by Dana Mentink
Bitsy squeezed her shoulder. “And I’m thrilled to have you back.”
“Oh, look.” Rosa pointed at the crawling waves. “There’s Larry’s fishing boat. I can’t believe he’s still sailing. He must be close to ninety by now.”
“Well, some things never change.” A tone of uncertainty crept into Bitsy’s voice. “Then again, some things do.”
“Is everything okay?” Rosa studied Bitsy closely. The woman was thinner than she remembered, her skin more wrinkled and her eyes shadowed.
“Fine, fine,” Bitsy said. She gazed out toward the ocean. “Still the best view in the house.”
“Second best.” Rosa looked out at the worn shingles on the peak of the jutting room fondly known as Captain’s Nest. The panorama from that room was truly unbeatable. As far as Rosa had ever known, though, Captain’s Nest was stuffed from floor to rafters with boxes, rendering it unusable. Even in her time growing up at the inn, the Nest was kept secure. She’d only managed to sneak in a few times when the door was left unlocked. “So you don’t get hurt,” Bitsy said many times. Not anymore. It would be the highlight of the inn, the charming nautical nook that levered the Pelican above the competition.
“Do you have a place we can store the boxes?”
Bitsy blinked. “What boxes?”
“The ones you keep in Captain’s Nest. We’ll need to get them out so we can paint, maybe do some rough texture.”
“No,” Bitsy said firmly.
“No? Well, we can find someplace else to store things temporarily.”
“No, I mean no one is going in that room.”
“But it’s the gem of this inn.”
Bitsy shook her head, lips pressed together. When she answered, her voice was low. “That room is off-limits. No one is touching Captain’s Nest.”
Rosa could not believe what she was hearing. “Bitsy, we won’t change anything without consulting you, I promise.”
Bitsy took Rosa’s hands and pressed them. Her palms were cool, the fingertips almost icy. “No, honey. No one goes in there.” Without waiting for Rosa to respond, Bitsy turned on her heel and left.
Rosa watched Bitsy go, her gait as strong and sure as it had ever been. Bitsy had an iron resolve that Rosa had witnessed firsthand many a time, but in this circumstance, there seemed no reason for such a reaction. Captain’s Nest was off-limits? Still? Puzzling over it, Rosa returned to the foyer to find Cy peering at a newspaper.
“Do you think Bitsy is okay?” she asked her brother.
Cy didn’t look up from his paper, his knee bobbing up and down. “Of course. She’s the same as ever. There’s an estate sale two blocks from here.”
Rosa tried for a firm tone. “It’s not a good time. We’ve got to meet with the Great Escapes people, and for some reason Pike doesn’t want us to...”
Cy had the same glazed-over expression he got whenever he was about to embark on a decorating treasure hunt. His uncanny nose for a bargain had netted them everything from a Japanese tobacco box to an exquisite Persian rug he bought for pocket change. “Bitsy heard they might have clocks. A clock would look completely amazing in the sitting room.”
Rosa sighed. Cy was a kind of decorating history savant. He’d been completely obsessed with clocks ever since he’d read that Thomas Jefferson designed the Great Clock in the front hall of his Monticello mansion.
“All right,” she said, hiding a smile. “But if you come back with a clock connected to a Chinese gong that chimes the half hour...”
“Jefferson’s clock chimed on the hour, not the half,” he fired back. “Did you know that gong rang loudly enough for field hands to hear it three miles away?”
“Yes, Cy. You mentioned that a time or two.” She grabbed her keys. “I’ll drop you on my way to the magazine, but remember we’ve only got five thousand for the whole place.”
“Caviar decorating on a bologna and cheese budget. I got it.”
She shot a glance into the backyard as they left. No chicken sounds, but no sign of Pike, either. She wondered how he’d squeezed his strapping six-foot-three frame into the coop.
Shaking off thoughts of Pike, she headed for the parking lot.
