Summer Beach: Coral Cottage

by Jan Moran

  “Quieter. Fewer cars. Simpler times.” Her fiery green eyes lit under a fringe of pale lashes. “I loved the thrill of exploring new places, but coming back here was always a welcome return to nature.”

  “A chance to recharge.” Jack picked up a dry stick and snapped it, hurling half of it away from the snake’s vicinity for Scout. “Did your husband write his books at the cottage?”

  A half-smile touched her lips. “Why, yes. Quite often. In those days, we used the guest cottage for our work. The girls knew not to bother us there.”

  “I read his book on leadership and diplomacy as background for an article I was writing. That’s when I discovered your work, too.” Jack had finally had the chance to go through his old notes to refresh his memory on Ginger’s name. What he’d found had proven interesting, yet there was still so much he didn’t know. Bertrand and Ginger Delavie had been an amazing power couple in their day, but Ginger’s work was mostly behind the scenes.

  “Oh, you did?” Ginger shrugged a slender shoulder that belied her strength. “Well, if it’s a book you want to write…” Her voice trailed off, and the comment hung in the air like a challenge.

  She probably meant her husband, but that’s not who intrigued Jack. “Women weren’t recognized for their efforts back then.”

  “I didn’t work for the notoriety.”

  “No.” He tossed the other half of the stick for Scout. “Did you study mathematics in school?”

  “High school. Didn’t go to college.”

  “Why not?”

  “In the 1950s, in some circles, it was considered extravagant to send a woman to college. My older brothers—rest their souls—had gone, and I’d read their schoolbooks in greater detail than they did, so there was no point, you see.”

  Jack had a hard time accepting this explanation, but then, much had changed in the intervening decades.

  “How did you come to work for the C.I.A?”

  “Who says I did?”

  “I’m an investigative reporter,” Jack said. “Some have called you the Ace of Codes. How did you come to do that kind of work?”

  A hawk soared overhead, gliding over the hillside, looking for small prey. Scout perked his ears and watched, enthralled with this strange new creature.

  “It all started with Bertrand,” Ginger said, before snapping out of her reverie. “Did you come here to write about me?”

  “No, ma’am, I did not. But you’ve made a lot of contributions in your career. Maybe it’s time to share some of your perspectives.” Jack held his breath. Would she talk?

  She narrowed her eyes. “So, how did you find Summer Beach?”

  “One day, I took a fortuitous turn off the highway. And I thought, if I ever decided to write a book someday, this would be the place to do it.” Jack clasped a knee and looked out to sea, where the waves curled in with relentless force.

  “You won’t find your inspiration out there.”

  “Maybe you’d like to tell some stories of your work.” Jack reached for his phone, thinking he might even record her.

  “Oh, I have plenty of stories, but not for the book you might be thinking about. I have another project in mind I think we should talk about.” The timer on Ginger’s watch went off. “That’s for my massage appointment. See you around.”

  With that, she slid off the rock with a nimble motion and started back down the trail, walking brisker than he had.

  Jack watched her go. He had stumbled across one of the truly brilliant minds of the twentieth century. And her equally intriguing granddaughter. Were Marina and her sisters aware of their grandmother’s accomplishments, or only of the long shadow that her husband cast?

  Marina.

  She wasn’t helping him focus on his work. Nor was the boy who’d quickly stolen his heart. Fortunately, Leo had warmed up to him again after his outbreak in the kitchen the first day he’d seen the boy. Leo was a good kid, but Jack could tell he was taking his mother’s condition hard. No one knew how much time Vanessa had left.

  Jack had never imagined this summer unfolding quite the way it was. And in the recesses of his mind was the notion that nothing would ever be quite the same again.

  Chapter 13

  Marina pulled another batch of mini-tarts from the oven and placed them on cooling racks. She swept her sleeve across her forehead, feeling the heat rising from Myrtle, the old red oven. Fortunately, the kitchen had passed the inspection.

