Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel

by Susan Donovan

  “I miss her, too! Find out if she’s coming to the cookout tomorrow night.”

  Rowan relayed the inquiry, though she knew what the response would be—the same as it always was.

  Mellie waved the knife around, shaking her head. “She knows I don’t do those sorts of things. I have to get up early.”

  Rowan opened her mouth to answer.

  “I heard her,” Annie said. “She’s so grumpy sometimes.”

  Rowan chuckled.

  Mellie resumed her chopping. “Remind Annie that we need to have her final fitting next week.”

  Rowan spoke into the phone. “Did you hear that?”

  “I know. I know. Mellie has saved my ass by making my dress. It’s going to be gorgeous. But—” She sucked air through her teeth. “Why did Nat and I pick September to get married? I can’t believe I suggested a date so soon after festival week! What was I thinking?”

  Rowan smiled. “You were thinking it’s the perfect time, and you were right. The weather is cooler, but still nice. The ferry is still running the summer schedule. And tourist season is officially over, so we’ll have the Safe Haven and the beach completely to ourselves.”

  “Oh. Right. It’s all coming back to me. I’m just dangerously close to freaking out over everything we’ve still got to do.”

  “Tell her not to worry. Everything will get done.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  Annie laughed. “I did.”

  “We’re here to help,” Rowan said, trying to reassure her friend. “It’ll all get done, and it will be beautiful. The reception food and the flowers will be finalized after festival week. The music is covered. Mellie’s got the dress. It will all pull together. And you, my dear, are going to be the most smokin’-hot bride this island has ever seen.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Annie didn’t sound convinced. “I’d settle for looking calm and well rested.”

  * * *

  Ash knocked on the weathered door of Hubie Krank’s small cedar-shingled house. Then he knocked again, louder. After a few minutes, he realized the old man probably couldn’t hear the beating on his door, so he slipped around the side of the house to the backyard.

  “Mr. Krank?”

  Nothing. A bolt of alarm went through him—he hoped nothing had happened to the old fellow. Ash stepped over the weeds and clutter until he reached what was probably the kitchen door. He pounded as hard as he could. “Mr. Krank!”

  “What’s all the fuss? Stop yelling! Stop banging!” The warped wooden door opened and Hubie’s shriveled little face appeared. He frowned, scanning Ash up and down. Eventually, there was a spark of recognition in his watery eyes. “Oh. It’s you. Has the Flynn girl got her claws in you yet?”

  Ash had to smile. “As a matter of fact, she has.”

  “What?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, what do you want? Hurry up!”

  He yelled, “Could we talk for a moment, Mr. Krank?” Ash realized he would need a lot of lung power if he were to make any headway in this interview.

  Hubie looked doubtful. “Talk about what?”

  “Your land.”

  His eyes went wide and his crooked spine miraculously straightened. “Those damn Flynns! They sent you here to kill me off, didn’t they?”

  Ash let out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I just came to talk about how much you want for your property.”

  Hubie wrapped his knotted fingers around the edge of the door and eased it open a bit more. “You say you want to buy my land?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you rich?”

  “Rich enough.”

  “Come on in. Watch your step.”

  Ash entered the old man’s house and was immediately startled by the disorder and decay. Of course he’d assumed the house was as ancient as its owner, but he hadn’t thought the appliances, electrical wiring, and furnishings would be of the Prohibition era as well. A quick sweep of the surroundings had Ash convinced that if he dug into the stacks of newspapers and magazines propped against the walls, he’d surely find headlines proclaiming the Apollo 11 moon landing, the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and the stock market crash of twenty-nine.

  “Have a seat, young man.”

  It took Ash a moment to figure out how he’d be able to comply with that request. He opted to remove a stack of pots and pans from a kitchen chair and set them on the floor nearby.

  “Tea?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Krank.” He took his seat, not even wanting to imagine the state of perishable items in this house.

