On Sunset Beach: The Chesapeake Diaries

by Mariah Stewart

  “That is so horrible, all of it,” she whispered. “I wish …”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “And the boys you ‘liberated’?”

  “They’re safe in Capetown, for now.”

  “There’s that, at least. I guess one good thing came out of it.”

  “Two, actually. Two good things.”

  “What was the second?”

  “The leader of the rebel band that day has been identified. Raymond Nakimbe. He’s been trying to unite all the rebel factions so that he can stage a coup, overthrow the current government, and put himself on the ballot in next year’s election.”

  “Who would vote for someone like that?” Carly was horrified.

  “You’d be surprised what people will do when someone has a gun to their head.”

  “Can’t he be stopped?”

  “If enough support is given to the current president—the legitimate government—then yes, he can be stopped from taking over, but he has to be caught first. He’s been very clever in his alliances. He has backing from some tribesmen who are aligned with al Qaeda, among others.”

  “So if the government captures him …?”

  “Game over. Like I said, he’s been clever, and he’s elusive, but if the current regime gets their hands on him, it’s done. One of the things about making alliances with people who are not generally trustworthy is that, well, you can’t trust them. Everyone’s playing their own game right now.”

  “So say he’s betrayed by one of these other groups, and they hand him over to the government?”

  “A real possibility, which is why he’s so hard to find. But in that case, he’ll be brought to justice, with or without a trial. Which in that world means executed by whichever means the president wants.”

  “That would be your first choice.”

  “Damn right.”

  “It won’t bring back Anna or Stephano or anyone else he murdered.”

  “No, but it would stop him from murdering more innocent people.”

  “Could you go back?”

  “Anytime I want.”

  “Would you go back?”

  His answer was a long time coming. “I don’t know. I left because I’d had enough. I started to think there had to be something more, something better in life. I don’t regret where I’ve been and what I’ve done, don’t misunderstand. But I figured it was time to move on, see what else there is.”

  “Like interviewing local characters.” She tried to lighten the mood.

  “Hey, you were one of those characters I was sent to interview.” He turned and took her in his arms. “Smartest thing I ever did was say yes when my mom asked me to do a couple of interviews for her paper. Look where we are.”

  “Where are we?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

  “I guess we’re on the road to what comes next,” he told her, not seeming to mind that she asked. “I guess we’re just going to have to see where that road leads …” He paused. “You in, Car?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I’m in …”

  Chapter 23

  CARLY was beginning to understand that when Ford made a bet, he meant business.

  “What would you have done if you’d lost the bet?” she asked him over dinner several nights later.

  “I’d have paid up.”

  “You would have made dinner for the rest of the week.” She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  “Of course. That’s what a bet is. You lose, well, you pay up.”

  “Even though you don’t know how to cook.”

  “I can cook a little.”

  “Like what, eggs and toast? Oatmeal? Please.”

  “I’d have gone to the chef at the inn and asked him to give me a crash course.” He leaned back against the counter. “So what’s on the menu tonight, Julia Child?”

  “Take-out Thai.” She held up the bag unapologetically. “I didn’t get to the grocery store.”

  He got out the plates and set the table without asking, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do. “I think your calling me out on my lack of cooking ability when you’re doing takeout is somewhat, oh, I don’t know … hypocritical?”

  She laughed at his affected sanctimonious air.

  “I believe I’ve already proven myself.”

  “True. But the bet was to make dinner—not reservations, not orders for takeout,” he reminded her. “However, I’ll let it slide this time because I happen to love Thai.”

  “So I should consider myself lucky.”

  “Very. Perhaps better planning on your part will help avoid this situation in the future.”

  She rolled up a dish towel and tossed it at him, and he laughed as he ducked and caught it with one hand. She watched him move around the kitchen, at ease with its layout, almost as if he belonged there.

  She chastised herself for letting that thought slip in. She had no idea where he was headed—if he knew, he was keeping that bit of news to himself. Carly’s path, on the other hand, was pretty clear. There was so much on her plate, she had little time to think about anything except making sure that she delivered everything she’d promised.

  She had two more weeks in St. Dennis before the gallery would open and she’d be showing off Carolina’s paintings. Who knew what came next? She’d have the option of taking some of the works back to New York to sell in her own gallery—if Ellie decided to sell any of them. So far, she hadn’t been able to decide what to do. She could sell a few or none at all. She could pull them from the gallery in St. Dennis—aptly dubbed the Enright Gallery by the town council—and send all or some of them back to New York with Carly. It seemed she changed her mind daily. The indecision was making Carly so crazy, she found herself avoiding the issue entirely.