  Marina had been working all day. First, finishing the paperwork from City Hall, and then deciding on recipes, buying groceries, and baking. She was concerned that Gwen still hadn’t returned her call, even though she’d tried reaching her again.

  Kai sauntered into the room, humming an old Broadway tune.

  “Irving Berlin?”

  “Very good.” Kai spread out her fingers, making jazz hands on either side of her face. “‘There’s No Business Like Show Business.’ But from which show?”

  Marina made a face. “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?”

  “Nope. Annie Get Your Gun.”

  “Are you homesick for the stage?” Marina asked, blowing stray strands of hair from her face. She’d been baking for the last couple of days, and she couldn’t wait to claim her little corner of the table at the farmers market that Cookie had promised.

  “I miss the excitement.” A wistful look crossed Kai’s face. “What have you made today?”

  She had made several types of bread: French baguettes, rosemary, and olive, and the chocolate cinnamon babka. She’d made little blueberry and strawberry fruit tarts, and on a whim, she’d decided to whip up saucer-sized chocolate chip cookies. Nothing too fancy, just good, homemade food.

  And a lot of dirty dishes. “Unless you want to help clean up,” Marina added.

  “Actually, I’m on design duty,” Kai said, wrinkling her nose. “You need a website where people can register for your next pop-up dinner. I’d much rather work on that.”

  Making a face at her sister, Marina pulled the last sheet of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. As she did, her oven mitt slipped, and she bobbled the hot cookie sheet. In a flash, warm cookies careened across the floor. “Noooo!”

  “Five-second rule,” Kai shouted, diving for a cookie.

  “What’s going on here?” Ginger asked as a cookie slid in front of her feet.

  Behind her, Jack swept up the cookie like an outfielder. “Anyone looking for this or is it a free agent?”

  “Don’t you two dare eat those,” Marina said, making a face. “I have others I just took out.”

  As Jack knelt to scoop up damaged cookies, he glanced around. “I’m impressed. I haven’t seen this much baking since I was a kid on the farm.”

  “Ginger taught me most of what I know.” Marina threw crumbled cookies into the trash. The soft chocolate chips, warm from the oven, left streaks on the floor.

  “I’ll clean that,” Jack said.

  “You don’t have to,” Marina said, stooping over with a rag.

  Not giving up, Jack caught one end of the dishrag, his hand brushing hers. “You cleaned the slipcovers after Scout climbed all over them with his dirty paws. Washing dishes is the least I can do.” He jerked his chin toward the pile of dishes in the sink. “Bet you need help with those, too.”

  “He’s right about that,” Kai said, waving several pieces of paper. “I’ve got the sticker mock-ups for you when you’re ready.”

  Marina sank back on her heels and reluctantly let go of the dishrag. Jack’s hand was warm and sure against hers. What kind of guy offers to help like that? Not any she’d met in the last two decades. Arching an eyebrow, she said to Jack, “You just want free food.”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “But not for myself.”

  Marina couldn’t quite figure out Jack, but she wouldn’t dismiss the help.

  As Marina and Jack spoke, Ginger lifted the leopard-rimmed half-glasses she wore around her neck to inspect Kai’s work. “These mock-ups are very nice, indeed. You have a ta
lent for this, Kai. As I’ve always said, those who are creative in one area are often creative in others.”

  Marina stood up and turned back to Kai. “Let’s see what you’ve got, sis.”

  Kai sat beside her grandmother. “While the show was running, I’d fill time by helping other cast members create fan pages and merchandise. It’s fun.” She spread out several designs on the red Formica table. “I’ve made up one with a cottage, another with seashells and coral, and this one with flowers and a table setting. Which one do you like?”

  Marina fanned her warm face. “They’re all beautiful, but I like the cottage. It will reinforce the name in people’s minds.”

  Both women looked at Ginger. “You’ve got my vote for that one, too.”

  Kai beamed. “That was my favorite, too. The other images will be good for the website. I’ll print these and put them on the paper bags and cellophane you bought for your bread.”

