When Sophie finally disappeared into the shadows—headed for the bee house, no doubt—Gus and Evelyn dashed across the field to follow her. Dr. Ezra Elliot ran after them, too, with the black satchel he’d quickly retrieved from his car.
The crowd murmured with astonishment. All agreed they had heard about folk who had the ability to charm bees, but no one had ever actually witnessed such a feat.
Nobody seemed to know what to do. The guests milled around, talking about Sophie. The young culprits who had started the trouble were pulled aside by parents, questioned, and scolded. But no one could really determine who had turned over the hive. It didn’t seem that important now.
“Here she comes!” Harry Reilly shouted suddenly, the first to spot Sophie returning.
The over-slip of her gown was back in place, but Sophie’s hairdo had shifted to one side. Gus held her arm protectively, watching her every step. She looked flushed and breathless but otherwise unharmed. Dr. Elliot and Evelyn followed close behind.
“It’s all right, everybody. I got them back in, safe and sound,” Sophie reported. “Everything is fine.”
Her guests started clapping. Sophie shook her head. “Go on, stop that,” she said, waving them away.
But the clapping and the cheers didn’t stop. Blushing, Sophie tried to right her lopsided hairdo. Then she smiled, squared her shoulders, and took a deep, graceful curtsy, holding out the corners of her gown as she’d been taught at Miss Dinah’s School of Dance, so many years ago.
Her guests applauded even harder as Sophie stood up once more. Then, as if it had been carefully planned, the first of the night’s fireworks streaked across the sky and burst into a sparkling shower of light above Sophie’s head.
Everyone looked to the sky, their attention drawn by the noise and light. They gasped in delight and felt the deafening boom of the explosions down to their bones.
But, for many, the light show seemed rather anticlimactic this year after Sophie’s remarkable performance.
JESSICA WAS IN HER BEDROOM, UNPACKING HER BAG from the weekend, when the fireworks began. She left her task and went outside to watch. Her apartment was on the first floor of an old house in the village, and she had the use of the small backyard.
She sat on the steps leading down from a narrow back porch and looked up at the sky, grateful for the diversion. She lived only a few blocks from the harbor, and the fireworks seemed to be exploding right overhead.
The visit to her mother had been draining, as usual. Emily had been there earlier and had even left a light supper that Jessica served to Lillian out on the patio. Still, the back-to-back visits from her daughters were apparently not satisfactory to Lillian. Her mother remained touchy and querulous, finding fault with everything from the bread Emily had bought, which she claimed tasted stale, to the purple spiderwort in her back garden.
“What’s wrong with the spiderwort?” Jessica had ventured to ask. The flowers looked fine to Jessica, just coming into bloom.
“What’s wrong?” Lillian echoed. “I thought you knew something about gardening. Obviously not. It shouldn’t be drooping that way,” she added, poking a few floppy stems with her cane. “It needs to be thinned or it will choke out everything.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll take care of it for you.”
Her mother cast her a dark look. “You said you’d work in the garden last week, but you never came.”
“I was busy at work. But I promise I’ll come this week,” Jessica had assured her.
She would try, she thought. Maybe one night after work. She didn’t have much to do in the evenings around here anyway. Now that it stayed light so much longer, Cape Light’s lack of entertainment had become more obvious.
Besides, Jessica felt obliged to do what she could. She wouldn’t be living here too much longer. Her mother had nearly recovered from her stroke. Most likely, by the end of the summer, Jessica would be free to return to her real life again.
It wasn’t so bad to be stuck here for the summer, Jessica told herself. The beaches were beautiful and rarely crowded. Maybe she could persuade some of her friends from Boston to visit. She hoped they would. Sometimes the weekends seemed very long. She never had a date. So far she hadn’t met one single guy in Cape Light . . . at least, no one who met her standards.
Then there was Paul Copperfield, the man she was seeing occasionally . . . too occasionally for Jessica.
