by Kathi Daley
“We are, so that at least is decided. I was thinking I might drive into Portland this week to look at granite. I really love the one we picked out for the three suites that are completed.”
“I’d love to go with you.”
“And I’d love for you to come. What is your schedule like?”
“I can go any day but Thursday,” Georgia informed me. “I’ve volunteered to help out with the schools art program again then.”
“Okay, maybe we’ll try for Friday. I really should get a couple more chapters done before I do anything else so I can send a packet to my agent. She wanted to take a look before I got too far into it.”
“Friday should be fine.” Georgia got up and began clearing the table. “So, about an opening date? I know that whatever we say now will be fluid, but are we still shooting for July?”
I nodded. “I think we are. If Lonnie can get the third floor done by the first of May, that gives us two months to outfit the place while he creates the final suite in the attic. I think I am comfortable taking reservations for September, but I don’t want to accept deposits for July and August until we get a bit closer. I am, however, fine with taking names as long as those wishing to stay with us this summer know up front that we can’t make a firm commitment until the remodel is complete.”
Georgia paused as I began to clear the dishes from the table. “I’ve been thinking about suggesting a soft opening before we actually commit to overnight guests. I would love to have a big grand opening event in July. We could serve food and drinks out on the patio, which, hopefully, will be installed and gorgeous by then. Guests can tour the house, and we’ll provide information on theme weekends and special events. Then I thought we’d follow our opening with an additional special event or two. Something like music on the lawn or a wine tasting. That way we can make sure that we have everything we need to serve food and provide entertainment up to par. Once we feel confident with that, we can begin booking the suites, which we both know will be more of a twenty-four-hour-a-day commitment.”
I opened the dishwasher and began placing the items I had just rinsed on the racks. “I like that idea. It feels less overwhelming. We have that one bridal party I’ve already spoken to who are interested in holding their wedding here in September, and we also have the group from the little college up north who want to hold their reunion here in August. I think at this point both seem very doable. Did you have a theme for the special event you mentioned in July?”
“It will be beautiful outside on the lawn in the evenings, so I was thinking maybe some sort of concert with a food-and-wine pairing. Our gardens won’t have had a chance to grow up yet, but we should have the hardscape in by then and at least some of the foliage.”
I closed the door of the dishwasher and turned it on. “I like that. In fact, let’s start to schedule at least one theme weekend a month, beginning with the concert in July and then maybe doing something like a Great Gatsby Weekend in August.”
“Oh, and something like a murder mystery or haunted inn weekend in October will be a must.”
Of course, once Georgia and I got started, we chatted into the late hours of the evening, but we were both having a blast planning the events I hoped would put our inn on the map. I could picture the inn all decked out in Christmas splendor. We’d book Christmas-themed events such as caroling and ornament decorating from the day after Thanksgiving until the day before Christmas. Combined with the events the town already sponsored, The Inn at Holiday Bay would soon be the elite destination for those wanting an old-fashioned holiday experience in Maine.
Chapter 3
The rain continued for the fourth day in a row. Ugh. Enough already! At least the wind had died down, and the pelting rain we’d experienced the day before had given way to a gentle sprinkle. Maybe it was the endless days of dreary weather, or maybe it was simply my desire not to have to write today, but I found myself looking for a diversion. I lifted my blanket to find Rufus curled up under the covers just below the extra pillow on the unoccupied side of my bed. “How does scrambled eggs with Velma sound?”
“Meow.”
“If Georgia hasn’t already made breakfast, I’ll suggest it.” I slid my legs over to the side of the bed. After pulling on my robe and slippers, I called to Olivia, who had been snuggled up with her babies, then headed out into the common area, where I found Georgia staring at her computer screen and Ramos napping in front of the fire.
“There is fresh coffee in the pot,” Georgia said. “I’ve been working on my research on the mantel and haven’t made breakfast yet, but I will now.”
