Anchored Inn

by Karen MacInerney

  We all raised our glasses again, the smiles faded, and toasted to the lives of those lost. Then, after a solemn moment of silence, the conversation began.

  “How did you identify the wreck, anyway?” John asked the scientist.

  “We did a radar scan of the sea floor,” she informed him. “The U-Boat was in a bit of a trench, so previous scans didn’t catch it; I’m thrilled we were able to find it. It was almost as if it wanted to be found.”

  Or Mandy did, I thought, taking another sip of my champagne and glancing out toward the carriage house where Steve Batterly had met his end. He’d kept his secret for decades. What other secrets had he had? I still needed to tell Catherine about Murray’s habit… and I now knew more than I wanted to about Tom Lockhart. It wasn’t my place to say anything, but my heart ached for Lorraine. Who else had Steve been blackmailing? I wondered.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  As I pondered these somber thoughts, Charlene burst into the dining room.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, praying it wasn’t bad news about Tania.

  “She’s back!” Charlene said. “She came back on the 2:00 mail boat!”

  “She’s okay?”

  “Fit as a fiddle, but I’m still tempted to take a piece out of that girl’s hide.”

  “Oh, that’s fabulous news,” I said, feeling my whole body relax with relief. “Did she tell you what happened?”

  “She spent the last few days in Orono, just like the Instagram photos said. Turns out she’s going to the University of Maine on a full scholarship in the spring,” Charlene said, a proud smile on her face.

  “What? That’s wonderful!” I said, sweeping my friend into a hug. “Is that what she was doing?”

  “She was,” Charlene said. “Turns out Dan was one of her professors. He pulled some strings at U. Maine to get her extra funding; she was there this weekend staying in one of the dorms and interviewing for scholarship opportunities.”

  “So she didn’t elope with a married man after all,” I said. “Thank goodness! But next time, a little more communication wouldn’t go amiss!”

  “No kidding,” Charlene said. “I’m still furious with her, though. I know she was trying to surprise me, but just vanishing like that… I told her she can never, ever do that again. What was she thinking?”

  “She wasn’t,” I said. “We didn’t either, at that age.”

  “I know.” Charlene sighed. “I keep thinking of poor Mandy… I know they arrested Ed Jameson, but what happened?”

  I filled her in on everything that had happened that day so far.

  “So you ran him over?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “He deserved it,” she said. “Who does something like that? Poor Mandy… she had such high hopes, and it all came to that. And Steve knew all along… how do you keep something like that quiet?”

  “I think the money helped,” I commented.

  “I guess… what a rotten way to make a living. I think I’ve lost five pounds in the last week, though, so it’s not all bad. Although I’m going to need to find some extra help at the store…”

  “There’s maple cake in the kitchen if you want to balance out your calorie deficit,” I said. “Oh… and we’ve got some news, too.”

  “The U-Boat?” she asked. “I heard half the news outlets on the planet are going to be descending on the island.”

  “Yes,” I said, “and some of them are staying at the inn.” I’d taken six reservations in the past hour, in fact. “But that’s not it.”

  “What is it, then?” she asked.

  “Gwen’s pregnant!”

  “She’s…” Charlene’s hands leapt to her mouth. “Ohmygosh… that’s wonderful! They’ll be such good parents… and you’ll have a new niece to read stories to, and bake with…”

  “Or nephew,” John pointed out.

  “Whichever,” Charlene said. “Is there any of that champagne left?”

  “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” I said, laughing.

  “Much better,” she said. “And I’ll take you up on that cake!” she added with a grin.

  All in all, it was a good day. I was wrapping up a few business details at the front desk when Max and Ellie came in the front door. Max’s eyes were shining, and her cheeks were pink. “I heard you had an exciting day!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just ran into your friend Eleazer… he told me you caught the killer!”

  “If by ‘caught’ you mean ‘ran over,’ then I guess that’s true,” I said. “I’m glad to get it all wrapped up. I’m sad about Mandy, but at least her family has closure.”

