Sandpiper Island (The Bachelors

by Donna Kauffman

  Instead, she looked at the harbor, and thought about her other problem. What she was going to do about her diner. Below, she could see the frame of the immense, real-life replica of the eighteenth-century tall ship that Brodie Monaghan was building, on the very same site his ancestors had built those very same vessels hundreds of years earlier. She spied the workers going in and out of the boathouse on the other end of his property, which hugged the heart of the harbor, the one Grace was renovating into her gorgeous, unique little inn. Beyond that to the east was Blue’s, the largest of the fishing companies in Half Moon Harbor, employing a healthy percentage of the men in town, continuing the tradition of one of the Cove’s founding industries.

  Just beyond that was her diner, perched on the high side of Harbor Street, with the deck out front, and her own dedicated dock across the road, where folks could tie up their boats, and come in for a bite, or wander Harbor Street and the shops that dotted the road, up and down, on either side of her place.

  No one was behind her, so she took a moment and tried to imagine how the landscape before her would change with a yacht club wedged smack in the middle of it. The clubhouse would sit on her lot and the adjacent two empty lots that were presently used for general harbor parking, but for which Winstock had already gotten promissory notes of purchase.

  She did the best she could to clear her mind of sentiment and prejudice and simply imagine how it would look from Winstock’s viewpoint. It would be beautiful, of that she had no doubt. The man might be a snake when it came to getting what he wanted, whatever method he had to use, but there was no denying he had good taste when it came to his possessions. His palatial estate on the edge of town was testament to that.

  Sitting up on a rocky promontory, you could look out over the Cove from the sweeping front porch. She imagined that positioning had been intentional. King of all he surveyed. But despite the immensity and scope of the place, which was really more compound than simply a mansion, the design and landscaping were surprisingly warm, inviting. Not that anyone just felt free to drive up the long sweeping road that led up the knoll to the home. It was gated, for one thing. But Delia happened to know firsthand what it felt like to stand on that porch. Not because she’d been invited, but because as a teenager, she had been hired, as had Gran, to work the Winstocks’ seasonal parties. Back before Mrs. Winstock had taken off for greener pastures, their parties had been legendary, despite the fact that very few folks who actually lived in the Cove were invited.

  Delia thought about how she’d felt sorry for Cami back then, a little girl who never had the attention of her mother, raised by staff, spoiled to an embarrassing degree by a doting father with more money than sense. Then later, after Brooks’s wife had taken off, she’d felt a kind of kinship, since she’d lost her mother at a young age, too. Delia snorted. “Yeah. That didn’t last.”

  Even when Delia was a teenager, the stories about the philandering Mrs. Winstock had been legion. Delia had seen her at the parties, always leaning on the arm of someone else’s wealthy husband, but rarely her own. She supposed Brooks spoiled Cami in some misguided attempt to make up for either his poor choice in a marriage partner in the first place, or her absence later on. Probably it was both. It was odd then, and sad, Delia thought, that daughter had taken after mother, at least in her insatiable need for attention. Only, in Cami’s case, like seemed to have married like, as Creepy Ted was even more handsy than his wealthy wife.

  “Gah,” Delia said with a little shudder, trying to shake off those thoughts, but memories of the past lingered. Though she’d never thought less of herself for having served at the Winstock estate, she had to consider that because she had, Brooks Winstock quite likely still saw her as nothing more than the hired help. “The uppity hired help, at that,” she said, a wry grin twisting her lips. It explained a lot about his patronizing condescension whenever he’d spoken to her, though he always delivered any statement he made to her with a broad smile.

  She pulled her gaze back to the central part of Half Moon Harbor, back to her part. Or the part she’d always thought of as hers. Would the yacht owners and club members see the whole of it the same way she did? As charming and traditional, historic and purposeful? Would they see it the way the others who had made their living there did?