* * *
AFTER CY PRACTICALLY leaped from the moving car at the entrance to the estate sale, Rosa drove down Highway One, once again drinking in the vast ocean and the wheeling scores of seagulls and terns. If she hadn’t been on her way to a meeting, she would have pulled the elastic from her ponytail and let the glorious wind have its way. Instead, she kept her speed steady and professionalism intact as she made her way to the Great Escapes headquarters in Cliffside, some twelve miles north of Tumbledown. Once there, she was ushered into the neat but ordinary office of Wanda Elliot, coordinator of the contest.
The fiftysomething redhead looked ill at ease, despite her snappy charcoal suit. Rosa attributed Wanda’s discomfort to the bland eggshell paint and prosaic print on the wall. She found herself daydreaming about what the space would look like with a woven area rug and a handful of bright, odd-sized pillows tossed artfully about on the corner chairs.
Wanda sat at her desk, tapping a pencil on the glass top. “So, we’ve spelled it all out for you, the terms of the contest. If we could just have your paperwork.” She thrust out a hand and snatched the papers Rosa provided.
“I still can’t believe we were chosen to participate.”
“I’m sure. Is there anything else?” There was a small tic underneath Wanda’s eye.
“We’re just happy and thrilled,” Rosa said, raising her charm quotient with a cheerful smile. “Bitsy mentioned that she knew you.”
“Me? No. Well, yes. I mean, we’ve probably met a time or two. That’s natural, isn’t it?” Wanda’s blue eyes widened. “That a travel magazine editor and an innkeeper would meet?”
“She said she met you when she brought in pictures of the Pelican along with a history of the inn.”
Wanda looked relieved. “Ah, yes. Excellent write-up, as a matter of fact. Her nephew helped.”
Rosa jerked. “Her nephew?”
“Yes, good-looking man.” Wanda sighed, a wistful look stealing across her face. “That little dimple in his chin. If they could just figure out how to surgically implant those in all men.”
Rosa leaned forward, trying to catch Wanda’s eye. “Pike helped her prepare the materials for the contest?”
Wanda nodded, chewing a fingernail. “Yes. Dreamy brown eyes, too. Like fudge.”
Now it was Rosa’s turn to tap the desk. The noise seemed to rouse Wanda from her Pike-induced stupor. “That’s funny,” Rosa said. “I spoke to Pike right before I came here, and he gave me the distinct impression he wasn’t in favor of the contest.”
Wanda nodded. “Yes, I got that sense, too. He’s probably just going along with Bitsy to make her happy. Men always want to give Bitsy whatever she wants. Pike seems like he’d be that type of nephew. Loyal...kind...” She sighed again. “Strong.”
Rosa resisted the urge to shake Wanda by the shoulders. “But why would he be against the contest?” she asked firmly. “It can’t do anything but help Bitsy’s business...or the next owner’s, if she decides to sell someday.”
Wanda blinked. “He doesn’t want to help the business.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard him talking to Bitsy while they were here. He thinks she should give up the inn right now.”
“Give it up?”
“You know, sell it. A prime piece of seaside property like that would fetch a small fortune, and let’s face it, Bitsy is getting a little long in the tooth to be an innkeeper, though she fancies she’s the mayor of Tumbledown or something.” Wanda added, “Or so I’ve heard.”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed. And a nice piece of that “small fortune” would go to her faithful nephew a
nd lawyer. Her father had been right about Pike. She thanked Wanda and made for the door.
“If you see Pike, tell him I said hello,” Wanda called.
Rosa offered a tight smile. “Oh, Pike and I are going to have a long conversation as soon as he finishes canoodling with the chickens.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Thank you, Ms. Elliot.”
Rosa returned to the parking lot, put the car into gear and stepped on the gas.
It was time to get started and show lawyer Pike that decorator Rosa was ready for a throwdown.
CHAPTER THREE
ROSA ALTERNATELY PUZZLED and fumed all the way back to Tumbledown.
