Owen shook his head. “He was a devout man, and considered himself married until death. He didn’t reach fifty.”
“Wait, I thought—isn’t Jonah in direct line from Jeremiah? How is that possible? None of the kids ever came back, did they? At least, we have no record of that happening.”
Owen shook his head. “I doubt those kids ever knew the truth, whatever that truth was. Like I said, they may well have been Jed’s. That was, what now? Five generations back? Six? Your side has stayed loyal to your family. Is there much chatter about the Blueberry Cove Blues at this point?”
Calder shook his head. “Not really, other than at family reunions, that kind of thing, and it all comes off as so much folklore really. There isn’t any actual animosity on our side, it’s more just a kind of head-shaking bemusement over how narrow-minded and hateful this side was, way back then. No particular curiosity to find out where things might stand today, or change things, either. Blueberry Cove Blues were considered distant, long-forgotten relatives at best.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Because Brooks Winstock reached out to me on the job bid. I knew the story, well, our version of it, in a ‘how the Blues came to settle in Calais’ kind of way. I knew I had a distant family history here, but I didn’t even know if there were any Blues left in the Cove. I looked into it, though, trying to figure out what Winstock’s angle was, poked around a bit, asked some questions of the oldest members of my family.”
“And?”
Calder grinned. “Well, that stirred up a bit of a hornet’s nest. They didn’t often talk about this side, but go poking and prodding, and they were more than happy to give me their opinions on the matter. Which, collectively and quite succinctly, could be summed up as ‘don’t waste your time on those assholes.’ Pardon the language.”
Owen shook his head, looking more relieved than anything. “No offense taken. Guess it’s not so hard to see why no one ever came looking.”
Calder shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of anyway. It all seemed kind of ridiculous to me, but now, hearing this . . . well, it definitely explains Jonah’s open hostility and his unwillingness to communicate with me, both before my arrival and since. So who is Jonah descended from, if not Jeremiah?”
“They had a younger sister, Josephine. Her husband died young, shortly after they’d all settled here. She wasn’t even twenty yet, had two babies already, both sons. Story goes that Jo’s husband died soon after Jed had taken off, so Jeremiah took her under his roof and helped raise her kids. Not as his own, per se, but they were Blues, nonetheless. And—Cove history is wishy-washy on this, though I’m sure Jonah has records somewhere—but whatever his sister’s married name had been, those kids used the surname Blue. Jonah descends from them.”
Calder took a moment, letting all the information settle a bit.
“You have family?” Owen asked.
“No kids, if that’s what you mean. I have three brothers. All younger.” He smiled at Owen’s wide eyes. “Two are married, two daughters apiece. The baby is still in college. Not a one of them cares a lick about what’s going on out here.” They’re too busy arguing with me. “So . . . yeah, we weren’t really raised to even think about this side.”
“Well, Brooks will sure stir up a nest by getting you here, I can tell you that.”
“I appreciate you telling me all this. I’m glad you did. I’d have rather heard it from you anyway. Factual and dispassionate. Though, while I understand Jonah’s stance now, I still maintain it’s ridiculous to hold the children responsible for the sins of their fathers. And mothers.”
“Agreed. But if Jonah knows the whole story, then it’s possible he isn’t sure what you know, or—more to the point—what you don’t know. He may think you’re here to make some kind of claim on Jeremiah’s descendants and their property, as a rightful descendant yourself.”
Stunned, Calder opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally said, “Jesus. I never would have thought of that. But you’re right.” Then another thought struck him. “Do you think Winstock plans to use my potential gene pool connection as some kind of leverage to weasel Jonah’s property out from under him? Although, off the top of my head, I can’t imagine how that would play out.”
“Hadn’t occurred to me, but . . . sad to say, I wouldn’t put it past him. I always thought him a fair man in his business dealings, but the way he’s gone about securing this whole harbor renovation project of his has made me think otherwise of late. Now I don’t know where he’d draw the line. Or if he even has one. He’s . . . determined. And he has the wealth, power, and influence to push forward almost any agenda he wants. But to actually change the course of the Cove’s future, its destiny . . . yes, he’s resorted to some less than aboveboard methods. I’d be careful if I were you.”
