I make no apologies for my grumpy mood, either. Just you try getting up in the dark, taking an cool shower (Jim had turned down the hot water the night before – he always worries about something going wrong with our utilities when we’re away for a few days), swallowing a quick breakfast, and piling into the car for the trek northward from Connecticut to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, on that hellish, traffic-clogged highway known as I-95.
I envied Lucy and Ethel, snug in their crates at Mary Alice’s. Talk about a dog’s life.
We made it in 3 hours and 55 minutes, mostly because we drove through Providence, Rhode Island – a frequent traffic bottleneck – when most of the commuters were probably still in bed.
Parking in Hyannis was a breeze, thanks to Mark and Jenny, who had reserved a spot for us in a lot near the ferry terminal, and prepaid so we could just park and go. We even had time for a cup of terrible coffee before we boarded the ferry.
Jim immediately became engrossed in reading the Boston Globe, but I was too excited to concentrate on anything but checking and rechecking my watch and gazing out the window for the first sight of my favorite island.
“Mark and Jenny were smart to take the plane over to Nantucket, Jim,” I said to my husband. “Even though this is the fast ferry, it seems to be taking forever for us to get there. We should have taken the plane with them.”
Jim lowered his paper to look directly at me. “I seem to remember that we discussed taking the plane, Carol. But you were nervous about being on such a small one. That’s why we booked the fast ferry.”
I couldn’t argue with the guy, because he was right. I do have a fear of tight spaces. And self-service elevators. And…oh, never mind.
He gave my hand a squeeze and passed me a section of the paper. “Here, read something. It’ll help pass the time.”
“I’m too wound up to concentrate,” I said. “But thanks. I’m going to take a walk around the deck. I doubt it’ll be a long walk, because that wind is really sharp.”
I zipped up my coat, grabbed my purse (I never leave my purse unguarded in a public place – my whole life is in my purse!), and headed for the door. In my haste to get outside to see if there was even a hazy distant view of the island through the morning fog, I tripped over a briefcase some bozo had left in the aisle by his seat. Fortunately, I landed on my well-padded posterior, so I didn’t hurt myself. Unfortunately, the entire contents of my purse went flying all over the floor of the ferry.
The jerk who was responsible for my fall – who’d left his seat to get something at the snack bar – rushed toward me.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out his hand to help me up. “I shouldn’t have left my briefcase…Carol, is that you?” Good grief. It was Bob Green.
I was so shocked to see him that I didn’t know what to say. If you’ve known me for a while, you appreciate how rare that is.
So I ignored his outstretched hand and concentrated on picking up the debris from my purse, which was scattered around the center aisle of the boat and under a few seats. What I wanted to say to him was, “Yes, Bob, it’s Carol, your wife’s very best friend. I was the maid of honor in your wedding, remember? You big jerk.”
What I really said was, “Can you help me find my lipstick, Bob? It’s called Desert Rose. It’s in a gold case, and I think it rolled under your seat.”
Bob obediently got to his knees and began the search for my lipstick, which was really in my hand. And I pulled myself up so I was standing over him. That way, I felt like I was more in control of the situation.
Pretty clever, huh?
“So, Bob,” I said to his backside, “are you going to Nantucket to meet Tiffani? I think you both have a lot of nerve, having a lovers’ tryst at the same time we’re all going to be there making decisions about Mark and Jenny’s wedding. Talk about being insensitive.”
Bob scrambled to his feet and started to talk, but I didn’t let him. “It’s a good thing Nancy didn’t come with us,” I said. “But I suppose that wouldn’t make any difference to you. Just as long as you and Tiffani were together.”
I glared at him, daring him to respond.
“Oh, that’s right, I remember now,” I continued. “Nancy couldn’t come with us because she has a date this weekend.” I didn’t know if that was technically true, but it sounded good and shocked the heck out of Bob.
“Nancy has a date?” he asked. “With who?”
“It’s with whom, Bob,” I countered. “And I don’t know his name. She’s had quite a few dates recently.” Take that, you twerp.