  “Well, then? You want to buy my land? How much money do you have?”

  Ash had reviewed his Jessop-Riley documents and found that Hubie owned about four and a half acres on the bluff. Initial contact was made with him thirteen months prior, and he’d accepted an offer of just over a half million, pending a zoning change. But that agreement, like all the others made with landowners along Haven Cove, had remained in limbo because the Flynns refused to sell. Ash’s new challenge would be to get landowners to accept slightly less money from Oceanaire, whose pockets weren’t as deep.

  He smiled at the old guy. Ash had been in this position many times before, meeting face-to-face with property owners on many projects, but this was the first time he could say he had honorable intentions. Before, it was all just about profit. This time, he wanted to do what was right.

  “How much do you think your land is worth, Mr. Krank?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, those Boston bloodsuckers offered me half what I want. So I’d say I need a cool mil or it’s not even worth my time discussing it.”

  Ash nodded. “Hmm.” He pulled out his smartphone and made a note to himself. “And what about the other landowners on the cove? Do you have any idea how much everyone else wants for their piece?”

  Hubie frowned at him. “Well, of course I do. We have these landowner meetings, you know, and that’s all we do is sit around and talk about how much money we want.”

  “I see.”

  “I got a piece of paper if you want to look at it.”

  “That would be helpful, thank you.”

  Ash waited for a few moments, trying his best not to stare at his surroundings. It was incredibly depressing. Nobody should live like this, and he realized that in addition to Hubie’s obvious eccentric tendencies, a lack of money had to play a part in why this place hadn’t been cleaned and fixed up. He’d seen it often enough—when someone was focused on surviving day to day, anything that could be delayed would be. Those delays could go on for years or even decades, until the task became insurmountable.

  Like with the Safe Haven.

  “Here you are, young man.” Hubie set the single sheet of paper on the table, and Ash recognized all the names from the J-R documents. “Would you mind if I took a photograph?”

  “Of what?”

  “This piece of paper.”

  “With a camera?”

  “With my phone.”

  “You have a camera in your phone?”

  “I do. I can also access my e-mail from my phone.”

  Hubie shrugged. “I don’t understand life anymore, but suit yourself.”

  Ash took a few shots, then returned his phone to his pants pocket.

  “What do you want my house for?” Hubie asked. “You want to live here?”

  Ash took a moment to think about his response. He wanted to be honest with Hubie, but he didn’t want him to get his hopes up. At this juncture, his plan was still just wishful thinking. He had to convince James and the board before he could even begin negotiations on the land.

  “Mr. Krank, if I had an idea for all the land on Haven Cove that would make everyone money, create a bit more tourist income, but not destroy the environment or the character of Bayberry Island, do you think the landowners would sell to someone other than the resort developer?”

  Hubie’s head reared back. He blinked a few times, and at first Ash thought maybe he hadn’t heard him, despite h
is continued bellowing. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Of course I heard you! I’m not deaf!” He pushed himself up from the kitchen chair and slowly made his way to the sink. He filled up the teakettle, lit the gas burner, and got himself a tea bag and an old cup from the cabinet. Ash wasn’t certain where this was headed or if Hubie had forgotten he was there, so he cleared his throat.

  Hubie turned around. Ash was startled to see tears in his eyes.

  “Young man, if you could do that, it would be a miracle, and all of us would be forever grateful. How can I help?”

  Ash stood. “You can call an emergency meeting of the landowners association for late Thursday afternoon. I’m taking some people on a tour of the island, and they’d like to meet with everyone afterward, everyone at once. But there’s one special request I have to make.”

  Hubie’s doubtful scowl returned. “What?”

  “You can’t tell anyone the reason for the meeting. Please. It’s important, because at this point I can’t promise anything, and I would hate to cause anyone more disappointment than they’ve already experienced.”

  The old man nodded.

  “So I can count on your discretion?”

