Thomas Kinkade

by The Inn at Angel Island (v5)

  Claire glanced at her and laughed. “Even if you did, it would hardly show at all.”

  Not in the baggy sweats or jeans she had pulled from the charity bag to wear around the inn. But getting back into her sleek business suits and spandex gym clothes would be a challenge.

  “I think I’ll pass on dessert for now,” she said finally. “Peter and Will will be here tomorrow. I’m sure that pie won’t go to waste.”

  Liza helped Claire clear the table and clean up. There wasn’t much to do. Claire was the type of cook who cleaned as she went and didn’t leave a huge mess at the end. Unlike Liza, who couldn’t manage to scramble an egg without using every pot and utensil she owned. Cooking had never been her forte.

  Claire closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “Looks like we’re all done. Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem. Thanks for dinner.”

  Claire nodded. “Do you need anything more?”

  “I don’t think so.” Liza watched as Claire gathered her things, slipping on her down parka and taking a canvas tote from a hook behind the kitchen door.

  “I’ll be off then. See you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to meeting your brother and your nephew,” she added.

  “They’re looking forward to coming here. Well, my brother is. I’m not so sure about Will.”

  Claire stood at the back door. “He’ll be fine. This place will do him good.” She nodded to herself, then went out the door.

  Liza hoped the prediction was true. Claire had a way of sounding so certain of things. Liza wondered where it came from, that sense of knowing, of certainty. She felt in awe of it—and suspicious of it.

  Nobody could feel that grounded and sure of things, not with the way the world was these days. Her aunt, too, had had a touch of that inner certainty. Not as much as Claire, but more and more as she had grown older.

  Where did this certainty come from? Liza only wished she knew. If she could bottle it, she’d make a million.

  Chapter Four

  LIZA woke to the sound of rain pounding against the building. The spring storms on the island could be fierce, but this one sounded like a hurricane.

  She jumped out of bed and ran to the window—then realized she heard not only water but men and machinery. Outside the building, on the front lawn just below, she saw Daniel Merritt and a helper, both wearing big gloves and goggles. They were working with some sort of water equipment, with a hose and a pointed nozzle aimed at the house.

  Power washing, she realized. The preparation for the painting had begun. Daniel certainly didn’t waste time. She had called him back last night about the estimate. The price seemed reasonable and the timing fast enough. He had said he would start with power washing to strip off the old paint. But she had not understood that meant he would start before eight a.m., and it would sound and feel as if the house were under attack.

  Liza took a fast shower and pulled on her jeans and a black turtleneck, a somewhat more attractive outfit than he had seen her in yesterday but not nice enough to look as if she had gone to any special trouble. She hoped.

  Just to make sure, she pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail and left her face bare of makeup.

  It was too early to call the office. No one important showed up before nine. She looked around for her BlackBerry. It was on the nightstand next to a seashell she had found in her pocket last night, one she had picked up during her walk on the beach.

  Now she took a moment to look at the shell, turning it over in her hand. The spiral structure was so smooth and unified, so perfect. She could understand why certain artists, like Georgia O’Keeffe for instance, had been fascinated by spirals and other organic shapes found in nature.

  A few moments later, she laid the shell down and picked up the BlackBerry, then slipped it into her back pocket.

  There was a hot pot of coffee waiting in the kitchen. Liza saw Claire’s parka and tote bag on a chair, but Claire wasn’t in sight. Liza poured herself a full mug and sat at the table, where a copy of the local paper, The Cape Light Messenger, lay open.

  She scanned the headlines. There was a photo of the island’s mayor breaking ground for the new park on the island. “Mayor Joe Gilroy breaks ground for Lighthouse Park on Angel Island. Mayor Emily Warwick of Cape Light and Mayor Noah Simms of Newburyport stand by. The park will be built adjacent to Lighthouse Beach and recreation area, with direct ferry service from the town dock in Newburyport. Plans include a sports center with tennis and basketball courts, luxury locker rooms, and a café.”

  Luxury locker rooms? That sounded pretty high-end for this island. Changes were definitely coming.

  A sharp rap on the window of the kitchen door roused her.

  Liza got up, expecting to see Claire, and found herself looking at Daniel Merritt. At some point while she had been reading the paper the machinery sound had stopped, she realized.

  She opened the door, wondering why her heart had started racing. Too much black coffee on an empty stomach, she told herself. But when Daniel greeted her with a wide smile, she knew that coffee was not the problem.

  “So, you got an early start,” she said as he walked in.

  “Yep. We’re about halfway done. Sorry for the noise.”

  “That’s okay. I didn’t want to hear myself think today anyway.”

  He smiled at her joke. “I know what you mean. Whenever I get in one of those moods, I just turn the thing on and give myself a splitting headache. That keeps me from thinking too much.”

  “That would do it,” she agreed, wondering what sort of concerns he had weighing on his mind. “Would you like some coffee?” She gestured toward the pot and mugs on the countertop.

  “Sure, thanks.” He stepped over and poured a cup, then added milk and sugar—the complete opposite of the way she drank it. I could live with that, Liza decided with a secret grin. Nobody’s perfect.

