by Jill Winters
“I want you to find out more about this guy, Michael.”
“Are we back to that?” Danny said, annoyed. “Like what do you want to know? What, am I supposed to pimp for you now?”
“He's shady, that's all I'm saying,” Vickie insisted.
“So what?” Danny didn't bother keeping the boredom out of his voice.
“So I don't trust him. He doesn't say much about himself or his background. Most people want to talk about themselves,” she pointed out. “I want you to find out everything you can.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Danny muttered, shoving on his jacket.
“You're a cop, you should be able to find out something. Or are you only good for a quick fuck, and sometimes not even that?”
Defensively, Danny shot back, “That only happened once!”
“Whatever.”
Ultimately, he acquiesced. It was just easier that way. “Okay,” Danny said. “I'll see what I can find.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Monday morning, Nicole found herself at Tinsdale engrossed in Josiah Hardy's diary. Except for Hazel, she was the only one there. Or so she thought. What she didn’t realize was that a man had come looking for her, and was waiting below.
As she read a diary entry from August 20th, 1877—which had to do with the erection of a new lighthouse—she came across a marking. It was made in the familiar purple pencil that her aunt had used in other places. Where light keeper Hardy had written, “They finished putting up the North Tower,” Aunt Nina had underlined the words North Tower, and beside the line she had scrawled: 1923.
Curiously, Nicole flipped through the next several pages, skimming for more purple pencil. She stopped. November 7th, 1877. Where Hardy had written, “We moved from the old house to the new house,” Nina had underlined old house. Setting the diary flat on the table, Nicole sat back in her chair, confused. Why would her aunt mark those words?
And why had she also written the letters 'O' and 'W' in the margins of the diary?
“A-hem!”
Automatically, Nicole rolled her eyes. Hazel Baker really needed a new way to announce her arrival besides clearing non-existent phlegm from her throat—as if, if it did exist, it was somehow Nicole's fault. “Yes?” Nicole said.
“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Hazel declared with staunch formality, “however there is a...gentleman here to see you. I told him to wait downstairs.”
That surprised her. Who even knew she was here besides Michael?
“You certainly do make friends quickly,” Hazel remarked with a fleeting, close-mouthed smile. “Male friends anyway,” she added snidely, only half beneath her breath.
Hmm, so it wasn't Michael, Nicole had to surmise, but some other man. Before she could ask anything more, Hazel had turned her back.
Closing Hardy's diary, Nicole pushed out of her chair. As she descended the staircase, she noticed that Hazel had re-hooked the velvet rope across the bottom to deter the intruder.
And there he was. Pacing the floor by the fireplace, tapping a scroll of paper against his palm.
“Abel?”
Even to her own ears, she sounded surprised. The last time she had seen Abel Kelling had been the reading of her aunt's will. Then he had seemed pretty on edge over the fact that Nicole, and not he, had inherited the house and its contents. With a smile, he came toward her. Up close she could see that the paper in his hand was one of the pamphlets that Hazel and Ginger kept displayed for visitors. He must have reached for it and restlessly rolled it in his hands. At least he appeared restless. “Hi Nicole—I hope this is a good time.”
At first she wondered what Abel was doing in Chatham at all, but then she remembered that Aunt Nina had left him her boat. “Sure, hi. How have you been?”
“Great, great.” Yet he appeared less than great. There was a dissipated weariness about him.
“I never even thought to ask where The Other Nina is docked. Have you been sailing on it lately?”
“Oh no, I already sold the boat,” he said.
She couldn’t help being surprised; she had just assumed the boat was meaningful to Abel. “Hazel mentioned you were waiting for me. How did you know I was here?”
“Actually I stopped by the house to see you. When I realized you weren't home, I was going to wait for you there. But the place was locked up tight.”
It was a peculiar thing to say. Had he tried to come in?