“And anyway, what are you doing here? Can’t you let your girlfriend out of your sight for even one weekend?”
Bob colored slightly. “I’m sorry, Carol. I didn’t know that Tiffani was going to be working with your family this weekend. I know you think I’m a big jerk, a cad, whatever, but I’m not completely insensitive. Tiffani spends a lot of time planning weddings on Nantucket, and I thought it would be fun to surprise her. She doesn’t know I’m coming. Now I know what a really bad idea this is.”
I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that quickly. “Well, you can always stay on the ferry and make the return trip to Hyannis,” I said. “In fact, I think that’s what you should do.”
And with that as my parting shot, I grabbed my purse and headed for the outside deck, which I had all to myself, not counting the seagulls. So I was free to mutter and complain and share things with the birds that I usually reserve for Lucy and Ethel’s ears.
“I’m not going to let this ruin our trip,” I declared to one large bird who had swooped particularly close to the railing where I was standing. “But I’m betting that if Bob does decide to stay on Nantucket, he might be in for a surprise. Maybe the lovely Tiffani won’t be as glad to see him as he thinks she will.”
Little did I know how true that was.
Chapter 15
Life’s always better when I’m wearing my tiara.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” I said to Jenny, giving my daughter and her fiancé big hugs. “What time did your plane get in? Have you seen Tiffani yet? How far is the Grey Gull Inn from the ferry dock? Is it close enough to walk to?”
Jim rolled his eyes at Mark before Jenny had a chance to respond. “Your mother-in-law-to-be is always full of questions, and rarely gives anyone a chance to respond to one before going on to the next one.”
“I think that’s one of my most endearing traits,” I countered. “I’m a very curious person.” And I gave him a peck on the cheek to show that I wasn’t offended. Because I knew that he was kidding. At least, I thought he was.
“The Grey Gull Inn is about five blocks from here,” Jenny said. “It’s a great location. Tiffani was right. Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed my tote bag. “The guys are already half a block ahead of us.”
And we were off, dodging the crowds, and passing shops I was dying to check out.
My daughter, sensing my mood, laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Mom. You’ll have plenty of time for shopping while we’re here. And Nantucket Cottage Hospital even has a thrift shop we can check out. It’ll be closing for the season soon, so everything’s half price. I know you’ll love that.”
I was having trouble keeping up with Jim’s long stride and Jenny and Mark’s youth on the treacherous Nantucket cobblestones. But I’d be darned if I’d admit it, even if I was getting a stitch in my right side from the rapid pace they’d set.
“I didn’t realize some of these blocks were so long on Nantucket,” I said, stopping to give myself a short break and catch my breath.
“We’re almost there, Mom,” Jenny promised, slowing down her stride to match my own.
I can do it. I can do it. Puff puff puff. Look down so you don’t trip on the cobblestones, Carol.
“We’re here!” squealed Jenny, grabbing my hand as we rounded another corner. “What do you think?”
Oh, my gosh. It was love at first sight for me. The Grey Gull Inn was even more charming in per
son than it had looked on line. In fact, except for the “friendship” staircase at the building’s main entrance, typical of many antique Nantucket houses (they were built very close to the street, in case you didn’t know that), the inn was a larger version of my own antique colonial house. And it’s no secret how much I love my house.
The inn was grey – naturally – with white shutters, reminding me of a joke I’d heard years ago about a Nantucket native giving directions to a particularly annoying tourist: “Take a right at the grey house with the white trim.” Most Nantucket houses, especially in town, are grey with white trim!
The interior of the Grey Gull Inn was even better than the exterior. The lobby exuded the charm of a close friend’s living room, inviting guests to settle down with a good book in one of the cozy wing chairs that were scattered in comfortable groupings around the room. Beautiful white wainscoting complimented walls painted in a muted cranberry, an appropriate color for Nantucket.