  “Have a muffin,” she said, pushing the dish toward him. “Claire made them this morning.”

  “In that case, I definitely will.” He took a muffin on a napkin, then took a bite. “Banana. One of her best.”

  “She made oatmeal raisin yesterday. They were pretty amazing, too.”

  They sat for a moment without talking. Daniel noticed the newspaper. “Keeping up with current events?”

  “Trying to,” Liza said between bites. “There’s a lot of good news in here, especially compared to what you see in the Boston papers every day.”

  Daniel turned the paper to read the front-page story. “Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t call building an Olympic stadium on this island good news.”

  “You mean the sports center?” Liza asked just to clarify. He was getting a bit carried away, wasn’t he?

  “That’s right. Whatever they want to call it, it’s a huge waste of money. The county could put the funds to much better use. Or build it someplace else, where more people will have access. It will be underutilized out here.”

  Liza was not surprised by his reaction. He had already made his feeling about the development of the island clear.

  “What about all the new visitors who are coming over on that ferry this summer? Won’t they use it?”

  Daniel shrugged. “People always came to this island because it didn’t have places like that.” He glanced at the article again. “Luxury locker rooms?”

  She laughed at his expression. “I noticed that, too. It does sound a bit much.”

  “If you want luxury locker rooms, go to a country club or a fancy spa or something. Don’t come out here. That’s not the point of this place. Or it shouldn’t be.”

  “I see your point,” she said quietly. When Fran Tulley first told her about the island’s planned development, Liza thought it was a good thing, a lucky break that would make the inn more marketable. But now that she was back and had gotten to know the island again, with sand in her shoes and salt breezes tangling her hair, she wasn’t so sure. She could see Daniel’s side of it, too. Some things—some places—were meant to stay
wild and rough. They didn’t need to be “improved.”

  But who would stop it? The plan had already been set into motion. She gave herself a mental shake. She would be leaving in a little over a week. No sense getting all caught up in a battle she couldn’t fight.

  “So, when will you start painting?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “The clapboard needs to dry out for about two days. And we have to do some prep work—scrape a bit more and fill in some cracks. You said you didn’t want a perfect job, so we’re not going to go crazy on that phase.”

  “That’s right, just the minimum will be fine.”

  “One coat of primer, one coat of paint. It’s all in the contract . . .” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. “That’s why I came in here in the first place. You made me lose track.”

  He smiled at her, and she knew that he hadn’t meant it in a bad way.

  Liza pulled open the envelope. The letterhead at the top of the page read “Merritt General Contracting” in large bold letters. Very official sounding, considering it was just him and a helper.

  She scanned the contract. Everything they had discussed over the phone seemed to be written down, and the price was the same as well. But she did need a few minutes to read it over carefully. Without him staring at her. That was definitely distracting.

  “Do you need this back right away? I’d like to take a minute later and read it carefully.”

  “Sure, take your time. No rush.” He sat back in his seat. “How is the clearing-out process going? Is Claire letting you throw anything away?”

  Liza smiled at him. “We have a magic question. It helps a lot.”

  “A magic question. That sounds interesting. I could use one of those.” He smiled curiously, looking extremely charming. “Can you disclose this magic question—or will that ruin the magic?”

  Liza laughed. She knew she was flirting with him, pretty obviously now, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I don’t think it will ruin the magic. I mean, I hope not. It’s really pretty simple. Whenever we get stuck trying to decide what to do with something, one person asks the other, ‘Save, discard, or give away?’ ”

  “And the other person has to answer?”

  Liza nodded. “That’s right. It’s sort of a game, I guess. It certainly makes the work go faster.”

  “That’s a good thing, then. But I’d bet that Claire mostly answers ‘save,’ ” he replied with a grin. “I do know she likes to hang on to things until they’re just about falling apart in your hands. You should have seen the broom she handed me one day to sweep up some sawdust.” He leaned closer, aware that the housekeeper might be around. Liza leaned closer, too, suddenly very conscious of his nearness. “It hardly had two straws left in it. I was standing there, sweeping the thin air.”

  She could picture it. Especially from what she’d seen yesterday. She laughed at the story, and he did, too.

  “What are you two laughing about—something in the newspaper?” Claire came into the kitchen, and they quickly sat back and exchanged a look.

  “It’s Mayor Warwick,” Daniel answered, quickly covering their tracks. “She’s always running around, getting herself in the newspaper. Her daughter doesn’t even work for the Messenger anymore, and she’s still on the front page every day.”

  “She does a lot of good for the town of Cape Light,” Claire replied, defending the mayor. “People will vote for her again if she runs next fall.”

  “For the tenth time, you mean?” Daniel teased her. “There are no term limits in Cape Light,” he explained to Liza. “Emily Warwick will run until . . . well, until she’s running in a walker, I guess.”

  “Oh, Daniel. That doesn’t make any sense,” Claire said, shaking her head. Liza, though, glanced at him and smiled.

  “Well, back to work.” He rose and took a long last sip from his mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Liza also took a last sip, secretly appraising his appearance as he walked to the door. Today he wore a blue sweater under a dark red down vest, his long, lean legs covered in worn jeans. For a guy out power washing, he looked good. Very good.

