That Chesapeake Summer (Chesapeake Diaries Book 9)

by Mariah Stewart

  And yet for the last couple of days, it had seemed that his responsibilities were infringing more and more on something else that was beginning to matter to him.

  He sighed and rested his arms on his desk. He was far from being a romantic. The day Doreen died, he’d stopped believing in living happily ever after. It had never occurred to him that something like that could happen. They were young and loved each other and assumed they’d grow old together. Well, up until the minute she told him she was leaving. After she died, his life had narrowed to raising his kids and turning the inn into something wonderful. He’d never expected to find love again, so he’d never made time for it. And yet here he sat, wondering what to call what he felt for Jamie Valentine.

  Not that it would matter in the long run. He knew her time here was limited, that she’d booked the room for several weeks, and when those weeks came to an end, so would her stay in St. Dennis. She’d be gone, and that would be that.

  Which was why, the night before, he was almost grateful to have an excuse to back away from her after one kiss. It had been a great kiss, as kisses went, but it was smart of him to stop at one, before something happened between them that would have made it even harder for him to say goodbye.

  He wondered what her life was like back in Princeton. Who her friends were, how she spent her time. Was there someone waiting for her there? Someone she cared about? Someone she shared her time and her life with? Someone she went back to when the book tours and the TV appearances were over?

  There were other things about her that he wanted to know.

  Like what she was doing in St. Dennis and what did Curtis Enright know about her.

  Like why she flat-out lied when he asked her about the conversation she’d had the night before with the elderly lawyer. Her explanation had been as big a lie as he’d ever heard.

  The bits and pieces he’d overheard had been puzzling, to say the least.

  I wish you’d leave this thing alone and go back where you came from, the lawyer had said. No one is going to tell you what you want to know.

  And the most confusing part: Your parents must be turning over in their graves. Poor Herb . . . if he were alive today . . .

  If he were alive today, this trip wouldn’t have been necessary, Jamie had replied. Her voice had dropped then, and Dan had heard only her very last remark: I will find out, Mr. Enright. I will.

  All of which proved that he’d been right about her: Jamie was hiding something, was searching for something that mattered very much to her. And whatever it was, Curtis Enright wanted just as much to keep it hidden.

  Maybe it was time Dan called Jamie out on her lies and asked point-blank what she was doing in St. Dennis, what she was hoping to find. There was a good chance she’d tell him to mind his own business, or that she’d lie again. Then again, maybe if he told her what he’d overheard, she’d admit to the lies and tell him the truth.

  Maybe, when it came to Jamie, the truth was the most he could hope for.

  Chapter 12

  JAMIE had played around with the idea for the book until way into the morning hours. She fell asleep around three but was up again at dawn. After a shower and breakfast, Jamie dressed and headed down to the lobby to meet Ford for the promised interview. She took a seat near the side window and watched new arrivals pull up near the lobby’s back entry and pile out of their cars and excitedly come in through the double doors. A tall, handsome loner followed a family of five, and it took a moment for Jamie to realize it was Ford.

  “Sorry I’m a little late,” he told her as he approached.

  “Not at all,” Jamie assured him. “I was early and taking advantage of the time to people-watch.”

  “There’s no shortage of people coming and going around here.” He glanced around the lobby. “I think I heard something about there being a tennis tournament here this morning.”

  “That would account for all those white shorts and T-shirts,” Jamie noted. “Since you’re in navy and tan, I’m going out on a limb to guess you’re not playing.”

  “Tennis isn’t my thing. I’d rather spend my free time on the water. Sailboats, canoes, kayaks . . . especially kayaks. I’m trying to get Carly into kayaking, but she’s been tied up getting ready for last night’s exhibit.”

  “It was great. There seems to be a lot of artistic talent in St. Dennis. There was some really fine work on display last night.”

  “They looked pretty good to me, but what do I know? Carly’s the expert.” He looked around the busy lobby. “Okay with you if we do this in Mom’s office?”

  “As long as Grace doesn’t mind.”

  “Mom is at a meeting in the conference room. Something about the Fourth of July parade.”

  They went across the lobby to Grace’s office, which was unlocked. Ford turned on the lights and offered Jamie the more comfortable of the chairs before seating himself.

  “So how ’bout we start with a little bit about you, Jamie? Where you’re from, your family, your background, that sort of thing.”

  Jamie filled him in on all the usual details, leaving out the part about having just found out she was adopted. Falling back on the official bio made her feel like an imposter. For a brief moment, she wished she could tell the truth—the whole truth—so that when he asked, “What brings you to St. Dennis?,” instead of the generic “Working on my new book,” she’d say, “Searching for my birth mother.”

  “So I understand you’re working on a new book,” Ford said. “Want to talk a little about that?”

  “There’s not much to talk about yet. I’m still working that out.”

  “Want to talk about your writing process?”

  “Right now, it’s hit or miss. One of the reasons I came to St. Dennis was to have a real vacation. I haven’t had one in a long time, and yes, I am trying to work, but being away puts a different spin on it. I can work, and I can play, and I don’t feel guilty, because I’m supposed to be on vacation.”