A door which I guessed led to the dining room opened, and a woman dressed in khaki slacks and a cream cashmere sweater came through, her forehead creased with a frown. As soon as she caught sight of us, however, her face immediately switched into what I call the “on” position. The “so happy to meet you” look that is only achieved after hours of practice in front of a mirror. Or on a stage.
“These must be your parents, Jenny,” she exclaimed. “I’m JoAnn Wallace. Welcome to the Grey Gull Inn. My brother and I are so excited to have you here.”
I swear, then JoAnn gave me a kiss on the cheek. Sheesh. A little too much of a warm welcome from a complete stranger. Oblivious to my discomfort, JoAnn continued, “Please, for the next few days, think of the Grey Gull Inn as your home.” Then she turned and gave Jim a quick peck, too.
Hmmm.
“This is such a beautiful place,” I said to JoAnn, linking my arm through Jim’s and drawing him a little closer to me. “I love antique houses. This reminds me of our own, back in Fairport, Connecticut. Where we’ve lived for most of our married life. But our house doesn’t come with a legend, the way your inn does. Where is the staircase where Charity Grey died? Is it in this part of the inn?”
Mark, who up to now had remained quiet, started to laugh. “Leave it to you, Carol, to bring up a mysterious death within the first hour of being on Nantucket. I’m the police detective, but I’m strictly off duty this weekend.”
What he didn’t add, because he’s such a polite guy, was, “I suggest you do the same.”
“I’m just curious,” I shot back to my soon-to-be son-in-law. “And I saw a picture of the staircase and read all about poor Charity’s fatal fall on the Grey Gull Inn webpage. So there, Detective Smarty Pants.”
I turned to JoAnn. “Mark loves to tease me.”
“We all love to tease you, Mom,” Jenny said. “Because we all love you.”
“I can assure you that the staircase is quite safe,” JoAnn said. “We put the legend of Charity’s fall on our webpage to give some history about the building. We never anticipated how many guests would stay here because of it. Some people can’t resist being at the scene of a tragedy, even if it happened almost two hundred years ago.”
Don’t kid me, JoAnn. You’re using Charity’s mysterious death as a marketing tool for the inn.
I didn’t really say that, of course.
“Do we need to register or give you a credit card number?” Jim asked. “Goodness, no,” JoAnn replied. “Tiffani has taken care of all of that.
She often brings guests to the Grey Gull Inn, and then, they become repeat customers. I hope that will happen with all of you, too.”
“Mom, Mark and I have already put our bags in our room,” Jenny said. “Why don’t you and Dad do the same, freshen up a bit, and then we’ll all meet back here in about half an hour.”
Jenny turned to JoAnn. “I remember Tiffani said she and Skip were going to meet a local florist about providing bouquets for the wedding. Do you know if they’re back yet?”
JoAnn frowned. “Skip had things to do here this morning. I don’t know why Tiffani insisted on dragging him along with her to some florist when she was perfectly capable of doing it on her own.”
Then, realizing she was talking to guests who were new to the Grey Gull Inn, JoAnn backpedaled a little. “I didn’t mean to criticize Tiffani. What I meant was, she’s here so often, she knows Nantucket like a native. She’s terrific to work with, a real professional, and she’s brought lots of customers here. I know she’ll do a terrific job organizing your wedding. And she often relies on Skip’s opinion. He has fabulous taste.” JoAnn gestured around the inn’s exquisitely appointed lobby. “Most of these decorating choices were his. I have no sense or style for that sort of thing. I’m the behind-the-scenes business manager for the inn. So we complement each other well.”
She handed Jim an old-fashioned key. “You’re in the Mariner room, in the original part of the inn. It’s right through that doorway, up the stairs to the second floor, the third room on the right. Enjoy your stay.”
“Our room’s right next door to yours, Mom,” Jenny said. “Wait’ll you check out what’s on the other side of this doorway. Something you’ve been dying to see.”
She waved us through, and I stopped dead in my tracks, causing Jim to bump into me. Because there it was – The Staircase. Even more imposing than it had looked online. And with the narrowest, steepest treads I’d ever seen.
