by Verna Clay
Michael replied, "Thank you. But right now I'm looking for Victoria Patterson." When the lady's face showed surprise, he knew he was talking to her.
"I'm Victoria."
He smiled. "My name is Michael and I just bought all your paintings from Art's Art Gallery." He purposely did not reveal his last name.
Her expressive eyes widened and she seemed at a loss for words. Finally, she blurted, "Thank you!"
Michael decided to get to the crux of his visit. "I drove down from Portland for the day and happened upon your paintings. I'm very impressed by your talent. Is there somewhere we can talk?"
Again, the woman seemed flummoxed, but motioned down the hall. "There's a parlor that's also a souvenir shop this way."
He followed her and admired the care given to the interior of the home. The museum was obviously special to someone, and he suspected it was Victoria. When she motioned for him to sit on a settee, he said, "After you, ma'am." She sat on the edge of the red velvet cushion and he took up an easy posture at the other end. He commented on the red velvet draperies and a few artifacts in the room before getting to the reason for his visit. "The reason I'm here is because I want to commission you to paint several local scenes in the same vein as the ones I purchased." He noted her surprise before adding, "And I'll pay you very well. If you decide to accept the commission, we can work out an amount that is suitable to your talent." She seemed to be at a loss for words.
Finally, she said, "I'm not a well known artist, even in town. There are artisans living here much more talented than I."
Michael liked her humility. "I beg to differ. Of all the paintings in the gallery, yours appealed to me the most. I've just purchased a new home and since I'm well connected to connoisseurs of the art world, yours will be seen by them." He purposely allowed her to believe the paintings were for his home. If allowed to build the resort, he would surprise her with the knowledge that they would hang there, if denied; the paintings would hang in his home.
She twisted her hands in her lap. "I'm not looking to break into the art world. It's just a hobby I enjoy."
Michael studied the green depth of her eyes and instinctively knew she was a woman of many layers. He also noted that in no way had she attempted to flirt with him, which was refreshing. He was often the target of women who admired his looks, but when wealth was added, he became irresistible to them. This woman appeared to care nothing about his outward appearance or his money, even though she must have intuited from their conversation that he was affluent.
He stood to leave. "Just think about it, and when I'm back in town I'll stop by for that tour and your answer." He could see relief in her eyes that he wasn't pressing her for a response.
"I'll do that."
Vicky watched the door close behind the stunningly handsome man and breathed a sigh of relief. The entire time they had talked she had wanted to stare continuously at such male perfection. Whenever she'd met his gaze, she had almost drowned in their depths. Never had she seen eyes the color of honey. She decided his name of Michael suited him well. He looks like a fallen angel. She sat at her desk, leaned her elbow on the antique surface, and placed her chin in her palm. He purchased all my paintings! And he wants to commission more! This would require some serious consideration on her part.
Later, after she'd closed the museum and retired to the third floor, she sat before the window in her sitting room and stared at the waning sun. For the millionth time she wished the window were large enough to afford a view of the ocean. She closed her eyes to relive Michael's visit and wondered what his last name was. What a classy man.
After a time she sighed, stood, and thought about what to prepare for dinner. As she turned, she caught sight of the envelope with a check for her painting of Owen and Rex that had sold at the street festival. She'd been shocked and her first question to Art was, "Who bought it?" His reply had been curt, "Some tourist."
Now, staring at the envelope, she was tempted to toss it in the trash. Somehow it seemed wrong to make money from a painting of her twin brother whose death haunted her to this day. Because of his death, her father had deserted his family and her mother had lost contact with reality. Even now, Ann Patterson lived in an institution. Most days she could function fairly well, but other days she became depressed and suicidal. And all because of me.
27: Dilemma
Faith laughed when Baxter pulled her into a closet on the second floor landing, closed the door, and said in her ear, "Just one kiss, lovely lady, and I promise to leave you alone for at least an hour."
