Unexpected irritation riffled through Simon as he answered the student’s question and flipped the slide to a gorgeous image he’d photographed in the depths of Angkor Wat, one of the most incredible temples he’d encountered on his trip, as well as the location of some truly startling superstitions. Too bad the uptight young women who’d just sailed out of his lecture would never know anything about them.
Their loss.
Chapter Two
“Are you trying to kill those ducks with your laser vision?”
Caroline started as Marguerite stepped between the magnolia trees and approached her perch. She had upgraded the small dock that stretched into the inlet from the grounds of Heron’s Point to include a large shade screen, chairs and side tables, and she’d spent most of her mornings here since she and Marguerite had returned to Sea Haven Island.
Now she smiled as her sister approached, returning her attention to the small raft of ducks paddling lazily across the water to the wide expanse of nature preserve that stretched away from Heron’s Point on the other side of the small inlet. She’d actually kayaked a few times down the inlet toward the open waters of the Atlantic, delighted to find several little openings into the nature preserve that she could explore to her heart’s content, and that had helped relax her as well. But she couldn’t quite forget the mocking censure she’d endured at the College of Charleston lecture only a few nights earlier. It still stung, though she’d determinedly buried herself in grounds of Heron’s Point since, letting the beauty and silence of the place lull her back into a sense of peace.
Fortunately, peace wasn’t that difficult to achieve, here. It was one of the reasons she loved Heron’s Point so much. If only it was actually her home, in fact, it would be perfect. But it wasn’t. It belonged to their late mother’s estate, and their father insisted they sell it. Which made Sea Haven Island simply another way station for Caroline, a temporary respite when all she really wanted to do was put down roots someplace she could call her own.
Someplace, maybe, like South Carolina.
She grimaced. At least, the parts of South Carolina not occupied by Simon Blake.
Marguerite stepped onto the deck and strode forward, her own sigh at the beauty of the morning deep and contented. “It really is beautiful out here,” she said.
“It is,” Caroline agreed readily.
To be sure, the sisters had initially fled to the southern coast of the US merely to escape the manipulation of their father—manipulation that had everything to do with the curse Dr. Blake had derided so openly. But Caroline hadn’t expected to take to the low country so much. Everything was so warm and lush here, riding on the soft, humid breeze, so very different from the rocky, forested shoreline and the almost painful beauty of the Aegean Sea to which their homeland of Garronia could lay claim. The Carolina coastline had drawn her in from the start, though. She felt almost like she belonged here, as ridiculous as that seemed. Her mother’s family had owned this property since the mid 1700s, but neither Caroline nor her sisters had ever visited here.
And yet…something about it felt like home. Not this house in particular, though Heron’s Point was lovely enough, with the central big house and all the brightly white-washed outbuildings, the gardens, the beach and nature preserve across the way. But the area, the atmosphere, the pace. She could see herself living here, she thought. Maybe not anytime soon—her family obligations were too intense right now—but one day...maybe…
Marguerite had also seemed to come into her own since they’d returned to Sea Haven Island, picking up her work at the Cypress Resort up the road, learning everything she could about the hospitality market in an upscale island vacation destination. Even now, Caroline could tell her sister was dressed for work—this time apparently gearing up for the brunch crowd—in a pair of linen pants and a white summer weight twinset.
“I thought you were done waiting tables,” she said as Marguerite dropped lightly into the chair beside her.
“You’re never done waiting tables,” Marguerite quipped. She leaned forward to peer at the ducks. “But more to the point, you learn the most early in the day about the locals and the not-so-locals, anyone who’s present at the resort. The breakfast crowd tends to be more business-focused, but the lunch group brings out the socialites. It would appear that the Cypress has the precise mix of heavy Bloody Marys and light shrimp salads to pull in country club set, and they’re always good for gossip.”
“Anything interesting?” Caroline regarded her sister with amusement. Marguerite had developed an almost awkward crush on one of the high-rolling locals, rendering her veneer of sophistication well-and-truly nullified, but she was saved by the fact that the gentleman in question didn’t know she existed.
“If you mean a certain hotelier, that would be no,” Marguerite grinned. “Wyndham Masters the Third, Win to his friends and those who want to be his friends, does an excellent job of being talked about while only rarely doing something to justify it, but I continue to live in hope.” She regarded Caroline pointedly. “What about you? You’re not going to spend the rest of the summer cooped up with Prudence, are you? I mean, the real estate market is dead right now in our price range, at least that’s what the Marxes said. Prudence is dreaming if she thinks she can sell this place for a million dollars.”
Caroline pursed her lips. “I know…”
“Then why don’t you get out and about? Explore the island some more. Live a little!”
“I am living,” Caroline said frostily. “For your information, I have a list a mile long of things I should be doing for Father back in Garronia, and my work helping get this house sold is the only thing keeping me here. After that…” She pursed her lips. After that, she would have to return home, to a life that had never been her own, to a home she hadn’t chosen, to a community where she was little more than a cog in a much greater wheel. She shouldn’t—wouldn’t complain. She knew how blessed she was. And yet—she couldn’t help thinking there was more magic to be had in the world, if she merely knew where to look. To look—and to reach for it when she found it, no matter what her obligations were.
