Harlequin Superromance November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Mary Brady

  Daniel’s boss looked the pair of them up and down. “Well, you two certainly have all the bases covered.”

  As they strolled away Mia thought she heard a low wolf whistle and leaned into Daniel. “It’s the dress. I’m still just a girl with a hammer and a fistful of nails.”

  He leaned down and said intimately in her ear, “You’ve never been just a girl with a hammer and fistful of nails.”

  She smiled up at him for his charm and they ventured out into the gathering crowd.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE NOSE OF Mia’s pea-green SUV ate up the road as she sped toward home. When the party broke, she had returned Great-Aunt Margaret’s jewelry to Daniel and drove away from him as he stood in the parking lot looking as bereft as she felt.

  Turns out the Owens, the pirate dog and pony show people, loved the hammer and nails description, especially from a woman dressed so “divinely.” It didn’t hurt to have Dr. Daniel MacCarey by her side to get such a response from the people who did not know her at all. The last thing they said they wanted was to get in the way of her “divine” project. She didn’t hold much hope they would push to get the site opened to her, but at least they probably would not block it, either.

  The evening had been a smashing success, according to Dr. Donovan, who had found many reasons to spend time with Daniel and her. He gave, however, no more than vague responses to the question of releasing the site. For her part, Mia brought out all her impressive people-handling skills. While giving no offence, she made sure Dr. Donovan knew her plans for the property and the importance of the building project to the town.

  “He’s most likely waiting for the results from the lab. He can’t afford to give up a piece of history,” Daniel had told her. “But the Owens pledged another sizable chunk to sponsor more than one project for the anthropology department.”

  “And, as much as I hate to say this aloud, I don’t want him to give up any history. It would be a piece of Maine history, after all,” she had said in response and then looked up at Daniel. “I hate both the rock and the hard place.”

  As she sped onward, lights from the oncoming cars passed in the darkness of late evening. If the university’s wheels just moved fast enough for her to get the site back by Monday, she might be able to complete the prep work by the following Sunday and pray Mr. Markham forgave her for not being ready for them by “next week” and would tuck her into the schedule for the week after.

  Halfway home her phone rang, and she chucked the handbag with the phone in it over her shoulder in case she did something crazy, like answer any calls. A minute later the voice-mail signal played from the backseat. It was too early for Monique to call, too late for her mother, probably too late for anyone to be calling about the Roost, so that left Daniel making sure she was all right—as if. She knew she could not hear the sound of his voice right now.

  She hissed out a breath between her teeth. Did she never get a break?

  The phone rang again and she was glad it was in the backseat. It saved her from having to chuck it out the window.

  By the time she reached Bailey’s Cove the clock on the bank across the road from the museum read ten o’clock and, of course, the last thing she wanted was sleep.

  She changed into her mint-green tank top and blue plaid flannel shirt and jeans and headed for Pirate’s Roost.

  Tonight she took her aviation-style headphones, good for keeping the music in and the world out. No creaking building. No passing cars. No thinking. Just music.

  “Hi, Marcella,” she said when she called the evening dispatcher at police headquarters. “This is Mia Parker. I just wanted to let you all know I’m at Pirate’s Roost for a while. I didn’t want them to worry about the lights being on.”

  Marcella said she’d let the squads know and wished her a good night.

  Mia clicked on the lights Daniel had brought for the task, and with her headphones offering Jimmy’s lessons learned from Margaritaville, she sat down on the tarp and started piecing together granite chunks.

  She did just what the man in the song had done, learned from life’s experience.

  Exactly and in great detail, she had truly learned this time just what a broken heart felt like, and not just an inconvenienced heart as with the likes of Rory. She also learned how nonsensical it was to walk willingly, in sloppy armor, into the fray.

  Okay, so the no-thinking part was failing already.

  She sighed and worked on.

  Eventually, frustrated with the puzzle of granite not fitting together, she got up and collected more of the pieces she thought looked promising and added them to the ones on the tarp.

  Monique had tried to tell her it would matter if she got her heart broken, but noooo. She had to listen to her own faulty wisdom. She wondered how Monique knew in the first place. What had she missed when she was away from Bailey’s Cove and Monique was still here? What emails had she made light of or glanced over and relegated to her overstuffed read-later file.

  Mia was about to put all the pieces of the crypt aside and get more when she looked down at the markings on the collection in front of her. They made an odd sense. She had been trying her best to make a shield, a coat of arms out of the pieces, a pirate flag or symbol. No matter how she put them together, took them apart and put them together, the pieces did not seem to go together. If they did go together, they did not form a recognizable picture.

  What was it Daniel had said? Sometimes anthropologists look for what’s there, not for what they expect.

  She examined the pattern again with the pieces laid out in the way the stone seemed to fit together, and then she pushed the pieces together in the circle of her hands.

  The puzzle made sense.

