by Mary Brady
“I told you I’d come.”
“So what happened?”
She grinned at her sister. “I got into law school.”
“Congratulations, sis!” Christina squeezed her in another hug. “Does anyone besides you know?”
Delainey snorted. “Brianna knows. I was going to tell them at work this morning but something else came up.”
“Some big new case, I suppose.”
They both laughed at Christina’s words. There were no big cases, only a few hundred small ones in varying stages of resolution or decay.
“So do we get to go inside?” Delainey asked, closing the door to her car.
“Oh, yes. Let’s start with Cora. She’s my star.”
Christina jiggled the handle of the double-door entryway and let them inside.
Delainey was surprised by what she saw. “Christina, there’s a fireplace in your, um— This is much more than a foyer. What do you call it?” The wide hall swept all the way to the back of the house, with the fireplace on the left side and two small alcoves and four doors, two on either side, leading to the parlor and kitchen and whatever other rooms Victorian homes had on the first floor.
“It’s a reception hall, and that—” she pointed to wires dangling from the ceiling high above them “—is the chandelier.”
Delainey laughed. When they were growing up, the home of her sister’s dreams would have seven chandeliers. “How many are there?”
“This house has six and the others each have four.”
“Twice as nice. Cool.”
Delainey sucked up the misgivings she felt about her sister’s ability to deal with one house, let alone three, and followed her on a tour. Without a doubt, these houses were three of the town’s valuable historical assets, and also without a doubt, no one had been able to give proper attention to them for decades, maybe a half century. And the prospect of fixing them up excited her sister so much Delainey caught some of the fervor.
The tour did net the fourteen chandeliers. Some were dangling light fixtures, old but not antique. Some were capped or, as in Cora’s reception hall, dangling wires. The fireplaces numbered only nine, as some of them had been removed or covered over, and they were, at least, better than the chandeliers, as they were probably original with stone or wooden surrounds, most with cast-iron inserts.
Before the tour finished, Delainey almost started seeing women in long dresses and men in waistcoats moving through rooms lit by flames and filled with the joy of a quieter life.
“Come on, let’s go back to Cora,” Christina said when they had finished in Dora. They ended up in one of the rooms at the front of the house, off the reception hall. Christina had lit a fire in the...living room? Parlor? Delainey wasn’t sure of the technical term for the room where a warm fire burned brightly in the fireplace. The fireplace’s gray marble surround needed work, but it would be gorgeous when refinished.
An old couch, an ancient stuffed chair and a battered coffee table sat totally out of time sync with the architecture but in the warmth of the flickering fire.
“Are you sure about this?” Delainey asked when they were comfy on the sofa and chair. Christina frowned and Delainey put both hands up. “Wait, wait. I did not just ask that question. Of course you’re sure.”
Christina’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not even sure I should be here in Bailey’s Cove, Delainey, but I don’t want to be out there, either. I still have a bundle of money saved from the engineering job I had at Bandal. The worst that can happen here is I run out of money—and I can always get more of that. Bandal would hire me back in a second. At least my peace of mind will remain intact if I try this.” Christina leaned forward and rubbed her hands together to let the fire warm them. “And besides, did you hear about the hundred-and-fifty-year-old house at the end of Harbor View Street?”
“Hmm, the Bradish house. It’s a shame. They’re tearing it down to build a new house for someone from Portland.”
“Somebody has to step up and save these old pieces of our history.” A big Christina grin spread across her face. “At least that’s what I tell myself when I have trouble falling asleep at night because I start to worry that I’ve taken on too much.”
When the doorbell rang, her sister leaped up and let in Big Charlie, a worker from Pirate’s Roost, the new restaurant up the street. Charlie had a pastry box, a thermal carafe and two coffee mugs.
“Right over here, Charlie.”
The man, wearing his faded Sea Dogs baseball cap, grinned at Christina and put the breakfast items on the coffee table. Christina produced tip money for the eager guy, who grinned harder and left as quickly as he had come.
She turned to Delainey. “Has that man had his meds altered? I don’t remember him being quite so cheerful when I lived here before.”
“I don’t think any meds are involved, except I don’t think he drinks at all anymore. Mia Parker has taken him under her wing.” She paused when Christina smiled and then continued. “Yeah, it would need to be a really large wing, but I guess she’s given him a purpose. Pirate’s Roost has only been open about eight months and already people come from Augusta, Bangor and Portland to dine.”
“I might be jealous of her,” Christina said with a false sulk.
Delainey laughed. “Because she caught such a hot guy?”
“Daniel MacCarey is more than hot, and actually, I’m not jealous. In fact, Mia’s my role model. I want this bed-and-breakfast to catch on like the Roost.” Christina poured coffee while Delainey opened the box of tiny, tasty-looking treats made by the eager and excellent pair of young chefs at the Roost.
Her sister continued. “She wasn’t afraid of investing in this town. I used her as an example of success when one of the bankers questioned Bailey’s Cove as a good place for a bed-and-breakfast of this size.”
