All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  “No problem.” She motioned for him to reach the large salad bowl on the top shelf. She was as familiar with Quentin’s place as her own. Many Friday nights, especially in winter, Sara would sleep in the extra bedroom rather than go home to her apartment. “Anything happen this week? I heard from Sandi that Hannah and Carrie were in town and they all had dinner at Lauren’s.”

  “Yeah, no riot police were called in, as far as I know,” he quipped.

  “Good. I know both Joe and Lauren have talked to Hannah on the phone but, still, meeting your grandmother for the first time face to face . . .”

  Sara moved a file folder from the kitchen table to make room for the chopping board. “Should I put this on your desk, Quentin? It looks important.”

  He turned back from the stove. “Yeah, it’s some information on Winterberry Land Development. I haven’t had time to look at it. That’s the group that Kevin Gillis is part of.”

  “Have you met him?”

  Quentin nodded. “This week.”

  “And you’re checking him out? I thought Kurt wasn’t interested.”

  “I’m just curious. Kurt has agreed to be interviewed by him for an article he’s writing. As it turns out, it was worth the investigation.”

  “Why?”

  “Most of the land that Kevin Gillis and his company bought in Newfoundland once belonged to Charles Sinclair.”

  “Really! Sandi and Joe mentioned that Gillis is interested in the Sinclair house, too. What’s up with that, Quent? The place is not even on the market.”

  “According to him, it’s just business. As far as the Sinclair house is concerned, he plans to turn it into an inn. I guess he wants to be the first to make an offer. I can’t help but wonder why he’s so interested in Sinclair property.”

  An hour later, Quentin started to relay the information about Kevin Gillis to his dinner guests, adding his description of Kevin’s visit to his office.

  At the end of the table, David listened intently as he reached for his glass of chardonnay. “What do you think of him? Is he upfront?”

  Quentin shrugged. “He came here with a mission to develop some properties on the east coast. Fair enough, I guess, but I was curious as to why his first move was to meet Kurt. He had not met him before, and Kurt is not in the business of selling land. His excuse was he’s writing an article on east coast entrepreneurs and wants to interview him.”

  “That sounds legitimate. Do you think it’s just an excuse?” Sara asked.

  “I think he’s writing a piece on Water Street businesses ostensibly as a way of finding out more about Charles.”

  Joe pondered their words. “He showed me his portfolio when he was in my office. Winterberry’s interested in several properties.”

  “Yeah, as I mentioned to Sara earlier, the land that Winterberry Development has purchased—all of it—was once owned by Charles Sinclair. In fact, one piece of land he bought is on Devon Point, where my grandparents are from. Charles also owned the land that Kevin bought in Planter’s Bight. Nice spot, but why the interest?”

  Joe laid down his fork. “I can explain that. I took him to Planter’s Bight this morning to see the land. It turns out that he was born there. He was a teenager when his family moved to Halifax.”

  “He never told Dad that he was a Newfoundlander,” Lauren observed.

  “I know, but he claims that he was advised several years ago to keep the details of his life private, especially as someone who was in business.”

  “Fair enough, I guess,” Lauren judged.

  But Quentin’s facial expression indicated he was not convinced.

  Joe continued. “I do know that he has a strong attachment to Planter’s Bight, but I don’t know if the memories are good or painful.”

  David sat back and stretched his arms above his head. “For what it’s worth, the land in that area has gone up a lot in value recently. He likely paid a high price for it. I know, because my grandparents in Clarke’s Beach have had several offers on their place. Not that they’re moving.”

  “I know the land is pricey,” Joe explained, “but Kevin got that property for a good price. And I mean really cheap.”

  Quentin considered his friend’s words, as he got up from the table to flick on the coffee pot and pick up dessert in the kitchen.

  Joe took the small plates from Quentin and passed them around the table. “On the way back, he asked me about Dad. How he made his money, that sort of thing. I didn’t give him much to go on.”