They had met a few months ago while she was in Boston on business. He’d come out to Cape Light to see her once or twice, and they went out when she visited the city. So far it was still a casual thing. Nothing steady or serious. They were still getting to know each other.
Paul was different from most of the men she’d dated lately. He was older, more mature. And quite sophisticated. He’d recently started up his own firm, doing corporate systems analysis. He was ambitious, successful, and interesting. Jessica liked Paul a lot and was fairly certain he liked her. If only they didn’t live so far apart, Jessica was sure the relationship would have progressed further by now.
She hadn’t been able to see Paul this weekend, but he would be driving through town tomorrow, on his way back to Boston from Vermont. They had a date for lunch, and Jessica was looking forward to it.
The fireworks ended in a resounding burst of light and color. Jessica heard a few lingering pops, and then abruptly it was over. The stars were visible again, and the soft warm night closed in around her.
Time to go inside, Jessica decided. It was getting late. Then she heard a sound from under the stairs, like a baby crying.
She leaned over to take a look. It was hard to see in the dark, but after a moment or two on her knees she could distinguish a soft feline shape, wedged in a frightened ball under the bottom step.
“Hello, cat,” Jessica murmured. “What are you doing down there? Did the noise scare you?”
The cat didn’t make a sound. Yellow eyes glowed at her in the darkness. Then the cat squirmed, fitting itself even more compactly under the step. Jessica knew instinctively that if she reached out to it, she’d end up scratched.
Still, she felt sorry for the cat and stayed hunched over, kneeling in the dirt, watching it for a while. She couldn’t see a collar and she guessed it was wild. There were a lot of feral cats in the woods outside of town. She couldn’t tell the animal’s coloring in the dark. Maybe orange and white. Or a calico. The creature had a long bushy tail and one ear looked crumpled, probably chewed in a fight.
She’d found a cat this way once, when her family had moved in to the new house in the village. She’d slowly won it over and cared for it in secret. With few friends at school, she’d had a lot of time in the afternoons for taking care of the stray.
“Okay, pal. Stay put. I’ll be right back with some food for you,” Jessica told her timid visitor.
She didn’t need a pet right now. And certainly not a dirty wild cat. But she would leave it a little food. The poor thing was probably hungry.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS BUSINESS AS USUAL THE NEXT MORNING AT the Clam Box, with plates clattering and batter sizzling on the grill. The rich smells of coffee, bacon, and home fries were so thick in the air, hungry customers were tempted to take an invisible bite.
Charlie Bates manned the grill, stepping up to the counter to exchange a few words with the regulars or shout an order at his wife.
Lucy ran around with the coffeepot, jotting down orders, bringing the food to the tables, and cleaning up in between. The other waitress had walked out in a huff two weeks ago—she couldn’t put up with Charlie’s temper—and they still hadn’t found a replacement. A Help Wanted sign hung in the window, alongside the sun-faded poster that read, “Try Our Famous Clam Rolls and Blueberry Pancakes—Box Lunches To Go.”
A number of customers had been at the Potters’ party, and that morning Sophie’s bee charming was being widely discussed. Especially since a photo of Sophie in all her insect-covered glory had made the front page of the Messenger. �
��Cape Light’s most charming hostess entertains some uninvited guests,” the caption read.
Tucker Tulley, senior officer in the town’s police force, who’d been on duty during the party, seemed disappointed that he’d missed the action.
“I bet Gus was nearly having a heart attack,” he said to Lucy. “I’m surprised no one called for EMS.”
“Dr. Elliot ran right into the orchard after Sophie,” Lucy explained. “But Sophie came out just fine. Said she didn’t get one sting. It was amazing.”
Charlie came up to the counter and served Tucker a side of bacon. “Never mind Sophie Potter. What about this . . .” He quickly turned the page to an advertisement that announced the Grand Opening of the Beanery, complete with a clip-out coupon.
“I saw them out in the street, giving out free samples,” he told Tucker. “Blocking the sidewalk, serving food outside the premises—isn’t there some law or ordinance prohibiting that?”