I grabbed a mug and poured the coffee. “Actually, Rufus and I were thinking about going into town and having breakfast at Velma’s. We’d love for you to join us.”
Georgia looked up. “Sounds good. I need to run by the market to pick up a few things anyway, so we can do it then.”
I crossed the room and sat down at the table across from Georgia. “Have you found anything interesting?”
Georgia leaned back in her chair. “I found a photo of a mantel carved by Samuel Garrison. It isn’t ours, but it is similar. It was originally housed in a tavern called The Rusty Anchor, which was located in the North End of Boston during the colonial era. The tavern, which seemed to have attracted a wealthy crowd, dated back to the mid-seventeen hundreds, although I’ve yet to find an actual date for its opening. It was said that this watering hole was frequented by patriots such as Paul Revere, John Adams, and Dr. Joseph Warren, among others. The place burned to the ground in 1912, and the fireplace mantel perished with it, but I did manage to find several photos of the tavern taken around the turn of the twentieth century, one of which includes the fireplace and the mantel.” Georgia turned her laptop toward me so I could see the photo.
“That does look a lot like our mantel,” I agreed.
“And there is more.” Georgia grinned. “According to this article, Garrison carved mantels for quite a few taverns and inns during his time in Boston. It is said that one of his signatures was to build a secret drawer or compartment and incorporate it in the design. If you knew how to operate the latch, it would open to reveal whatever note or small trinket someone might have placed inside. I’ve found mention in a couple of different articles that these secret drawers were used by men involved in the movement for independence to pass messages between themselves.”
I took a sip of my coffee as I let the romance of the notion sink in. “How cool would it be to find a secret drawer built into our mantel? I can even imagine a story to go with it, and some long-lost, undiscovered message between two patriots as they made plans to take up arms and fight for freedom.”
Georgia grinned. “Maybe there was a note meant for Samuel Adams that was never recovered. Of course, we know things turned out all right anyway, but there could have been a never-retrieved message that could have shortened the war and saved lives.”
Getting caught up in the fun of the fantasy, I continued. “Or maybe the message was between the daughter of a Tory innkeeper and the American soldier who fell in love with her, even though they knew their love could never blossom, given their differing politics.”
Georgia giggled. “It sounds like a plot for one of your historical romances.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it will be. I love the idea of a secret drawer that could have been used all those years ago as a dropping point for a secret communication between two individuals who could not openly communicate with each other. Perhaps the drawer was used by brave patriots who were in the midst of planning the rebellion, or it might have been used by star-crossed lovers, as you suggested. Either way, you have to admit the romance of the idea is alluring.”
Georgia nodded. “I agree. It is alluring. And I hope we do find a drawer. If nothing else, it would serve as a good conversation starter with our guests.”
“We’ll need to mention the secret drawer to Lonnie and Bobby when they get here. If there is one in our mantel, Bobby should be able to find it. I fe
el as if the house has shown us some of her secrets over the past few months. Secrets we couldn’t have anticipated when our journey started. The boxes in the basement. The letters in the library. And now, maybe there might be a message in the mantel. It makes me wonder what else might still be waiting to be revealed.”
Georgia stood and walked into the kitchen. She topped off her coffee. “I don’t know what the house still has in store for us, but I am anxious to find out.”
I picked up Rufus and held him to my chest. “Yeah, me too. I will definitely have a chat with Bobby when he gets here. In the meantime, let’s get dressed and go over to Velma’s. For some reason, I’m starving.”
Georgia glanced at Ramos. “I hate to leave him home, but despite my almost-constant brushing, he seems to leave a pile of dirt wherever he lays. I’m not sure I should bring him to a restaurant.”
“Okay. We’ll leave Rufus and Ramos here with Olivia and her babies. I’ll feed them a small serving of pet food and then we can order some takeout to bring back for them so they don’t feel neglected.”