  The town council had balked at the price of the security system, despite Carly’s assurances that eventually the gallery in the carriage house would repay the expense. After the success of the Carolina Ellis exhibit, Carly had explained, other artists would want to show there as well—assuming the security of the works could be guaranteed—thus raising more revenue. But she’d been unable to convince them, so she ended up paying Tony’s bill on her own. The system was in, and the test runs had been completed on everything except the wiring on the individual paintings. Tony would be back next week to tend to that, and once that entire system was in place, they’d hang the paintings.

  To that end, Ford had accompanied her to Ellie’s to measure the paintings that were stored there.

  “I still think it’s nuts that you’d pay all that money for fancy security at the carriage house while the paintings are in Ellie’s attic.” He followed her along the walk up to Ellie’s front door. “Remind me again what kind of security system she and Cam have?”

  Carly’s knock on the door was followed by an explosion of barking from inside.

  She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Guard dog.”

  Ford rolled his eyes, but she saw the glint of humor there and laughed.

  Gabi let them in, and they made the obligatory fuss over Dune, who followed them to the second floor, but wouldn’t go up the third-floor steps.

  “It’s just as well,” Gabi told them as they ascended to the attic. “She’d just get into stuff and either chew it or bring it downstairs. Go ahead and do whatever. Ellie said to ask you just to lock the back door when you leave and that she was sorry that she and Cam couldn’t wait but they had to get to Dallas’s to finish up something at the studio that she wanted done before the weekend. I have to leave for field-hockey camp and I’m really late.”

  Gabi was halfway down the steps when she called up to Carly. “Could you do me a favor and just walk Dune a little before you leave?”

  “Sure thing,” Carly called back.

  “Thanks! See you guys later …”

  “So what are we doing?” Ford rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the crowded attic.

  “We’re going to measure each painti
ng and write down its dimensions. Then I will photograph each one for the catalog.”

  “I thought you already did that.”

  “Only with my phone. I need higher quality for the catalog.”

  “Okay, why don’t you measure and I’ll take the pictures?” he suggested.

  “That’s what I had in mind.” She unwrapped the paper from the first painting and stood it against the wall, measured it with a tape measure, then wrote down the name of the painting and the dimensions on her smartphone.

  “I can see why you like Carolina’s work,” Ford told her after he’d taken pictures of several of the paintings. “They’re pretty and the scenes are all so peaceful. Like this one.” He pointed to the one he’d just photographed. “That’s right down there on the beach.”

  “What beach?” She was preparing to rewrap the painting.

  “The beach at the end of the road. See there, there’s the inlet across the way.”

  She studied it for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we had photographs of the places she painted? Sort of a now and then …”

  “Don’t go looking for work,” he cautioned. “I think you have enough to do between now and the end of the month.”

  “True, but it could be wonderful.”

  “Carly …”

  “Okay, okay. So maybe not for this exhibit, but maybe for sometime in the future …” She liked the idea of Carolina’s paintings of places in St. Dennis from her day hanging next to photos of those actual places in today’s world.

  “You planning on being around to do another exhibit?” he asked casually as he set up the shot on the painting she was unwrapping.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it till right now. I mean, Ellie and I talked about me taking some of the paintings to my gallery in New York to display and then maybe sell a few, but she can’t make up her mind. Which means that the entire collection would still be here, and that means someone’s going to have to be in charge of the exhibit.”

  “Couldn’t they hire someone else?”

  “I guess.” The very thought annoyed her. The exhibit was hers.

  “So you’d just turn the whole thing over to someone else?”

  When she didn’t respond, he continued. “How would you work that out? I mean, if you were to stick around.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’d think of something.”

  “Guess you could always stay at the inn.”

  “I guess. Or at the house, if it’s still available.”

  “How long is your lease for?”

  “I took it through the end of the year because the original idea was to have the gallery open for the holiday house tour.”

  “So you could come back …”

  “I could.”

  She wrapped and rewrapped, and he took shot after shot until the job was completed. They were greeted merrily by Dune when they got back to the first floor.

  “Oh, I told Gabi I’d take her out before we left.” Carly took the dog’s leash from its place near the back door and hooked it to her collar. “Want to go to the beach, Dune?”

  The dog wagged her tail all the way from the house to the dune that led to the little stretch of beach at the end of Bay View Road. She scampered along the sand sniffing at whatever had washed up overnight, occasionally picking up bits of flotsam that Carly had to take from her.

  “See there?” Ford stopped at the water’s edge and pointed across the Bay. “There’s the inlet I was talking about.” He raised the camera that still hung around his neck and took a series of shots. He looked through the viewfinder, nodded his approval, and showed Carly the images in the camera.

  “Nice. Oh, that does look like the painting, except the tree line is closer to the water. Damn, it’s a shame I don’t have time to—”

  “You don’t.”

  “But you know what would be really cool?” She tugged on the dog’s leash to head back to the house. “A sort of photo essay that would run in the Gazette. Yesterday through the eyes of Carolina Ellis—today through the eye of the lens.”

