"But really. She'd have so many more opportunities if she'd gotten her degree. And in California..."
I stifled a sigh. All the progress we seemed to have made the last time my sister visited appeared to have evaporated in the California sun. I'd hoped she was finally on board with Adam and Gwen's decision, but that no longer seemed to be the case. "Why don't you keep an eye on this pot for me?" I asked. "The recipe's right here, and I've got the chocolate and milk powder measured out; there's the corn starch. I'm going down to talk to John."
"But..."
"I'll be right back," I promised, and grabbed my coat and boots. I'd rarely been happier to step out into sub-zero temperatures and a stiff winter wind.
John was finishing work on a last batch of toy cars when I knocked and walked into his sawdust-scented workshop, which was one of the small outbuildings behind the inn. His mother Catherine lived in the other, but I knew today she was visiting with her boyfriend, Murray Selfridge. "I don't want to interfere with the meeting of the families," she had told me as she arranged her pearls and put on her wool winter coat late that morning. She and Charlene were tied for "most stylish islander." Not that there was much competition on Cranberry Island. "I'll come by tomorrow, when things have settled out."
"Thanks for the support," I said wryly.
"Liquor is always helpful," she'd suggested with a grin before nipping out the door.
Now, as I stepped into John's workshop, I found myself wondering if perhaps there might be some merit in the idea. Would anyone notice if I spiked the hot chocolate with bourbon?
Or maybe just served bourbon?
"Everyone make it in?" John asked.
"They did," I said. "And Gwen's mom and Adam's mom seem to have a few things in common."
"Oh, that's great!" he said, rubbing a bit of sandpaper over a recently completed toy car. He was dressed in jeans and a green fisherman's sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. His sandy hair was flecked with sawdust, as were the shoulders of his sweater. Not for the first time, I reflected that I was a very lucky woman. He smiled at me. "At least they're getting along, right?"
"I said they had things in common," I replied. "I did not say that they were getting along."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Uh oh. What happened?"
"Apparently Adam's mom made some comment about Gwen not finishing school, and Bridget took it to mean that they don't think her daughter is good enough for their son. So now she's back on the whole 'will she really want to be married to a lobstermen and trapped in this backwater in five years' thing."
John groaned. "She didn't say this in front of Gwen, did she?"
"Not that I know of," I said. "I'm making hot chocolate before braving the parlor. I'm thinking of spiking it."
"Good call."
"It was your mother's idea. But that's not why I'm here..."
"You just missed my company, didn't you?" he asked, eyes sparkling. "Or you're nosy about your Christmas gift."
"Well, yes on both counts," I admitted. "But Selene down at Island Artists told me someone stole all of the toys she'd put aside for the fundraiser."
His expression turned serious. "What? When?"
"Sometime today," I said. "There's nothing else missing, though... at least nothing she's noticed so far."
"That's the third theft this week," he told me. "All related to the Christmas fundraiser."
"Really?" And here I was thinking things had been quiet.
"We've been so busy getting ready for the wedding, I guess I forgot to tell you. Emmeline said someone took the box of candles and scarves she was donating off the front porch yesterday, and another package from one of the shops in Bar Harbor disappeared off the mail boat the day before that."
"Weird!" I said. "Why would someone steal toys going to a fundraiser? I mean, it's a small island; someone's going to notice if their neighbor suddenly turns up with two of your handmade cars under the Christmas tree."
"I'd notice, for sure. I know exactly which ones they are."
"Who would do something like that?"
"Someone desperate to have toys for their own kid for Christmas?" he asked.
"Why not steal one or two from the shelves in the store, where they'd be less easily noticed?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Maybe whoever it is figured she'd think she'd already dropped the box off... or someone had picked it up."