Abel continued, “Luckily, one of your neighbors was passing by and she mentioned that you might be here. Figured I would stop by and see if you were done, say hello. Of course—if you're busy here, I don't want to take you away from it. I could just get the key and go back, wait for you at the house.” With a short chuckle, he added, “I'd wait around here, but I didn't get the impression from the big lady who runs this place that I'm all that welcome.”
Even though Nicole kept her expression neutral, she found it a little strange for Abel to suggest that he hang around inside of her house. Funny, she hadn't actually thought of the house that way—as hers—until this very moment. She supposed she had still been thinking of it as Aunt Nina's, but somehow over the last few days, Nicole had become territorial.
“Actually, I'm wrapping it up here,” Nicole said. “Tinsdale closes at noon today anyway. Is everything okay?”
“Fine, fine,” Abel said hastily, his smile now faltering a bit. “I, uh...well, truthfully I wanted to apologize. If I was ungracious to you a few weeks ago, in that lawyer's office...it was just a helluva shock. Your aunt and I had been together for a long time.”
True, and it didn't say much for Nicole that she had never gotten to know Abel more over the years. Unfortunately, his relationship with Nina had overlapped with Nicole's thus far self-absorbed twenties. “So, uh...” Abel eyed the door uneasily. “I was hoping I could make it up to you by taking you to lunch.”
“That's so nice...but it's really not necessary.”
“Please—I insist. Or we can always just go back to the house and talk, if you'd rather do that. I...well, I just really miss her, you know? Miss the dinners, the talks, the nights we would maybe grab a bottle of wine from her wine cellar and order some food in, and, you know, talk for hours...or whatever.”
Curiously, Nicole tilted her head. “Nina didn't have a wine cellar.”
Abel hesitated.
“Actually, the house doesn't have a cellar at all,” she added. She spoke casually so as not to make him feel foolish, however—why would Abel say that Nina had a wine cellar?
Then he slapped his hand to his forehead. “That's right, I'm thinking of my house here. In Chatham. Or what used to be my house; I sold it last year. Anyway, it would just be good for me to talk about her, you know? I just...” He looked down as if searching the wooden planks for the words. “I loved her so much, you know? It would help to talk about her with someone who loved her, too.”
In light of such a sentiment, Nicole couldn't exactly brush him off. And other than a general aversion to prolonged small talk with a man she barely knew, she really had no reason to decline. The guy was obviously making an effort to connect with Nina's family; there was a touching sadness to the gesture. Abel eyed the door again. Then looked at Nicole, expectantly. Finally, she said, “Okay, how about this? I'll go upstairs and get my coat, then we can go grab lunch down the street.”
“Actually, I'm really not hungry. We can just sit and talk—oh, unless you're hungry,” he said quickly, then smiled again, as though trying to please. “To be honest, I'm afraid if I start talking about Nina, I might get emotional. And I wouldn't want to be out at a restaurant if that happens. I hope you understand.”
She supposed she did, but if that were the case, why ask to take her to lunch in the first place? Unless he was just cheap and hadn't meant it when he had originally suggested it.
“No problem, we can go have coffee at the house and talk, if you prefer that,” she offered.
“Great, perfect,” Abel said, breathing the words like a sigh. T
hen he held his hand out, motioning toward the door. “After you. My car's parked out front.”
***
The ride to Nina's house was only five minutes, but bountiful pockets of silence made it seem longer. Mindless prattle was a generous term for the canned, disconnected comments that came from Abel Kelling's mouth—and Nicole's contributions were equally uninspired.
But in her defense, whenever she attempted conversation that went beyond the weather—for instance questions about Abel's work—he seemed terse and disinclined to pursue it.
Now, as they turned onto Orchard Street, Nicole asked, “Are you in town just for today? You mentioned that you sold your house here.”
Instead of replying, Abel paused—a long pause—and that was when Nicole noticed that he was preoccupied with something beyond the windshield. She followed his gaze until her eyes landed on a familiar blue truck parked in her driveway. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed as her hand automatically reached for the door handle. “My friends are here!”