  “As I said, I think he’s hoping we’ll give him what he needs on your grandfather. The other stuff might be just a ploy.” Quentin cut up a Bavarian apple torte and distributed the pieces.

  “Quentin, you’re never satisfied until you have a mystery to solve,” David teased. “Not everyone is underhanded.”

  “We’ll see,” Quentin responded, unconvinced.

  “I’ve no intention of sharing stories of Charles,” Joe pointed out. “The man is deceased. Anything that would come out now would hurt only one person, a daughter he left behind.”

  “Two daughters,” Lauren corrected her brother. “We keep forgetting about Emily.

  Sitting next to her, Alan was as intrigued by the man’s intentions as Quentin. “I can understand his interest in Planter’s Bight, as that’s where he was born. Many people are sentimental, especially as they grow older. But I’m curious about his apparent need to buy the Sinclair house. Is it just a business opportunity to him?”

  Quentin perked up at his friend’s speculation. “Good question. It’s the way he went about it. First, he talked to Kurt. Then, he tracked down Jeanne. It just seems an odd way to do things, that’s all, especially for someone who doesn’t live here. He should be meeting real estate people. And, by the way, he’s had several conversations with Jonathan Hamlyn, so I assume that’s where he got his information about the family.”

  “He also asked me about the house and why we wouldn’t want to live in it,” Joe added. “I sensed that he was offended that Sandi and I wouldn’t want the place.”

  Next to him, Sandi shuddered. “He can be offended all he likes.”

  “Exactly.” Joe took a mouthful of dessert and poured his coffee. “By the way, Mother offered me the Sinclair house last night as a wedding gift. Mind you, it was only after Sandi mentioned that we were looking at the house next door to you, David.”

  Around the table, everyone turned to look at Joe. “What did you say?” The question came as a chorus.

  Joe laughed. “What do you think?”

  “Still, it’s a generous gift,” Lauren noted, expecting an annoying look from her brother. “I’m just making an observation, Joe. You know that.”

  Alan spread a scoop of cream across the dessert on his plate. “I happened to be at the hotel earlier this week to do an interview. Jeanne and Kevin Gillis were there. I assume it was him. They seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.”

  Joe nodded. “He mentioned he had lunch with Mother and dinner on Tuesday night. He also mentioned you, Alan. He said he’s familiar with your writing.”

  “The guy came here prepared. I’ll give him that much.”

  Quentin shook his head. “Prepared, yes, but his intentions are questionable. Now that I’ve heard all of this, I’m beginning to wonder if he had an additional source of information besides Jonathan Hamlyn.”

  “In any event, Mother said last night that he wants to see the house. She’s agreed to take him there tomorrow.” Joe paused. “And for what it’s worth, he thinks that mother is fascinating.”

  Quentin feigned a choking noise.

  Alan raised an eyebrow. “Gee, guys,” he said, with a broad grin at his wife and brother-in-law, “your family might be expanding even more before the year is out.” Joe groaned at the thought and shook his head.
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br />   “On a different note,” Lauren said, as she helped Quentin gather the dishes, “I took Hannah to the cemetery today. She wanted to see Grandfather’s grave. It was very sad.”

  Joe turned to his sister. “She got upset?”

  Lauren nodded. “I think her feelings for him came back. She held my arm and sobbed for a while. I honestly didn’t expect such an emotional reaction. But I’ve been thinking about it this afternoon. When she knew him, he was in his late twenties.” She put up her hand. “I know, I know, that’s no excuse for the way he treated us. I’m just saying, that’s all. People change over the years.” She gave Joe her best impish grin. “I wonder what you’ll be like when you’re a grandfather.”

  “If I’m as contrary as Charles was, I want you or Sandi to have me put down,” Joe said, laughing.

  “Duly noted,” she responded. She turned back at the kitchen door. “I can tell you one thing, and that is the reaction I saw today was not from a woman who was coerced into any relationship. Her feelings were genuine and good. Of that I am absolutely certain.”

