’m not having anything until you give me an estimate for my renovations.”

  Jimmy smiled and hooked his work boot under an empty bar stool, dragging it over so it was right beside his. “Why don’t you hop on up here and tell me what you want done and I’ll give you a number.”

  Grace walked up beside her, and Annie caught the angry look in the other woman’s eyes as Grace opened her mouth to tell Jimmy exactly where he could put that stool.

  Annie put her hand on Grace’s arm, silencing her. I’ll handle this.

  “You know what,” Annie said, smiling sweetly at Jimmy, “I think I will take that drink.” She glanced up at the bartender. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, with lots of ice.”

  “Coming right up,” Dave said, glancing over at Grace. “You having anything?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Grace said, looking back and forth between Annie and Jimmy.

  Jimmy patted the bar stool beside him for Annie. “Listen, honey, I’ve done all the work at your place for the last three owners. I know that building as well as the back of my hand.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Annie slid onto the stool, edging close enough so their shoulders were touching and she could smell the beer on his breath. She lowered her voice. “I hear you’re pretty good at what you do.”

  He took another pull from his bottle. “I am.”

  She reached across him to retrieve her drink from the bar and her breasts brushed lightly against his arm. When she leaned back, she caught the shift in his eyes. He was focused on her now, extremely focused. “I hear your crew is the best on the island.”

  “That’s right.”

  She stirred her drink slowly, drawing his eyes down to the neckline of her shirt. “I don’t want to waste my time with a crew who can’t get it right the first time.”

  He swallowed, and she watched the Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat.

  “But I’ve also heard that your crew can be slow.” She lowered her lips to the straw, looking up at him through her lashes. “That they don’t finish when you say they’re going to.”

  “Slow means quality.”

  “I’m just wondering,” she said, sucking a sip of gin and tonic through the straw and holding his gaze, “how slow are we talking about?”

  He tipped the brim of his John Deer cap back, wiping at the sweat forming on his brow. “I’ve got a crew of guys at a house in Sherwood and another working on a renovation project in St. Michaels. As soon as they’re done, you’re next.”

  Annie fished a piece of ice out of the glass and rolled it around on her tongue. “When do you think they might be done?”

  “December.” Jimmy’s voice was strained. “January, at the latest.”

  Annie’s eyes widened innocently. “But when we spoke on the phone last week, you said you would be finished at my place by December.”

  “That might have been a tad optimistic.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, running her tongue lightly over her bottom lip. When she heard his breath catch, she glanced back at him. “What are the chances of fitting me in sooner?”

  “I’m not sure I can do that.”

&nb
sp; “No?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s too bad,” she said, standing. Tipping her glass over, she poured the ice cold drink into his lap. “I was really looking forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Jimmy scrambled off the stool, knocking over the one she’d been sitting on and stumbling over it.

  The men at the bar howled with laughter as he cupped his hands over the front of his jeans and stared at the wet stain seeping into the denim.

  “Fit me in sooner,” Annie snapped, turning on her heels and stalking to the door. “And don’t call me honey ever again.”

  Annie pushed out the door, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. Her stomach roiled from the stench of cheap beer on Jimmy’s breath. It reminded her too much of New Orleans and the run-down apartment where she and her mother had lived above a seedy bar on Bourbon Street when she was a teenager.

  Those two years had been the worst years of her life. Her mother’s drinking, which had always been a problem, had gotten completely out of control. All the money Annie had earned waiting tables had gone into supplementing their rent. Because, once again, her mother’s muse had deserted her.

  God forbid she ever got a real job to pay the bills.

  It was much easier to rely on her resourceful daughter to find a way to make ends meet.

  “Wait,” Grace trailed after her, laughing. “Annie, come back.”

  “I need to start searching for a new contractor,” Annie said, striding across the parking lot. “Immediately.”

  Grace caught up with her. “Jimmy will come around as soon as his pants dry. Come on, let me buy you another drink. Everyone inside is dying to meet you now.”

  Annie shook her head. Jimmy Faulkner had deserved getting a drink poured in his lap, but she knew now that her chances of getting him to start on her renovations before the end of the year were close to zero.

  She couldn’t make it to next spring without opening the restaurant. She’d expected to be limping along for the first several months. She’d known things wouldn’t really pick up until the resort opened on the island. But at least she would have been moving forward, making progress, building a name for herself in the area.

  What if the resort never came? What if Will wouldn’t change his mind about selling to the developer? What was she going to do?

  “Annie.” Grace put her hand on her arm, stopping her. “Is everything okay?”

  Annie’s phone buzzed and she reached into her pocket. “I need to get this. It might be my daughter’s school.”

  She checked the number. It wasn’t the school, but it was a local number that looked familiar. She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Annie,” a deep male voice came through the line. “It’s Chase Townsend from Choptank Bank and Trust.

  The banker who’d issued her mortgage and business loan was calling her on her cell? This was not good. Annie walked a few yards away, signaling to Grace that she’d be back in a minute. “Is everything all right?”

  “There’s been a complication with the sale of the inn.”

  Annie’s gaze fell to a trail of crushed oyster shells. “What kind of complication?”

  “As you know, I took a gamble on your loan because my son was closing a deal with Morningstar to build a resort on this island. Your restaurant seemed like a good investment at the time. But we’re not sure that sale is going to happen anymore. This is a small bank, Annie. We don’t take many risks, especially in this market. I made an exception in your case, but after re-reviewing your finances today, I’m concerned.”

