“The FBI? Why would they be involved?”
“The program Marc defrauded receives federal funding.” The light changed and they crossed the street. When they reached the other side, Chase stopped to give Jill his full attention. “Defrauding it is a federal offense. But that’s not the best part. Because it was your tip that started the investigation, you are what’s known as a ‘whistleblower.’”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves, but the amount Marc stole was significant. When the case against him is settled, you will receive a percentage. You may be coming into quite a bit of money.”
“Enough to pay for a house? Maybe a small one?” Jill held her breath.
“I believe so, yes. With a bit left over.”
“I want to buy the cottage,” Jill blurted. “The one next to the art gallery, on the smaller lot.”
“I thought you might.” Chase smiled. “Remember that a reward is just a possibility, but we’ll look at the numbers and see where we stand. In the meantime, we’ll find you and Ellie an apartment and get you settled into Dewberry Beach if that’s where you want to stay.”
“I do,” Jill said. “I absolutely do.”
Epilogue
A rainy day at the shore can be a gift, especially in the off-season.
The pace of the day slows, offering a morning spent lingering over coffee and an afternoon watching old movies, still in pajamas. It was one of the best things about rainy days at the beach: a whole day lazing about, doing nothing in particular.
But today, Jillian DiFiore didn’t have the time to be lazy.
She yawned and stretched under the blankets, surprised at how well she’d slept. From her bed she could see through the lace-curtained window out to the ocean. A veil of fog obscured the horizon, but it was early yet, and Jill was optimistic. The weather people had promised a perfect fall day and it felt like she’d get one. A train whistled in the distance, and the excitement of the day propelled her forward, so Jill pushed back the covers, grabbed her bathrobe from the peg, and ventured to the kitchen to find coffee.
“I knew you’d be up early.” Ellie pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it with fresh coffee. Then added a generous pour of cream and handed it to Jill.
“Thanks.”
Jill and Ellie had been roommates for the better part of a year. At first, they’d found a garage apartment and stayed there, but once the work was completed, it had just seemed natural that they’d move into this newly built cottage.
Over the last year, The Monstrosity, Marc’s monument to himself, had been demolished. In its place was this tiny cottage that Jill had designed herself. Three airy bedrooms instead of nine, a bright kitchen with a tiny center island made from refinished driftwood and lace bistro curtains to frame every window. Outside was a little wooden deck that faced the sea. Made from reclaimed wood, it overlooked the seagrass on the dunes and the ocean waves beyond, and it had become a favorite gathering place, no matter the weather: everyone’s favorite place to sit.
Before demolition started, Billy Jacob had bought the contents of The Monstrosity—all of it—and Ellie had arranged for it to be stored. Jill was glad to be rid of it. She wanted a fresh start and that included furniture from flea markets and yard sales. She refinished everything herself, and the end result was a cottage filled with an eclectic mix of textures and colors, beach finds and craft-fair treasures. It was a gathering place for friends and exactly what she’d dreamed of.
Jill made her way to the deck and settled into a chair beside Ellie, glancing toward the horizon to watch the surfer weave a path on his green board across a rolling wave.
“That guy’s become really good,” Jill remarked.
“It’s a woman,” Ellie corrected. “She works in the cheese shop on the weekend. I’m kind of seeing her.”
“El!” Jill exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s early yet,” Ellie said, but her smile was wide. “Nothing to tell.”
They watched the ocean for a while, content.
“Marc’s attorney called again. Third time this week.” Ellie broke the silence, then arched her eyebrow in query. “You’re not gonna call him back, are you?”
Jill snorted. “Nope. Not in a million years. But think about it: how desperate can they be if they want me to be a character witness?”
Ellie laughed, then raised her coffee mug in a toast. “I can’t imagine.”
Chase had forwarded Jill news of the indictments filed against her ex-husband. Marc had been charged with so many counts of state and federal fraud that he’d been forced to sell the Berkshire land just to pay the attorney fees. Rumor was that Brittney had left him and he was now living in one of Cush’s guest rooms.
It turned out that the most damning piece of evidence was Marc’s admission of past fraud and his intent to repeat it, on the video Ellie had recorded at the restaurant that day. When the recording was admitted as evidence, Marc’s attorney had protested, insisting his client hadn’t known he was being recorded, that he was just showing off. But New Jersey was a one-party consent state, so the recording was admitted. Now, with the trial just a few months away, Marc’s attorneys were scrambling to find anyone who had something nice to say about their client.
They seemed to be having a very hard time. Even Cush was silent.
“Hello, anyone home?” The side gate opened, and Brenda poked her head inside. “Is it too early for visitors?”
“You know you’re welcome anytime.” Jill gestured for Brenda to join them. “Coffee’s fresh and so are the cider donuts. Would you like some?”
“Absolutely.” Brenda entered the yard carrying a cardboard box, fresh from the printer.