  The corner of Hubie’s mouth curled up. “Of course you can. I’ll call Sally, the head fairy. She’s the president of the landowner’s coalition. I’ll tell her someone other than the developer offered me money for my land.”

  Ash had met Sally—it was her wing that had jabbed him in the eye during Island Day. “All right, but don’t tell her anything more.”

  Hubie Krank smiled, revealing an off-kilter set of dentures. “If anyone asks me why there’s a meeting, I’ll pretend I can’t hear a damn thing they’re saying to me. Works like a charm.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mona pulled out the business card she’d long ago tucked into the side pocket of her three-ring binder, picked up her cell phone, and dialed. Her heart was so loud that the pounding in her head dulled her hearing.

  “Jessop-Riley Development Corporation. How may I direct your call?”

  Mona asked to speak to the pushy woman named Kathryn Hilsom. She’d never liked her. Never trusted her. So the idea that she was voluntarily asking to speak with her made Mona feel sick to her stomach.

  “May I ask what this is regarding?”

  “Uh, a development. On Bayberry Island. For a casino and golf course.”

  The woman sounded positively giddy. “Oh! Of course! The Mermaid Island Resort. I’ll put you through to Kathryn immediately. I’m sure she’d be happy to assist you. Just one moment, please.”

  Mona was put on hold. The thirty seconds she spent in the company of a horrid Neil Diamond song seemed like an eternity. She paced her small living room, feeling herself break out in a sweat. She decided if this woman didn’t show herself in another ten seconds, it would be some kind of divine sign and she could just hang up.

  “Hello. Kathryn Hilsom speaking.”

  Mona froze. She made a pitiful sighing sound.

  “Hello? Mrs. Flynn?”

  Mona couldn’t find her voice.

  “Is this regarding the Mermaid Island Resort? I assure you, I am here to do whatever I can to assist you.”

  Mona hated that name. Every time she heard it, she couldn’t help but hear a hint of condescending humor in it, like they were poking fun at the island’s Great Mermaid and the legend. But if Mona were going to go through with this phone call, then she damn well better get used to hearing it, hadn’t she?

  “Yes.”

  “Wonderful. How is the family? Is everyone well?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Fine.” Mona realized she must sound brusque, but really, did this Kathryn woman expect her to act like they were best friends? “I want to discuss money.”

  She heard Kathryn gasp. “All right. It would be my pleasure.”

  “I’ve decided that we will sell.”

  “Oh. Oh my God. That’s fabulous! You want to sell?”

  “Yes. God help me.” Mona stared down at the twisted bones of her left hand. How she wished it hadn’t come to this.

  “All right, Mrs. Flynn. This is excellent news. May I ask what caused you to change your mind?”

  “No. You may not ask. It’s a private family matter. And you need to know this is the last chance for your company, lady. I’ve opened the door for you, and if you want to take advantage of this invitation, then do so. If not, don’t ever bother contacting me again.”

  “Wait!”

  Mona could hear this Kathryn woman’s rapid and shallow breathing. “I will personally come tomorrow to ensure your family and all the Haven Cove landowners are generously compensated on the spot. I will collect everyone’s signatures at that time.”

  “Tomorrow?” Mona was shocked that she wanted to move so fast, but supposed she wanted to make sure Mona had no time to change her mind. “Tomorrow won’t work. I still have to speak to my family about this, and I won’t have an opportunity until tomorrow evening.”

  “Thursday, then.”

  “Well, all right, but I’ll need to call an emergency meeting of the Haven Cove Landowners Coalition, and we’re still in the middle of festival week. I’ll see if I can get a meeting room in the town hall, but I can’t make any promises.”

  “Mrs. Flynn.” The woman’s voice sounded measured, almost as if she were about to explain a difficult concept to a simple-minded child. “I can make you a promise, and it is this: If you get them in the door, I promise that you and everyone else will walk out very, very rich people.”