Just then, the shop phone rang, and Owen shot him an apologetic look, then picked up and immediately smiled more broadly than Calder would have thought possible. Possibly in relief, after their heavy conversation. Then Owen said, “Why hello, Hannah, so good to hear your voice. Home for the big event, I assume?”
At the mention of her name, Calder lost his train of thought, and found himself listening to Owen’s end of the conversation.
Owen grinned further as he listened, and it was obvious how sincere his affection was for her. “Now, don’t call me Mayor Hartley,” he said, a pink hue staining his pale, freckled cheeks. “Owen will do fine, as it always has. And yes, your sister called.” He placed his hand on top of the bag of white crushed gravel presently lying across the counter. “I have it right here.” He listened, then said, “Sure thing, just toot the horn and I’ll bring it on out.” His face reddened further. “Well, I don’t know about the shining armor part, but you know I’m always willing to pitch in and help. And please tell your sister if she needs help setting things up out on the Point for Sunday’s ceremony, just give me a call. I can put together some folks to come set up chairs and tables and the like.” His smile grew. “Good to have you back.” Then he clicked off and looked at Calder. “Hannah McCrae. Hasn’t been home in . . . well, more years than I can recall. Good to have her back, she’s good people.”
“Being sister of the police chief probably doesn’t hurt, either.”
Owen’s brows lifted. “So you know her, then? The whole family is good people, always have been. Her brother has done an enormous service to this town. The girls all scattered early on, of course.” His expression was one of honest and deeply held affection. “I’m sure they’re enjoying the family reunion. I know we’re happy to have them back in town again, all three together.”
“Any reason they don’t come back more regularly?”
“Well, Fiona pops in the most, usually making it up for a holiday or two, and at some point over the summer. Hannah used to, before her star started to rise on Capitol Hill.”
“Politician?” That surprised him.
“Litigator. Good one, too.”
That was more like it. “I’ll bet,” Calder said. “I’ve met Fiona. Interior designer.” And cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. “What’s the deal with the third sister?”
Owen’s face creased in a grin so wide, his eyes twinkled.
“Wow,” Calder said, chuckling. “I’m almost afraid to hear this.”
“Kerry,” the older man said, fondly. “She’s the baby, the wild child of the bunch. Took off to see the world at barely eighteen and has only made a rare pit stop back here since. She’s quite the handful, always was. She’s the kind who makes a mark wherever she goes.” He chuckled. “Some of her stories will curl your hair.”
“Does sound like a handful.” Calder tried to imagine all three women together at the same time, and decided that was better left unimagined. Being the oldest of four brothers himself, spanning twelve years from oldest to youngest, Calder could only think that as the eldest sister, poor Hannah likely had her hands even more full than he had.
The short blast of a car horn sounded from outside the
front door. Owen went to heave the twenty-five-pound bag off the counter.
“I’ll get it,” Calder said, and easily hefted the unwieldy, thick plastic sack. “I appreciate the conversation. And the background. More than you know.”
“Thank you,” Owen said, nodding at the gravel. “And no problem. Any time. I don’t know if it added any clarity to your situation, but, like I said, information is power. I hope it helps more than it hinders.”
Calder hefted the bag to his shoulder. “Winstock has pushed our meeting back again. To dinnertime now. I’ll be very interested to hear what he has to say.”
Owen’s brows lifted a bit at that. “You actually planning on building the yacht club?”
“I don’t know. I’m not here for the job. Not really. I’m here to find out why Winstock wants me for the job.”
Owen nodded. “Well, if you’re looking for an in to help mend family feud fences, I don’t think taking that particular job is the way to do it.”