“And the Roost has pastry to die for.” Delainey held up a small puffy treat with a dusting of tiny sugar crystals and then took a bite. “Mmm. This one seems to have an almost creamy cinnamon-raisin filling and practically flakes apart in my hand.”
“That’s why I got the little ones.”
“So we can have more.” It was a sister game they played. They’d cut a freezer pizza into sixteen slices. That way they could have more pieces if they were really hungry. They didn’t care if anyone else got the humor; they were sisters and they understood each other.
“Well, sis, I’m rooting for you.” Delainey licked her lips and took a sip of coffee. “So what’s on your to-do list?”
“No. Now we get to talk about what’s happening at Morrison and Morrison.”
Delainey snapped her gaze to her sister’s. “What? I mean, how’d you know?”
Her sister gave her a narrow-eyed chin jut. “Don’t be shocked, Deelee. Sometimes your younger sister is thinking about someone besides herself. I saw the look on your face earlier when I asked you what happened. You wanted to tell me something else, but you told me about law school. What happened to eclipse news that good?”
Delainey took another bite of pastry and then swiped at the crumbs on her chin with the napkin. “Shamus quit as of yesterday.”
Christina gave her the narrow-eyed look again. “But you were planning on being his replacement.”
“Well, not his replacement, but I thought—maybe I led myself to believe—I’d step into the role of the second attorney in the office when I finished law school.”
“You know the clients. You know the corporate culture there. You know much of what the partners, what Shamus and Harriet, know. And the size and remoteness of Bailey’s Cove won’t scare you away at first glance.”
“Morrison and Morrison will be quite a shock to an outsider.” Delainey draped her arms over the back of the couch.
“Yes, you are quite easygoing there.”
Delainey l
aughed. “On most days, it’s hard to tell the lawyers from the rest of the staff, and billable hours? They’re just a suggestion. Imagine coming from law school and finding out you’ve slipped back in time about a hundred years’ worth of progress.”
Christina reached out a hand. “Who in heaven’s name is going to come to Bailey’s Cove and work? We don’t even get first-run movies.”
“That’s what I told myself when I applied to law school, that I’d have a job when I got out. But they found someone.”
Christina barked a laugh and then put up a hand. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. So who is it? Somebody who couldn’t get a job anywhere else? Somebody hiding out? No, wait!” Her sister scooted to the edge of the couch. “It’s one of those guys with a fake name and credentials, who will have another wife and three kids here before anyone finds out he already has a family somewhere else.”
“I don’t know. Shamus’s picking him or her up at the airport, so whoever they are, they’re from outside the state of Maine.”
“Hey, maybe the newbie will hang in there for, say, three years, a place keeper for you.”
“That’s what I tried to tell myself, but I can’t expect someone to come here, begin to build a life and then just leave because I want their job.”
“Can you start a private practice?”
“I thought of that, but the law firms already here don’t have enough work for another attorney. I wouldn’t mind starving, but I don’t want that for my daughter.”
Christina stared at her for a long moment, assessing.
“What?” Delainey could see her sister was trying to decide whether or not to tell her something.
“I’m not doing this alone.” She swept a hand in the air, indicating the house.
“You’re right. We’ll all help you as much as we can—” Delainey paused and laughed “—or as much as you want. You’re really bossy, you know.”
“And people say you and I are nothing alike. What do they know? Anyway, Sammy is coming.”
Delainey stiffened her face muscles so they wouldn’t sag into disapproval. Sammy the heartbreaker. “Is he staying?”
“He’s giving it a try.”
“I hope things are good for the two of you this time.” Delainey hated to see her wonderful sister get her hopes up.
“We’re going to do things my way this time. We tried his and that didn’t work.”
Delainey did an inward sigh. His way. Her way. These two needed to learn to compromise.
“Do you know who you are going to have bid to do the remodeling? Are you having a contract drawn up for the contractor you chose?” She asked the questions so they didn’t have to talk about Sammy or even think about a man. All she knew on the subject of men could be contained in a two-page brochure.
She also asked because it would be like her sister to just get someone in there with no written guidelines or maybe no real plan at all.
Christina looked remorseful. “You can help me with that, can’t you?”
* * *
HUNTER MORRISON PULLED out the bulging carry-on bag blocking his briefcase in the overhead compartment and placed it on the floor of the small aircraft.
“Oh, thank you,” the woman across the aisle said as she gave him a bright come-on smile. She wanted to give him more, probably anything he asked for, but he was not going there. It would be a long time before he fished in the sea of women again, if ever.
He’d seen that look on the face of a woman in Chicago, every time she managed to be in the elevator with him, sneaked up on him on the street or sat down uninvited at his table in a restaurant. The worst was while he was waiting for the arrival of a partner from the law firm where he worked in downtown Chicago.
He nabbed his briefcase and followed the woman toward the exit. The flight attendant gave him a warm smile as she wished him a good day.
He didn’t react with the snort he felt, only a reciprocal smile. He hadn’t had a good day in the past seven months and he didn’t expect this one to be any better.
As they reached the concourse, the woman ahead of him turned and gave him one more hopeful smile. He nodded toward her in acknowledgment, and lacking encouragement, she headed toward the baggage claim.