After I returned to my room to dress, I logged onto my computer. I wouldn’t say I was a fanatic about checking emails, but I did like to take a peek each morning before I got busy and forgot to do so. Most of the emails in my inbox were spam, but occasionally there would be something from my agent or an old friend, and, of course, I always hoped to find something from Annie. The only interesting email this morning was from a man who used to work with my husband, Frank Ribaldie, who seemed to be looking for a case file that he thought Ben might have had with him in his car, or perhaps in his office at home, when he died. He’d emailed me about it a few weeks ago, but he hadn’t been specific about what he was after, so I’d simply answered that as far as I knew, Ben hadn’t had any files with him and I hadn’t noticed any among his possessions in his home office either. Of course, that wasn’t technically true. Ben did have copies of the cold cases that he liked to work on in his spare time. I imagined that Frank wasn’t after one of those files, though. This second email asked whether I had come across any files since we’d last been in touch. I wrote an email back to tell him that I’d cleaned out Ben’s things when I’d left San Francisco and that no files of current cases that he was working on at the time of his death had been with his possessions. It seemed odd to me that this man would be looking for a file that Ben might have had after all this time. It had been almost eighteen months since Ben died. Surely any cases that had been active at that time would have been wrapped up by this point, whether Ben had the files with him or not.
I sent the reply and then went to my closet to find clothes to wear for the day. I decided on a pair of jeans, my hiking boots because of all the mud, a yellow T-shirt under a white zip-up sweatshirt, and large gold earrings. I dressed, then returned to my computer to log off and found that Frank had already responded to the email I’d sent just minutes earlier. Okay, that was odd. Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t heard from anyone Ben had worked with in over a year, and then I get two emails from this guy on one day. Now he asked if I knew of any other places where Ben might have stored documents, and suggested a safety-deposit box, a locker, or a storage unit. I was about to reply that I didn’t know of any when my curiosity got the better of me. Instead, my email asked exactly what Frank was after. I implied that if I knew what I was looking for, I could keep an eye out for it. I was fairly certain that he would not reply again, but on the off chance that he did, I figured it would give me a chance to check out what he was so intent on finding.
“The files Ben had in the storage locker in San Francisco,” I said to Georgia as I entered the cottage’s common area from my bedroom. “We brought them all back here with us. Right?”
Georgia nodded. “We brought back all the files we found. We wanted to look through them after we got home.”
“And as far as you know, all those files are in boxes in the coat closet?”
Georgia nodded. “They are. Why do you ask?”
I pulled on a raincoat. “Remember that guy I told you about who emailed me asking for files that Ben might have had with him when he died?”
“Frank something?”
“Yes. I just got another email from him and he is still looking for some file. I find that rather strange after all this time. I told him I didn’t have any of Ben’s files, but I will admit to being curious about what he is after.”
Georgia frowned. “I suppose that something that Ben had been working on at the time of the accident could only just now be going to court, and this Frank might have reason to believe that Ben had notes that might help with the case.”
I shrugged. “It might be something like that. Still, my gut is telling me that there is something odd going on. I might take another look at those files when I have the chance. Right now, I’m even more starving than I was a few minutes ago. Are you ready?”
“I just need to grab the grocery list.”
I grabbed my phone and keys and went out to the car to start it. I liked to let it warm up for a bit on cold mornings, and while the daytime temperatures here had improved significantly, the overnight ones were still dipping down into the thirties. I waved to Lonnie, who had pulled up as I slid my key into the lock of the driver’s side door. Having him and his men coming and going had become a regular part of my daily routine. Despite the noise and the mess, I was pretty sure I was going to miss their arrival each day once they had completed the remodel.
“All set?” I asked Georgia as she slid into the passenger seat with her huge purse and her phone in her hand.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Georgia buckled her seat belt. She adjusted the visor and then held up her phone as I pulled away from the cottage. “I just received a text from Nikki,” she said, referring to Tanner Peyton’s younger sister, who lived with him. “She wants me to come by later to help her with the curtains she is sewing for her bedroom.”
