No Place Too Far

by Kay Bratt

  With that, she left. She didn’t have to turn around to know that the good doctor was still standing there, a bemused grin spreading across his face.

  Chapter Ten

  Fifteen minutes later, Maggie was getting out of her car at the inn when she spotted an older man with a camera hanging around his neck. He stood back and snapped a photo of the hotel, then the license plates of several cars in the lot.

  He turned and saw her watching, nodded, and then continued inside.

  She let Woodrow out, and they followed him inside. The man was decent looking—though a little weathered—but for his age he carried himself well, his gait smooth and energetic. He stopped at the bellman and waited for him to look up from the phone he was scrolling on.

  The bellman startled, then slid his phone into his pocket.

  Maggie heard the man ask for Quinn.

  “Last I saw her, she was outside by the pool,” the bellman said, beckoning to the other side of the lobby where the doors led out to the poolside.

  Maggie frowned. She was going to have to talk to Quinn about educating her staff in giving out too much information. The bellman should’ve gotten the man’s name and purpose and then called to ask Quinn if she was expecting anyone or wanted to come out. Why would they send a stranger off the street to find her?

  With Woodrow behind her, Maggie trailed the stranger outside and watched as he surveyed the guests, then walked toward the pathway that led to a lower level of chairs arranged in the sun.

  He’d missed Quinn. She squatted at the edge of the small pool next to where Rosa sat, her legs dangling in the water, with Charlie hanging on to them like a little spider monkey. Maggie approached, glad to see he was wearing the sun hat she’d brought and still had a streak of white cream across his nose.

  Woodrow saw his boy and beat her over there. He knelt beside the pool, his face as close to Charlie as he could get, his tail bobbing excitedly.

  “No, Woodrow,” Maggie said. She didn’t want to deal with a wet dog on the way home.

  Charlie looked up and saw her, a huge smile spreading across his ruddy face.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said.

  “Mama!” Charlie exclaimed. “Rosa is afraid of the water! Tell her it’s fine.”

  Rosa’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She looked up at Maggie. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t particularly like getting wet.”

  Maggie laughed. Woodrow whined, his plea to get in getting more insistent.

  “Charlie, not everyone is a little fish like you,” Quinn said. “Be glad she’s okay to get that close.”

  Rosa smiled her relief.

  “It’s okay. I love Rosa,” Charlie said. “Can she come home with us?”

  They all laughed, and Maggie’s spirits lifted seeing that putting Rosa in the nanny role seemed to be going well. Charlie looked happier than she’d seen him in a while.

  “Rosa has to go home to her own family. As a matter of fact, you need to get out now, Charlie, so she can get going.”

  The expected groans and whining ensued, but he obeyed, climbing out and straight into a fluffy towel that Rosa held out for him.

  “I’ll go get him into dry clothes before I go,” she said, leading Charlie away.

  “Thanks, Rosa. Take Woodrow with you. He’s burning up out here.”

  “Come on, Woodrow,” Charlie called.

  The dog looked at Maggie and she nodded, giving him permission to fall in behind Charlie and follow him to the room.

  Maggie sat on the edge of the closest lounge chair and patted the one next to her. “Want to sit for a minute before your visitor finds you?”

  Quinn sat. “What visitor?”

  “Some man asked for you in the lobby. He went that way,” she pointed at the path. “But he’ll be back. He seemed pretty determined.”

  “Probably another vendor trying to get on board with us,” Quinn said. “Once you announce all your goods and foods will be handled locally, they start swarming. I’m going to have to pass some of the orders around more to give everyone a chance.”

  Maggie loved that Quinn wanted to focus on sustainability for the small farmers and vendors on the island instead of ordering in from the mainland. That meant more to the people of Maui and might even earn her more points with those in Hana who weren’t happy about another business opening up in their small town they tried to keep off the radar.

  “First,” Quinn said, “tell me if I’m overstepping my boundaries.”

  “Okay,” Maggie said, feeling wary.