Calder nodded. “I’d already figured out that much. I’m not sure it will make a difference one way or the other, though, to be honest.” He turned back at the door. “You’ve given me the various sides of the story, about how the town feels about the growth going on here, I mean. You haven’t told me what you think. What’s your personal opinion?”
“Well, as mayor, I think about what’s best for everyone, and in that regard, I’m torn, as people’s needs vary widely. As a shopkeeper, I think about what’s best for me, and for my daughter, who is helping to run the place now and says she wants it to be hers someday.” At Calder’s pleased smile, a look of pride came into his eyes. “I’ll admit that took me a while to really wrap my head around. I guess I had other dreams for her, something bigger and, well, beyond this place.”
“Sounds like you’ve made this place a very good home for her. What’s not to love about that? Seems to me like a wonderful future to hang one’s hat on.”
He nodded, beaming. “I’ve come to realize that, too. I’m very proud of her, don’t get me wrong. And . . . to be honest, I love having her back here again, full-time. It’s . . . well, you don’t need to hear me get all sentimental.”
“No, but it’s nice that you are, all the same,” Calder said, thinking how funny it was with families and patriarchs. His father wanted his sons to think of nothing other than the company he and his father had built, Jeremiah Blue had felt the same about his venture, and both were losing or had lost that battle, on some fronts, anyway, because of the sheer rigidity with which they pursued their goals. And here Owen was trying to cut his young one loose, only to have her stubbornly stick herself right back in the nest and claim it as her own. He thought about the McCraes, specifically Hannah, and wondered what their story was, one staying, the rest leaving.
“An increase in town revenue wouldn’t be a bad thing for her as she takes this business forward another generation,” Owen was saying. “And . . . who knows what that next generation’s needs and responsibilities might be?”
“And as the town historian?” Calder asked.
Owen paused, then said, “The town historian knows that things that stay static tend to die, either from lack of forward energy, or from neglect, from being taken for granted. Change is inevitable. Change has come steadily to the Cove since its inception, or we wouldn’t still be here. Now, what we do with, for, and about those changes, is what matters. And that can only be up to each one of us to decide.”
Calder thought Hartley’s wisdom applied to a whole lot more than town growth. “A cautionary tale?”
Owen smiled. “Or a celebration of the endless opportunities of life.”
“Good point.” Calder grinned. “We should grab a few beers sometime. I’ll probably have more questions after meeting Winstock. If you don’t think they’ll run you out of town for being seen with me.”
Owen seemed surprised by the offer, then nodded. “Oh, it would stir up some chatter, to be sure. But no harm in chatter. I’d enjoy a few beers.” He smiled, and Calder noticed again the sharp intellect behind the somewhat mild-mannered outward appearance. “Of course, in return, I’d appreciate your insight into what you think Winstock is about, dragging you into this.”
“Sold, Mr. Mayor,” Calder said.
“Owen,” he replied. “Thanks again.” He motioned at the gravel.
Calder nodded and pushed through the door, thinking it was nice to discover at least one member of the town was sane.
Chapter Seven
As the door swung shut behind him, Calder squinted at the bright late-morning sunshine. Interesting day. Idling at the curb was the blue beast . . . and a pensive-looking Scarlett. And it’s not even noon yet. He’d expected she’d be testy from being kept waiting. He really needed to stop assuming the worst about her.
“Your gravel, ma’am,” he said and motioned toward the trunk.
She looked up, clearly startled from her thoughts, making him wonder what had brought that brooding expression to her face. Then her eyebrows climbed even higher. “You. Again.”
“Small town,” he replied, motioning again to the trunk.
She leaned down and reached around for the lever, then popped the lid for him. “Why are you here?”
“According to you? To destroy the Blue family and civilized life in the Cove as you know it.”
She gave him an arched look. “I meant here at Hartley’s, but never mind, it’s none of—just never mind. If you could put that in the trunk, I really need to get back over to the pub. Careful, the steamer trunk is still in there.”