“You mean we have to use these stairs every time we want to go out?” Jim groused. “Or come back to our room? This staircase is lethal. My feet are too big for the treads. The only way I can use it is if I position my foot sideways,” he said.
“Well, we won’t be running up and down these stairs, that’s for sure,” I said, ignoring the tiny prickle of fear I felt. “I can see why poor Charity fell. But it is beautiful, and the railing looks secure enough. At least it’s a real wooden banister, not the kind that’s made of rope, like I’ve seen in some really old houses.” I started upstairs, carrying my tote bag and being careful where I placed my own feet.
“Look, Jim, there’s even a coffin corner.” I started to turn back to Jim, then thought the better of it. “That’s the extra wide part of a staircase designed so the undertaker could get a coffin down to the first floor. I read about coffin corners when I was doing some research on Nantucket houses.”
“I hope no one has to use it while we’re here,” Jim said.
I ignored him, something I’ve had years of practice doing. Because I had something else to worry about. Our room didn’t have a private bath. In order to get to either of the bathrooms shared by the four rooms on this floor, guests had to pass perilously close to The Staircase. This could be a real problem, especially in the middle of the night.
Then I told myself to look on the bright side. At least, the bathrooms were inside the inn.
Chapter 16
My mind wanders. Sometimes I can’t find it for days.
“What’s all that yelling?” Jim asked as we carefully negotiated our way down the treacherous staircase to the first floor and turned in the direction of the lobby. “It sounds like a helluva argument.”
“I hope it’s not Jenny and Mark,” I said, unsure whether to proceed and interrupt what was definitely a nasty exchange between a man and a woman or stay put and hope the argument would be over soon. “I’ve read that planning a wedding can fray even the best of relationships.
“Oh, no,” I said, catching sight of the warring couple. “I thought Bob went back to the mainland.”
I had decided to zip my lips about Bob Green’s plan to show up on Nantucket and surprise Tiffani. I hadn’t seen him get off the ferry, and I was hoping he took my advice and stayed on the boat for a return trip to Hyannis.
Then, I’d put that potential complication to our island visit firmly out of my mind. Without saying a word about it to Jim.
Jim nudged his way past me and stormed into the lobby. “Bob, what are you doing here?” he asked. “An
d what the heck is going on?”
“Hello, Tiffani,” I said to the obviously furious wedding planner. Then I turned to Bob and said, “I warned you that showing up as a surprise for Tiffani wasn’t a great idea. But you didn’t listen to me.”
True to form, Jim immediately blamed me. “Do you mean to tell me, Carol, that you knew Bob was coming to Nantucket and didn’t say anything? What’s wrong with you?”
“I didn’t find out about it until we were on the ferry,” I said in my own defense. “And by that time, it was too late to do much about it.” Short of pushing Bob overboard.
I didn’t really say that, of course.
“Will you two kindly agree to resolve your differences at another time?” Jim demanded, matching Tiffani’s angry face with one of his own. “Right now, Tiffani, you’re working for us, remember? And we’re here to plan Jenny and Mark’s wedding. Your personal relationship is no concern of ours.”
Jim shot me a look, daring me to disagree. For once, I kept quiet. Both Tiffani and Bob looked chagrined, and she immediately slipped back into her official wedding planner mode.
“You’re right, of course, Jim,” she said. “Please accept my apology for being so unprofessional.”
Turning to Bob, Tiffani said, “It’s best for everyone if you leave Nantucket right away. We’ll continue this discussion…” she practically spat out that word… “when I get back to Connecticut.
Bob started to reply, then thought better of it. I actually felt sorry for the guy. Although he didn’t deserve any sympathy, especially not from me.
“You’re right. I’m going. Jim, Carol, please accept my apology for this unfortunate incident.” Then, mercifully, he left.
Awkward silence followed. I hastened to fill it – I hate awkward silences.
All right, I admit it. I hate silences of any kind. When I’m home alone, except for Lucy and Ethel, I always have the radio or the television on for a little background noise.
Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) Page 7