She turned her face into his neck and mumbled, "And if I refuse?"
He said low, "Are you going to refuse?"
"No."
"Then I have my answer, fair maiden."
Before she could respond with her own quip, he was kissing her with such passion that she forgot what she was about to say. And the fact that one kiss turned into many, didn't bother her in the least. When he broke away and leaned his head against hers, his breathing was rapid. "I'm crazy about you, Faith."
She nuzzled against his chest. "Bax, you make me feel alive again."
He chuckled and moved his hands from her back to encircle her waist. "You do know, don't you, that you're the only one allowed to call me Bax."
"Would you rather I didn't?"
"Hell, no." And with those words he started kissing her again.
There was a rap on the door. "Baxter, I need your help in the garden. And Faith, I just placed a basket of fresh bread on the table."
Baxter mumbled a curse and Faith giggled. "I swear your mother is psychic. Either that or she has hidden cameras in every room."
Baxter gave her a quick kiss. "As soon as I help my mother and answer my emails, I'll meet you on the beach, probably between three and three-thirty."
Faith arrived at the B & B's private beach at two-thirty, but walked along the shore until she reached the public beach. She and Baxter had decided to keep their relationship private to avoid questions from guests. She set her umbrella up and then spread her towel on the sand. For two weeks she and Baxter had been flirting and kissing, but most of all talking. He had confided in her about his marriage and divorce and she had opened up about her husband and child. At times, their confidences were emotional and difficult, but throughout it all, they realized they were healing and coming to a place where they could go on with their lives.
Faith sat on her towel, gazed at lapping waves, and smiled. Baxter was a wonderful man and she was falling for him, but where that would lead, she didn't know. For now, however, her ability to move beyond her sorrow was enough.
After a time, the warmth of the sun and the backdrop hum of waves and laughter caused her to drift into the realm between awareness and sleep. She felt languid and happy.
"Rex!"
At first, recognition of the name played tag with her semiconscious mind, but when she heard it again, she jerked upright.
She heard it a third time. "Rex!"
Scanning the beach to the south she squinted into the haze and then moved her gaze past a man and woman walking hand-in-hand beside the water's edge. Beyond them a game of volleyball was being played by several teenagers. Then she saw a boy in the distance. He was wearing a blue ball cap and tossing a Frisbee for a big, red dog.
Faith jumped to her feet and started running toward them. She passed the couple who had turned around and were now walking toward her. They smiled, but she didn't acknowledge them. Then she weaved around the volleyball game. A few more tourists remained between her and the boy, but finally she was close enough to realize it was the child from her first encounter. She called, "Owen!"
He turned at the sound of his name and smiled. Then he tossed the Frisbee for Rex farther down the beach. The dog barked happily and ran after it. Owen ran after his dog.
She called again, "Wait for me!"
The boy looked back and shouted, "Tell Vee it wasn't her fault!" He started running after the dog.
Heedless of her s
urroundings, Faith chased them, but suddenly found herself toppled to the ground when her feet got tangled up in someone's towel. She heard a man say, "Lady, are you okay?" She ignored the question. She had to reach Owen. She pushed upward and searched for the boy. There was no boy and no dog. She jerked her head in every direction, but only saw tourists. The man repeated, "Are you okay? You seem disoriented."
She glanced up at a short, middle-aged guy with a large girth. "Did you just see a boy in a blue ball cap tossing a Frisbee for a large red dog?" She pointed. "Over there."
"Ah, no. But then I wasn't paying attention to anyone over there."
She jumped to her feet and ran in the direction she had indicated. When she reached the location where Owen and Rex had been, she searched for footprints, even as waves lapped the sand. She thought she saw a paw print and rushed toward it. A wave covered it, and when it receded, the print was gone.
Tears stung Faith's eyes. Was she losing her mind?