  Annie twisted the toe of her boot into the oyster shells. “I’m still going to make the payments.”

  “How?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Would you mind sharing it with me?”

  “I’m still working out the details.”

  “Come by the bank on Monday. I’ll review your new proposal and decide if we can still issue the loan.”

  The line went dead and Annie lowered the phone.

  She heard Grace’s footsteps coming closer.

  “Is everything okay?” Grace asked again.

  Annie looked up at her. “I think I could use that drink now.”

  “A resort?” Grace gaped at her. “On Heron Island?”

  Annie nodded. They’d gotten a table outside on the deck, overlooking the water. Workboats bobbed in the slips in Magnolia Harbor. The gravelly voices of a dozen watermen sorting through the day’s catch rose over the Bay. “I’m surprised Spencer didn’t say anything. I figured everyone knew.”

  “Spencer!” Grace seethed. “That little weasel. I should have known he was behind this.” She dug in her pocket for her cell phone. “We definitely did not know.” She searched through her contacts, pressing a button before lifting the phone to her ear. “If we’d known, we would have been fighting to stop it.”

  “You don’t want a resort here?”

  “No,” Grace said emphatically.

  “But what about the jobs it would create?” Annie asked. “The tourists it would bring to the island?”

  “That would only be the beginning,” Grace said. “Within a few years, they’d be planning an eighteen hole golf course and a gated community that would cut the land off from the people who grew up here.”

  Annie twisted the stem of her wine glass. “That seems extreme.”

  “I’ve seen it happen before.” Pulling the phone away from her ear, Grace cursed as she hung up. “He’s not answering.”

  “Who?”

  “Spencer!” Grace tossed the phone onto the table, narrowing her eyes. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “But you live in the city,” Annie protested. “You know what it’s like to want to get away, to escape to a place like this on the weekends.”

  “A place like this!” Grace swept her arm out, emphasizing the casual picnic table seating and salt-weathered siding of Rusty’s, the marina filled with workboats and undeveloped marshlands beyond. “Heron Island is one of the last places on the Eastern Shore that still feels like the Shore. A resort would completely change that.”

  “What would change besides having a few more people here?” Annie asked. “A few more restaurants and shops on Main Street to cater to them?”

  “Nothing, at first,” Grace admitted. “But over the years, the businesses that moved in would cater solely to the tourists. The rents on Main Street would skyrocket and the current businesses would be forced out by chic restaurants, upscale decorating shops, and designer clothing stores—places no local could afford.”

  Annie looked out at the water, watching a blue heron stalk out of the marshes. She’d moved here to open a fine dining restaurant, but she had no intention of putting anyone else out of business. Yes, she had planned to cater more to the tourists, but she’d hoped to provide a place for the islanders to come on special occasions—anniversaries, birthdays, graduations.

  When she’d first contacted Spencer about the building on Main Street and he’d told her about the resort, she’d researched the local area and found that the closest fine dining restaurant was twenty miles away from Heron Island.

  She’d seen a need in the market, and she’d decided to fill it.

  Across the table, Grace shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”

  Annie picked up her glass, taking a sip of her white wine. “If it makes you feel any better, it might not even happen now.”

  “It better not.” Grace looked out at the water. “I can’t believe Will even considered selling his grandparents’ land to a developer.”

  “He didn’t.” Annie set down her wine. “He didn’t even know about it until last night.”

  “Wait…what?” Grace’s head swiveled back to face her. “You’ve talked to him?”

  Annie nodded.

  “Will’s here?” Grace’s mouth fell open. “On the island?”

  “Yes.”

  Grace grabbed her
phone, punching in a new number. She lifted it back to her ear, and the person on the other end answered immediately. “Hey…yeah, I just heard. Did he tell you he was coming home? No, me neither. He’s having drinks with us tonight? What? You want me to be nice? It’s been ten years, Ryan!” She shook her head at the voice on the other end of the line. “Yeah, sure…whatever. I’ll see you at five.”

  Annie watched as Grace hung up the call and dropped the phone back on the table. “Were you and Will…friends?”

  “Yeah,” Grace said bitterly. “You could say that.” She shook her head as the blue heron squawked and spread its long wings, lifting into a low glide over the surface. “We used to be best friends.”

  “Did something happen before he left?”

  Grace picked up her beer, taking a long sip. “What happened is that he left, and never looked back.”

  Annie and Taylor sat on Taylor’s bed after school, surrounded by construction paper, colored yarn, and a box of trinkets they’d collected on their walks in D.C. over the years: feathers, beads, glossy rocks, jingle bells that had fallen off the floats during the Christmas parade, green glass bottles that had washed ashore along the Potomac, and—Taylor’s favorite—shiny pink ribbons that had been left on the fences after the Cherry Blossom Festival.

  “Look.” Taylor held up a strand of yarn decorated with blue jay feathers and sparkling red beads.

  Annie forced a smile, taking the strand of yarn and standing on the bed in her socks. If what Grace had told her that afternoon was true, that Chase Townsend wouldn’t think twice about backing out on her loan if it wasn’t a sound investment, then she needed to come up with a new plan fast.

  She looped it around a hook and sat back down, watching Taylor pull out another spool of yarn from the box. “You still haven’t told me how the rest of your day at school went.”

  Taylor dug through the rest of the trinkets, pulling out a charm bracelet someone had left on the floor of the S2 bus that ran down 16th Street. “I like my teacher. She’s nice.”

  Annie threaded a piece of string through a yellow construction paper gingko leaf. “How about the other kids in your class? How were they?”