Shamus Murphy would meet him outside the Portland, Maine, airport, one of the nicer airports he’d been in. He liked all the wood. Made it seem rugged, up north, a place where one could hide an attorney before scandal engulfed his law firm.
CHAPTER TWO
AS HUNTER STEPPED outside the airport, the wind brought the smell of the ocean to him, bathed him in its cold, salty moisture. He took a deep breath of the crisp air and smiled in relief. That he liked the sea air so much had never occurred to him. That he might even have missed it? Not until this minute. It made him think of the six years and all the summers he’d spent here. And Deelee.
When his parents had yanked him away from his friends in Chicago—to be nearer to his ailing grandparents in Bailey’s Cove, they had explained—he had thought his life was over. From the moment he’d gotten there, he’d wanted to leave. Delainey Talbot had made being there bearable.
When he’d started in a sixth-grade classroom full of strangers, Deelee had been there to be his friend and she’d stayed his friend all through high school and college.
But after college they had ruined it all. He had especially. Since the day he’d driven away and left her behind, he’d managed to make his life better and worse.
He swept his gaze up and down the sidewalk, looking for a familiar skulking form of a woman so unlike Delainey. Always, he was always looking for her because when he wasn’t, she showed up.
His visual sweep caught a fashionably dressed brunette over near a taxi, and when she turned to face him, Hunter expected to need the nearest sheriff. The woman turned out to be a stranger.
Callista White couldn’t possibly be here. He had not known when and on what airline he would be traveling until a few hours before he left.
He brushed the paranoia away and searched for Shamus.
Bailey’s Cove might seem like a giant step backward. The summer after college he had returned to close down his grandmother’s estate. Since then he hadn’t been back, hadn’t needed to come back until today, but the incentives on both ends made it seem a logical choice.
“I think it would be best if you found a reason to go away for a while,” the partner in the law firm had said, but had assured Hunter he wasn’t fired. He just needed to get out from under the thumb of the media until things got resolved or faded away.
While Hunter wasn’t an official suspect in the disappearance of Callista White, he had been a person of interest for a while until his well-respected firm had stood behind him, vouched for him.
He didn’t wish the woman ill. He did wish she would return home or let someone know where she was so he could have his life back.
“Hunter, my boy,” a familiar voice called to him from down the curb. Hunter turned to see Shamus dressed in a well-fitting dark suit, with a shock of gray hair and a pleasant smiling face. They had met only once in person, but the package was memorable and included winged eyebrows and standout ears.
Morrison and Morrison had been founded by Hunter’s great-great-grandfather and great-great-uncle. The name of the firm had stood even after the practice changed hands. When Shamus had called and asked him if he was interested in helping the firm out, he’d made an offer. It seemed there would be a Morrison at the helm again.
“Shamus,” he called back as he waved and headed for the car, an old black Ford. Hunter smiled. When he had left Maine, the car had been brand-new, and it shined like a new car today.
* * *
ONCE AGAIN AT Morrison and Morrison, Delainey had sat for the past few hours trying to work on the papers on her desk. Returning had been hard. She’d had t
o look into the faces of each one of them and wonder if she would soon have to say goodbye forever.
The intercom on her desk buzzed. “Yes, Patty?”
“They’re here.” Delainey was sure Patty’s whisper could be heard throughout the entire first floor. “You’d better get down here.”
Delainey got up from her desk and suddenly felt underdressed. If this person who was arriving had something to say about her future at the law firm, she wasn’t going to make her most professional impression in jeans and— Oh, come on. There were Christmas ducks on her sweater. She had let Brianna choose and her young daughter couldn’t quite give up the idea of Christmas.
Delainey always wondered if Brianna kept the hope alive that her father would suddenly show up or send a card or even presents. She sighed and slid the sweater off. The thin blouse she wore underneath let an instant chill set in and her nipples puckered, showing in hard points through her bra and blouse.
Not good. She slid the sweater back on and fluffed her hair a little. Maybe the new partner wouldn’t notice ducks with wreaths around their necks.
After she couldn’t procrastinate any longer, she decided she might as well go see what the future would hold. She had already survived quite a bit, and this new partner wasn’t going to take her down. She might have to practice law in Portland or Bangor or Lewiston or, heaven forbid, outside the state of Maine, but she wouldn’t give up on a good life for her daughter.
At the bottom of the steps, she stopped and took a few deep breaths. Then she pushed open the rear door and stepped just inside the spacious lobby. There were about fifty people there—the staff, the town council, some regular clients with spouses—and everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“Delainey.” Patty rushed up and handed her a glass of champagne. “About time you got here.”
Champagne. Great. To celebrate her demise, she thought...but she knew this was not about her. Shamus needed to do this now for some reason and she was going to have to do the “poor me” thing another time.
Across the room, near the front lobby window, a man stood with his back to her speaking with redheaded Shirley and fresh-faced Eddie, a paid intern at the office. The man was tall and wore his dark blond hair in a short, neat style. His suit, expensively cut, wrapped his well-built frame as if to say, “This is the man.” Shamus had hired a man, a man used to making money.