Cy was not at the appointed meeting place outside the estate sale. Since her brother wore no watch and paid scant attention to his cell phone when in the throes of an antique hunt, there was nothing to be done but track him down on foot. She stepped out of the car and trudged through a trellis laden with clematis and into a well-appointed Tudor-style home filled with customers and eager sale attendants.
She found Cy in the living room, a wall sconce in each hand, standing like the figurehead from some strange pirate ship.
An old lady with startling bluish hair arranged in perfect springy curls tried to snatch them out of his grip.
“I got them first,” she said.
The normally unflappable Cy yanked back. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But these are mine. I found them, and I’ve got an inn to refurbish.”
She glowered up at him. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a store to fill and original sconces will sell.”
“They’re reproductions.”
The old lady glared as if he’d sworn at her. “Liar. They’re Colonial Revival, circa 1920.”
Cy glared back, though he had to bend down to look the ferocious female in the eyes. “Circa 1925.” He drew out the last word into the full measure of syllables. “Reeeproductionssssss.”
Her face twisted into a deeper scowl. “Aged brass.”
Cy drew himself up to his full six feet. “Cast metal.”
She fell back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty on her wrinkled face, and Cy went in for the kill. Leaning close, he delivered the coup de grace. “Polychrome finish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think I know you. Did you go to school here?”
Cy nodded, snapping his fingers. “You’re Miss Flaubert, the freshman English teacher.”
“Retired teacher,” she said sharply. “And you’re Cy Franco, C-minus student who wrote an essay about promoting nudist beaches here in Tumbledown.”
Rosa felt her cheeks warm.
Cy laughed. “Yep, that was me. Awesome that you remember my paper after all these years.”
Miss Flaubert’s gaze found Rosa and shifted back to Cy. “You two were memorable, all right.” With a sniff, she stalked off, muttering angry words under her breath.
Cy spotted Rosa and waved the sconces. “I had to fight the English teacher for ’em.”
“So I heard.” She risked a look around to see if anyone else had taken note of the exchange, but no one appeared at all interested. “Ready to go?”
He shot a mournful glance at the remaining treasures. “I guess. I’ve got a box waiting for me at the pay table.”
“Cy...” she warned.
“Don’t worry. Just a lamp and a small piece of stained glass.”
They lined up to pay and Rosa filled him in.
“So, you think Pike’s trying to put the squeeze on Bitsy to sell?” Cy asked, eyes wide.
“Seems like it.”
“Then why help her enter the contest in the first place?”
Rosa shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
As they waited by the tables crowded with items, Rosa’s attention was caught by an old black-and-white photo of a man perched proudly on the bow of a small boat. Before she knew it, her memories took her back to Pike’s exquisite eighteen foot runabout, listening to him ramble on about the mahogany decks that he himself had restored. She hadn’t cared one bit about anything relating to boats, but back then, her sixteen-year-old self had been more than impressed by his heart-melting smile and, yes, the dimple in his strong chin.
Pike was completely at home on that boat, more comfortable than she’d ever seen him strolling down the halls of their high school. She’d always thought there was some sort of tension in him, some coiled spring inside, in spite of the easy smile and elegant posture. Lost in the memory, she could feel the wind whipping her hair, his hand on the small of her back.
On that boat, the sleek Poppy’s Dream, Pike was truly at home.
Until the day when Poppy’s Dream was delivered to the bottom of the Pacific.
She remembered his handsome face twisted with rage, nearly unrecognizable, when her father began to investigate. Pike, he believed, helped his own father commit insurance fraud by sinking the exquisite boat to recoup the $100,000 insurance money they’d pretended not to need.
There was a history that hinted at fraud, Manny Franco had said. Past events that painted an entirely different picture of Pike and his kin. Facts she was unaware of.
You’re wrong, Dad, she’d told him.
