That thought in mind, she offered Mrs. Walsh another smile. If it was anything less than genuine, she hoped her former teacher didn’t notice. “We’re getting there.”
“That’s wonderful news, Maria! Mr. Walsh and I look forward to your opening. We’d love to be one of the firsts to spend the night at—” The older woman hesitated, puzzled. “Have you come up with a name yet?”
Maria’s smile fell away from her face. When all she did was doubt that she would ever get the doors open, what was the point in deciding on a name?
“No, ma’am. Not yet.”
“It might be the English teacher in me, and maybe some good old Hamlet pride, but have you ever considered Ophelia? I don’t know if any outsiders call their fancy little bed and breakfasts by a name. It seems like it might fit you, though, dear.”
Maria held her breath. Absolutely floored.
Ophelia.
It had a musical quality to it that was so perfect, she could scarcely believe she hadn’t thought of it before.
“Plus,” Mrs. Walsh added, “the name itself means ‘help’ in Greek. And isn’t that part of the reason why you’re working so hard for it? So that you can provide a service and help? It seems so darling to me. Don’t you think?”
She hit the nail on the head as squarely as Maria had learned how to do with a real hammer. No wonder Mrs. Walsh had always been one of her favorite teachers. She had a way of seeing things in her students that even they didn’t know was there.
On impulse, Maria threw her arms around Mrs. Walsh. Though she dwarfed her by more than a foot in height and Mrs. Walsh was still sitting, Maria bent her knees and enveloped the other woman in an embrace before smacking her lips against Mrs. Walsh’s cheek.
A pure joyous laugh burst out of her. Ophelia. Perfetto!
It was like a small weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. When she straightened, Maria felt taller, stronger. So what if a couple of annoying incidents held up construction? Ophelia would rise, too.
And she had Mason Walsh’s mother to thank for it.
“Grazie, grazie,” she said before realizing that, in her excitement, she had switched to Italian. “Thank you, Mrs. Walsh! Ophelia, ha. I love it. Yes!”
Mrs. Walsh rubbed her cheek absently, a bewildered look overtaking her soft features as she glanced up at Maria. “You’re welcome, dear. I’m glad to be of help.”
A slam of the office door reminded Maria that she was still standing in the station house. She turned toward the sound. Willie was heading back to them at last.
“Good news, ladies. Valerie, I finally got your boy on the radio at last. He’s finishing up a patrol on the gulleyside and will swing by the station house in a few.”
“Wha— oh, yes. Thank you, Wilhelmina. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep on waiting for him right here.”
Behind her glasses, Willie gave Mason’s mother a curious look. The poor woman looked like she had just been steamrolled. “Sure thing, sug. You sit tight and I’ll let you know when Mase is close. Now, Maria—” she began before doing a double-take. The sheriff’s sister-in-law was halfway to the exit.
“Maria,” she called out, raising her voice. “Didn’t you want to see the sheriff?”
“No, thanks! I have just too, too much to do! Tell Caitlin I’ll see her later, would you, Willie? Bye!”
With a swish of her long black hair and another glorious laugh, Maria was gone.
Willie turned back to Valerie Walsh, questions in her eyes.
Mrs. Walsh threw her hands up in the air. But she was wearing an indulgent smile on her lips, and a smudge of pale pink lipstick on her cheek.
4
Two Years Ago
With one last ceremonial swing of the sledgehammer, Maria stepped back from the wide wooden sign she just finished posting in the grass in front of her home.
In front of Ophelia.
Lucas hovered on the sidewalk, watching her closely in case she managed to bash herself in the head on the backswing. As soon as she was satisfied that the sign was both sturdy and straight, her older brother swooped in and retrieved the sledgehammer from her with so much care, it was insulting.
When he turned to place it safely on the porch, Maria stuck her tongue out at his back. But it was a half-hearted gesture. Nothing—not even Lucas—was going to ruin her mood today.