  She thought he was about to remind her again that she didn’t have time for such a project, but he surprised her by falling silent, and she could tell by the look on his face that the idea appealed to him, too. Finally, he said, “That could be interesting.”

  They returned to the house, where Carly gave Dune fresh water, a biscuit for being a good girl, and one tummy rub before locking the back door behind them.

  After Ford dropped her off at the house—not missing an opportunity to cheerfully remind her that her week wasn’t over and she still had a bet to pay off—Carly made herself a cup of coffee and went into the dining room to work on the catalog. She printed out the photos from the camera and worked on the placement of each. She wasn’t aware of how long she’d been working until her stomach began to growl. She looked for her phone to check the time and found it was well past two o’clock.

  There was pad Thai left over from the night before, so she heated up some of that and ate it standing up at the counter. With Ford not there, the house was so quiet it seemed the life had gone out of it. She found herself looking forward to seeing him every day, taking a trip to the market together, talking things over while she prepared dinner and while they ate. They’d gotten into the habit of walking after dinner, and over the past week they’d covered just about all of St. Dennis. He pointed out places that had been significant while he was growing up, and more and more, Carly looked forward to seeing bits and pieces of the boy he’d been as she walked through the town with the man he’d become. She was finding herself falling for the town almost as much as she was falling for him.

  And then, he’d stay for the night.

  It had taken Carly several days of his leaving in the morning and coming back at night to realize it was as close as she’d ever come to living with someone.

  “Did you ever live with someone?” she asked over dessert one night.

  “You mean, a woman?” He shook his head. “You ever live with any of your old boyfriends?”

  “No.”

  “Is this your way of telling me that it bothers you that I’m here so much?” He put down his fork.

  “Oh, no. No, not at all. I like having you here.” Her foot slid out of her sandal and reached for his leg under the table. “It’s just a new experience for me, to be around someone so much. I’ve lived alone since I left school,” she explained. “It’s just … different, that’s all.”

  “I’ve always had people in my space,” he told her. “I went from growing up in the inn to school to the military. So being with one person instead of a crowd, I guess that’s different for me, too.” He smiled. “I kinda like it.”

  “Actually, I kind of like it, too.”

  It occurred to her as she rinsed off her plate that her week was almost up. She’d bet seven days, and now they were down to two. The thought made her uneasy, so she pushed it from her mind and refused to think about what might happen when those two days had come and gone.

  Ford called around four to ask her if she knew how to cook fish.

  “Of course I can cook fish.” She pretended to be insulted. “I can cook anything. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’m down at the marina and the fishing boats are coming in. I ran into a guy I went to high school with—he fishes with his dad now—and he offered me a tuna he caught this morning. I told him I’d have to check first to see if you wanted it.”

  “Wait, do I have to clean it?”

  “Nope. I’ll do that part.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “Please. Bay-boy here.” He put his hand over the phone and said something to someone in the background.

  “Okay, then, Bay-boy. I will leave that part in your hands.”

  She hung up and tried to avoid thinking about a time when he wasn’t in the house in the morning when she woke up, or when he didn’t call to check in during the day. It must have been on Ford’s mind, too, because on the se
venth night, in her bed and in her arms, he asked, “So, are you ready to lose another bet?” But they couldn’t agree on what to bet on, and no bets were made.

  He surprised her the next day, when she was still wondering. She’s spent the day at the carriage house working with Tony on wiring the individual frames and hanging them. She couldn’t wait to get back to the house on Hudson Street to tell Ford how fabulous it all looked, and take him there later to show him. But there was a knot in her stomach the size of a baseball, because he’d said nothing that morning about dinner. She pulled into her driveway, thinking about how she wished she’d made that second bet after all.

  She went into the quiet house and tossed her bag onto a dining room chair, then headed straight to the kitchen to dump out a bottle of water she’d found on the floor of her car. One look out the window and her heart skipped a beat. There was Ford kneeling by one of the neglected flower beds, a mile-high pile of weeds on the ground. He was shirtless in the afternoon sun, and his back and shoulders gleamed with sweat.

  She poured a glass of water, popped some ice into it, and opened the back door.

  “Hey,” she called as she walked across the yard.

  “Hi.” He stood and brushed dirt from his hands onto his shorts. She handed him the glass and he took a long drink.

  “Look at all the work you’ve done out here. I can’t believe how good everything looks.” She went to put her arms around him, and he backed away.

  “Sweaty-guy alert,” he told her. “You can thank me later.”

  “And I will. Whatever possessed you to do this?” She was still in shock. Who just showed up in someone’s yard and pulled weeds?

  “You mentioned that you wanted it done, and obviously you don’t have time to do it, but I did.” He raised his sunglasses and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Besides, I thought it would make you smile, and it did. So, time well spent.”

  “You … you …” She shook her head, unable to find the words. His simple, honest response had touched her heart. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. “More to come after I get a shower …”