Without thinking, she flew out of the car as soon as it stopped, not bothering to explain to Abel. It was completely rude, but she couldn't help herself.
“There she is...” Trevor said, stepping out of the truck. His breezy smile was contagious.
“Hi guys!” Enthusiastically, Nicole rushed toward them.
“Hey you,” Cameron said after he emerged from the driver's side, standing tall and squinting in the sun.
Cameron and Trevor had grown up together and still remained best friends. The two men had some fundamental basics in common—both were obsessed with football and Megan Fox—and some superficial differences—Trevor had sparkly blue eyes, Cameron's were dark. Cynical, like the twist of his mouth, so was his sideways glance at the world.
Cameron: intense and ethical. Trevor: breezy and unfazed.
Trevor ducked back into the car, reaching for something in the backseat.
“What are you guys doing here?” Nicole met Cameron half way and threw her arms around him.
“What do you think? We came to visit you,” he said, tightening their hug for a moment before letting her go. “We missed you.”
Just then, Trevor lifted a shaggy tan and gray dog from the car. The little creature fit easily in his arms and appeared calm. “Oh my gosh, who's this?” Nicole said, smiling and reaching to pet its fur. “When did you get a dog?”
“I didn't,” Trevor explained, “you did.” And he placed the puppy into Nicole's accepting arms. “She's yours.”
An unexpected thrill shot through her. “For me?”
“I told him not to,” Cameron interjected, sounding perfectly like the defeated voice of reason.
“The shelter said her name is Puddle,” Trevor continued. Still stunned, Nicole's mouth hung open. “I know you always wanted a dog, and now you have a house and a big yard.”
“I told him that a dog's a huge responsibility,” Cameron said, shaking his head. “And that you're only going to be here a few weeks, so if your landlord doesn't let you keep her—”
Rolling his eyes, Trevor started singing, “Buzz...kill...” Nicole laughed and hugged Puddle close. “I knew you'd love her.”
Pressing her nose to the dog's silky fur, she said, “I do love her. This is the best surprise ever!”
Cameron eyed her carefully. “So then you really want to keep her, Nic? You can be honest.”
“Shut-up, prick, she wants to keep her,” Trevor said with slight exasperation.
“Okay, in that case...” Cameron stepped back to the car, reached inside and pulled out a big spongy dog bed and a sack of dog food. “These are from me.”
Her smile broke wider as emotion suddenly choked her. She thanked her friends again, then kissed Puddle's head. The dog didn't react much, and seemed oddly complacent in the new surroundings.
“Uh, excuse me...hate to interrupt...”
Oh God—she had totally forgotten about Abel!
Turning now, Nicole saw Abel Kelling walking up the driveway. She felt like such a jerk! She had just run off and forgotten that he was coming in for coffee, forgotten about him altogether for the past few minutes! “Oh, I'm sorry to run off like that,” she said quickly. “Let me introduce you to my friends; Cameron, Trevor, this is Abel. He was my aunt's boyfriend.”
They shook hands, said hello. Then Abel asked, “Will you guys be staying here?”
“Just for the night,” Cameron replied.
“Guys, Abel and I were just going to go inside and have some coffee,” Nicole began when Abel interrupted.
“You know what, we'll just do it another time,” he said, backing away. “I'll come back.”
“No, really, please stay,” Nicole insisted. She felt bad chasing him off when he had been so intent on talking.
“Yeah, sorry,” Trevor offered lightheartedly, “we kind of did a sneak attack.”
“No, really, I have to run,” Abel said. Then he looked squarely at Nicole. “Let's talk tomorrow?”
“Okay, definitely. How about we meet for lunch at the Squire on Main Street? Around twelve o'clock?” Abel didn’t seem overly pleased with the new plan, but after a momentary hesitation, he agreed. Soon he disappeared down the winding S of Orchard Street.