  “And it sounds like the man who died wasn’t exactly a prize package either,” Ellie commented. “Still… it’s sad.”

  “It is,” I agreed, feeling a twinge again for poor Mandy. “But you look happy,” I said to Max. “What’s up?”

  “Ellie and I just had a long talk, and the two of you talked me into it,” she said. “I’m going to buy a bookstore!”

  “That’s wonderful!” I said. “Where?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but I’m going to talk to Loretta and see if she’ll sell the store in Snug Harbor to me. I can’t stand to think of it going downhill, and I’d love to keep it alive for future generations. I just hope I can afford it!”

  “Like I said, I can help finance it if you like,” Ellie offered.

  Max turned to her. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I think you’re going to be a smashing success.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I’m a little scared, honestly,” she admitted. “It’s a big step.”

  “Anything worth doing is scary,” I said. “Oh… and thank you so much for your help with Tania. You were right; your daughter did see her!”

  Max’s smile faded, and her eyes got round. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. In fact, she’ll be at the U of Maine with your daughter next semester. She spent the last few days talking with financial aid officers and looking at the dorms; she didn’t tell Charlene because she wanted to surprise her. She worked so hard her correspondence courses and did so well on her SATs that they’re giving her a full ride.”

  “A full ride? That’s wonderful!” Max said. “All kinds of good news today!”

  “So all’s well that ends well,” Ellie said.

  “For most of us, anyway,” I said, thinking of Mandy. “There’s some more good news, though; my niece is going to have a baby!”

  “That’s wonderful. Congratulations, Aunt Natalie!” Max said, grinning.

  “A day of new beginnings,” said Ellie. “New store, new college career, and a new baby in the family.”

  “Life is pretty good, isn’t it?” I said.

  “There are some rough patches,” Max agreed, “but yes. There’s plenty of good if you look for it. And always a chance for a new chapter.”

  As I looked at Max, her sad face now full of life and hope, I had to agree.

  And I couldn’t wait to see what she wrote in her own next chapter.

  * * *

  And speaking of next chapters… read on for the first chapter of A KILLER ENDING: A Seaside Cottage Books Mystery, the first of the new Snug Harbor Mysteries featuring Max Sayers!

  Sneak Preview: A Killer Ending

  Two years ago, if you’d told me I’d be spending my 42nd birthday driving north on I-95 with all of my worldly possessions hitched to my Honda CRV in a U-Haul trailer like some sort of oversize snail shell, I’d have told you you were crazy.

  But things change.

  Boy, do they change.

  It wasn’t the best time to head out of Boston. I hadn’t gotten the last picture of my two darling girls packed up into a box and loaded into the back of the trailer until just after four o’clock on Friday afternoon. Since it was the first weekend of summer vacation in Massachusetts, I was now trapped on the highway with several thousand fellow motorists
, many of them with kayaks or bicycles strapped to the backs of their SUVs. Like a lot of them, I was headed north to the Maine coast to enjoy a sunny, sparkling summer weekend. Unlike them, however, I didn’t plan to come back on Sunday.

  Or at all.

  Just three months earlier, listening to a deep gut instinct for the first time in almost two decades, I’d signed a stack of paperwork, plunked down my life savings, and purchased my very own bookstore, Seaside Cottage Books, in Snug Harbor, Maine. With the help of an assistant, I’d spent the last several weeks clearing out years of debris from the storage room, dusting the shelves, taking stock of the inventory, and using what little money I had left to add a carefully curated selection of new books. I’d also spent a good bit of time redecorating the place, rolling up my sleeves and repainting the walls a gorgeous blue, making new, nautical-print cushions for the window seats with my mother’s old sewing machine, and scouring second-hand stores for the perfect cozy armchairs to tuck away in corners.