  * * * * *

  Steven Martel turned off the television and the downstairs lights and called to Mollie, who ran up the stairs ahead of him to settle down in the doorway of Jordy’s bedroom. A few minutes later, he pulled back the sheets and got into bed. Lindsay lay awake, staring at the ceiling. “Unusual for you to be awake at this hour,” he said. “You missed a great ball game.” He twisted around to set the alarm and smiled when he realized the next day was Saturday.

  “I assume the Blue Jays won.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She pulled her hair from the pillow. “I can’t help but think about today at Alva Green’s. She’s pretty sharp for her age, I must say. And full of life.” She tucked the sheets around her. “Steven, I want you to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I will not do anything awful to hurt Sandi on her wedding day.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, my love. Your son will see to it. Jordy would lock you in the basement before he’d allow you to interfere.”

  “True.”

  “Where’s this coming from?”

  “I was listening to Alva talk about Virginia Sinclair. Did you know she told Jeanne on her wedding day that she was not her mother? How mean is that?”

  “Rotten. But not surprising. Put that crowd out of your mind and go to sleep.” Steven stretched back and laid his glasses on the edge of the night table, turned off the lamp, and settled down under the sheets. As much as he wished to go to sleep, he knew it wouldn’t happen as long as Lindsay lay there staring at the ceiling. It was always her cue to talk. He closed his eyes and hoped she got the message. She did not.

  “Charles Sinclair loved Hannah,” she announced.

  “That’s nice. And how do you know that? Did he visit you in a dream?”

  “No.” She shook her head in amusement at the thought. “I heard Alva whisper it to Hannah when we were standing on the front steps. I tried to look like I wasn’t listening.”

  “Ah, that bionic hearing of yours.” Steven reached over to tweak her ear.

  “Don’t you think that’s sad, Steven, that the man loved her all his life and yet was married to someone else?”

  “Sad, yes, but he’s not the first, nor will he be the last.” He noticed her feigned stare and raised eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that, Lindsay. I’ve only loved one woman, Lindsay Mackenzie Martel, for thirty-five years. Now, go to sleep.”

  She looked up at the ceiling with a sense of self-satisfaction. “Good answer,” she pronounced, and then turned on her side to a husband who was relieved that the conversation was over. She closed her eyes. Still, it’s a side of Charles Sinclair that I didn’t know existed. She couldn’t help but wonder how much she didn’t know about Charles but definitely wanted to find out.

  * * * * *

  Relieved to have her home free of company, Jeanne took her latest murder mystery and headed to the comfort of her bed. Her mind, however, remained on the conversation she had had with Kevin earlier that week. While they planned to meet in the morning at the Sinclair house, now in the quiet of her bedroom she questioned her decision. She could not deny that she was attracted to the man; still, she sensed he knew more about her and her family than she knew about him. She was in no mood for more secrets. She turned over her book, leaned back on two pillows, and reviewed what little she did know about him. As she ran her fingers across the light edging of the cotton sheet, she recalled that he said he owned an inn, The Astilbe Inn, in Nova Scotia. Did he say the Wolfville area? Surely . . .

  She sat up and reached for the phone by her bedside. It rang three times before her sister answered.

  “Emily? It’s Jeanne. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” She glanced at the clock and saw that it was shortly after 10:00 p.m., which meant it was 9:30 p.m. for Emily.

  “No, no, I . . . ah . . . I’m just a little surprised. You rarely call at this hour.”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “No, I just got home.”

  Jeanne was surprised. “Home? Where were you?”

  “My book club. I told you about it. We meet once a month on a Friday evening. It’s a very exclusive group, Jeanne. I’m so fortunate to be a member.”

  “I’m sure.” Jeanne’s sarcasm went undetected.

  “Did I tell you that the only way to get in is to be recommended by two members?”

  “Very good.”