  “Then we’ll pack it all and off I go early in the morning.” Marina picked up a platter of blueberry tarts and offered them to everyone. “Try this one.”

  “Maybe you should start a tab for me,” Jack said, taking a tart.

  “If I keep this up, I won’t be able to fit in my costumes in the fall.” Kai bit into one. “Mmm, delicious. You’ll sell out of these for sure.”

  “I sure hope so,” Marina said. “This is my first test market. And I made some for Ivy and Shelly for the inn. Ginger, would you like to try one?”

  “Absolutely—with my tea later,” Ginger said. “These remind me of the ones Bertrand and I used to have in London. Made by the Queen’s personal chef trained in French cuisine, mind you.”

  Grinning, Kai said, “I’d better get out of here and print these stickers. I’ll make business cards for you, too.”

  After Ginger and Kai left, Jack stayed back. Without being asked, he began to heft mixing bowls and baking sheets into the large sink. “Dishwashing liquid?”

  “Below the sink to the right. You don’t have to do this,” Marina said.

  “If you say that one more time, you might lose me,” he said.

  Marina made a zipping motion across her mouth. Despite their rocky beginning, Jack was proving himself to be a likable sort after all. She swept the dirty dishes from the counter and plunged them into the sink of soapy water Jack had going. “I can dry, too.”

  “You’re on,” he said.

  Marina whipped a cotton dishtowel from a drawer. Soon, she and Jack were working in unison. Since the luau on Bennett’s boat, Marina had been thinking about the little boy she’d seen with Jack.

  “It was good to see you at the marina the other day,” she said. “Writing at such long stretches must be tough.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Jack said quickly. “Scout reminds me when it’s time to take a walk.”

  Steering the conversation back, Marina said, “I enjoyed meeting your friends that day. Denise and John and their daughter. And Vanessa and Leo.”

  Jack was quiet for a moment as if weighing his reply. Marina waited.

  “They’re good people,” he finally said.

  “And Leo is adorable,” Marina said. “You two seemed to have a special bond.”

  Again, Jack hesitated. “Vanessa is an old friend and colleague. It’s painful to see her in such a fragile condition.” He drew in a breath. “Anything I can do for her son, I will. He’s a fine boy.”

  Marina sensed a finality to Jack’s comments on the subject, though she couldn’t help but feel that there was more to his story. Leo bore such a strong resemblance to Jack.

  “You and Ginger seem to be getting on well,” Marina said, breaking the silence. She’d seen them outside talking on the patio several times.

  “Your grandmother has had an amazing life,” Jack said as he scoured a pan. He seemed to relax with the change of subject.

  “Her stories are certainly entertaining,” Marina said with a light laugh. “Has she shared much with you?”

  “She talked about how she got into her line of work.”

  “Most people think being a statistician is fairly boring, but she seems to have enjoyed it, especially after Grandpa passed on. It’s taken her all over the world.”

  “A statistician, huh?” Jack looked at her with a funny grin. “Is that the family story?”

  What is he getting at? Marina bristled at his comment. “That’s the truth.”

  “I wrote a story a few years back on one of the women she trained. They don’t talk much, you know. But I remembered her name.”

  “I’m not following.”

  Jack drew his eyebrows together. “You do know what Ginger does, right?”

  “Of course. I just told you.” Slightly irritated, she dried a pan and put it away.

  Amused, Jack handed her another pan dripping with water. “I don’t think you do.”

  She flicked water droplets toward him. “I think I know my grandmother.” The fine hairs on the back of Marina’s neck were bristling with irritation. Just when she was beginning to like the new Jack, the old one re-emerged.

  “Do you?”

  Ginger appeared at the doorway. “Heard you two bickering in here.”

  “We’re not bickering. Jack is simply mistaken.” Marina whipped her towel around, drying a pan before shoving it into a cupboard.

  Folding her arms, Ginger said, “Actually, he’s not.”

  Marina jabbed a hand to her waist. “Would one of you let me in on the secret?”

  Ginger nodded toward Jack.