Chapter Twenty-two
“I'm so happy you're here. You should have called; I could have picked up some beer or movies or something.”
“Let's try this again,” Cameron said. “Sur. Prise.”
After she showed them around the house, Nicole and Cameron took a seat on the couch and Trevor flopped into an armchair. Suddenly Cameron said, “Are you still hanging out that guy with the boat, or did he leave yet?”
“No, he's still here. Actually, now that you're here, I want you guys to meet him.”
“Why should we meet him?” Cameron asked warily, turning a scrutinizing look on her. “Is there something going on between you two?”
“No, why would you say that?” she said quickly. “We've become friends.”
“Already? Isn't this the girl who always says she doesn't need any new friends?”
A bit defensively, Nicole replied, “I just mean that we do dinner sometimes and stuff. He's nice, that's all.” In her emails to Cameron, she had mentioned Michael, though not the details of their first meeting.
“I thought he was only going to be in town for a couple of days,” Cameron pressed. There seemed to be an implied question mark in there somewhere. A distant knocking sound interrupted them. “What's that?”
“Oh—back door. I'll be right back.”
“Done,” Michael said, as soon as the door swung open. He was holding out the book she had lent him the other night.
“Already?” Nicole said with a smile, taking the book and instinctively stepping back to coax him inside. When Michael stepped over the threshold, he did it with ease, familiarity.
“I've got nothing but time out there.”
“Well, I'm glad you're here because my two best friends came down from Boston today to visit and I really want you to meet them.” For a second, she thought that something flickered in Michael's eyes—a kind of apprehensiveness. But she wasn't sure, because it seemed almost instantly to vanish.
Nicole tugged on his sleeve. “Come on.”
Michael followed, half a step behind.
He steeled himself. He wasn't worried, but frustrated.
This was damn inconvenient. How long would Nicole's friends be staying? It was definitely going to slow things down on his end. For now, though, he would have to give the girls some generic charm and be out of there. The less time he spent with them, the less time for their questions.
“Guys, this is Michael—”
Shit. Two guys were sitting in her living room. When Nicole had said her “best friends” were here, it never occurred to Michael... Jesus—two goddamn guys.
Briefly, the men shook hands as Nicole made the introductions. The one named Cameron asked point blank, “How's your boat—still broken?”
Nicole e
xplained, “I told them all about you—I mean, about your situation.”
Casually, Michael nodded, even under the hooded glare of Nicole's friend.
“Your boat?” Cameron asked again.
“Should be up and running any day now,” Michael replied, tired of that line, because it sounded phonier with each day that passed.
There was something almost antagonistic in Cameron's stance, in his tone of voice. Not particularly surprising. If the guy really was Nicole's friend, he was naturally going to be protective of her. And there was always the issue of territory and whether he really wanted the girl for himself. Most problematic was the fact that guys knew how other guys operated, whereas women tended to believe better of men than what they were.
Now Nicole was urging Michael to stay and hang out for a while. “I wish I could,” he lied, “but today I just came to drop off the book. I got a call from a buddy of mine this morning, said he's in Yarmouth, so we're going to meet up today, catch up.”
“Oh, I see,” Nicole said, making this cute little frown line of disappointment on her forehead. “I understand...well...have a good time.”
***
That night Nicole roped her friends into watching the new Lifetime movie, and now—between commercials and eating spaghetti—they were pretending not to like it.
“Shh, shh, it's back,” Trevor said. (Or Cameron was pretending, anyway.)
“Why do they even name these movies?” Cameron remarked. “They should just call it ‘Men are Mean’ and number each installment.”
Rolling her eyes, Nicole said, “Right, sure. Protest too much, much?”
She sat on the floor, going through a bunch of photographs she had found in the blanket chest upstairs, while Cameron was struggling to get a WIFI signal on her laptop. Futilely he tapped his thumb on the spacebar. “Nic, what's with the Internet?” he said, clearly frustrated.