  She talked a little about having lost her mother recently and how being away was helping her to deal with the loss. It occurred to her then that Ford’s mother was actually helping her to cope with the loss of her own. Not that Lainey and Grace had much in common—for one thing, Grace was a good ten or fifteen years older than Lainey—but Grace had something about her that was warm and gracious, like Lainey.

  The interview took under an hour, with Grace joining them in the office for the last ten minutes. “I’ll stop back,” she offered when she realized they were still there.

  “Don’t be silly, Mom. We’re almost finished, and maybe you’ll think of something to ask Jamie that I’ve forgotten,” Ford said.

  “Your interview, your questions.” Grace made the sign of zipping her mouth closed.

  “Last question, then.” Ford turned back to Jamie. “What do you think of St. Dennis, and will you be coming back to see us?”

  “I love St. Dennis.” Jamie was happy to have a question she could answer with total honesty. “I love the architecture, I love the inn, the shops, the restaurants, the ice cream at Scoop, and of course, the bay views. I would definitely come back.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Ford closed the notebook he’d been scribbling in and turned off the recorder. “I’ll have this typed up by tonight so I can get it into production by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll email you the finished product first, if you’d like to take a look at it.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Jamie told him. “You have a deadline to meet, and I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me.” Ford rose and kissed his mother on the cheek. “See you at dinner tonight, Mom?”

  “Of course,” Grace assured him.

  “Great. And thanks again, Jamie.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, shall we get back to the task at hand?” Grace’s eyes twinkled at the prospect. �
��You never know what we might find today.”

  “Let’s hope it’s something good.”

  “I have the feeling it might be.”

  The first indication that Grace might be right came about thirty minutes later, when Jamie came across a photo from 1975 that she found in the box marked 1957. Five smiling young girls in white dresses sat on a bench side by side, each holding a long-stemmed rose of indeterminable color. High School Bound, read the headline. Five eighth-grade graduates from St. Dennis Elementary School smile for the cameras.

  If these girls were twelve or thirteen in 1975, they’d be the right age to have given birth to Jamie in October 1979. Had she caught her first break? Would one of these smiling girls—or one of their classmates—prove to be her mother?

  Jamie held up the page to Grace. “Do any of these girls look familiar?”

  Grace peered over the top of her glasses, then smiled. “Of course. All of them.” She held a hand out for the paper, and Jamie brought it to her. With her index finger, Grace pointed to and named each. “Nita Etheridge—now Nita Perry. Eleanor Cash—she was Eleanor Borden back then—she owns the flower shop, you met her at Cuppachino.”

  Jamie nodded, studying the faces, looking for . . . something. “I remember.”

  “The next girl is Barbara Noonan.”

  “She never married?”

  “No. Nor did Gail Hillyer, seated next to Barb.” Grace looked up. “Gail is the principal at St. Dennis Academy now. The private school over on Cross Lane.” She turned her attention back to the photo. “And this last girl is Heidi Richards. Heidi Clossin back then. She married a fireman from Baltimore and moved there right after graduating from high school.”

  “I don’t know that I’d have recognized any of them from this photo,” Jamie noted.

  “It’s the hairstyles, dear. They are so dated.” Grace held the page up. “Let’s keep this one aside. I think it would make a nice addition to our stash.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do with all those?” Jamie nodded in the direction of the pile of pages.

  “I think an exhibit at the art center. I’m going to speak to Carly about it once she’s finished with her current project. She’s always looking out for St. Dennis–­related photos and memorabilia to put on display. I’m sure there are more gems hiding in these old issues. Maybe once we have them all together, a theme will evolve on its own.”

  Jamie dove back into the boxes, hoping against hope that there’d be something else to point her in the right direction, but she spent the rest of the day without finding anything that could be construed as helpful.

  At three, Dan came in to remind Grace that she had an appointment with her doctor and they’d better get moving if she expected to make it on time.

  “I don’t know why I have to be the one to hurry to get there on time when I know he won’t be,” Grace grumbled as she folded up the paper she’d been reading.

  “Why don’t you take a bunch of those with you to read in the waiting room?” Dan suggested.

  “I’ll take that new thriller that Barbara sent over last week. She said it was really good.” Grace wheeled herself around from behind her desk. “Jamie, please feel free to stay and continue or to go. Absolutely up to you.”

  “I think I’ll stay and go through these last few boxes.”

  “If you come across anything that looks interesting . . .”

  “Of course. I’ll put it aside for you.”

  “Thank you. All right, then, Dan, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Jamie turned her attention back to the stacks of papers and, in Grace’s absence, went through the issues much more quickly. She firmly believed that while she didn’t know what she was looking for, she would know it when she saw it. She found some photos she thought Grace might enjoy seeing, and these she left on Grace’s desk. But the subjects of those articles were all older than her birth mother would be.