She was flustered. Again. He hid his grin behind the popped hood of the trunk and put the gravel in the back, then moved the steamer to keep it clear and closed the trunk. He walked around to the driver’s-side door before she could pull away from the curb and leave him eating her dust. Again. “So, I feel as if I’m forced to ask now.” He gestured to the outfit. “Some weird chick-flick-movie-themed bachelorette party?”
“And here I was thinking more Adam Sandler meets Tim Burton. Or Hangover 6.”
He chuckled. “Point to Scarlett. Don’t worry. I won’t ask what the gravel is for. I don’t have time to testify in court.”
“Given our history, brief though it may be, I’m thinking you’re the last person I should ask to be a witness. And I don’t know about the gravel. I didn’t ask.” She might have smiled a little then. “Same reason.”
He grinned. “Smart move, Counselor. On both counts.”
She glanced up, surprised. “How did you know I was an attorney?”
“Owen. He mentioned it after taking your call. He can’t sing your praises highly enough. So, you’ve only been home one day and already you’re hot-rodding through intersections, taking out local signage, imitating Scarlett O’Hara in public, the questionable big bag of gravel . . . you’re not afraid of being disbarred or anything?”
“I wasn’t hot-rodding,” she said, sounding impatient, meaning he hadn’t been the only one to toss that in her direction. She glanced down at the dress, and her annoyance deflated a little. She sighed, and he wasn’t sure if her resignation was aimed at him, or her sister. Probably both. “Fiona thinks we’re not having enough fun, that we’re all too uptight and conservative, hence the bad bridesmaid dresses for the wedding rehearsal.”
“I take it the ‘from hell’ part at the end of that is a given.”
She might have cracked an actual smile at that. “The dresses are from hell, no doubt. But my family all gets along really well and just as likely Fi is right and it will be a hilarious blast. I’ll probably love every minute. Just as soon as I get away from the Cove and everyone I’ve ever known since birth and back out to the Point.” She gestured to the ensemble as a whole. “Not exactly the welcome-home impression I was hoping to make.”
“Owen said it’s been a few years.”
She gave him that arched look again. “Owen sure had a lot to say.”
Calder laughed. “You have no idea. But, where you’re concerne
d anyway, you and your family, it was all glowing.” He nodded toward the dress. “I figured the rehearsal was at the pub.”
“Post-rehearsal party, dinner, whatever. We’re decorating now.”
“With gravel.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure whatever it’s for will be spectacular.”
He lifted a hand, palm out. “I plead the fifth, Counselor.”
She looked insulted on her sister’s behalf. “She’s very good, you know. Award-winning, actually.”
“Considering the outfit you have on at the moment was her idea, and the one she had on yesterday, when it wasn’t rehearsal day . . . you’ll understand if I take that part on faith.”
“How do you know this outfit isn’t mine?”
He put his hand on the side of the door and leaned down a fraction, so she had to tip her chin up to look at his face. “It’s not that I don’t think you’d wear whatever a good friend—or sister—asked you to wear. But my sense is that any friends you have on Capitol Hill are very unlikely to have a wedding that tasteless.”
She frowned. “How did you know I worked on Capitol—never mind.”
“Owen,” they both said at the same time.
She smiled at that, and honest affection warmed her dark eyes. Not for Calder, of course, but for Owen, he assumed. Even with the abundance of makeup, the crazy hat, the banged-up lip, and the bandaged nose . . . she was a beautiful woman. A fortunate gene pool had seen to that. But her wry sense of humor and that light in her eyes . . . yeah, those things made her attractive to him in an entirely different way. Danger, danger, Blue. Walk away. Hell, run if you have to.
“I asked him out for a few beers,” he told her, referring to Owen. “He’s an interesting man.” His grin spread. “He didn’t turn me down.”
“Yes, well, he’s not good at saying no when he should. How do you think he ended up as mayor? Too kind for his own good.”
“I’d think he’d be a very good mayor.”
“Oh, he is. Best we’ve ever had, to hear Logan and Barb tell it.”
Sea Glass Sunrise Page 10
