The Inn at Holiday Bay Books 10 - 12

by Kathi Daley

  Velma stuck her head into the kitchen to let the cook know she needed a soup and club special and then returned to the counter and poured her own cup of coffee. “Let’s grab a booth,” she suggested. “I have maybe twenty minutes until the first of the lunch crowd shows up, and I could use a break.”

  I picked up my coffee and followed Velma to a nearby booth.

  “I heard Royce was in town,” I said, taking a sip of the delicious blend Velma ordered especially for the diner. Royce Crawford was an old boyfriend Velma had run into a year and a half ago on Nantucket Island, who, once reunited with the one who got away, began coming to Maine for a visit from time to time.

  “He’s still here,” she informed me.

  “Do tell.” I raised a brow. “In the past, he’s usually shown up for quick visits before returning to Boston. Are things getting serious between the two of you?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I guess, maybe. Royce keeps making comments about moving back to Holiday Bay full time, which seems fine with me, but he also keeps making noise about just moving in with me rather than getting his own place, which I’m less certain about.”

  “You have been spending a lot of time together, and he clearly adores you,” I pointed out.

  “I suppose that might be true, but moving in together is a big step. On the one hand, that’s a step I’m not sure I’m ready to make.” She paused, took a sip of her coffee, and then continued. “But, on the other hand, we certainly aren’t getting any younger. I guess if we’re going to move our relationship forward, we really should get to it.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She bowed her head. “I do. And I know he loves me.”

  “So, I don’t really see the problem.”

  Velma paused and then answered. “Royce is the sort who wants to take care of his woman. I’m not the sort to want to be taken care of. We’ve tussled about this a few times in the past. I suppose by this point I’ve finally been able to convince him that he doesn’t have to pay for everything, and lift everything, and take care of all the dirty chores around the house, but if he moved in… well, let’s just say it’s entered my mind that having him in my space all the time might get on my nerves after a while.”

  I suppose I understood that. Velma had been on her own for a good part of her life. She owned her own home as well as her own business, and she was used to doing things for herself rather than depending on a man, or anyone else, for that matter. I, on the other hand, hadn’t been nearly as independent after Ben died. In fact, I’d been like a fish out of water until I’d learned to do the million little things Ben had always taken care of.

  “So, what are you up to today?” Velma asked, seemingly wanting to change the subject.

  “I need to stop by the bookstore to talk to Vanessa about a book signing next month, and then I plan to head over to the gallery Nikki has been going on and on about.”

  “I’ve heard about the place,” Velma confirmed. “Haven’t been by yet, but I’ve had some customers who’ve filled me in. The place is sort of off the beaten path, but I heard they have some art worth looking at. According to Greta, they even have a fairly famous artist visiting from a gallery in New York who has agreed to do a show this weekend.”

  “Really,” I said, raising a brow. “I wonder who it is.”

  “No one I’ve ever heard of, but art really isn’t my thing. I guess you can ask Nikki about it when you see her.” Velma looked up as the phone rang. The cook must have picked it up since it stopped after just one ring. “Are you planning any events for the weekend out at the inn?” she asked.

  “We have a wine tasting on the lawn on Saturday, but otherwise, it’s a quiet weekend. The Harvest Festival is on the seventeenth and eighteenth, the murder mystery dinner is on the twenty-fourth, and then we’ll have our big Halloween party on the thirty-first. You are coming, aren’t you?”

  “Royce and I both plan to attend the Harvest Festival and the Halloween party, but the dinner sold out so quickly that we weren’t able to get tickets. You might want to think about having murder mystery dinners on two or even three nights next year. It’s a very popular event.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “And since the number of guests is limited to thirty, it does sell out fast. The suites for the murder mystery weekend are already booked for next year. It might be a worthwhile idea to look at spreading things out and doing the event on two Saturdays in October, but if we do that, something else will have to go, and a lot of folks from the area look forward to the Harvest Festival.”

  “Maybe you could move the wine tasting to Sunday next year and utilize that Saturday for the second dinner,” she suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  The cook brought my lunch out to me, so Velma continued to chat while I ate. She told me about the gossip she’d picked up in the past few days, and filled me in on the birth of the twin boys one her customers had been expecting, as well as the engagement of another customer that had been speculated about for months.

  She asked me about my guests, and I told her about Alaric Banning and his reason for being in town. Velma, much to my surprise, didn’t seem at all skeptical that he might be successful in his search and proceeded to inform me that the museum, which had reopened after closing following the murder of one of the volunteers, had a section dedicated to old diaries and newspapers that Alaric might find helpful.

  After finishing my meal I was preparing to leave when Colt walked in.

  “Morning, Colt,” Velma said to the man who came in for either breakfast or lunch every day.

  “Morning, ladies.” He smiled at Velma and then at me. “Can I get the soup and sandwich special?”

  Velma headed to the kitchen to make his meal, which was odd since she’d just had the cook make mine. If I knew Velma, and I did, she wanted to give Colt and me a few minutes alone together.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” Colt said as he poured his own cup of coffee and then slid into the booth I’d been preparing to vacate.

