Liza let out a long sigh. She had to tell him. She had to be honest. She had hoped they would have a chance to sort this out calmly and rationally, but that’s not how the pieces were falling.
“I have some news—if you could slow down long enough to listen,” she finally said.
“Okay, I’m listening.” He gave her a hard look.
“The Hardys made an offer.”
“An offer? That’s great! When did you hear?”
“A few hours ago. I guess it was around five.”
He looked surprised. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Oh, you were out on the boat. I didn’t think your phone would work. And I didn’t have the heart,” she admitted. “They want to knock the place down, Peter. That’s the deal. They just want the land so they can build a new house. That’s why they had the architect with them.”
Peter stared at her, and she wished she could read his thoughts. Did it bother him at all that the inn would be destroyed?
“What are they offering? Is it a good number?”
Liza told him the figure.
“Nice.” He nodded, looking pleased. “And that’s just a first offer. I expect we could get them to go higher.”
Fran had said the same thing, but Liza wasn’t about to mention that.
“Look, why don’t we go inside and talk this over a little?” she suggested. “Did you have anything to eat? I could heat up some of Claire’s soup. It’s really delicious.” She was hoping the good food would get him in a better mood, a more receptive mood.
“I’m not hungry, thanks.” He glanced at his watch. “I suppose it’s too late to call Fran back. I’m going up to bed. We’ll call her tomorrow, first thing.”
She didn’t answer. Peter brushed past her and headed up the stairs. “Good night, Liza. Tomorrow is a big day. You ought to get some sleep yourself.”
Liza didn’t answer. Tomorrow would be a big day. A sad day, she expected. She wished it would never come.
Chapter Fourteen
LIZA woke up slowly, a few minutes before her alarm clock sounded. She felt as if something had woken her, but as she opened her eyes, all she could see was early morning light sifting through the sheer curtains. The blue ceramic flower pot on the windowsill was just as she left it yesterday. The windows were open a little, and a cool ocean breeze filled the room.
She had slept well and felt full of energy, ready to tackle whatever dirty job the day tossed her way.
Then she remembered . . . The offer from the Hardys . . . Calling Fran Tulley to accept . . . Total strangers coming here to demolish the inn.
Was that really happening? As she rose from bed, she felt her heart sink. She dressed quickly, then went downstairs.
Crossing the foyer, she heard Peter’s and Claire’s familiar voices talking in the kitchen. Her brother had probably popped out of bed at the crack of dawn, wondering if it was too early to call Fran Tulley.
Had he told Claire what was happening? Liza felt a little pang in her chest. She had felt bad enough about telling Claire the inn would be sold when she first arrived and hardly knew her. But now . . . well, they had been through a lot together during the past two weeks, sifting through all of her aunt’s belongings, even being struck by lightning. Telling the housekeeper the place was sold and would be knocked down seemed a very hard task to face. Practically impossible.
Peter was the one pushing for this scenario; let him tell her, Liza thought. She hated giving in to her anger and frustration, but she couldn’t help it. Not when she thought about Claire.
Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the local paper. He looked up with a sheepish smile. “Morning, Liza. Sleep well?”
“Not bad, all things considered.” Liza poured herself a cup of coffee.
Claire stood at the stove, cooking scrambled eggs. She turned to Liza and smiled. “I’m sure you were tired enough. After all the work you did out in the garden. When I looked out the window this morning, I could hardly believe my eyes. I bet the plants will double in size by the end of the week.”
Liza felt embarrassed by her praise. Yes, she had cleaned up the garden. For a bulldozer to plow it under.
Liza took a seat at the table. There was a basket of cranberry scones next to her plate. They looked tempting, but she didn’t feel hungry. Her nerves had stolen her appetite today.
“I think you may have inherited your aunt’s green thumb,” Claire said, as she brought a platter of eggs to the table and placed it between Liza and Peter. “She was quite a force of nature out there.”
“She definitely was,” Liza agreed. Aunt Elizabeth seemed to have an intuitive sense for helping plants thrive. Liza knew she would be lucky to have half that ability. Though I’ ll never know now if I do, will I? she mused.
Peter closed his newspaper with a snap, folded it, and set it down by his plate. “It’s a quarter past eight,” he announced, checking his watch. “Too early to check in with Fran, do you think?”
Liza nodded, forcing herself not to laugh. “I think so. She’s probably still at home with her family. I don’t think she gets in to her office until at least nine, Peter.”
He checked his watch again and sighed. “Guess you’re right. I was thinking of calling her cell, but that might seem a little too eager. We do want to bargain a bit if we can.”
Liza sipped her coffee without answering. She glanced at Claire and got the feeling that Peter hadn’t told her anything.
“We had an offer on the inn,” she told Claire quietly. “From that couple who came a while ago, the Hardys.”
Claire nodded. “I remember them. They were scared off by the lightning but came back Saturday.”
“Yes, that’s them. They made a good offer, and we have to talk to Fran about it,” she explained. She glanced at Peter, thinking, Jump in anytime, brother dear.
He met her glance, then quickly looked away and rose from his chair. “I’d better try to wake up Will. I don’t want him to sleep until noon again.”