His mouth full of doughnut, Tucker chewed slowly before replying. “Nope . . . I don’t think so. As long as they clean up the litter. I wasn’t going to tell you, Charlie,” he added, “but I tried one of those gourmet coffee drinks on my way over. What do they call it? A Lottie? A loddy?”
“A latte,” Lucy cut in. “It’s coffee with steamed milk.”
“Whatever.” Tucker shook his head. “I don’t get it. That coffee’s all foam, like drinking a cup of shaving cream. People around here won’t pay two dollars for a cup of foam.”
“Let’s hope so.” Charlie wiped down the counter and straightened the napkin holder. “Or I’m out of business.”
“Oh, Charlie, stop exaggerating. They’re not serving real food. It’s just coffee,” Lucy said.
“And cakes and funny little sandwiches. And this and that,” Charlie argued. “I heard Molly Willoughby was baking for them. That’s the last time we buy from her,” he told Lucy.
“Charlie, she’s a single mother, for goodness’ sake. The woman has to earn a living. Why shouldn’t she sell to them, too, if she can?”
Charlie scowled at his wife as she left to take an order. “The Beanery.” He drew out the name. “Felicity and Jonathan Bean and their gourmet coffee beans. Cute, right? What are they doing up here anyway? Where did they even come from?”
“College professors from Cambridge, I heard. They’re retired,” Tucker said.
“So? Why don’t they just buy a boat or something, like everybody else who retires up here? Who says they have to go and open a coffee shop two feet from my place? They look like two burned-out old hippies, if you ask me.”
“Gee, Charlie, that’s real open-minded and friendly of you,” Tucker chided him.
Lucy returned with two orders. She clipped them to the pass-through near the grill, then struck the bell a few times. “Cheese omelet, rye toast. Fried egg sandwich to go.”
“Yeah, all right. I heard you.” Charlie scratched the back of his neck, then glanced at Tucker, who was quietly laughing. “Stop laughing at me, Tucker. This could be serious.”
Tucker chewed a bite of bacon. “Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing. It’s just coffee, for Pete’s sake.”
Lucy exchanged a glance with Tucker as she filled his mug again, but left him to read his newspaper. She moved down to a customer who had just entered, a young woman sitting where the counter curved.
“Care for some coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” The young woman put aside her book and pushed her mug toward Lucy. She’d been reading a tourist guide to the area, Lucy noticed, and also had a map out.
You could tell a lot about people by watching them, Lucy thought. She liked to study the customers and try to guess about their lives. Lucy could tell the young woman wasn’t from New England just from the way she answered about the coffee. She looked about college age, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and bright blue eyes. Her T-shirt read University of Maryland, and Lucy guessed she was a student there.
“Ready to order?” Lucy asked.
The girl looked at the menu, then back at Lucy. “How about the famous blueberry pancakes?”
Lucy glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the girl. “It’s not really blueberry season around here for another month or so. I think he’s using frozen ones now,” she confided. “The French toast is very good, though.”
“I’ll have the French toast, then, please.” The girl handed the menu to Lucy and smiled. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Lucy jotted down the order. She reached under the counter and brought out silverware and a napkin. “Are you here on vacation?”
“Oh . . . uh, sort of.” The girl seemed shy. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I always wanted to see New England, and I thought I’d just come up here and drive around.”
“Well, there’s plenty to see,” Lucy told her. “We have a nice historical center across from the town hall, just down the street. Then there’s the Warwick Estate on the Beach Road and the Durham Lighthouse out on the point. It’s nice there around sunset,” she added.
“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
The girl smiled again and looked back down at her guidebook. Lucy suddenly saw a flash of something familiar in her face, though she was sure they’d never met before. She couldn’t quite place it.
Then the door opened and Emily Warwick came in, distracting Lucy from the question.
“You’re running a little late today, Mayor,” Lucy noticed.