  “Oh, Daniel. It’s a rose,” she said aloud and checked again to make sure she wasn’t making a mistake, making things up in her head as she was so good at it as of late. She was sure she saw what was there. A rose, about eight inches in diameter. It even had leaves and a stem. Colleen Rose Fletcher McClure. Liam Bailey. Rónán Uilliam McClure. How much circumstantial information would tip this thing over the top?

  She sat with the shards on the tarp in front of her, holding as many of the pieces together as she could. From what she could tell, they were the lighter side of the stones, from the outside of the column, not the inside. Liam Bailey’s crypt had an image of a rose on the outside.

  Now she had enough information to convince the university—to take over the sight forever. They’d pay her some token amount so she could eat in her tent for a few weeks before she shambled off with rags for shoes and a cardboard box for a hat—alone, adrift.

  She laughed at her pitiful self to the tune of James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” She always thought she’d see him, see Daniel, again.

  A toe nudged her.

  She slipped off her headphones and looked up to see Monique and Lenny standing next to her.

  “So you’re sitting in the middle of the night, in a deserted building, telling jokes to yourself, are you?”

  Mia picked up the cardboard box she had brought in case she wanted to take some pieces home with her and put the box on her head. “What do you think?”

  Lenny looked quizzically at Monique. Her friend put her hand on the arm he had linked with hers. “Not to worry, honey. She is obviously in the middle of one of her woe-is-me scenarios. It will pass, it always does.”

  Then she turned to Mia as if Mia would not have heard what she said to Lenny. “It looks lovely, dear. I do think you could use a silk flower or two on it.”

  Mia shrugged and took off her “hat.” Her friend could almost always hit her moods on the nose. “How was the movie and dinner?”

  “They were the best time I’ve ever had.” She looked up at Lenny who didn’t even need to puff out his heavily muscled chest, but his grin spread
across his entire face.

  Mia motioned for Lenny to come cross the tarp to where she sat. He hunkered down beside her without hesitation. “Lenny, you made an outstanding choice, picking Monique, and I love you for it.” She pulled him down until she could kiss him on the cheek.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as he stayed hunkered down beside her.

  “I am.” I think I am. “I am. Now take my dear friend away and be very good to her.”

  “Go home, Mia.” He made the words sound like a gentle request rather the command from a police officer.

  Lenny stood and Monique took his arm again.

  “I think I will go home,” Mia agreed as she pushed up from the floor and nearly toppled.

  They both grabbed for her and she put her hands out. “High heels. My feet are still very annoyed with me for walking around in spikes for three hours. I’m good. I’m good.”

  By the time they left, she was sure neither of them believed she was “good.” To their credit, they understood she was best left to herself.

  Mia gathered the crucial pieces of the puzzle into the box. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to remove them from the site, but they weren’t going to punish her for keeping the rose safe.

  When she saw the taillights of Lenny’s car pull away from the curb, she raised a fist of cheer. “Monique and Lenny together forever.”

  She was so happy for her friend she could cry, but she knew if she cried it would be tears for herself.

  When she got home and finally put her head on the pillow, she sat right back up again.

  She had it.

  One more of the puzzle pieces fell into place. Liam Bailey built the column as a hiding place, as a treasure vault. Who would think to look for treasure in a closed-up wall in the middle of a hotel?

  The hiding place was very clever. The wall was extra wide with a closet at either end. If no one ever measured the depth of the closets, no one would realize the wall was a few feet longer than the combined length of the closets. The closets themselves were most likely used for table linens, extra chairs and such, making the width of the dividing wall look like a feature and not a cover-up to conceal the vault.

  The only mark he put on the vault was the rose in honor of his Colleen “Rose” Fletcher. Charlie’s hammer had shattered the rose before anyone had paid attention to it.

  Liam Bailey had unknowingly built his own crypt. Whoever stabbed him must have hefted him up and into the vault. All they had to do then was to seal off the opening, finish the wall and make sure no one had use of the building for a couple years—because they made sure they got the property from the courts—Archibald Fletcher.

  Shame on you, she thought.

  Some of Bailey’s treasure must have made it possible for the pirate to become a land baron, and he didn’t plan on needing the rest of the loot for a long time. He planned to put his and his Rose’s security in the wall, a sort of 1818 safe-deposit box.

  She fluffed her pillow and laid her head back down.

  The next time she sat up, it was seven on the dot. Mia got up, dressed and ran her six-mile run. When she returned she put water on for oatmeal and showered. After a righteous bowl of the hot cereal, she thought of calling Dr. Donovan for an opinion, but Saturday morning was never a good time to call university offices. She’d call on Monday morning at about ten o’clock. Plenty of time for even the slowest Monday morning PhD to be up and on the job—to be able to make the decision whether or not he would be relinquishing control of her site anytime soon.

  She thought of trying to piece the column together, but she decided she’d done enough damage to her cause. She wasn’t going to help them hang a neon sign above her door announcing Pirate Within.

  She settled on accruing ammunition for the fight. She took a tablet and started writing down her proposal list, the things she would request permission to do if they didn’t let her back to do full renovations right away. Maybe tear the rest of the wall down. Surely she could clean the upstairs and basement. Have the finishing completed in the bathrooms and kitchen, have the back deck installed and the new windows. She walked around for an hour, thinking of every item she could. More to barter with if it came to that.