  “A few years ago,” Jack began. “I interviewed one of the top code-breakers in the country. She revered your grandmother, who taught her everything she knew.”

  Marina stared at Jack. “I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood—"

  “No, you didn’t.” Ginger arched a brow with modesty. “Though others have surpassed me. Except most of them use computers.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marina asked slowly.

  “Actually, artificial intelligence is the next frontier,” Ginger said. “Still, someone has to develop the algorithms and train the machines.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Marina pressed a hand to her temple. She tried to remember a story she might have heard, too. Female code-breakers. Women who ran the effort during the second world war. But Ginger would have been too young for that.

  Ginger sat down and laced her fingers on the table as if waiting for Marina to catch up.

  “Why have you never mentioned this?” Marina asked.

  “I didn’t do the work to bring attention to myself,” Ginger said, lifting a shoulder and letting it drop. “Few people would understand what I did. And we weren’t to talk of it.” Her lips curved. “No one wants to hear what a statistician does. That’s always been safe.”

  “Safe?” Marina intoned. Suddenly, her grandmother was sounding like a spy or something. “You sound like you worked for the C.I.A.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Ginger said with a quick, self-effacing quirk of her mouth. “You might say that I was on call. A consultant. Why, what with dear Bertrand’s schedule—”

  “Wait, you did this when Grandpa was living?” He’d suffered a heart attack while swimming at the Paris Ritz Hotel in the ’80s when Marina was a teenager.

  Seeming slightly impatient, Ginger tapped a neatly manicured nail on the table. “That’s how I got into it, don’t you see?”

  “Through Grandpa?”

  Ginger turned up a corner of her mouth in an enigmatic smile. “More or less, dear. We were in the midst of the Cold War. For decades, really.”

  All thought of Jack and Leo and bread for the farmers market vanished. Feeling her pulse quicken, Marina threw her dishtowel down and turned on Jack. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to say anything about this.”

  Jack stepped back and put up his hands in defense. “Ginger just told me. I thought you knew.”

  “Now, you two, simmer down.” Ginger stood imperiously, brushing the creas
es from her slacks. “I can’t imagine what else you’d want to know, Marina. I worked with a few codes. It was more like solving puzzles. That’s all there was to it.”

  Ginger paused, looking at them cryptically. “Life is a puzzle, and you can put it together or take it apart in many different ways. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bridge game.” With a wave of her hand, she left the kitchen.

  Marina advanced on Jack. “What gives you the right to delve into our private business?” she demanded, trying to ignore that she had been doing the same thing to Jack just minutes ago.

  Jack passed a hand over his face, trying unsuccessfully to hide an amused expression. “C’mon, you can Google her name.”

  “Who Googles their grandmother? She once taught math—did you know that? Right here in Summer Beach,” Marina said, pointing toward the town. “A small-town math teacher is not some sort of spy, and that’s that.”

  Jack pressed his hand against his chest. “I never said that.”

  In the distance, Scout barked.

  “You’re being called.” Marina opened the back door for Jack.

  Shaking his head, he strolled out and made his way toward the guest cottage. Marina slammed the door behind him.

  Stalking through the house, Marina saw Ginger driving away. Stopping by the study where Kai was, she folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. The knotty pine-paneled walls still seemed imbued with her grandfather’s vanilla pipe tobacco—or maybe it was the vanilla incense that Kai liked to burn here. “Just how much do you know about our grandmother?”

  Kai pulled a sheet of printed stickers from the printer. “What kind of question is that?”

  Marina flung her arm toward the guest cottage. “Mr. Know-It-All-Investigative-Reporter just implied something about Ginger that makes me very uncomfortable.”

  Kai smiled. “You forgot Pulitzer Prize winner.”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “Like what?” Kai popped her head up. “That Ginger used to be an exotic dancer?”

  Marina’s lips parted. “Are you serious?”

  “What do you think?” Kai laughed.

  Marina rolled her eyes. “I need to use your computer.” Before her sister could answer, Marina sat down in front of Kai’s laptop on the desk and began typing.