"I'll have to talk to Claudette," I said. Claudette White, owner of the island's renegade goats, was organizing the fundraising sale, which had been set up to benefit local Marge O'Leary. She'd broken her foot slipping on a step, putting her out of commission for several weeks. Between the medical bills and time she needed to heal before returning to work cleaning houses, funds were tight. Claudette had been putting together gifts from local businesses and islanders to sell at the Carols and Cookies service at the church the coming weekend; she was hoping that, along with a few donations from islanders, the proceeds might help tide Marge over until she was back on her feet--literally. The willingness to help neighbors out was one of the things I loved about living on Cranberry Island. It troubled me that someone was interfering with the effort.
He sighed. "I'd talk with Marge, but I don't want to upset her."
"I get it," I said. "In the meantime, we've got enough stuff to deal with at the inn."
"Problems with the wedding plan?"
"Problems with the parents of the bride and groom, I suspect. Like I said, I think both sets think their offspring could have done better."
"Lovely," John said. "Good thing they live far away, then."
"We still have to make it through the next few days; and I don't want them spoiling Gwen and Adam's wedding."
He sighed. "I'm just about done here; why don't I come up and join you?"
"That would be great," I said.
"Then let's go!"
* * *
The snow was falling fast and hard; it had already covered the walkway in a light blanket as John closed the workshop door behind him and we hurried back up to the inn. The windows glowed warmly in the cold night; after years of green Christmases in Texas, I was still enjoying the snowy holiday season... even if it did involve a bit more snow-blowing and shoveling than I would have liked. There would be plenty of both in our immediate future, I knew.
We stamped our boots off before stepping into the kitchen. Charlene had reappeared, and was sitting at the kitchen table as Bridget stirred the milk on the stove.
"Bridget!" John walked over and gave her a big hug, and she smiled for the first time since I'd seen her. "So good to see you!" he continued. "Let's go join the others in the parlor; I haven't met everyone yet."
We watched as Bridget allowed John to maneuver her out the kitchen door, and then I heaved a sigh of relief.
"Sounds like things are off to a rocky start," Charlene said.
"Nothing a little Christmas cheer can't help, I hope," I said as I stirred the pot on the stove. "I just hope everyone behaves for the sake of Adam and Gwen."
"I hope so, too," Charlene said.
I stole a glance at my friend. "John tells me there have been some thefts around the island lately."
"Yeah. The fundraiser for Marge."
"You didn't tell me?"
"Sorry," she said. "I figured John knew."
"Any idea what's going on?"
"I know there are a few families down on their luck this year," she said. "Terri Bischoff's catch has been way down; she’s thinking they might have to move off-island. And Anna lives on her pension, and was making noise about the fundraiser just the other day."
"You told me she had a thing for Frank Duggin. Do you think she's just jealous?"
"That's my guess. Frank offered to have Marge come live with him to cut costs last week. He is completely head-over-heels for her; I think he was hoping her financial situation would work to his advantage."
"That's never a good foundation for a relationship," I said.
"I know. Marge did
the right thing and said no, but Anna got wind of it, and boy, was she angry. She came in for coffee, Metamucil, and a pack of Kit Kat bars yesterday, and was complaining about Marge--loudly--to anyone who would listen. Lazy, bad-tempered... you name it, she said it."
"I guess I thought that about Marge too once," I said. Marge had gone through a rough patch several years ago, when she was married to an abusive husband. "But I know better now. Still... do you think she's bitter enough to scuttle the fundraiser?"
"Somebody's messing with it," Charlene said with a shrug, then walked over and took a deep whiff of the contents of the pot. "What magic are you making?"
"Hot chocolate," I said.
"This isn't the kind I make out of a package," she said.
"No," I agreed. "It may involve some bourbon. Social lubricant and all."
"Either that or it'll be like throwing gasoline on a fire," she pointed out. "We'll find out, right? Who all is here, anyway?"
"Bridget and her husband Glen. And Adam's parents, Margaret and James. My cousin Robert is in town, too."
"You mentioned him," she said. "He moved to Bangor recently, right?"
"He did," I confirmed. Gwen's in there holding court, with John to back her up; Adam should be here any moment."