  “Did I tell you about Julianne, Mr. Westbrooks’s wife?”

  “No, but Charlie mentioned something about her and the chair,” Maggie said. “I hope he didn’t embarrass you too bad.”

  Quinn waved her hand. “No. That was nothing. They thought he was cute. Anyway, she was a dancer before she got sick. She even taught dance.”

  “And?”

  “And,” Quinn said, drawing the word out, “I found out that Maui has an academy of performing arts. I want to have one of their teams come do a special show for Julianne and David’s anniversary.”

  Maggie smiled. “Didn’t I say that you were born to own an inn? That’s a great idea and will really set you off from other inns that just push the regular excursions.”

  “I didn’t even think of that,” Quinn said. “I just want to find something to take her mind off her illness.”

  “Of course. I know that,” Maggie said. “But you know what would be even better? If she’s up to it, what about letting her help them train for the show? Or rehearse—whatever you call it. Might make her feel useful and give her something to look forward to.”

  “I love it,” said Quinn. “I’ll call them tomorrow and see if it’s even a possibility. Then I’ll talk to her husband. He might think it’s too much for Julianne to help but would welcome a show to lift her spirits.”

  “Yeah, he’d know best,” Maggie said.

  “How did it go for you today?” Quinn asked.

  “Good. It started on a low note when an old man was going to have to sell his truck to pay for his dog’s surgery, but then Juniper set up an online campaign to raise the funds. In four hours, it surpassed the goal, and now he can have his dog back and keep his truck.”

  “That’s really sweet of—”

  “Nama Monroe?”

  They both turned and got caught off guard when the man from the lobby snapped a photo. Then he snapped another. Maggie was shaken. How did the man know Quinn’s real name from when she was a child?

  “Are you Nama Monroe?” the man asked, lowering his camera.

  Maggie saw Quinn hesitate, then recover.

  “No, I’m Quinn Maguire. Who are you?” she demanded, standing to face him.

  Maggie stood too.

  He appeared completely unruffled.

  “My name is Simon Lang, and I’m a journalist. Can you confirm you are, or were, Nama Monroe?” He squinted at the sun behind them, bringing more attention to the lines around his eyes and the leathery, baked look of his skin.

  “I already told you I’m Quinn Maguire. Now you answer me. Who do you work for?” Quinn said, her face flushing so red it was nearly purple.

  Maggie put a hand on her arm.

  “Calm down,” she whispered.

  “I work for myself. Freelancing,” he said, pulling a card from his shirt pocket and holding it out. He was fit, the muscles in his arm bulging with the weight of the camera. “I retired a few years ago but still put in some stories here and there.”

  Quinn didn’t take the card.

  Maggie did. It might come in handy later to check him out.

  “Look, I know who you are whether you confirm it or not. I was a fresh-faced reporter for the Maui Times way back when you disappeared. I’ve waited three decades to see this case solved. I can’t just walk away, so you might as well talk to me.”

  Quinn looked crestfallen. Since she’d found her family, they’d done everything they could to keep it out of the n
ews. And they’d been successful. Until now, it seemed.

  “You aren’t planning on writing a story, are you?” Maggie asked him.

  “I am. It’s only fair that everyone who took part in the investigation knows how it turned out,” he said.

  “Please, I don’t want this public,” Quinn said. “I’m a private person and—”

  “Freedom of the press,” he said, cutting her off. “I can write what I want. The entire island was trying to find you. Don’t you want to let them know you’re alive?”

  “I’m not that girl,” Quinn said. “And you cannot use that photo. I want you off this property. Right now.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine, but you are in fact the missing girl, Nama, who fell off her family boat and was thought to be lost at sea. That’s been confirmed by a very credible source. And if you won’t give me the story, I’ll piece it together on my own and run it. Right now I’m giving you the opportunity to work with me.”

  Everyone around the pool was looking at them now, and Maggie could see that Quinn was visibly shaken.

  “There isn’t any story,” Quinn said. “Get out.”