By the time she returned to her umbrella and towel, Baxter was striding toward her wearing his bathing trunks and carrying a large picnic basket. She considered telling him about what had just happened, but immediately discarded that notion. He would either think she was crazy or trying to trick him into something. When he reached her, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"I-I'm not feeling well. I think I should return to my room and rest."
"Do you need to see a doctor?"
"No. It's nothing as severe as that. I'm just feeling a little queasy."
Hastily, Baxter closed Faith's umbrella and tossed her towel on top of the picnic basket. Holding her elbow, he walked her back to the B & B, and when they entered the house he discarded the items he was carrying and placed his arm around her. "I'll help you to your room, honey."
His endearment and kindness touched Faith's heart and she wanted to turn into his arms and cry. Instead, she merely mumbled her assent and allowed him to guide her upstairs. In her room, she lay across her bed and covered her eyes with her forearm.
Baxter sounded worried when he said, "Maybe we should call the doctor just in case."
"No, please just give me an hour and then see how I feel."
He hesitated but finally agreed. "Okay. One hour. Would you like my mother to help you change out of your bathing suit?"
"No. I can do it."
Again Baxter hesitated. "Can I bring you some tea?"
"No. I just want to rest." She felt the gentle brush of his lips on the top of her head.
"Okay, but I'll be back periodically to check on you."
"Thank you, Baxter."
It wasn't long after Baxter left that there was a soft knock on her door and it opened before she could respond. Gabby stuck her head around the corner. "Baxter said you're ill. Can I come in?"
Faith stifled a sob. "Yes. I really need to talk to you." Gabby frowned as she entered the room and hurried to the bedside. Gently sitting on the edge of it, she said, "Hon, this is more than illness. What happened?"
This time Faith couldn't hold back a sob. "I talked to Owen again!"
Back in her suite, Gabby splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The tale Faith had just shared still made the hair on her arms stand up. Had she really spoken to a boy who had been dead for over twenty years? Or was she so engulfed in her own sorrow that somehow conjuring up this child helped her? If not for the psychic's words from three years earlier and the story about Mr. Lucky, she'd tend to go with the latter explanation, but now she was starting to believe in ghosts. She picked up a brush and began combing her long locks.
Faith had begged her not to say anything to Baxter and she could understand why. Her son would surely think he was being played for a fool and break off their budding romance. And that was the last thing Gabby wanted. Her boy was finally becoming human again and not the automaton he'd turned into.
So what should Faith do with the message from Owen? And what should she, herself, do about the message from the psychic? Both of them were faced with a dilemma.
28: Key
Michael signed the last document set before him and grinned. He now owned the home on Ocean Boulevard and perhaps in the future he would own a resort on that same road. He handed the pen back to the escrow officer and reached to shake Doris McGovern's hand, and then her husband's. Neither of them appeared happy about the transaction, even though it would yield them an outstanding commission. To their credit, they'd kept the sale in limbo, but finally, after a not so subtle innuendo that another real estate agent had offered to assist in the sale, they'd stepped up to the plate.
Tossing the house key in his hand, Michael walked to his car. He felt like celebrating. Even if he failed to get approval for his resort, he'd have gone ahead with the purchase anyway. He loved the friendliness of the community and the beauty of the cove. He'd even assigned his P.I. to start an investigation of the town and its occupants. Of course, before initially deciding to bring his resort to Somewhere, he'd done his own research and knew that Gabby Hope owned the northern peninsula, while Leo Constanzo owned the southern. However, his investigator had recently discovered there was bad blood between them, although the reason was unknown. Michael had instructed the P.I. to keep searching. He'd also asked for research on Victoria Patterson, the museum curator. She fascinated him. She wasn't beautiful or even striking as far as her outward appearance, but something exceptional radiated from within that he couldn't put his finger on. And an hour before signing his loan docs his investigator had called and given a report on her. Michael was surprised to learn that she was a twin and at the age of nine her brother and his dog had drowned. No one had witnessed the drowning and the bodies had washed ashore on the beach of the northern peninsula a day after going missing. The death of the boy had devastated the family and his mother had started consulting psychics. The father had eventually left and the mother was now institutionalized.