“Just plain running as usual,” Emily replied with a smile. She put down her briefcase and sat on a stool next to the young woman. “I’ll have an order to go, I guess. Large coffee, small orange juice, and a cranberry muffin, please.”
“You got it.” Lucy poured Emily a mug of coffee to drink while she waited and then left to fill the order.
Seated a few stools away, Tucker turned to Emily. “Morning, Mayor,” he said respectfully. “Did you see this yet?”
He pushed his copy of the Messenger across the counter. Emily picked it up and looked at the photo of Sophie.
“Maybe we ought to put that picture in the town archives or something,” Tucker suggested.
“Good idea.” Emily looked up at him. “It happened so fast, I almost thought I imagined it.”
“Yup, I heard. Too bad I missed it,” Tucker said.
Emily sipped her coffee and glanced at the paper’s headlines. Aside from Sophie, it was a slow news day in Cape Light. A good sign for the start of her week.
She looked up to see Charlie coming toward her with a plate of French toast in one hand, her take-out order in the other, and that telltale cantankerous gleam in his eye. A bad sign, Emily thought as she braced herself for their usual morning debate.
Charlie planned to run against her in the next election, and for months now he’d been using the diner as a soapbox. People had come to expect it, free entertainment along with their breakfast. Emily could have easily avoided him by picking up her breakfast elsewhere, but she didn’t want anyone to think she was afraid of Charlie Bates. She absolutely was not.
She would bet dollars to doughnuts that this morning’s diatribe would involve the question of parking meters on Main Street. She took a long sip of her coffee and met his eyes.
“Mayor Warwick,” he greeted her. As he set the French toast down in front of the young woman seated beside her, Emily noticed the girl’s wide-eyed stare. Emily briefly met her glance, then turned back to Charlie.
“A large coffee, a small juice, and a muffin,” he said, peering into the bag. “Is that it?”
“That’s it.” She watched as he slipped some napkins into the brown paper bag but didn’t hand it to her.
“I heard some news this morning you ought to know about,” he said with authority. “Dr. Elliot is selling that property he owns outside of town, where he rents those cottages. Betty Bowman is already lining up buyers for him.” Betty was the town’s leading real-estate broker.
“Actually, I do know that.” Dr. El
liot had told her about his plans to retire a few nights ago, when he stopped in to visit her mother. He’d mentioned that he had started referring his patients to other doctors in the area and planned on selling his property on the Beach Road. Emily had been sorry to hear he was giving up his practice. He’d been their family doctor for so very long, and a great help to her mother.
“Okay. So you know.” Charlie sounded irritated. “What do you plan to do about it?”
“Give Dr. Elliot a retirement party?” she asked innocently.
“Cute,” he said. “You know what I mean.”
Emily took another sip of coffee. “A private citizen puts property up for sale. What would I have to do with that?”
Of course she knew what Charlie was driving at. She knew the way his mind worked by now. He could make an issue out of repainting the yellow line down Main Street. But she wasn’t about to jump at his bait.
“Elliot could sell that land to anyone. Some builder could come along, knock down the cottages, and put up some ugly eyesore that would ruin the whole town. You’re the mayor. You got to talk to him. Make sure he’s selling to the right kind of people.”
Emily raised one eyebrow. “The right kind of people?”
“The land borders right on the Warwick Estate. I’d think you’d be concerned about that, at least.”
The last jab had been targeted to strike a nerve, Emily noticed. And it had, although she was adept at hiding her feelings. The Warwick Estate had been in her father’s family for generations, until necessity had demanded that her parents give it up. Her mother had worked out a deal, selling the mansion and the property with its beautiful gardens to the town to be preserved as a historic site.
Emily didn’t need Charlie to tell her that the estate was important to the village. She squelched the urge to stuff his mouth with one of his famous clam rolls.
“Charlie, you’re way off base on this one. For one thing, I wasn’t elected to regulate real estate transactions. And for another, I think you’re panicking. You don’t know who’s going to buy that land. Betty might find someone who wants to make a bird sanctuary out of it.”
Cape Light Page 3