  He nodded, then headed for the lobby doors. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

  “Wait,” Maggie called out.

  He turned.

  “Who sent you here?”

  He smiled gently. “I don’t give up my sources. But I’ll give you forty-eight hours to contact me for a meeting. Or I run with what I’ve got.”

  Then he was through the doors and gone.

  “Quinn, maybe you should rethink sending him away,” Maggie said. “There’s no telling what he’ll run with if he only has bits and rumors.”

  “You’re right,” Quinn said. She sat on a lounge chair and put her head in her hands. “I’m too shaken up to talk to him right now, though. What if he knows that my grandmother was involved in keeping me away from my family? That she arranged for a stranger to raise me? What if he publishes that?”

  “Well, it is the truth,” Maggie said gently. “But you could guide the narrative, to make it sound less ugly.”

  Quinn had dropped her face into her hands as she spoke, her voice sounding anguished as it filtered through her fingers.

  “Oh my God. This could ruin my family, Maggie. Their businesses. The tarnished Rocha reputation that my grandmother has tried so hard to salvage all these years. It would all come back, and even though she made her own way, she’d get dragged into the feud. Not to mention the inn. I just opened the doors, and this could end my business before it has a chance to take off.”

  Maggie sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulders.

  “Breathe, Quinn. We can call him. Invite him back and see what he knows. It could be that he doesn’t have all the information and is just hoping you’ll give it to him. Trust me, this is PR 101. I figured this out in my first month of my public relations job: You fake it until you make it. Anyway, I bet he knows next to nothing.”

  “But he knew something, and someone had to have told him I was here. Who? Only my family knows. And you.”

  “And Liam,” said Maggie.

  Quinn looked at her, narrowing her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  Maggie held her hands up. “Nothing. Just helping you remember who all knows. And don’t forget Maria and her family. Do they know the details?”

  “No,” Quinn said, shaking her head quickly. “They don’t know everything. And they for sure have no idea about my grandmother’s secrets.”

  Suddenly the lobby doors opened and Charlie burst out, Rosa and Woodrow right behind him.

  “Mama! I’m hungry,” he said, breaking the tension.

  Maggie held her arms out and he fell into them. He smelled like chlorine. And little boy. She kissed his forehead.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked.

  “Chicken, potatoes, and apples,” she said, giving him a wink.

  Charlie pumped his arm in celebration. “Yay! A Happy Meal!”

  “No, buddy. Maui doesn’t have a McDonald’s on every corner. This time it’s for-real food,” Maggie said.

  He looked crushed.

  She locked eyes with Quinn. “You going to be okay?”

  “Yes. Go, Maggie. Take care of Charlie. It’s been a long day away for him, and you both need to be home.”

  “I really don’t want to leave you right now,” Maggie said.

  Charlie laid his head on her shoulder and wove his fingers into her hair, a sign that he was getting sleepy. She had to admit, she was exhausted too. All she wanted was to get Charlie fed, bathed, and into his pajamas. Hopefully his day with Rosa was just as tiring as hers at the clinic, and they could get to sleep early.

  “Please, it’s fine. I need to call my parents. And Liam should be here any minute. He’ll help me figure this out. Just leave me that cockroach’s card. This is my dirt to sift through, not yours.”

  “Your dirt is my dirt,” Maggie reassured her. “I’m here for you, Quinn. Just call me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Maggie awoke to the sound of her phone ringing a full hour before her alarm was set to go off. She fumbled for it, knocking it from the nightstand. Thankfully when it hit the floor, John Lennon instantly stopped crooning the key verse to “Imagine.”

  “Damn it,” she muttered, glancing over to make sure Charlie still slept. She’d rather be showered and dressed before His Highness took over her morning, demanding nutrition and cartoons.

  His tiny eyelashes fluttered, but otherwise nothing. Beside him Woodrow thumped his tail on the bed.

  “Shh . . .” She put her finger to her lips and he froze.