  The grand re-opening celebration was scheduled for tomorrow night, and I was as nervous as… well, as nervous as a middle-age, recently divorced woman who’s just spent everything she has on a risky venture in a small Maine town can be. I’d used my final pennies (and a small loan) to take out ads in the local paper and spread flyers all over town; I hoped my marketing efforts worked.

  From his crate behind me, Winston, my faithful Bichon-mystery-mix rescue, whined. I reached back to put my fingers through the grate and pat his wooly white head; he licked my fingers. “I know, buddy. But once we get there, you’ll get to go for walks on the beach and sniff all kinds of things. I promise you’ll love it.” He let out a whimper, but settled down.

  Walks on the beach. Fresh sea air. A business that allowed me to be my own boss. A home to call my own. I repeated these sentences like a mantra, as if they could wipe the memory of the complicated and painful last year-and-a-half from my mind and my soul.

  Move forward, Max. Just move forward.

  I took a deep breath and let my foot off the brake unconsciously. The car rolled forward and I slammed on the brake again, just in time to avoid rear-ending the Highlander in front of me, which had four bikes strapped to the back. Two adult bikes, and two smaller, pink and blue sparkly bikes, one of which had pink ribbons trailing from the handlebar grips. Two daughters. My eye was drawn to the heads in the car; a happy family, going to Maine for the summer. A dull pain sprouted in my chest, but once again, I banished it.

  Forward, Max.

  By the time I reached the exit for Snug Harbor, the sun was low in the sky and my stomach was growling. I glanced back at Winston, who was still giving me a reproachful look from his dark brown eyes.

  “We’re almost there,” I promised him.

  I turned at the exit. Within moments, we’d left the impersonal, clogged highway behind and were heading down a winding rural route, passing handmade signs offering firewood for sale, a sea glass souvenir shop, and a log-cabin-style restaurant advertising early-bird lobster dinners and senior specials. I hooked a left at a T-intersection marked by a large planter filled with dahlias and white salvia. And then, as if I had crossed the threshold into another world, I was in Snug Harbor.

  In the rearview mirror, I could see Winston perk up as I tooled down Main Street, which was already buzzing with summer visitors, and when I opened the windows and let the cool, fresh sea breeze in, he sat up and started sniffing. Quaint, homegrown shops faced the narrow, car-lined street, which was landscaped with trees and flower-filled planters. Business appeared to be booming; a line snaked out the door of Scoops Ice Cream, Judy's Fudge Emporium was hopping, and lots of relaxed-looking families strolled the streets with ice cream cones and dreamy smiles. Live guitar music drifted out of the Salty Dog Pub as we rolled by, and I caught a whiff of fried clams that made my mouth water. I’d have to splurge on dinner out soon, I told myself. I just hoped a lot of those vacationers were looking for good reads to relax with on their hotel and rental-house porches so I could support my deep-fried seafood habit.

  As I crested the gentle hill, passing the town green on my left, the street in front of me seemed to fall away, leaving a perfectly framed view of Snug Harbor.

  The water was a beautiful, deep blue, and beyond it nestled the pristine, tree-clad Snug Island; the tide was low, so the sandbar connecting the Snug Harbor to the small island across the water was visible. As I rolled down the street, the whale-watching boat came into view; the big white vessel was just pulling out for its sunset tour, and beyond, I could see the four masts of the Abigail Todd as it sailed out of the harbor toward the small, outlying islands.

  It took my breath away, just as it had the first time I’d seen it more then thirty years ago.

  I drove down to the end of main street and the pier, which was filled with a mix of working boats and pleasure boats (including a few large yachts), then turned left on Cottage Street.

  I passed three dockside restaurants featuring lobster boils and fisherman’s dinners, catching yet more whiffs of fried clams (this was going to be an occupational hazard), the cobalt harbor peeking out between the buildings and snow-white seagulls calling and whirling overhead in the evening light. There was a little blue-painted shop called Ivy’s Seaglass and Crafts, which I knew housed an eclectic assortment of local jewelry and artwork, and then, on its own, a little ways down the street, the walkway flanked by pink rosebushes… Seaside Cottage Books.