  Mona sighed heavily. “Whatever.” She rubbed her forehead, feeling on the verge of tears. What she was doing was unconscionable. She was selling out her beloved Bayberry Island to corporate scumbags. Mona forced herself to remember that she’d done it in exchange for her daughter’s freedom and to put an end to the ill will that had ruined lifelong friendships—and her marriage.

  But that did nothing to lessen the guilt she felt for doing business with Satan’s handmaid.

  “I will be there Thursday. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ash held the neck of a chilled bottle of pinot grigio in his left hand and Rowan’s small, warm fingers in his right. They walked together at a comfortable clip up Shoreline Road toward Mona’s house, the early-evening light of the Wednesday evening falling softly around them.

  He knew there were countless details that had to settle into place in the days to come, but he wasn’t worried. For the first time in his life, he had a sense that everything would be the way it was supposed to be, regardless of his efforts. He knew that his usual pushing and shoving and creative use of the truth wouldn’t be necessary here.

  The institute would be built on Bayberry Island. He could already see it.

  The series of high-definition images in his mind revealed how it all would play out. If the Flynns were amenable, the Safe Haven could be restored to its original beauty and repurposed as staff housing and offices. There would be a residence hall for the hundreds of students who would rotate through the institute each summer, a low-impact research building, an education center with interactive exhibits open to the public, a conference site, plus a small marina for Oceanaire’s fleet of science vessels. Maybe even a small outdoor amphitheater. Eventually, a luxury inn and restaurant might be added to the scope of development, since the island’s additional visitors would need somewhere to stay.

  Off in the distance, the early-evening ferry sounded its horn, announcing its arrival at the public dock. The familiar sound made Ash smile.

  He’d been on Bayberry for only five days, yet his body’s rhythm was already synced with the island. He knew how the rain smelled here and how the sun slanted through the trees during the day. He recognized the difference in the waves at low and high tides. At night, he waited to hear the low-pitched cry of the snowy owl that lived near the carriage house. His heart had altered its rhythm, as well, a
nd was now aligned with the pretty woman at his side. He missed Rowan when she was working. He counted the hours until he could be with her again. And though the sensation was completely new for him, at some level it felt as if it had always been this way and always would be.

  All that in five days. It was the damnedest thing.

  Rowan shot him a sideways glance. “What?”

  Ash looked innocent. “What, what?”

  “What are you thinking over there? You’re a little quiet.”

  “Just thinking about you.”

  Rowan laughed. “I think you’re wondering what goes on at these annual family cookouts.”

  He squeezed her hand tighter. “It’s probably a lot like the Martin family cookouts I used to go to.”

  She bumped her hip into the side of his leg. “Could the Martins drain a half barrel of beer in an evening? Were Brian’s parents either not speaking to each other or exchanging nasty one-liners? Did Brian’s mother dress up like a mermaid?”

  Ash thought about that for a minute. “Uh, no. So . . . is everyone going to be in costume except you and me?”

  Rowan laughed hard, draping her arm around his waist. “I was kidding about my mom. She won’t be in her mermaid ensemble tonight, believe it or not. But what is it with you and costumes? Were you traumatized by a birthday clown or something?”

  He chuckled. “Not that I recall. I really hate drawing attention to myself like that. The idea makes me cringe. Plus I’m a stuffy guy. Boring. Inflexible. You know how we Bostonians can be.”

  “Not hardly, Mr. Wallace.” Rowan gave him a flirtatious smile. “But maybe one day I’ll plan a special evening for us, you know, as a way to gently introduce you to the joys of costuming. We can read aloud from one of Annie’s books and play a game of sea captain and mermaid.”

  That made Ash laugh in earnest, and one of his favorite lines of prose from the mermaid smut genre came to mind. With the breathiest voice he could muster, he said, “His sea-roughened hands clutched at her glistening mermaid flesh . . .”

  Rowan stopped in midstride. “Wait. You’ve read her books?”