Turning the ignition of his Porsche, Michael released a long sigh. His own life had been visited with sorrow, so maybe that's why he was drawn to Vicky. He pulled away from the curb and at the intersection turned his vehicle in the direction of the museum.
Vicky was dusting the mantle in the library when she heard the bell over the door sound. Quickly she stashed the dust rag in a corner of a bookshelf and went to greet her guest. Her heart slammed her chest when she recognized the gentleman from three weeks previous. He grinned and said, "Hello again. My schedule is clear so I'm ready for that tour."
Vicky pushed a wayward strand of black hair behind her ear and smoothed a hand down her dress. At least two days a week she always dressed Victorian and today she wore a burgundy silk day dress with rounded neckline, sloping shoulders, pagoda sleeves, and a triple flounced green underskirt. It was one of her favorites.
Before she could respond the man stuck out his hand. "Hi, Vicky. Michael again."
"Ah, yes, yes. I remember you." She felt flustered and embarrassed by her girlish reaction and tried to sound professional when she continued, "Before the tour, let me get you a brochure that describes the rooms in the house." She reached toward her desk, but accidentally bumped the vase of flowers she'd picked and arranged that morning. She gasped and lunged to prevent a spill at the same time as Michael, and they collided. With one hand he grasped the vase and with the other he clasped her upper arm. She stared up into his honey colored eyes. Neither of them moved for a second and then she jumped back. Mortified, she exclaimed, "I am so sorry!" She could feel her face flaming scarlet.
Her guest seemed unperturbed. "Accidents happen." He reached to move the vase away from the edge of the desk.
Still reeling by her contact with Michael, Vicky glanced at her watch, thankful for the distraction. "My assistant should arrive in fifteen minutes. I can't leave my post until then."
"Not a problem. I have some phone calls to make, so I'll see you in fifteen." He gave her a disarming grin and then retreated out the front door.
Vicky sank onto the chair behi
nd her desk and stared at the vase of gladiolas. She was a complete dork when it came to men.
Ten minutes later her assistant arrived and five minutes after that Michael reentered the museum. Vicky watched her young helper's eyes widen at the sight of such a handsome man. "Sarah, I'm taking this gentleman on a tour of the museum so you're in charge. But just so you know, a sixth grade school group is expected to arrive around ten-thirty. I should be back by then, if not, text me."
"Yes, ma'am," said the sixteen year old and grinned coyly at Michael.
Inwardly, Vicky sighed.
29: Flood
Gabby entered Seafood Heaven and waited for the hostess to return to her station. Leo had called and said they needed to talk, but that he couldn't get away from the restaurant. She wondered if he was setting her up for another luncheon with him. Noah walked past the station and saw her. "Hi, Aunt Gabby. Gramps told me you were coming over."
"He said he needed to talk but couldn't get away."
"That's for sure. He discovered a cracked pipe in the basement this morning and the plumber left about an hour ago. Gramps has been cleaning up the mess."
"Is he still in the basement?"
"Probably. Come on back to the kitchen."
She followed her nephew to the swinging doors and as soon as they entered the chef said, "Noah, table four is ready."
Noah said to Gabby, "We just got back to serving and we're down a waiter. Can you find your way to the basement?"
"I think I still know the way." She motioned toward a second door and Noah nodded. "Follow the hallway to the back."
The chef said, "Noah, the food is getting cold."
As Noah rushed to the warming shelf he called, "I'll catch you later, Aunt Gabby."
"Sure thing, Noah." Although she had a passing acquaintance with the chef and some of the employees, they were all too busy to give her more than a nod. Following the hallway past several doors, she came to the end and lightly knocked. There was no answer so she opened it and called, "Leonardo, are you down there?"