  She picked up the phone and glared at the screen. It showed Quinn SoulSister as one missed call.

  They’d talked late the night before after Quinn had met with her parents about the reporter. Quinn said they’d decided to sit on the threats for a day or two while their family attorney investigated. Quinn had calmed down, and Maggie promised to come by a little earlier than usual to drop Charlie off, with doughnuts.

  The phone rang again and she almost dropped it.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she whispered.

  “Maggie,” Quinn said. “That reporter is a liar.”

  “About what?” Maggie asked, stumbling to the bathroom and shutting the door behind her so she could talk louder.

  “He said he’d give us forty-eight hours, but my dad just called to tell me to check the internet. He’s livid.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Get on your computer,” Quinn said. “You need to read it yourself.”

  Maggie sighed, then rubbed her eyes. “What site?”

  “Maui Now. Only the most popular online news site for the island. I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. Dad already talked to our lawyer before he called me, and there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Okay, let me look at the damage.” Crap. Quinn sounded crushed. How had Mr. Creeper gotten anyone to accept a story without facts to back it up? Maggie pictured him looking smug and wished he was close enough for her to wipe the smirk off his face.

  Instead she went back to the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to her makeshift desk—which doubled as the nightstand. Charlie stirred, so she carefully and quietly opened her laptop and typed in “Maui Now.” The first thing at the top was a photo of her and Quinn, taken poolside at the inn. The caption under it read Quinn Maguire AKA Nama Monroe and Maggie Dalton at Hana Hamoa Inn. Photo credit: Simon Lang.

  Maggie felt the blood drain from her face. Her photo and location, plastered on the internet for any wacko to take note of.

  The headline was in bold:

  Rocha heir lost at sea thirty years ago reemerges as the new proprietor of the Hana Hamoa Inn

  “Well, that piece of—”

  “Exactly,” said Quinn. “And the front desk phone has been ringing off the hook already this morning.”

  “Well, that would be good, right? Filling up reservations?”
/>   “No. It’s people asking for confirmation on the story. More reporters, police, and just locals, all wanting to know if it’s true. This is going to be a circus. And who knows what else he has up his sleeve?”

  “I’m so sorry, Quinn.” Maggie could hear the anguish in her friend’s voice. Beside her, Charlie mumbled, and she pulled the covers higher up on his shoulders.

  “Yeah, me too. I bet my family is going to wish I’d never found them. Especially my grandmother. Despite what she tries to present to the world, she’s actually quite sensitive. This will kill her.”

  “Hold on, let me scan the rest of it,” Maggie said.

  She read the article.

  Information from a reliable source has confirmed that Quinn Maguire, the new proprietor of the Hana Hamoa Inn, is none other than the daughter of Jules and Noah Monroe, granddaughter of heiress Helen Rocha. Maguire is reported to be Nama Monroe, who disappeared at sea more than thirty years before.

  “He doesn’t know any more than he did yesterday,” Maggie said.

  “But now he’s set all the vultures on me. Every reporter in this county will be trying to dig up the facts.”

  “He must’ve thought someone else was going to scoop him, so he went with what he had,” Maggie said. “He’s vermin.”

  “Yep. Bottom-of-the-barrel kind too. Read the comments.”

  Maggie scrolled down, and after a few comments, felt sick to her stomach. Some people were saying that Quinn might be a fake—a con artist here to claim the lost girl’s place in the family. Take her share of the Rocha inheritance when the grandmother dies. Others claimed it was a miracle, orchestrated by God. Most of them wanted more details. Where had she been? How did they find her?

  She felt livid for Quinn and the breach of her privacy. “So now what?”

  “Now I have to try to do damage control,” Quinn said. “The thing is, I don’t have any idea what kind of story to give them without throwing my own grandmother under the bus. Or the mom who raised me. I know I shouldn’t worry about her reputation since she’s dead, but I still don’t want her name dragged through the mud and have her branded as a kidnapper. You know how much she loved me, even if I wasn’t supposed to be hers.”