  I figured I could chat for a few minutes, so I sat back down. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “There’s a show at that new art gallery this weekend. Nikki has made me swear to attend, and if she hasn’t gotten to you yet, you can be sure an invite is coming. I thought maybe we could go together and maybe get some dinner after. As friends,” he added.

  I felt awful that he felt obligated to add the “as friends” part to the invitation. Things had definitely been awkward between us since we’d had the “where are we going from here” talk a few months ago.

  “I’d love to go to the show with you, and dinner sounds perfect. In fact, I plan to head over to the gallery and check it out this afternoon. Nikki has been on me to stop by for days now, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “It’s a nice place. Very upscale. There are some pieces I don’t really understand, but the tour Nikki provided was enjoyable. The exhibit runs all weekend. I’m free any of the three nights if one works better for you.”

  “How about Sunday? Tonight might be tough, and we have the wine tasting on the lawn tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  I slipped out of the booth, grabbing my purse as I slid into a standing position. “I’m looking forward to it. I need to meet with Vanessa and then head over to the gallery for Nikki’s tour, but I’ll be home tonight if you want to call me so we can firm up times and such.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  I smiled and waved as I walked away. Colt used to drop by the cottage a lot more often before we’d had our talk. I really missed him. Maybe it was time to do some serious soul searching and put an end to the limbo we’d settled into once and for all.

  The distance between Velma’s place and Firehouse Books wasn’t all that far, so I decided to leave my car parked where it was and walk. It was a sunny day with a gentle breeze that was cool yet not uncomfortably so. The red, yellow, and orange leaves which had fallen to the ground made a crunching sound as I
made my way along the sidewalk lined with patio trees on the left and mom and pop shops selling a variety of wares on the right. As I opened the door to the bookstore, I was immediately showered with the scent of pumpkin and cinnamon from candles strategically placed around the interior of the building.

  “Abby, how nice to see you.” Vanessa greeted me with a hug.

  “I was in town, so I decided to stop by and finalize the time and date for the book signing next month.” I looked around the warm and cozy space. “I love your decorations. Everything feels so warm and homey.”

  “That was the intent. Can I get you some coffee? Cider?”

  “Cider would be lovely.”

  “Hot or cold?”

  “I think hot. There seems to be a fall chill in the air.”

  Vanessa poured cider into ceramic mugs and then put them into the microwave to heat. She added cinnamon sticks to the hot apple beverage and then led me to a table toward the back of the store. Taking out her laptop, she opened her calendar app, and we discussed possible dates for the holiday-themed signing she wanted to hold. Once we’d agreed on a date, she closed her laptop and began filling me in on a movie producer she’d met who seemed interested in converting novels to movies and how well she thought the two of us would get along. Vanessa has an easygoing quality I enjoyed, but it did seem that at times she showed more ambition for my writing career than I did. When I’d first started out, I was ambitious, and I might even have taken her up on her offer to introduce me to the movie producer, but since moving to Holiday Bay, my focus had changed somewhat. I still enjoyed penning a tale I felt was mine to share, but I had a lot of other things in my life to divide my attention between, and somehow getting a movie deal or trying for one award or another seemed like more of a hassle than anything. I loved my life, and I was appreciative of my publisher and my readers, but I think the Abagail Sullivan who was all about making one list or another, had, over time, transformed into the Abby Sullivan who was happy with a simple and uncomplicated life for the time being.

  After Vanessa shared her thoughts with me, she asked about the inn, and I found myself sharing the story Alaric had shared with the group the previous evening.

  “You know,” Vanessa said, “I might have read something about that.”

  “You read something about Cedric Banning’s death in nineteen twenty?” I asked.

  “No. Not his death.” She got up and crossed the room to a section that featured books on local history. She removed a book from the shelf and thumbed through it. Eventually, she settled on a page which featured a half-page photo along with a half-page of text. “Here.” She handed me the book.

  I looked down at the page, which featured a photo of an old cinderblock building with a young man with dark hair standing in front of it.

  “What am I looking at?” I asked.

  “The building that housed the first newspaper in Holiday Bay and the handsome young man who started it, Cedric Banning.”

  I considered the black and white photo. Young Cedric did seem to share a family resemblance to Alaric. He appeared to be taller, and his hair was darker, but the smile was the same as was the intense look in his eyes.

  “Does the book provide any other details about the man or the newspaper?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Vanessa answered. “There is a basic biography of who the man was, where he came from, and his dream to open the newspaper. The only thing it says about his death is that he died as a young man and that his partner continued the operation after his death. I know there are copies of all the old newspapers in the museum, and I think the library has other books that have been written about local history over the last century that might include the newspaper. I suppose you might steer the great-grandson who’s in town looking for answers to both places.” Vanessa paused for a moment. “The great-grandson might also want to talk to Grogan Fox. He’s not a hundred so he wouldn’t have known Cedric personally, but he is one of the oldest men in the area. I’m sure his daddy knew Cedric. Maybe he passed something down about the man who brought the weekly news to the area.”

  “I’ll mention that to Alaric.” I handed Vanessa the book she’d shown me. “I should go. I’m supposed to meet Nikki at that new art gallery.”