  Or would they not want to be so up close and personal with the “local color” of fishing trawlers and working shipyards? Would they only be willing to join Winstock’s little club if maybe he “spruced up” the rest of the harbor by doing to, say, Blue’s what he’d done to her? Would Winstock and the town politicians think that bringing in money from the rich and powerful yacht owners would make it okay to push out the largest employer of the Cove’s core industry, the same one that had been the town’s economic base since its founding three centuries ago?

  She had to get Owen to reconsider. It wasn’t so much about saving her diner—she was getting more and more convinced that they could only thwart Winstock’s plans for so long—but at the very least they needed to have some checks and balances.

  She was startled from her thoughts by the sudden blaring of a horn just behind her. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting in the middle of road, staring at the harbor. She lifted her hand automatically in a gesture of apology and pressed on the gas. Once underway, she glanced in her rearview mirror to see who’d laid on their horn. A tap would have been more than enough to alert her, and more typical of how locals treated locals. So it came as no surprise when she spied Cami in a big, black Lexus SUV the size of a small tank.

  “Wonderful.” Hill Road ended at the intersection with Harbor Street. She braked at the stop sign and flipped on her right blinker. The sole traffic light in town, at the other end of Harbor Street, must have just turned green so, as she waited for a few pickup trucks and a couple of cars to file by, Cami pulled up next to her and lowered her passenger window.

  Reluctantly, Delia lowered her own window and turned an expectant gaze toward the brightly smiling blonde. Camille Winstock Weathersby was a tiny thing, and Delia thought she looked like a kid driving her daddy’s car, wondering—unkindly, she knew—if she needed a booster seat to reach the steering wheel. Delia also knew not to mistake diminutive size for diminutive power.

  So, though she was tempted to say something provocative and unwise, she instead clamped her back teeth together and kept her expression carefully blank as she waited for the younger woman to say whatever was on her mind.

  “I thought you’d be on your way over to the county building,” she chirped.

  “Why would that be?” Delia replied blandly.

  “Why, Daddy is over there talking to Mayor Davis and I just assumed that you’d be in on that little meeting, too.” Her smile turned a shade nasty. “Guess I was wrong. Maybe they didn’t feel the need to include you, seeing as you don’t really have a say. Still, I’d think you’d at least be courteous enough to allow Mayor Davis to let you down privately, saving him the embarrassment of having to publicly explain to you what everyone else already knows.” When Delia didn’t reply, the gleam in Cami’s eyes turned a shade more malicious. “Your little handout from the city was all fine and well and certainly more than generous given how long you’ve been, well, squatting there. But it would certainly be refreshing to see that you understand that lending one poor person a hand up is only a worthwhile endeavor for the city when it’s not otherwise hindering real growth. I’m sure you’re thankful to have gotten what you did.” Cami said this as if it was understood that that was far more than Delia had actually deserved.

  At Delia’s continued silence, Cami’s ever-so-gracious smile returned. “I still have those listings to show you. You just let me know when you’re ready to go looking. I’m sure I can get you a good deal. Not for a dollar a year, you understand,” she added with a little laugh. “You’ll have to pay actual rent, but folks here will feel sorry for you, of course, because that’s their nature when it comes to the downtrodden. We can work that sentiment in your
favor. Explain how your sacrifice is making it possible for Blueberry Cove and Half Moon Harbor to reach new heights of growth to benefit everyone. So, you see? There’s a silver lining to everything. Well, maybe more silver for me than for you, but still. Win-win. Winstock!” she added with another gleeful little chirp, then pulled her behemoth of a vehicle out onto Harbor Street with a punch of gas, leaving a little spray of gravel in her wake as she headed in the opposite direction.

  Delia yanked her head back to keep from getting road grit in her eyes, and punched the button to raise the window. What she wanted to punch was a lot softer, and wore too much foundation and mascara. She couldn’t guarantee that if Cami dared to come within fifty yards of her person, ever again, that she wouldn’t follow through with the impulse.