Last Saturday, she spent the entire afternoon detailing the decorative O that she drew on the front door before painting over it with a pale mauve color, accents in white. She wasn’t sure she liked the mauve against the wood—or maybe it was her pesky perfectionism getting in the way again.
But Ophelia… it was important. It had to be just right.
And now the sign she spent the entire last week crafting, sanding, staining and then painting was finally up in her yard. It proudly proclaimed:
Ophelia of Hamlet Cozy Bed & Breakfast Open to All
Lucas came over to her and slung his arm around her shoulder. “You did it.”
She did. She really did. And despite the effort it took to hammer that sign into the ground in the right spot without it listing—not to mention the argument she won when Lucas wanted to do it for her—she knew that that wasn’t what Lucas was referring to.
It wasn’t easy. Deciding to open her own bed and breakfast all those years ago was probably the simplest part of the whole plan. It only went downhill from there.
The small nuisances that plagued the construction phase continued long after all of the work was done.
She hired an electrician outsider to do all of the wiring and the poor man nearly got himself blown up. Lucas was on-site and managed to help put the fire out, but she’d had to find another electrician.
A third pipe burst. After studying how the plumbers fixed it last time, Maria took care of this one herself.
One of the rooms on the second floor locked itself. There was no other way Maria could explain it. No one was trapped inside when they finally had to take the door off the hinges, but she’d had to replace the entire locking mechanism for that room because she couldn’t chance that happening to a guest. Then, when she realized the same design was in all of the new rooms, she had to replace those too.
She thought it would be better once the actual construction was done and the fun part—the decorating—began. It wasn’t. The incidents slowed down, yes, and Maria stopped worrying her cross with her thumb as if she continued to fear that Ophelia was haunted, but the amount of time, energy and level of intricate detail her artist’s eye devoted to creating her vision meant that it took her ages to pronounce the bed and breakfast ready for guests.
Except now the sign was up. Her kitchen gleamed with polish, her refrigerator completely stocked up. All six guest rooms were aired out, the beds turned down, the flowers fresh.
She was open for business.
Leaning into Lucas, she gave her brother a squeeze.
He returned the side-arm hug before jerking his chin towards the sign. “You made that?”
“I’ve been making things for everyone else for years.” Holding up her free hand, Maria ticked them off on her fingers. “Adrianna’s coffeeshop—both signs, the DC&C one and that new one that just says the coffeeshop. The plaque for the Hamlet School. Caro and her mom’s inn. And, don’t forget, the Hamlet sign out front. I’ve made like five of those.”
“People keep dying. How inconsiderate of them.”
Maria jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “It’s not just that. Some people move away. Then there’s the babies—the Johnsons just had twins. And then I had to paint a new sign when some of the elders got together and decided to add the new motto to the welcome sign a couple of weeks ago.”
“‘Hamlet helps’,” Lucas remembered. “Didn’t someone try to shoot that idea down?”
With an apologetic grimace, Maria admitted, “I heard it was Cait.”
“Hmm. Really?”
“Uh-huh. I ran into Mase—you know, Mason Walsh? One of the deputies?—down at the
store a couple of days after the meeting. Seems like she threw a fit, thought a tagline like that would actually make more outsiders want to stay here. As if that was a bad thing.”
Lucas thought about it for a second. “Yeah. That’s Caity for you.”
He sounded so resigned. It didn’t matter that they finally divorced last year. As far as Hamlet was concerned, the only thing that separated them was the different houses they lived in.
It probably didn’t help that Caitlin was the main part of the reason that everyone expected them to get back together. She went around insisting that it was just a trial separation, that Lucas would be moving back in any day now. Sure, he had his own place built on the other side of town, but what devoted couple didn’t need a little space every now and then?