Ellie scrambled to her feet. “Are those the flyers for tonight?”
“The very ones.” Brenda rolled her eyes. “Talk about cutting it close.”
“I’ll get to work on putting them together.” Ellie scooped up the box and eyed the contents. “Is this enough, do you think?”
“There’s another box in the back of my car,” Brenda said with a sigh. “I’ll bring it in. Lemme just catch my breath after the encounter with the printer.”
“That’s okay,” Ellie said as she headed inside. “I’ll take care of it.”
Brenda called her back. “Oh, wait. I almost forgot: Ryan said to tell you the website for the show is ready. He linked the page to Billy’s new retreat. Billy said he hates it.”
“Awesome,” Ellie replied, completely unflustered. She’d grown used to Billy’s mercurial nature and there was no one better at managing his moods. A moment later she called from the kitchen, “I’ll bring you out some coffee.”
Brenda called back, “Thanks, doll.”
Jill and Brenda sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the comforting sounds of Ellie rummaging in the cabinet for a mug, pouring coffee and adding cream. She emerged a moment later with a sturdy mug glazed in shades of ocean blue, then retreated back to the house to finish her work.
“Is this one of mine?” Brenda cradled the mug in her hands. “Feels like it.”
“It is,” Jill said. “We get all our best stuff from your studio sales.”
Brenda sipped her coffee. “Speaking of…” She gestured to the building that sat on the second lot, next door to the cottage. “Big day for you. Are you excited?”
“Kind of,” Jill answered weakly. The truth was she’d had butterflies for weeks now and they were getting worse.
To her surprise, Brenda laughed. “I was a wreck before my first show.” She placed her coffee on the side table and rose from her seat. “Best solution is to meet it head-on. Let’s go over.”
They followed the sandy path from Jill’s yard to the gallery and pushed open the side door to enter. Work on the building had just been completed. It was a little smaller than Jill’s cottage—tiny by city standards, but perfect for Dewberry Beach. She and Brenda had sat on the committee to
design the space and found that they worked well together. The floor was made from reclaimed wood, the walls white shiplap, and bright spotlights shone on the artists’ work. The space was open to everyone and the calendar was filling fast; tonight was opening night.
An exhibit of Jill’s photography would be the first showing.
Inside, Jill paused to breathe it in, to savor the moment.
They’d finished the display the night before, and even now it didn’t seem real. The walls were covered in her work. The collection was titled “The Off-Season” and all the pieces were from Dewberry Beach.
In the quiet, Jill padded barefoot around the gallery, remembering when she’d taken each one.
Rose hips from the vine Betty had trained to grow around the slats of her white picket fence. The dusting of beach sand on the grass and a tiny drop of dew on the rose hip, frozen overnight and reflecting the soft pink of sunrise.
The dog who loved to chase driftwood was there too. Emerging from the surf with a weathered gray stick in his mouth, his eyes bright with joy as he brought his treasure to his owner.
There was the tidepool too, and the fishing trawlers, the Fish Shack and the woman who wrapped overstuffed lobster rolls. A delivery driver pulling out a bundle of newspapers from his truck for the newsstand. A baker from Mueller’s prepping in the early morning, kneading dough in a cloud of flour. And fishermen setting the day’s catch on the dock, the fish stacked neatly on ice as the great trawlers idled in the background.
“You should be proud of yourself,” Brenda said softly.
“I kind of am,” Jill answered. It was better than she’d ever imagined.
The bell jangled above the front door, indicting someone had entered the gallery. Doors were rarely locked at Dewberry Beach.
“Hello?” an older woman’s voice called. “Is anyone here?”
Jill walked to the front of the gallery, intending to gently remind the woman that the show was scheduled to open later that afternoon.
But she stopped when she saw who it was.
“Mrs. Brockhurst?” The woman was dressed impeccably, in a cashmere overcoat, black leather gloves, and a bright silk scarf tucked into the collar.
At that moment, Jill realized what she herself was wearing and felt a flush of embarrassment. She tightened the tie of her bathrobe and hoped her bare feet would go unnoticed.
Mrs. Georgiana Brockhurst seemed to notice none of it. Instead, she just smiled.
“Please forgive me for showing up so early,” she said finally. “I know it’s shockingly bad form, but I wanted to make sure.” She pointed to a photograph on the far side of the gallery, the one image that had not been taken at Dewberry: the bridal portrait Jill had included in her portfolio so long ago. “Has that piece been sold?”
The image didn’t fit the theme of the exhibit, but Brenda had talked Jill into including it. She said it was the photograph that had started it all. Jill looked up in time to see Brenda leaving the gallery, the side door gently closing behind her.
“No,” Jill managed. “It hasn’t been sold. Nothing has.”
“I know the exhibit isn’t scheduled to open until this evening,” Mrs. Brockhurst finished smoothly. “I understand and I hope you’ll make an exception, because I’d like to buy it.”