Liza watched him go, leaving her holding the bag. Well, at least Peter seemed to have a few pangs of conscience about the situation. That was something.
She looked back at Claire. She didn’t have to tell her that the Hardys were knocking down the inn. That didn’t really pertain to her. Claire would lose her job, one way or the other, Liza reasoned. But Liza knew that Claire deserved to hear all of it. It just seemed right. In some ways, the inn seemed to belong to Claire more than anyone. Or maybe it was just that she seemed so much a part of this place.
Liza sighed and took another sip of coffee. “Well, we have to catch up to Fran and talk over the offer,” she said again.
“Don’t worry about me, Liza. I’ll find other work,” Claire said. She brought a cup of tea to the table and sat down nearby.
Liza looked across the table at her. “I am concerned for you, Claire. But it’s not just that. I don’t really want to sell the inn. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I want to stay here and run it.”
“Yes, I thought something like that was going on,” Claire admitted. “But I wasn’t sure.”
Though her arguments with Peter had mostly been private, Liza realized that Claire must have overhead or just sensed some of the friction between them.
“Peter does want to sell, and this is a good offer,” she repeated. “He’s got a lot going on right now. He just wants to settle this situation and get back to Arizona,” she added, trying to defend her brother.
“Understandable,” Claire said calmly. “It is a pity, though, that he won’t give you a chance. I can see it. I can see you taking your aunt’s place here.” Claire smiled over at her. “You are so much like her, Liza. I see it more and more every day.”
Liza was deeply touched. Claire could not have given her a greater compliment.
“Thank you, Claire, for saying that . . . I wish I were more like my aunt. If I was, maybe I could persuade Peter to let me stay—and keep the Hardys from knocking this place down.
”
Claire’s expression fell. “Is that what they plan to do?”
Liza nodded bleakly. She hadn’t meant to tell Claire this way but felt relieved now that the whole truth was out. “They want to build a new house. It’s awful, isn’t it?”
Liza heard the tremble in her voice and felt embarrassed for a moment. Then realized she hadn’t confided her true feelings about this to anyone. It felt good to talk to Claire, the one person who would completely understand.
“It is awful . . . but it hasn’t happened yet,” Claire pointed out. “I know it looks bleak. But if you’re meant to stay here, God will clear a path, Liza,” she promised. “Trust in Him to show you the way.” She met Liza’s gaze for a long moment, then reached over and patted Liza’s hand.
Liza took Claire’s hand in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Claire. I’ll try,” she promised quietly. Before she could say anything more, Peter ran into the kitchen, his face pale.
“Have either of you seen Will? Did he come down here?”
“I haven’t seen him this morning,” Claire said.
“Me either,” Liza added. “He’s not up in his room?”
Peter swallowed hard. “No, he’s not. I knocked and knocked, and he wouldn’t answer. I thought he was just being stubborn. But when I finally walked in, his bed was empty. First I thought he was taking a shower. Or maybe he had gone up to the attic for some reason . . .” Peter took a breath. “When I went back to his room, I realized that some of his stuff is gone. His down jacket, his pack, his shoes . . . I looked in all the rooms upstairs. He’s gone somewhere. Without telling anyone.”
“Maybe he got up early and went down to the beach,” Liza suggested, “or walked up to the General Store. Are you sure he didn’t leave a note?”
“I looked around his room. No note. And there was nothing down here. I’m sure one of us would have seen it,” he said, glancing around the kitchen.
“I’ll go check in the foyer and the parlor. Maybe he left a note out there,” Claire said, “on the desk or something.”
“Good idea,” Liza replied. “Maybe he left a message on your cell phone,” she said to her brother. “Did you check yet?”
Peter pulled out his cell and checked the messages. “Nothing. How about you?”
Liza doubted that Will would have left a message on her phone, but you never know what kids are thinking. She checked her pockets and realized her BlackBerry was still upstairs in her room. At some point during her stay here, she had fallen out of the habit of keeping it close. She would have to tell Daniel.
“It’s upstairs, I’ll run up and check.” She ran up to her room and found her phone. No message from Will appeared on the list of new calls. She felt a pang of worry but refused to give in to it. Will hadn’t been gone very long. He probably just needed some time to himself after arguing with his dad the night before.
She walked down the hallway to the stairs, passing Will’s room on the way. She paused and peeked in. His bed was a tumble of sheets and blankets, the pillow still dented with the imprint of his head. His big sneakers, which normally took up half of the floor, were conspicuously absent, as were the parka and sweatshirt that were normally draped over an armchair. His carry-on duffel was still on the floor near the closet, with clothes spilling over onto the floor. That was a good sign, Liza thought. Maybe they were worrying for no reason. Maybe he hadn’t gone far at all.
As she headed downstairs, she took out her phone again and auto-dialed her nephew’s number. Will’s phone rang a few times, but he didn’t answer. “Will, it’s Aunt Liza. Please call me or your dad when you get this message. We don’t know where you are. It’s very important that you call us,” she said, trying not to sound too upset.
When she got to the kitchen, she saw Peter had his phone out, too, and was busily sending a text message.
“I just tried calling him,” she said. “He didn’t pick up, but I left a message.”