“Well, you ask me, you let everyone boss you around, is your problem.” Marguerite huffed out a derisive breath, then settled back in her deck chair. “You’ve done so much for everyone else, you don’t actually know what you want any more.”
Not true. But explaining that to her sister would be wasted breath.
“Caroline? Are you out here?” As if the universe had decided Caroline had spent too long without interruption, their second cousin, twice removed, stepped out of the magnolias, waving a cellphone. Prudence Vaughn was an exceptionally attractive older woman, and the epitome of southern style—all soft colors, fluttering fabrics, and rich, drawling words. “I’m always so amazed at the reception this far from the house,” Prudence said, smiling brightly. “But it’s your sister, asking for you. Can you spare a minute?”
“Edeena!” Marguerite sprang from her chair first, then darted toward Prudence, her hand outstretched. “I’ll only keep her a minute,” she announced as she plucked the phone from the woman’s hand.
“Well, I—” Prudence stared bemusedly as Marguerite swung away, and Caroline rose from her own chair and focused on their second cousin, a gentle, placating smile on her face.
“It’s okay,” she said to Prudence. “Edeena’s used to it, and I know she’s eager to hear how Marguerite is settling in.”
“Well, she did say she had a specific reason for calling,” Prudence said primly, watching Marguerite as she strolled along the dock and hopped down to the sandy beach. “I’m not sure how much time she has, what with all her new responsibilities and all.”
“Fair, but she would’ve planned for Marguerite to swoop in.”
Prudence chuckled. “I always forget you all are so close,” she said, with a touch of wistfulness. “My sisters were so much older than me, we barely knew one another. And brothers, well, it’s not the same.”
&nbs
p; Caroline unconsciously stepped closer to her second cousin. Prudence was one of those women whose age was impossible to identify, though she had to be nearly seventy years old. She had a townhome in Charleston, but she usually spent her summers between the two homes—Heron’s Point had quietly been for sale for the past three years, without any formal advertising. Cousin Pru had said she was all in favor of the sale, but sometimes, like this morning, Caroline wondered. Prudence seemed well suited to the old home, as Southern as sweet tea but slightly out of place, with the grace and nostalgia of someone from another time. She’d been married for many years, though had no children, according to Edeena, and her husband had died perhaps ten years earlier. But she didn’t seem lonely, exactly. More…simply alone.
“After Marguerite leaves today, we can review that new list of realtors,” Caroline said over her sister’s distant chatter.
“Indeed yes, we should.” Prudence nodded. “We do have time, though. The summer buyers are mostly the dreamers anyway. Those who come in the fall are more serious.”
Caroline lifted her brows, but she could see the rightness of that statement. “It seems like it should have sold already, honestly. We’re lucky it remained here for us to visit this summer.”
“Well, you say that now,” Prudence said with another chuckle. “But when it comes time to prepare it for the winter months, you’ll see why the old girl hasn’t sold. She’s a lot of house for one family, but not really the kind of home that rents well. She’s too far away from the city to be a viable commuter property, and yet Sea Haven is so underdeveloped that there’s not a huge draw for young families. There are far too many stairs for it to be a nursing home property, and nowhere to easily put in an elevator. So she’s a bit of a white elephant, for all that she’s a lovely old white elephant.”
It was the most Prudence had ever spoken about the house, and Caroline blinked at her with surprise. Then Marguerite’s voice recalled her attention.
“I’m late!” her sister cried with mock dismay. She waved the phone not at Caroline, but at the house beyond. Sure enough, the bodyguard Rob Marx stood there, holding up his left arm and pointed to the watch on his wrist. Marguerite trotted up to Caroline, tossing her the phone as she passed. “Be back this evening!”
Caroline was still grinning as she held the phone up to her ear. “Were you the one who told her the time?”
“What do you think?” Edeena’s chuckle rolled across the airwaves. She sounded rested—happy even, and Caroline experienced a surge of joy. When her sister had met her very own Prince earlier that summer, none of them could have imagined how it would have turned out. But now Edeena appeared to be more content than Caroline had ever known her to be. “She sounds like she’s enjoying herself, though.”
“Oh, she definitely is,” Caroline said. “She regales me with gossip every night, and is more than happy to leave the preparing of the house and all its contents to me to sort out.”
“Speaking of contents…” Edeena’s voice shifted, and she hesitated. “I have a weird request to make of you, if you don’t mind doing it.”
“Of course,” Caroline said automatically. “Was there something you left behind?”
“Sort of.” Another hesitation, and Caroline frowned. But before she could ask her sister what was wrong, Edeena changed directions entirely. “So, there’s a small island off the coast of Sea Haven called Pearl Island. Are you familiar with it?”
“Vaguely.” Caroline frowned, trying to picture a map of the island. “It’s some sort of artist’s colony, isn’t it? Or it was?” It had been on her list to explore, but she simply hadn’t gotten around to it.