Maria suspected that Lucas made sure to build his own small bungalow apart from his office in a bid to establish his freedom from Caitlin. He couldn’t go back to the De Angelis family home because everyone would be waiting to see Caitlin retrieve him from there. His defiance shouted out to all of Hamlet that he was on his own.
It had been a year already. They’d have to get the hint eventually. Lucas was never going back.
In fact, the one year anniversary of their divorce had passed only a couple of weeks ago. Caro told Maria that her husband, Roy, saw Caitlin down at Thirsty’s making a right ass of herself. She later showed up at Lucas’s new place, threatening to shoot the door down if he didn’t let her in to chat. And while he managed to talk her down, it only led to her buzzing him early the next morning with a promise that she would be better if he only gave her another chance.
Ha, Maria thought. When Hell froze over.
Lucas confided that he had half a mind to post the signed divorce papers in his waiting room so anyone who came to see him as a patient saw proof that their marriage was over.
And then there was the way Caitlin stubbornly clung to her married name, as if that would force Lucas to change his mind.
In her experience, once Lucas set his mind to something, nothing in this world or the next would ever get him to change it.
Lucas crossed his arms over his chest as he circled the sign, appraising it once more. Rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, Maria could’ve sworn she saw a hint of his dimple peeking out. He was amused.
“You can keep that bottom line on the sign,” he announced.
She hadn’t planned on removing it. Unlike a majority of Hamlet, Maria loved the idea of outsiders finding their way into town and staying the night at Ophelia.
“Why?” she wondered. “Because of Caitlin?”
“If my ex thinks it’s a bad idea to invite outsiders into Hamlet, then I guess I’m all for it. Open to all. Sure. Why not? The more outsiders, the better.”
Maria gave a short, throaty laugh. “You’re terrible.”
Lucas’s lips curved. “I know.”
5
One Year Ago
Cerulean?” Maria murmured to herself. “Or cyan?”
Lucas was standing in her kitchen, munching on an apple while he cocked his hip again the counter. He watched her while she bent over her kitchen table, studying her weathered sign and deciding what color she wanted to paint it for the current summer season.
“Are you asking me?” he drawled.
“Yes. What do you think? Cerulean?” Turning to face him, Maria held up a swatch with her right hand. “Or cyan?” She held up her left.
They looked exactly the same to Lucas.
He took a bite of his fruit. Shrugging as he swallowed, he asked, “Does it matter?”
“Of course. I want my sign to be attractive. You know I like to change it up for every season. I might actually get a guest for once if it’s appealing.”
“They’ll come when they come. Picking one shade of blue over the other won’t make much of a difference.”
“Lucas!”
He raised his eyebrows over at her. “What? Cerulean? Cyan? They’re just blue, right?”
“I let you get away with naming that one masculine guest room as the Blue Room, Luc, even though it’s clearly more of a midnight color and it throws off the flowers theme. Please don’t poke fun at my sign.”
Lucas opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, paused, then shook his head. With a rough sigh, he ran his hand through his dark hair. Normally so pristine, each strand combed perfectly into place, with a part so straight she suspected he used a ruler to achieve it, Lucas’s hair looked in dire need of a trim. It stood up in disarray even before he dragged his fingers through it.
Maria pursed her lips. Dark circles—a deep plum shade, she thought absently—shadowed his piercing eyes.
Something was wrong. And she knew very well that it didn’t have anything to do with the seasonal paint job for her beloved sign.
Three days ago, Lucas called Maria on her radio, letting her know that he had to take an emergency trip out of town. She didn’t ask for any details and, unlike him, he didn’t provide any. Her normally unflappable brother had sounded shook.
He killed the connection before she could second guess keeping quiet. She didn’t hear from him again until he drove back into Hamlet late last night and, instead of heading home, he asked to spend the night in his old room.
Caitlin held out until yesterday. When Lucas had been gone from Hamlet for two nights, she couldn’t take the wondering—or the absolute jealousy—any longer and she finally drove her cruiser over to Ophelia. Demanding that Maria tell her where Lucas went didn’t work. Neither did begging. Because, well, Maria had no idea.