  By the time she was ready to go drinking with her new pals, she had cleaned the windows in both Pirate’s Roost and her house, finished laundry and pinned Monique down about how things had gone with Lenny after they had left her the night before—stupendous—and showered again.

  The bar had around thirty-five patrons when she arrived on foot. All the tables in the place had been taken up with people having a good time and only two bar stools stood unoccupied. Of course, Saturday night would be much more crowded. She shouldn’t have expected less.

  The open bar stools were on the left side of the bottom of the U. She and Edwin Beaudin had sat in those two seats when she had come in the last time. She was disappointed to see Monique’s grandfather missing, but she had said she was coming and here she was.

  “Miss Parker,” Harley Davies called to her from his usual seat at the end where the bar attached to the wall.

  She came around to the end and smiled. “Hi, Mr. Davies.”

  “Hi, yerself,” he said when she stopped near his perch. “Ed said he’d be here by seven-thirty, but that oth-ah seat is saved for you.” Davies pointed across the bar to the two open seats.

  “This is a nice crowd,” she said, gesturing around the room.

  “Unusual. That’s what it is. I guess each one of us told somebody and here they all are. My wife’s over there with Cindy Carmody and Helen Schroeder, oh, and Charlie Finn’s wife, Mattie.”

  “And they all came because...?”

  “Well, because you said you’d be here.”

  “That’s great,” she said, having absolutely no idea what she was calling great. “I’m looking forward to talking to everybody.”

  “You can start with the girls, I mean...” He dipped his big black beard toward his barrel chest. “The ladies.”

  “It’s okay, Harley. I get so confused by what’s politically correct. I can’t even do Halloween right any more.”

  He grinned shyly at her. “Good to see you again, Miss Parker.”

  “See you later.” She waved and moseyed over to the table of women Harley had mentioned.

  They smiled up at her as a group and borrowed an empty chair from another table. Mia sat down and asked them how they were doing.

  Cindy Carmody started off the conversation. “We’re so glad you decided to come and talk with us.”

  “The mayor is out of town for another month and the town council never asked us before what we wanted for Bailey’s Cove. It seems ever since the paper folded we don’t get much in the way of news unless we go down to the bank and read the bulletin board,” Millie Davies said as she smiled with her bright coral lipstick on her sixty-year-old lips. She looked great, ready to have a good time.

  Motion caught her eye and Mia glanced up just in time to see a tall dark-haired man come in the door and turn away. Her heart nearly caught in her throat until she realized the man wasn’t Daniel. Ah-yah, she was so not clear and free of thinking about him.

  Helen Schroeder was speaking and belatedly Mia gave her her attention. “...getting too old to have all the kids and grandkids come and stay with us. Said just the other day, wouldn’t it be nice if we had a nice motel? You know, one of those chains with an indoor pool and all.”

  “Do you think you can get something like that started, Ms. Parker?” Cindy Carmody asked. “I don’t even have kids, but maybe us girls could have a girl’s night, like they do in the movies.”

  “We could treat ourselves to dinner at a nice restaurant and go for a swim,” Millie Davies put in.

  “I guess we have all been dreaming about what kind of things our town could use.” Mattie Finn sp
oke shyly but smiled brightly when every other woman nodded her head.

  “I can’t tell you ladies how thrilled I am to hear all your enthusiasm about Bailey’s Cove,” Mia said, wishing people in the town had spoken up sooner.

  When Pirate’s Roost opened, she was more sure than she had ever been that the town would support her business.

  Other tables called her over and indicated she should drag her chair. Her phone rang and she stopped the sound without looking at the screen.

  By the time she had made the rounds to the small tables, an entire enterprise of businesses had been suggested for the town. A few, like a couple big-box stores, were out of the question, but a bed-and-breakfast, the motel with an indoor pool, a shop featuring Maine crafts and many others made sense for the necessary growth of the town. Someone even mentioned the starting of a town blog by Shamus she thought.

  Mia was having a wonderfully distracting time. The only table she hadn’t visited was the long one against the far wall, where eleven of Bailey’s Cove’s most experienced townsfolk sat. She got the feeling they had been talking about something private when she approached with her chair.

  They welcomed her and regaled her with stories of Bailey’s Cove. How their grandparents had stood, sat and laid on their bellies watching for submarines during World War II. The times their grandparents shared their catch with each other and bartered with the farmers when the depression took away so many of the jobs. Their parents had told them about such things as the first use of electricity followed by the first radio, washing machine and vacuum cleaner. And they talked about how they raced to launch their boats to safety during the biggest storms, and how each brought in the biggest catch ever. Or, as Sarah O’Brien had put in, had eight kids and lived to tell the tale.

  “And we might have been the last spot in the country to get internet, but even more unbelievable that Shamus here was the first to get in on it,” the longtime boat captain Camden Flynn put in.

  The table of people chuckled and jostled the elderly man.