“Right,” Edeena said. “There’s a small museum there, and they have a set of Saleri jewelry donated to it generations ago. Actually, it was the Contoses who donated it, but the jewels are definitely Saleri property, they have our seal. I’ve seen them—they’re not worth much—but I mentioned them to one of Father’s lawyers and…”
“And of course, they want it back.” Caroline grimaced. While the Contoses of Garronia, their mother’s family, were generous to a fault, the same couldn’t be said for the Saleri branch. Particularly their father, Silas.
Edeena responded a little too quickly. “Yes! Yes, they do. Money’s no object in this case, though the jewels are only pink, semi-precious gems. But…do you think you could, um, swing by and ask for them back? Write a check or whatever?”
Caroline’s brows lifted. “Me? Shouldn’t the lawyers be doing the asking?”
“Ordinarily, yes, but…” Edeena sighed. “I sort of told them you’d handle it. I have a feeling Silas’s people would be unnecessarily rude. The owners of the museum are an elderly couple and I—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll absolutely take care of it,” Caroline interrupted smoothly, with the assurance of her long practice at taking care of whatever her sister needed. “You have the address?”
“You’ll find it pretty easily,” Edeena said. “It’s called Pinnacle House, and it’s the only B&B on the island I think. Maybe stop in, explain that we need the jewels back, make a donation…” Edeena’s voice trailed off. “We could probably give them other jewels, now that I think of it.”
Her sister seemed uncharacteristically stressed, a marked departure from how the conversation had started, and Caroline frowned. “Is everything okay, Edeena?”
“Oh, completely. It’s just—you know how Silas can be.”
Caroline pursed her lips. Did she ever. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll have them for you by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Simon? Simon!”
Simon sagged against the turreted window, catching his breath. It never ceased to amaze him how his grandmother’s voice could go from mildly exasperated to panicked in the space of bare seconds. He twisted from his perch on the roof and peered over the lip of the gutter.
As usual, his grandmother, Belle, was searching in completely the wrong direction for him, her thin form bent at the waist as she poked her head into the open door to the storage cubby under the broad front sweep of stairs leading up to Pinnacle House. He waited until she straightened again, then paused another second, taking in her pressed khakis, lightweight navy sweater, and crisp white hair. She might be eighty-seven and not as nimble as she used to be, but she was determined to keep her mind and body active. She had to, she said, to keep Simon’s grandfather from wandering away one afternoon and never coming back. It was a long-standing joke between them, and it brought a smile to Simon’s face as he recalled it.
“You okay down there?” he asked, and his grandmother started, jumping back a full foot as her gaze shot skyward.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing up there, Simon? And where is your shirt? You want my entire bridge party to have heart palpitations?”
Simon held up the garment, now a makeshift bag. “Temporary storage. We’ve got some shingles sheering off—not enough for a roof replacement, but we’ll want to tamp them down before the next storm. Even if we don’t get a full hurricane, we’re going to need to be careful.”
“Well, we’ll be ready, dear. We always are.”
Simon let that pass as Belle waved again, then disappeared from view. His grandmother had lived in Pinnacle House her whole life, and had weathered more storms than he could count. But he’d seen the kind of damage that hurricanes or tropical storms could cause if they shifted one capricious degree. As it was, he was overcautious with evacuation plans, shuttling his parents and as many of their friends at the retirement home as necessary inland to his condo at the first sign of inclement weather. In true pirate king fashion, he’d actually ridden a few of the more recent storms out in the house—only those considered well beneath the threshold for tropical storms—because of problems like what he was seeing right now up on the roof. If there was damage, or God forbid a leak, he wanted to be onsite as quickly as possible, and not run the risk of being blocked from reaching the island by either ferry or speedboat.
/> He wasn’t alone in his attitude on Pearl Island, either. The place had earned its reputation as an artist’s commune, filled with loners and rabid DIYers who were happy enough to band together in a crisis, then go on about their solitary artistic pursuits.
Nevertheless, he needed to face the facts.
Simon pulled his hammer free from the hook on his work pants, and edged further up the roof, tapping in loose nails and reinforcing shingles with additional fasteners as he came upon them. The sun was hot today, but the breeze was brisk, as it usually was on the island at this time of day. He crested the roofline and glanced toward the back yard, where a half dozen tables were set up, one overladen with maybe twenty different bowls and platters from the Pinnacle House pottery collection. The food was currently being ignored by most of the people on the lawn, of course—four tables of bridge were currently underway, and from the intent faces and hunched backs, the residents of the Sea Haven Coastal Retirement Community meant business.
Simon grinned, moving over to another section of the roof and continuing his work. Truth to tell, he loved working this high up, allowing him to gaze not only over the sprawling grounds of Pinnacle House, but far out to sea. Ever since he was a little boy he’d dreamt of conquering the wide ocean, and through his many research trips and sabbaticals, he had.
Another shingle caught his eye, and Simon refocused. Even a pirate needed to tend to his ship from time to time, and this one needed more attention than most. He was at it for another thirty minutes or so before he heard the front doorbell ring.
Squinting down at the men and women playing cards, he grimaced. They clearly were in no mood to adjust their hearing aids loud enough to hear anything going on beyond the back yard. For once his grandparents were playing bridge as well, taking the seats of another couple who were currently intent on the refreshment table.
Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6 Page 2