I pulled onto the highway. “Nikki is making curtains?”
“Trying. She doesn’t actually know how to sew, but she found fabric she liked and decided to give it a go. Of course, once she got started, she realized it was harder than she imagined it would be, which is when I volunteered to help out.”
“That was nice of you.”
Georgia shrugged. “I like to sew. I find it relaxing.”
I chuckled. “Whereas I would rather have my fingernails pulled out one by one than tackle a blasted machine.”
“Have you ever tried it?” Georgia asked.
“Once. When I was in college. I had a roommate who had a sewing machine, and she made it look easy, so I decided to give it a try. Trying to make a simple summer top was the single most frustrating thing I had ever tried to do in my entire life. I had high hopes when I started, but by the time I had ripped out the same seam for the tenth time, I was ready to throw the dang thing out the window.” I turned my head slightly to glance at Georgia. “I never did finish that top, and I never tried to sew again. Just talking about it is making my palms sweat.”
Georgia smiled. “I guess sewing isn’t for everyone, but it can be rewarding. In the case of the curtains Nikki is making, the pattern is simple and the material she picked out is easy to work with. It is a good project for her to start with if she really does want to learn. Besides, I like hanging out with her. She is like the little sister I always wanted but never had.”
I suspected that Georgia liked hanging out with Nikki’s big brother Tanner as well, but I didn’t say as much. I knew that she was no more ready to jump into a romantic relationship than I was. Not only was she a widow, which was bad enough, but her husband had killed himself, which made it even worse. Add to that the fact that Georgia had lost her home and her business because of her husband’s actions, and it was amazing that she found the strength to get out of bed each morning, yet she seemed to have pulled herself up by her bootstraps and built a new life that she seemed to embrace with courage and determination. I had made quite a friend.
Chapter 4
Velma’s Café was mostly deserted when we walked in, which probably wasn’t all that surprising on a rainy weekday in the off-season. March didn’t even have much of a holiday to bring visitors to the town. Sure, there was Saint Patrick’s Day, but other than a corned beef and cabbage feed in the community center, Holiday Bay didn’t do all that much to celebrate. Of course, by the time April and Easter rolled around, the town would begin to fill up with weekend traffic.
“Morning, girls,” Velma greeted us. “It’s a dreary sort of day to be out and about.”
“I had a craving for your biscuits and gravy,” I answered. “Eggs scrambled, and coffee.”
Velma looked at Georgia.
“I’ll have a veggie omelet with fruit on the side.”
“You didn’t bring the kids?” Velma asked.
“Ramos has about ten pounds of dirt trapped in his hair despite the fact that I have been brushing him almost constantly,” Georgia answered. “I didn’t want him getting your floor dirty. Ours is past the point of no return,” she joked.
“Rufus knew we were heading this way, so we’ll take some scrambled eggs home to him to smooth things over,” I added.
“Okay, let me get things cooked up for you and then we’ll talk.”
During the busier seasons, Velma had help, but when things were as slow as they had been of late, she tended to take care of both the front and the kitchen on her own. It wasn’t a perfect setup; occasionally, a large family or group came in and then she was scrambling, but today it was just Georgia and me, so we sipped our coffee and chatted while we waited for our breakfasts.
“After you mentioned shopping for granite, I spent some time looking at samples of bathrooms and kitchens online,” Georgia said. “I found a photo featuring a creamy white granite with little streaks of black running through it. It occurred to me that if we could find something similar, we could do white granite with black cabinets in the bathrooms on the third floor. We could paint the walls a creamy white or off-white and then use accents to brighten things up. For example, one of the suites could be called the Garden Suite, and we could use both dark and light rose shades for the bedcover, towels, drapes, etc. Then, in the other room, maybe we could go with accents in yellow and orange and call it the Sunset Suite.”