  “And they actually vote on their book selections.”

  “How nice.”

  They chatted for a while about the weather and their respective gardens.

  Eventually, Jeanne got to the purpose of her phone call. “Emily, I’m wondering if you’ve heard of a place called The Astilbe Inn.”

  “Heard of it?” Emily shrieked. “I just came from there. That’s where our book club meets. We’re so fortunate that the daughter of one of our members manages a local inn and restaurant. A beautiful place, Jeanne. Aptly named, since the garden is filled with astilbe of all colours. They have a room that we reserve for our meetings.”

  Jeanne squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Of course. There’s the answer. “I’m glad you have such a nice place,” she managed weakly.

  “Have you decided to come for a visit? Is that why you’re calling? We really need to talk.”

  “Perhaps later. Or you could visit here. It’s easier. I would have to fly to Halifax and get ground transportation to Wolfville.” She regretted her invitation as soon as she uttered the words. Emily tended to settle in for days whenever she visited, and Jeanne often had to scramble to find things for her to do.

  “Of course. Thank you. I’ll plan a visit, then.” She paused. “You sound especially anxious this evening. Did your company arrive?”

  “They were here and gone.”

  “Oh my. I certainly hope they don’t make it a regular occurrence.”

  Jeanne rolled her eyes. “They don’t come in town often,” she explained softly.

  “Good. That’s good. I hope they didn’t meet any of your friends while they were there.”

  Jeanne looked around her bedroom, bewildered. “Why not?”

  “Jeanne,” she said in a half-whisper, “you should know better. It’s one thing to acknowledge your biological mother, but to flaunt Father’s indiscretion around town with her and her other daughter in tow is entirely something else. It’s an embarrassment to the family and to Father.” She inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he would be so hurt, so disappointed.”

  Jeanne pursed her lips in defiance. “Might I remind you, Emily, that Father was the one who named Hannah in his will and left her a sizable portion of money?”

  “Of course. But have you thought that the woman and
her daughter demanded money from Father over the years?”

  Jeanne had had enough of the conversation. She sought a way out. She breathed deeply. “Emily, the inn you mentioned. Does it belong to Kevin Gillis?”

  After a prolonged pause, Emily responded. “Yes, it does.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve met him, but I don’t really know him.”

  Jeanne sighed. “Yes. Fine. That’s what I meant. The reason I’m asking is that he’s here in the city this week. I’ve spoken with him because he appears keenly interested in buying Father’s house.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” she exclaimed, shrilly. “Mr. Gillis can take that worry from you.”

  “The house is not a worry, Emily,” she responded disdainfully. “But in my conversations with him, I’ve noticed that he seems to know about our family. He came here and immediately made an appointment to see Kurt. I have no idea why. Something about an investment opportunity. He’s also talked to Joe and to Quentin. My question is, what did you tell him?”

  “Jeanne, you make it sound like some kind of a conspiracy. Nothing could be further from the truth. For heaven’s sake. I’ve been in the man’s company twice, as I said. A charming man. Since I’m the recording secretary of our book club, I have to arrive at meetings early just to have a chat with our president. There’s so much planning to be done.”

  Jeanne rolled her free hand around and around to indicate that she wanted the universe to move Emily along with her explanation. But brevity was not Emily’s strong suit. Jeanne put her head back on the pillow and listened as she went on about how they chose their books. The whole process in Jeanne’s view seemed entirely too complicated and unnecessary. Finally, when Emily paused, she was able to interrupt. “And is Kevin Gillis a member?”

  “No, of course not,” she responded, horrified at the thought. “We’re all women.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s been there as the owner of the inn, just to ensure we have everything we need. So I’ve had occasion to chat with him.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Not much. He told me what he does for a living and that he’s looking into properties in Newfoundland. I suggested that he talk to Kurt because, everyone knows, Jeanne, how knowledgeable Kurt is about business. Whenever I have any financial questions, I phone him.”