“You would?”
“Yes.” The woman frowned. “I made a mistake not hiring you last year for Libby’s bridal portrait, and that decision has always bothered me. My reasons were valid, but it felt like a missed opportunity. I’m sorry not to have taken a chance when you came to see me that day. I wanted to tell you that.”
Not trusting her voice, Jill simply nodded. After a moment she was able to swallow past the lump in her throat. “I’d like to give it to you.”
Mrs. Brockhurst’s refusal was immediate. “Absolutely not,” she scoffed. “An artist should never give away her work. I will settle for a sold sign though, firmly affixed to the wall there. So I can be sure the photograph is mine. And I’ll come back later when you’re officially open. Thank you for letting me barge in now.”
Jill glanced outside at the long black car parked along the curb, a uniformed man waiting beside it. Surely she hadn’t planned to drive back to Summit?
Jill called her back. “Would you like to come inside for some coffee while you wait?”
To her surprise, Mrs. Brockhurst laughed. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. I’m going to visit Wim Ivey. Pretty sure I’m gonna surprise the hell outta her.”
Jill was so stunned at the drop in facade and the New Jersey accent, she felt her mouth fall open.
At that, Mrs. Brockhurst laughed harder. “Wim and I go way back. We worked Atlantic City back in the day. She was a psychic, did you know? Had an act with a crystal ball and everything, but that’s a story for another day.”
After Mrs. Brockhurst left, Jill returned to her cottage. She stood on the back deck and looked out over the ocean, watching waves break against the jetty, pushing foamy water across the sand and filling tidepools along the shore. Further out, an ocean tanker crept along the horizon, and a trio of seagulls swept across the blue sky. Despite the shaky start, she’d come to love Dewberry Beach. She’d found a home here and imagined Aunt Sarah and Uncle Barney would be pleased.
“Jilly?” Ellie called from the kitchen. “Phone for you—it’s Danny. He wants to know what time to pick you up for dinner before your show.”
Smiling, Jill went inside to answer the call.
If you were swept away by Jill’s story, you will absolutely love The Shore House. As summer comes to Dewberry Beach, a mother and daughter must confront the things unsaid in their past…
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The Shore House
A Dewberry Beach book
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When the Bennett family arrive at the shore house to spend the summer together, they bring more baggage than just suitcases…
When Kaye Bennett, matriarch of the Bennett family, summons her adult children to the shore house, she anticipates a vacation full of nostalgia. It’s a chance to relive the carefree joy of summers past: burned hot dogs and drippy popsicles, sunburns and mosquito bites, the crash of the ocean waves and the sounds of crickets at night... But when Kaye’s son and daughter arrive, late and uncooperative, it becomes clear the family desperately need to reconnect.
Kaye and her daughter Stacy have been quietly at odds for years and resentment has grown around words unsaid. Faced with spending the summer months in such close quarters, Kaye is determined to remind Stacy of happier times and why she once loved their beautiful beachside home.
But both Kaye and Stacy are holding something back. And only when a heart-stopping moment on the beach puts what Stacy most loves at risk are the two women finally able to set free the secrets in their shared past.
Will opening up to each other about what’s in their hearts allow the Bennett family to finally heal? A story of love, forgiveness and the power of family bonds, The Shore House is a heartfelt summer read, perfect for fans of Elin Hilderbrand, Pamela Kelley and Nancy Thayer.
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Books by Heidi Hostetter
Dewberry Beach
The Shore House
The Girl I Used to Be
Lowcountry
Things We Surrender
Things We Keep
Inlet Beach
The Inheritance
A Light in the Window
Available in Audio
Dewberry Beach
The Shore House (Available in the UK and the US)
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Isn’t it funny how the smallest encounter can grow into something so much more?
The main character for this story, Jill DiFiore, was a brief mention in The Shore House, the wife of a secondary character and that’s it. In fact, she didn’t even make an appearance at the party her husband hosted. I thought it was odd, but lots of my characters are odd. When The Shore House ended, Jill’s voice got louder. She told me she had a story of her own and it was time to tell it. So I let her talk. Turned out she had a lot to say, and The Girl I Used to Be is her story.
For me, it was wonderful to return to Dewberry Beach, this time in the off-season. In October, the small shore town takes on a whole different look. Summer guests have left, their vacation homes shuttered until Memorial Day. The off-season on the New Jersey shore is every bit as beautiful as it is in the summer, but now the focus is on a community coming back together as daily life for residents falls into an easy routine. Instead of fireflies and sparklers and crabbing off the pier, there’s hot tea and spice cake and catching up with neighbors you’ve only managed to wave to in the busy summer months.
Jill comes to town unexpectedly and doesn’t intend to stay long. She has plans for her life and they don’t include Dewberry. But the New Jersey shore works its magic, and the results are unexpected. I hope you liked the story—and the ending—as much as I did.
The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner Page 24