  “I’ve been by. The place is very nice, especially for our little town. I understand they’re going to have a showing of some of Xander Bloomfield’s work this weekend. Based on what I’ve been told, Bloomfield is a friend of the new owner and has agreed to participate in what could very well be a widely attended showing.”

  Even I, who knew very little about who was hot and who was not in the art world, had heard of Xander Bloomfield.

  “I’m anxious to check the place out.” I picked up my purse and turned toward the door.

  “Oh, I meant to ask if you could drop off some more signed paperbacks the next time you’re in town.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Did you already sell the other batch I left with you?”

  “Most of them,” she confirmed. “They’re popular with both the locals and the tourists. If you have any new bookmarks or postcards, those would be welcome as well.”

  “I’ll need to put in an order, but I’ll drop some by when they come in.”

  Once I left the bookstore, I headed back to my car. I’d need to drive to the gallery since it was located just outside the downtown section of Holiday Bay. I wished I had more time to browse through the shops on Main with their festively decorated windows. I really loved Holiday Bay at this time of the year, but I’d already spent a lot more time than I’d originally anticipated with Vanessa. I would have put visiting the gallery off again, but Nikki had been asking me to tour the place for days, so I really shouldn’t put her off again.

  As I suspected, Nikki had been waiting for me and was standing near the front door when I arrived. Dressed in a colorful long dress, she waved and headed in my direction the minute I walked into the cool interior of the room. She really did look nice with her silver jewelry and light and airy attire. I knew Nikki dabbled in both oil painting and sculpture, but I never really thought of her as being an artist. While she’d shown me a few pieces in the two years we’d known each other, she hadn’t really talked much about her work. As far as I could tell, she’d never really taken it seriously until she met a visiting artist named Damian Davenport, who’d shown up in Holiday Bay several weeks ago. If Georgia had her facts straight, it seemed the two had become a “thing” overnight.

  “Oh, good, you’re here.” Nikki grabbed my arm and dragged me across the room toward a tall woman with long black hair down to her waist. “This is Elena Cromwell,” Nikki introduced the woman with bright green eyes and pale skin, who was so thin as to appear gaunt. “Elena, this is Abby Sullivan. She’s the author I told you about.”

  Elena held out a hand in greeting. Her nails were painted with black polish, which contrasted dramatically with the huge ruby ring on her finger. My first image of Nikki’s new friend was Goddess of the Night, but once my brown eyes met her startling green eyes, I knew that beyond the darkness created by her black leather pants, black cashmere sweater, and black hair was a welcoming friendliness I’d missed at first glance.

  “I’m so happy to meet you,” I said. “Nikki has told me all about you.” I looked around the room. “Your gallery is lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Her face softened as she smiled. “Nikki tells me you own the inn on the bay.”

  I nodded. “Yes. For almost two years now. You should come out and take a look around. We’re hosting events every weekend in October, beginning with a wine tasting tomorrow.”

  “I heard about that. It sounds like a wonderful event, although we’re holding our own exhibit this weekend.”

  “I heard you managed to attract an artist from New York.”

  She nodded. “Xander Bloomfield.”

  “I’m impressed,” I said, and I was.

  “The exhibit opens this evening and runs through the weekend.”

&
nbsp; Glancing toward the back of the gallery, I said, “I noticed that your backroom is screened off.”

  She tilted a corner of her mouth. “We can’t have anyone getting a sneak peek now, can we? Why don’t you have Nikki show you around the part of the gallery that isn’t screened off for the opening tonight? If you’d like to come back later, I’m sure I can get you in.”

  “Actually, my friend, Colt Wilder, and I plan to come by on Sunday. I’ll just take a quick tour with Nikki now, and then plan a longer stay once the exhibit opens.”

  Nikki, who’d been squirming around next to me the entire time I’d been chatting with Elena, took me by the arm and dragged me directly to the sculptures. I noticed right off that the gallery seemed to display artists incorporating a variety of styles. I wasn’t sure how well a gallery so far away from the touristy section of town would do, but I supposed once word got out, folks would make the trip, and having a well-known artist such as Xander Bloomfield as a guest exhibitor would go a long way toward putting the gallery on the map.

  “These are Damian’s,” Nikki said proudly, running her hand over a twisted figure which seemed to have too many arms and not enough heads. The figure was an interesting piece made from a dark gray marble. It really was striking.

  “So he’s a sculptor. I thought you mentioned something about a painting when we spoke earlier.”

  “He works with various mediums. His oils are along the back wall. It’s odd. His work with marble is very modern, but his oils are considered to be quite traditional. Come on, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Nikki seemed to be in her element as she showed me around. I hadn’t realized that my young neighbor knew as much about art as she did. Not only did she know the difference between all the different styles and was able to identify and explain those styles to me, but she knew a lot about each of the different artists who had pieces on display as well. Apparently, there was more to my part-time housekeeper than I realized.

  “And this,” Nikki said, stopping in front of an oil painting of a beautiful woman, who was obviously a ghost, standing over a cradle containing twins who’d been laid out head to head, “is the Gemini Ghost.”