"Small group," my friend observed.
"Adam and Gwen are both only children," I said. "Besides, Gwen wanted to keep it intimate."
"Only children, eh? No wonder their parents think no one's good enough," Charlene said with a grimace.
As she spoke, headlights appeared at the top of the drive. "I'll bet that's Adam," I said.
"Does he know what he's walking into?" Charlene asked.
"We'll find out soon enough!" I said cheerily, and tasted the hot chocolate. "Oh, that's good," I said. I gave it another stir, added some bourbon, then poured the chocolate into a big pitcher and put it on a tray with some mugs, then retrieved the vanilla whipped cream I'd made earlier from the fridge. I’d just added another splash of bourbon when Adam appeared at the kitchen door.
"Perfect timing," I told him. "We were just about to have hot chocolate and cookies."
"Did everyone make it here?" he asked, stamping the snow off his boots one last time and unwinding a red-and-white-striped scarf from around his neck.
"They did," I said, not wanting to spook him by letting him know they appeared to be drawing the battle lines already. As he took off his jacket, revealing a fisherman's sweater much like John's, only in oatmeal, I turned to my friend, who was adding a few more gingerbread men to the tray of cookies I'd laid out. "Charlene, will you grab the cookies? We'll all go in together."
"Strength in numbers," she murmured, and Adam held the swinging door for us as we filed out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I could already hear animated voices from the parlor beyond.
"Adam majored in English," Margaret was announcing as I walked in. "His professor wanted him to submit some of his work to the New Yorker."
"Gwen was majoring in art," Bridget riposted. "She's so talented... she got a full scholarship for her work last year..."
"Hot chocolate and cookies, anyone?" I asked, interrupting my sister.
"Those look amazing," Gwen said. Adam was beside her; I noticed they were holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white.
"I added a bit of bourbon for an extra warm-up. Who's up for a 'special' hot chocolate?"
"Me!" Adam and Gwen responded in unison. "You should try it, Mom," Gwen said.
"So should you," Adam said, directing the comment at his own mother.
"I really shouldn't..."
"It's the holiday season," I said. "Everyone in?"
When the assembled party nodded, I set down the tray and got to work. "This is my best friend Charlene," I said as I poured a healthy slug into each mug.
"Good to meet you," Adam's father said, standing up as Charlene extended a hand; a moment later, his wife, Margaret, introduced herself. Bridget already knew her, of course, but my brother-in-law hadn't met her yet. Nor, I realized, had my cousin, who was staring at Charlene and looked a bit as if he'd been knocked between the eyes with a two-by-four.
"This is my cousin Robert," I supplied for him, since he seemed incapable of speech. "I told you about him, Charlene; he just moved to Bangor a few months ago."
"So good to meet you," she said.
"Please... sit down," he said, gesturing to an empty spot on the sofa next to him.
"Thanks," she said, blushing and reaching up to adjust her hair. I bit back a smile as I poured the last of the hot chocolate into the mugs and then added a dollop of whipped cream to each. As I passed the mugs out, Charlene and Robert hardly noticed me; they were deep in conversation, completely oblivious to the plate of cookies or to the continuing sparring going on between the two sets of parents. Instead of focusing on their children, they were both trying to prove the superiority of their respective offspring. I glanced out the window, where the snow was already starting to accumulate. I had a wedding to prepare for, and it looked like I was going to spend the next 48 hours trying to keep Gwen and Adam's mothers from challenging each other to a duel.
"So," Bridget said. "What was Adam's major?"
"Business," Margaret said proudly. "He's not using it at the moment, but he could. I guess Gwen just decided to launch out on her own before finishing school, eh?"
Gwen colored, her lips a thin line.
"I wanted her to finish," Bridget said, "but she got seduced. I'm not sure if it was your son or this island, but all of our plans kind of got derailed."
That, it seemed, was the final straw. Gwen stood up and glared at both of them. "Look," she said. Adam reached for her hand and squeezed it, looking equally piqued. "I've tried to be polite, but this has got to stop."