“I left a voice message, too. And now a text.” Peter looked up at her. “I don’t like this, Liza. I have a bad feeling.”
“Let’s not get too worried yet,” Liza said in what she hoped was a calming tone. “Will’s not a little boy. He knows how to take care of himself. He must have just gone out for a walk or something and forgotten to let us know.”
Claire returned to the kitchen. “I looked all over. I didn’t find any notes, sorry.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Peter admitted. “But thanks for your help, Claire.” He drummed his fingers on the table, then said, “You’re right, Liza. It’s too soon to panic. Let’s give him a few hours.”
Liza and Peter had breakfast, then they busied themselves around the inn, each hoping that Will would walk in at any moment.
Well before noon, Liza and Peter met up in the kitchen where Claire was starting another pot of soup. Peter looked ready to jump out of his skin. “I still haven’t heard a thing from Will,” he told Liza. “Maybe I’m overreacting, but I can’t just sit here, being patient. After that argument we had last night, who knows—”
A knock sounded on the kitchen door, and they all turned at once. But it was Daniel peeking through the glass, not Will.
Liza quickly ran over to open the door. For some reason, the mere sight of Daniel was a great relief.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said brightly, though his gaze was fixed on Liza. “How’s it going?”
“We have a situation,” Liza told him. “Well . . . we hope it’s not a situation, just a misunderstanding. Will’s gone out somewhere and he didn’t leave a note.”
“And he’s not answering our messages,” Peter added in a far more anxious tone. “He’s been gone all morning. I think I’d better go look for him. I’m getting worried.”
“He could have gone out for a walk or a bike ride,” Daniel said. “Did you check the bikes? Are any missing?”
“I should have thought of that,” Peter said. He ran out the back door and headed to the shed, with Liza, Daniel, and Claire following behind him.
“Okay, one bike is gone,” Peter reported, as he emerged from the shed. “So Will probably isn’t just taking a walk on the beach.”
“That gives us something to go on,” Daniel replied. “Why don’t we split up and look for him? It’s not a very big island. He couldn’t have gone far.”
“Unless he decided to head for the mainland,” Peter said. “For all I know, he’s on his way to Logan—”
“Let’s hope not,” Liza cut in, trying to tamp down her brother’s panic. “We ought to at least take a quick ride around before we jump to that conclusion.”
“I’ll call the gatehouse and ask if they’ve seen a boy pass on a bicycle,” Claire said. “I’ll make a few calls around to the neighbors, too. Maybe someone has seen him.”
“Good idea, Claire.” Liza followed her toward the house, knowing she needed to grab a jacket and her car keys.
“Let’s go inside a minute and look over a map, so we don’t duplicate our efforts,” Daniel suggested.
Peter nodded grimly. Liza reached out and touched his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s all right,” she said quietly.
“I hope so,” Peter answered.
A short time later they had figured out a plan, and each took a different section of the island to search. Claire had already called the gatehouse at the bridge. The gatekeeper had been on duty there since five that morning and did not recall seeing a boy on a bike heading for the mainland.
“I doubt he would have left before five,” Peter conceded, “considering how late he normally sleeps.”
“That’s good news, then. He’s got to be around somewhere,” Daniel said. “Keep calling, Claire. Maybe someone has seen him.”
“That’s what I plan to do,” she said, dialing the phone again. Claire knew everyone on the island, Liza reasoned. She was the perfect person for this job.
“Should we call the police?” Peter said finally.
“I suppose yo
u could. There’s no police department out here, but Cape Light might send someone to help,” Daniel replied.
“I’ll take care of that,” Claire offered. “I’ll call your cell phone, Peter, and tell you what the police say. You go on and start looking. Who knows, you might find him right away.”
“We might. I just hope he’s all right.” Peter led the way out the back door. Liza and Daniel followed.
The section of the island that Liza had been assigned covered an area close to the inn. She drove along the road slowly, keeping her eye out for Will and also just for the bike. If Will had gone down to the beach to explore, he would have had to leave the bike up on the road, she reasoned.
She came to the goat farm and spotted Audrey’s two black-and-white herding dogs, darting in circles around the braying goats. Audrey was nowhere in sight, and Liza wondered if she should drive in and ask if anyone there had seen Will this morning. But Claire would call the farm, she remembered. It was important to keep going and not lose time.
She drove on and came to the island center. She decided to check in the General Store. It seemed a logical place for Will to stop.
“Why hello there,” Marion Doyle greeted her. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” Liza replied. She quickly explained that she was looking for Will. Walter Doyle had come around his side of the counter and listened with interest.
“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good,” Marion replied with concern.
“You know kids, they just don’t think sometimes,” her husband added.
“No, they don’t,” Liza agreed. “Has he been by this morning?”
Marion frowned, carefully considering the question, then shook her head. “No, dear. I don’t remember seeing him. How about you, Walter?” She turned to her husband. “You remember Peter Martin’s boy? They were in here about a week ago.”
“Sure, I do. But I didn’t see him this morning.”
“Let me give you my cell number,” Liza said, “just in case he does come in.”
Thomas Kinkade Page 27