It was Divine Providence that Lucas arrived ten minutes after Caitlin sped off.
Not that she’d be gone for long. The Hamlet gossips would’ve told her by now that Lucas’s red Mustang was parked outside of Ophelia. She expected Cait to come back around after her latest shift and debated whether she should warn Lucas.
After his cheap shot at her sign, she decided against it.
Some of the strain he’d been showing last night had faded away. The shadows lingered, his temper short, but he didn’t look as lost and defeated as he had when he returned. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d run off to do… it must not have gone the way that he hoped. And that surprised Maria. There wasn’t much that Lucas wanted that he couldn’t get in some way.
The romantic in her made Maria wonder if his mood didn’t have something to do with a woman. And then she remembered that it wasn’t as if Caitlin would ever allow him the chance to find a new mate. How could he anyway? Whenever he left Hamlet, it had to do with his job. Teaching, attending lectures, giving them. Unless he met someone then, keeping them secret from everyone else in his life, it didn’t make sense.
Then again, neither did seeing him look as if he hadn’t slept since he left Hamlet.
Gentling her voice, Maria said, “If you’re still hungry, Luc, I have some lasagna from last night that I can heat up for you.”
Lucas looked at the apple core in his hand, glancing at it as if someone had slipped it between his fingers when he wasn’t watching.
“I don’t know why I ate that. I’m not very hungry.”
That set off warning bells. Luc was always hungry.
Maria shook her head, clearing it. Wait a sec— were those real bells?
Lucas tossed the apple core into the trash. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
The bells. Her radio!
Someone was trying to contact her through her communicator. Since it wasn’t any sort of emergency, they didn’t page her directly; instead, they buzzed her, setting off a round of pealing bells that normally caught her attention. Normally. Obviously not when she was worrying about her brother.
She grabbed her radio, curious as to who could be calling. It was usually Lucas. The radio rarely went off when he was there.
“Hello?”
Crackle. “Hey, Maria, that you? It’s Caroline.”
That made sense. On the rare occasion it wasn’t Lucas, it was usually Car
oline. “Caro, hi. How are you, amica?”
“I’m doing well. Listen, we had an outsider come into the inn, looking for a room to rent for a couple of days. He’s got the money, so that’s not the problem. Seems that he’s looking for something a little smaller, a little homier, a little more personal than what we offer. I immediately thought of you and your Ophelia. What do you think? You up for a guest tonight?”
She almost couldn’t believe. It was finally happening. At long last!
“Yes. Yes! Send him over.”
“Sounds good. I’ll give him directions right to you. Thanks, Maria.”
“No, no, no, Caro. Thank you!” With an excited squeal, Maria turned to face Lucas, her radio and her hands clasped to her chest. “Oh my God, can you believe it? I’m finally getting a real guest. An outsider!”
Lucas stiffened, a scowl darkening his handsome features. “No,” he said flatly, sounding more like himself than he had all day. “Not now. Not today.”
“What? No! I need this.”
“You don’t.”
“Come on, Luc!” Maria picked up her gingham kitchen towel and swatted Lucas on the shoulder. “What was the point of going through all the expense, the time, the work to turn this place into my Ophelia if I can’t let anyone stay?”
“Didn’t you tell me that the Farrows spent their anniversary here just last month? And the Walshes before them? You’ve had guests, Maria. Be happy with that.”
“You know I can’t. I’ve been waiting for this for like ever.”
He shook his head. “I just don’t think you’re ready to let strangers stay in the house.”
“Ophelia isn’t a house,” she reminded him. “She’s a bed and breakfast, Luc. And the whole idea behind building her was to let strangers stay. I’m going to let him.”
“You won’t.”
“This is my business. I don’t tell you how to run your office. You don’t get to tell me how to run Ophelia.”
Ophelia Page 3