  And he was clever and charming. But he had to be in a relationship, she reminded herself. And she was just divorced and not ready to date anyone, especially some guy living on a remote island. So what was the point of even thinking about him?

  “Do you want to continue working on the closets down here today?” Claire’s question broke into Liza’s thoughts.

  “I guess so. There’s so much more to sort out. We might as well stay focused.”

  “Little by little, we’ll get through it,” Claire promised. “Your aunt was a big saver, but she knew how to store her treasures in heaven, too—‘where moth and rust do not destroy.’ ”

  Liza nodded. The bit of scripture was vaguely familiar—and surprisingly comforting. Claire was right. Her aunt and uncle were not really materialistic people. They had always lived with strong faith and spiritual values. While Liza struggled to sort out the collection of possessions that chronicled their earthly lives, she had to remember that they both lived on in spirit, in some better place.

  Looking at it from that angle, the rest of the closets didn’t seem nearly as overwhelming.

  “All right, let’s get to it then,” Liza said. Then she remembered that she hadn’t checked in with her office yet. She had gotten distracted talking to Daniel. Now it was nearly ten, and no one had heard from her. That wasn’t going to look good.

  “I just have to check messages from my office first,” she said to Claire.

  She pulled out the BlackBerry, dismayed to see she hadn’t even turned it on. What was happening to her? Three days in this place and she was losing her edge! She pressed the Power button, relieved to see there was Internet service this morning.

  Liza was hardly aware of the housekeeper leaving the room as she quickly scrolled down her new e-mails. A message from her boss immediately caught her eye. Subject: Shoe Paradise Logos.

  Liza clicked it open, feeling an anxious knot in the pit of her stomach. But the e-mail wouldn’t open. The screen froze. The Internet connection was gone.

  “Again!” she muttered. “Does this thing ever work out here?” She hit the Phone button and speed-dialed the office, Eve’s direct line.

  Why did I ever come out here in the first place? It was just not the right time. I should have just let this place fall down . . .

  The phone rang five times before Eve finally picked up. Liza greeted her with what she hoped was a cheery tone.

  “Hi, Liza,” Eve said smoothly. “How’s it going?”

  “Just fine. The house is already on the market. The real estate agent thinks we can sell it very quickly. I might be back even sooner than I thought,” she added, knowing that wasn’t entirely true.

  “Sounds like you got a lot done out there,” Eve commended her. “I’m not surprised. You’re always so efficient.”

  “Not always, but thanks.” Liza hesitated, knowing she had to ask about the logo. “So you got the sketches the other day? You should have seen me trying to find a fax machine.” Liza turned her frantic search into an amusing anecdote. “The new technology has definitely not caught on out here. My real estate agent finally took pity on me and sent the package from her office.”

  “You poor thing. What an ordeal.” Eve laughed and Liza felt a sliver of optimism. Maybe this wasn’t going to be bad news after all?

  Liza took a breath. “So, what did you think?”

  “About the logos? They were fine. A little rough, but I could see where you were going.”

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t have time to find a graphics place to do a mock-up.”

  “Of course not,” Eve cut in. “You could hardly find a fax machine. Don’t worry about it. We were all able to visualize.”

  We? Who did that include exactly, Liza wondered?

  Liza guessed there had been a meeting about the logos—a big meeting probably—an
d wondered if Charlie Reiger had been included. Had the client been there, too?

  “So you had a meeting about it?” Liza tried for a casual tone but heard an anxious note slip in.

  Why didn’t they let her know? She could have been included by telephone. That wasn’t any big deal.

  “It was sort of impromptu,” Eve explained. “Shoe Paradise wanted to see what we would do before they signed on. You know how it is.”

  “How did it go? Did they like any of my ideas?”

  “They did like one or two. I liked them, too,” Eve said. “But some other approaches seemed more in tune with the market they want to pull in. One concept in particular caught their eye, and we’ve sold them on a campaign built around it.”

  An entire campaign from one sketchy little logo? It must have been brilliant, Liza thought. And not her brilliance either.

  “Well, that’s great. That’s terrific,” she said, trying her best to sound like a team player.

  “We’re all very pleased. We lost a few big clients this year, and nobody’s spending like they used to,” Eve reminded her. “Charlie is going to work with the shoe people,” she added smoothly. “His ideas brought them over, and he had good rapport with their CEO.”

  Good rapport? Liza nearly dropped her phone. Charlie’s “rapport” usually consisted of discussing the Red Sox’s pitching staff. And she could have bet money that his ideas were borrowed from her. The little twerp was forever searching her old ad campaigns for his “new concepts.” She had taught Charlie Reiger everything he knew. Of course, it was easy for him to win the account while she was out of town. That was like saying you set a record for swimming, but Michael Phelps wasn’t in the pool.

  “Liza, are you still there?” Eve asked.

  “I’m here. Sorry. I got distracted a moment. So much going on.” The power-washing machine roared right near the window, blowing water against the building at gale force. “Sounds like it all turned out for the best,” Liza said, letting her boss off the hook. “I’m sure Charlie will do a good job.”