  She finished with the last box and closed up the office. She was dying to ask Dan to bring the boxes she needed, but then she’d have to have a good reason for wanting to see those particular issues. Better to wait until the right ones came to her than to rouse suspicions. Besides, experience had shown that the dates on the boxes and the dates of the newspapers in them didn’t necessarily match.

  She closed the door to Grace’s office and retreated to her room, unable to decide how to spend the rest of her day. She sat at the desk and turned on her laptop and made a note about the photo she’d found that morning and the names of the girls in it. She wasn’t sure why it felt significant, but it did, and that was good enough for her.

  After yesterday’s rain, the sunny afternoon beckoned Jamie outdoors. She walked down to the dock near the boathouse and admired the view across the bay. From there she went to the tennis courts, where she watched a couple of matches, then strolled the grounds and checked out the flower beds, overflowing with summer blooms. She sat in the gazebo for a while, then walked down to the marsh and sat near the pond.

  “I thought that was you.” Dan came up behind her, his footsteps so soft on the grass that she jumped. “Oh, sorry,” he said when he realized he’d startled her. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “How’d Grace make out at the doctor’s?” she asked.

  “Not as well as she’d hoped.” Dan lowered himself to the ground to sit next to her. “I think she’d convinced herself that there was a chance the cast would be coming off today.”

  “Not happening?”

  “Not a prayer. She needs at least another month before they’ll even discuss the possibility. But all in all, the bone is knitting nicely, and she should be okay once the healing process is complete. Then she’ll have physical therapy, when she’ll make everyone crazy, but we’ll get through it.”

  “I suppose that’s good news, then.”

  “It’s as good as it’s going to get for a while.”

  “How’s she taking it?”

  “How do you think?”

  She opened her mouth to comment, but he touched her arm and pointed. Across the pond, the flapping of enormous wings off to their left had drawn his attention. “Big Blue,” Dan whispered, nodding in the direction of the bird that had just landed. “Sit really still and maybe he won’t notice us.”

  Jamie turned her head slowly and watched the bird take a few steps into the water, his head moving in brief but sharp motions. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “He’s about as deadly a predator as we have around here.” Dan’s lips were so close to her ear that she could feel his breath on her neck. “He cleaned out the koi pond we used to have out by the gazebo. Ate every damn one of the fish before we realized what he was up to. It was all we could do to keep Mom from putting a bounty out on him.”

  As if aware that his reputation was being maligned, the bird swiveled his head smoothly from one side to the other. If he saw Jamie and Dan, he dismissed them as irrelevant and resumed the search for his dinner. After a while Jamie found herself leaning back against Dan, who didn’t seem to mind. When his phone signaled an incoming text, his efforts to retrieve the phone from his pocket alerted the bird, which, after sending them the heron equivalent of a Die, peasants look, took off for quieter waters.

  “Damn,” Dan said as he opened his phone to check the text. “Show over. Sorry.”

  “I should probably be moving along anyway.” Jamie sat up. It had been surprisingly nice to sit quietly for a few minutes, sharing the nature moment with Dan. Nice and oddly comforting.

  “Are you headed back to the inn?” she asked after he’d finished reading the message and responded.

  “Yes. Going my way?” He held out a hand to help her up. “Looks like one of our vendors failed to deliver on the goods for today, and the chef is having a fit because he won’t be able to serve what he’d planned on cooking.”

&n
bsp; “Isn’t that the chef’s problem?” she asked.

  “It’s my problem.”

  “I take it you don’t like to delegate.”

  “The bottom line is it’s my responsibility.”

  “But you could pass that off, right? Let the chef decide for himself what he wants to cook?”

  “I’ll talk to him and see what else we have that we can substitute, and everyone goes on from there.”

  “The chef can’t figure that out on his own?”

  His glance told her that it had never occurred to him to have someone else make that call.

  “Okay, then.” She shrugged. “None of my business.”

  “But you can’t seem to help yourself, can you.” It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t amused. At the service door, he said, “See you,” and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Well, damn. She blew out a long breath of air. Dan was right. She really couldn’t seem to help herself. It seemed ridiculous to her that he couldn’t seem to delegate even the smallest tasks. Talk about anal. She shook her head. But it really wasn’t her problem, was it?

  She went up to her room and sat on the balcony. It occurred to her that only three things had occupied her mind lately: the search for her birth mother; her next book; and Dan Sinclair. Right now she wanted to put two aside and think about Dan. The quest could be life-changing, and the book—if she could work out Grace’s idea—might be a career changer as well. Dan . . . she wasn’t sure why he should rank up there with the other two.

  That mantle of responsibility was way too heavy on his shoulders. It was none of her business, but she hated to see a man as young as Dan so swamped that he couldn’t sit for fifteen minutes and relax at the edge of the pond. More specifically, at the edge of the pond with her on a sweet summer afternoon. It was his fault. He could hire people and he could delegate. As particular as she suspected he was about whom he hired, he probably had people on his staff who could take over certain aspects of the business and give him a little downtime.