"What?" Adam's mother said, blinking.
"This... comparing us like we're prize horses. Adam and I are adults. We've chosen each other. And if this continues..."
A furrow appeared in Bridget’s forehead. "Gwen, honey... what?"
"Maybe we shouldn’t be getting married this weekend," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got things to do." She stood up, brushed off her skirt, and marched to the door to the kitchen with a flustered Adam in her wake.
I took a sip of my hot chocolate, which was so thick it was almost custardy, but with a lovely warm kick, and glanced at John. So much for a peaceful holiday season and a magical wedding.
A stunned silence had fallen over the room. Before anyone could break it, the phone rang. I jumped up to answer it, thankful for any excuse to leave the parlor. When I got to the kitchen, there was no sign of Gwen or Adam; I was guessing they'd gone upstairs to Gwen's room to talk.
"Good evening, Gray Whale Inn," I said as I picked up the phone, my eye on the staircase.
"Natalie, is that you?" It was my good friend Eleazer White. He and his wife, Claudette, were islanders through and through; I was thankful that they'd accepted me as one of their own. Now, though, I could hear distress in his voice.
"Eli? What's wrong?"
"Claudette is just beside herself," he said.
"What? Why? Is she okay?"
"You know all those things she collected and took down to the church for Marge's fundraiser?"
"Yes," I said. I had a bad feeling about this.
"It's all gone," he said.
"What?"
"Every last bit. I was trying to fix Frank Duggin's motor--he was over here yesterday, and it's still leakin' gasoline all over creation--while Claudie went down to start organizing things into baskets. She just called to say somebody stole them."
I sighed. Who on earth would intentionally torch a fundraiser dedicated to one of the islanders? "I'll send John down," I said. "Where should I tell him to go?"
"Claudette's down at the church."
"Got it," I said, thinking maybe John could use some company. Besides, anything to get me out of range of extended family was a welcome distraction. I had just hung up the phone, wonderin
g what else could go wrong, when the power went out, shrouding the inn in darkness.
* * *
"Tough crowd," John said as we hurried out to the van a few minutes later. I'd distributed candles and flashlights; with the exception of Charlene and my cousin, all the other guests had dispersed to their own corners, doubtless to continue their complaining in private. Our heat wasn't electric, thankfully, so the place would be warm, but I hadn't gotten around to picking up a generator yet, so our lighting options were limited. Was the whole island blacked out? I wondered. And would the power come on in time for the wedding?
Assuming there was a wedding, that was.
"It's kind of a relief to be in the van," John said. "Do you think Gwen was serious about calling the wedding off?"
"I don't know," I said. "I don't think she's not going to marry Adam. It's just whether she's going to do it when her family's here, I think."
"They were pretty poorly behaved," John said.
"You think? I'm disappointed in Bridget; I thought she'd come to terms with things."
"I think Margaret's dissing her daughter has rekindled some of that. I can't say I blame her."
I sighed as John put the van into drive and headed up the rapidly whitening driveway. Fortunately, neither John nor I had had any of the spiked hot chocolate, so we were good to drive. I just hoped the two families didn't burn down the inn while we were gone.
"At least Gwen and Adam have some things in common."
"What do you mean?'
"Two Tiger Moms," I said as we crested the hill on our way to the church; the snow was falling so quickly that the wipers could barely keep up. We couldn't stay at the church long unless we wanted to walk home, I thought. Although it might be preferable to bunk at the church. Certainly less stressful. "No wonder Gwen and Adam both moved to an island only accessible by boat."
John squinted through the snow on the windshield. "Unfortunately, it looks they're probably going to be snowed in with them for a while."
"They can go back to Adam's place," I pointed out. "We're the ones who may be stuck with them."
"Thanks for reminding me," he said glumly. "On the plus side," he said, brightening a bit, "Charlene and Robert seemed to hit it off."
Iced Inn Page 2