  “Take a breath,” she schooled herself, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Then she let go and smacked it with her open palms. Hard. “Dammit! Now I’m finally mad enough to fight and there’s nothing left to fight for.” She left a little spray of gravel herself as she whipped her vehicle onto Harbor Street, pulled a U-turn, and headed back up the hill and over toward the county municipal building.

  Blueberry Cove didn’t have a town square, per se, but it did have a three-square-block section of town nestled on the north side, above the harbor, that housed some of the oldest buildings still standing and still functioning. Most of them were commercial, a series of small shops and services, with a few residences tucked in between on the side streets. Near the center of it, on Front Street, sat the old stone building that housed the county courthouse, along with the somewhat newer brick and clapboard buildings—newer meaning only a hundred years old—that housed the mayor’s offices, the tax assessor’s office, the zoning commissioner, along with those used by the various town council members who requested a public office, all of which comprised what the townsfolk called City Hall.

  She pulled up to the curb alongside the small park that sat between the clapboard building on the end, and the courthouse, with old cobblestone walkways meandering through it, circling the large fountain at the center. She left the engine idling while she tried to get herself under control, before she went and made an even bigger fool of herself.

  She didn’t know anything more about what she wanted than she had yesterday morning, when she’d fallen apart all over Ford, but one thing she had figured out was that she couldn’t just sit idly by and let it happen to her. She might not have a leg to stand on legally, but the very least Mayor Davis owed her was the courtesy of a decent explanation.

  As if on cue, the double doors opened, and out stepped Mayor Davis, Brooks Winstock, and Ted Weathersby.

  “The evil triumvirate,” she muttered, half surprised the ground didn’t quiver when she said it.

  Mayor Davis was a short, rotund man with perpetually flushed cheeks, thinning hair, and an insincere laugh always ready to trip off his tongue, as if he was always a bit nervous about something and tried to hide it by being extra jovial. He didn’t run in quite the circles that Winstock did, but he wasn’t one to drop by the diner, either. If anything, he liked to imagine himself running in circles bigger than the ones he actually inhabited.

  Brooks Winstock was tall, lean, his white hair always neatly and expensively cut, elegant in designer casuals that made him look like he’d just stepped off the eighteenth green. “Or out of his yacht club.” And with that thought propelling her, she was launching herself out of her car and walking across the small park, directly to where the three of them stood.

  They were all smiles and shoulder claps, clearly quite happy with themselves. Mayor Davis spied her first and looked instantly uncomfortable. His overly loud chuckle was testament to that. “Well, well,” he said, looking to Brooks for support. “Look who is here. I was just telling Brooks—er, Mr. Winstock here, that I was going to call you.” He chuckled again. “Looks like you saved me the trouble.”

  “Yes, Mayor, it appears I have.” She smiled brightly at Brooks and Ted. “But that’s me, always wanting to save folks some trouble.”

  Ted glanced at his father-in-law, as if looking for guidance, but Brooks didn’t so much as blink. Instead, he extended his hand, all suave smoothness and benevolent kindness. “Ms. O’Reilly, a pleasure to see you as always,” he said, despite the fact that he rarely, if ever, actually laid eyes on her. He paused, and with fake concern, added, “My apologies. Did I get that right? You did take back your maiden name after the unfortunate circumstances leading to your divorce, am I correct?” He glanced at Mayor Davis with a patently false look of self-deprecation. “Can’t keep up with these modern women, but I certainly applaud their right to do what makes them feel best.”

  Delia shouldn’t have been surprised by his gall, but it admittedly caught her off guard enough that it took her a moment to regroup. She ignored his proffered hand and instead looked at the mayor. If Brooks was going to use him as his foil, then Delia felt perfectly within her right to follow suit. “You men are so lucky,” she said, her bright smile dripping with just as much sincerity as Winstock’s. “You don’t have to wear your marital failures on your sleeve . . . or typed on your business license,” she added pointedly, looking directly at the mayor. “Your name stays the same regardless of the—I’m sorry, what did you call it?” She glanced at Winstock. “Oh, right. ‘Unfortunate circumstances.’ ” Delia wanted to throw up in her mouth a little, just for being reduced to saying that. She swallowed the bitterness and looked back to the mayor, but Winstock spoke before she could say what she’d come to say. Whatever the hell that was going to be.