  My new home… in fact, my new life.

  I looked at the familiar Cape-style building with fresh eyes, admiring the gray-shingled sides of the little house, the white curtains in the upper windows, the pots of red geraniums looking fresh and sprightly in half-barrels on the freshly painted porch. Two rockers with handmade cushions awaited readers. Behind it, I knew, a beach-rose-lined walkway led down to a rocky beach; a beach Winston and I would be able to walk every morning, greeting the sun. And the bookstore itself—it was a dream come true for me. A place where I could connect with other people who loved books, and introduce others to literary treasures that would open up their minds and their worlds.

  Pride surged in me at the sight of the book display that graced one of the sparkling front windows—a hand-selected variety of Maine-centric books and beloved reads, including several of Lea Wait’s delightful Maine mysteries, two books by Sarah Orne Jewett, a whimsical book by two young women who had hiked the Appalachian Trail barefoot, and—a personal favorite for years—Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods. They were like old friends welcoming me home, even though I’d just left my home of twenty years for the last time this morning. I smiled, feeling a surge of hope for the first time that day. A sign with the words OPEN SOON was hooked on the door, and I found myself envisioning the community of readers who would gather here.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms as I pulled into the gravel drive beside the small building, carefully easing in the trailer behind me so as not to knock over the mailbox. I parked next to the rear of the house, so that it would be a short trip from the trailer to the back door of the shop. And the back door of my home, which was an apartment on the second floor with a cozy bedroom, a small kitchen and living area, a view of the harbor, and even a balcony on which I planned to put a rocking chair and enjoy my morning coffee, as soon as I could afford it.

  My store.

  My home.

  It was the first time in my whole life I’d had something that was completely and totally mine, and I told myself in that moment that I’d do anything to keep anyone else from taking it away from me.

  Of course, at the time, I had no idea someone would try quite so soon.

  Like tomorrow.

  “Hey, Max!”

  As I clambered out of the Honda, a bright-faced young woman opened the back door of the shop and stepped out to meet me.

  “What are you still doing here?” I asked.

  “Just finishing up a few last minute things for the big opening tomorrow,” she said. “My mom lent us some platters for coo
kies, I borrowed two coffee percolators from Sea Beans, and I’ve got a line on a punch bowl, too.”

  “You’re amazing,” I said, smiling. Bethany had been my right-hand woman in getting the bookstore up and running. She’d been crushed when the previous owner, Loretta Satterthwaite, became too ill to carry on with the store, and had banged on the front door two days after I bought the shop. I’d greeted her with cobwebs in my hair—I’d been dusting—and she talked me into an “internship.”

  “Snug Harbor needs a bookstore,” she’d said. “Plus, I plan to be a writer, so I need to keep up with happenings in the industry.”

  “What about the library?”

  “Their budget for new books is meager. I’ve volunteered there for years,” she told me, “but Snug Harbor without a Seaside Books… it’s like having a body without a heart.” Since I felt much the same way—I'd spent many summer days holed up in the shop as a girl—I felt an immediate kinship. She smiled, and I noticed the freckles dotting her nose and the bright optimism in her fresh-scrubbed, young face. She reminded me of my daughters, Audrey and Caroline, and my heart melted a little bit. “I’ll start as an intern; once the store opens, we’ll figure something out. I live with my parents and I’m only taking classes part-time. I’ve got both ample time and a scholarship.”

  “I can’t pay you much,” I warned her. “I’m not opening for months and I spent almost everything on the building.”

  “I’m sure we’ll come to a suitable arrangement,” she’d announced, peering past me at a jumble of books the previous owner had left on a table. “I’ll start by rescuing those poor books from their current condition,” she’d informed me, and walked right into the store—and into my life.

  Thank heavens for angels like Bethany.