Whatever Pike’s family may or may not have planned, Pike did not sink that boat. She knew it then with all the certainty of her steadfast teenage heart. He loved Poppy’s Dream too much. The proof was in his long fingers trailing over the gleaming wood, the way he’d settled into the captain’s seat with a sheen of awe in his brown eyes. The passion in his voice when he’d told Rosa every last detail about acquiring the antique vessel and his dreams to start a sailing school.
He’d never forgiven her father for the accusation.
Or Rosa for being related to him. And now Pike’s father was gone, dead of a heart attack some four years prior.
Someone jostled Rosa out of her reverie, and Cy forked over fifty dollars to the beaming attendant. Five thousand minus fifty. Four thousand, nine hundred and fifty dollars left to transform a tired old fowl into a regal bird.
Cy handed her a box to carry while he took possession of his hard-won wall sconces. On the way to the car, Rosa’s foot caught on a loose brick that edged the lawn. The box tumbled to the ground as she sprawled on the sidewalk, the heel of her shoe breaking clean off.
Cy helped her up and retrieved the box, which was still mercifully taped shut, and handed it to her. She shook it gently. Glass tinkled inside. “Uh-oh.”
His expression was pained. “It was a stained glass panel. The colors are out of this world. Don’t worry. I can probably fix it.”
With a sigh, Rosa schlepped the box to the car and loaded it into the trunk.
The sun was low in the sky, painting the town in umber and gold as they drove back to the Pelican. This time, she rolled the window down and kissed her hairdo goodbye.
Cy sang to himself, content in the passenger seat, fingers pounding a drum lick on his thighs. She was used to driving everywhere they went. Cy had only been driving for a few short weeks after getting his license when he’d struck a child riding a bike. The child had recovered, Cy had not. He’d never tried driving again. They zoomed along against the backdrop of a spectacular sunset, and Rosa could not help but revel in it.
When they finally traipsed into the inn, the smell of roast chicken greeted them. Baggy was lapping up a bowl of broth and rice.
“Baggy seems to be missing some teeth, so I thought maybe soft foods were the way to go,” Bitsy said, ushering them to the table. Pike was already seated there, looking like the lord of the manor in his clean shirt and jeans. Rosa felt more like a court jester as she furtively attempted to smooth her hair and straighten her blouse, limping to the table on her broken shoe.
“What happened to you?” Pike asked.
She
flashed him a snooty look. “It was just some trouble relating to wall sconces.”
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile that, she was annoyed to discover, transformed his face from arrogant to breathtakingly handsome.
“I had no idea the decorating business could be so dangerous,” he said.
And the lawyering business is about to take a nasty turn, too, she thought, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation toward his plans for Bitsy’s inn. She decided to do some fishing over the delectable herbed chicken and creamy roasted potatoes.
“I went to see the Great Escapes people today,” she said. “Wanda says hello.”
“Wanda?” Pike frowned as he selected a pillowy roll and passed the basket to Cy. “Oh, red-haired lady. Right.”
“She told me you helped Bitsy prepare the contest materials. That was nice of you.”
Pike nodded. “I’m Bitsy’s lawyer. I created a history of the inn to be used for other purposes, and Bitsy attached it to the entry form.”
Bitsy smiled. “Oh, you’re much more than just my lawyer. You’re my darling nephew, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She shot a look at Rosa. “I can’t figure out why you two never got along. You’re both such angels to me. Here you are, Rosa, with Cy, ready to transform my inn, and Pike has helped me manage the legalities of this old place ever since he finished law school.”
“You could have done it, too, Rosa,” Pike said. “Why did you decide on that career change, by the way?”
She tried to read his expression. Was he baiting her or simply curious? “Never mind.”
“It’s a big job, running a bed-and-breakfast,” Pike said, eyeing Rosa as he spoke. “Too big.”
Rosa put her fork down. Time to take off the gloves. “Are you trying to pressure Bitsy to sell this place? Is that why you don’t want us here?”
“No one is pressuring me to do anything, honey,” Bitsy said, taking a tiny sip of water. “I’m not that pliable. I do what I want to.”