  “Some of us learn and grow from past mistakes,” Winstock said, patronizing smile curving to reveal his perfectly white, perfectly capped teeth. “Others seem doomed to continue to learn things the hard way.” He placed his hand on her arm and it was all she could do not to snatch it away. “I’m terribly sorry about how this all worked out for you, but I believe my daughter has spoken to you about some other properties you might be interested in. Around the other side of the harbor, of course.” He said that last part as if it was clear to all that her diner would have no business being in the same part of town as his high-and-mighty, exclusive little club.

  “Ms. O’Reilly,” the mayor broke in, a fine sheet of sweat beading on his wide forehead as he sensed the direction the swiftly deteriorating conversation was going to take. “Why don’t we step inside and have a little talk. I need to go over some paperwork with you, as well. I’m sure Martha can bring us in some coffee and we’ll have ourselves a little chat. We’ll work things out for you.”

  He said this as if she were one step from living in her car, and not the proprietor of one of the most successful businesses in Half Moon Harbor. All of the Cove, for that matter. “I can take care of things myself, Mayor, but thank you for being so thoughtful.” She smiled as he looked confused as to whether she was being sincere or not, then he chuckled, just in case.

  “Yes, well, we all need to look out for each other in Blueberry.”

  Delia had to curl her fingers into her palms, but then Ted finally spoke up.

  “Let’s cut the bull, shall we?” He turned and looked at Delia, the most ingratiating, openly condescending smile on his lean, handsome face.

  Delia had always thought Teddy the Letch was the living embodiment of the word smarm. Lounge lizard also can to mind, his dark eyes being more than a little . . . reptilian.

  “You’ve had your turn milking this town dry, camping out on a vital piece of harbor real estate. The free ride is over. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet. Your family seems to have a knack for that. Well, except for your brother.”

  Delia snapped. She got right up in his face, and to his credit, his eyes did dart a little as her gaze bored into his. “You can take all the little potshots you want at me, though if I were you, I’d have a hard time saying the things you do and looking at myself in the mirror each morning. But to each his own. My brother died a hero, with a silver medal. They don’t just hand t
hose out to anyone, Ted. He gave up his life in service to his country, while you sat on your ass in your imagined little fiefdom here and let your father-in-law buy your future for you. So be very, very careful—”

  Ted lifted his hands in surrender and took a careful step back, but wisely remained silent, though as he gained his space, his expression returned to one of smug righteousness. “I know this is a sensitive time,” he said, once he was safely beside the mayor, though Delia could have told him nothing would save his sorry ass if he dared say another word about her family.

  “Why don’t we head inside,” Mayor Davis said with a chuckle, then dabbed at his forehead with the handkerchief he kept in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Sun is making us all a little overheated.”

  “Thank you for the offer, Mayor, but I’m sure I will hear about your decision and the reasoning behind it when you announce it publicly to everyone in the Cove.”

  He looked surprised by this, and his gaze darted to Winstock, then to Ted, then back to her. “But, I wasn’t planning on—”

  “Oh, I would make a plan.” Delia took a step back and looked at all three men. “After all, this is a momentous time in Cove history. The day when, after hundreds of years of priding ourselves on our self-sustaining livelihoods, our grit, and fortitude in the face of all adversity, our strength that has always come from banding together, family to family, to see each other through . . . we finally cave and allow the wealthy few to make decisions for us all, and sit by and idly watch as we give in to the greed of the almighty dollar. Although I’m sure you’ll find a slightly more palatable way of putting it.” She grinned. “Gosh. Think of what an excellent exit speech it will make.”