A Stone in Time
Page 18
The library would be open for another couple of hours, though she would have thought she had spent all day on the water. The quiet solitude of the library welcomed her, and she banished all thoughts of the day. Finn’s command of the sailboat, his touch on the tip of her nose, then being pulled from the sea—wet, cold, and scared. AJ was grateful for the library’s comforting aroma of paper and tattered covers. Although more sterile than a bookstore, where the smell of the books embraced her like a mother’s hug, it was close enough.
In the far back corner of the library, something finally went her way. Her favorite stuffed chair sat empty, and she dropped her notepad and pen in it. She now owned this small corner of the world, at least for a little while. After combing through the history section for fifteen minutes, she settled back in the worn chair, notepad at the ready. She let the afternoon drift away, flipping through the small stack of books, each patiently waiting its turn.
The librarian kicked her out at five o’clock, and when she walked out to the waning sunshine, she was restored. Armed with information on the history of sailing ships, AJ would be ready for her next encounter with the captain of the Daphne Marie. But there was one more task awaiting her before she finished her day.
She could have walked to Stella’s from the library, but her renewed energy wouldn’t last for the walk back, so she drove. The last two days had been a roller coaster ride, and she yearned for an early night of soup and bed.
She didn’t bother knocking. Stella was home, and AJ knew exactly where she’d be on an early Sunday evening. She followed the stone walkway that traversed the perimeter of the house and slipped through a small wooden gate. AJ entered a private, flourishing garden, bordered by tall redwood fencing, a large fir tree, and two burgundy-colored vine maples. Trellises of vines and a variety of flowers backfilled the place, providing a scented seclusion from the rest of the world. Strings of white lights glowed throughout, complementing the intricately placed landscape lighting. The scent of peonies was strong and, to AJ, added a mystical ambiance.
The garden seemed to be working its charm on the lone soul ensconced in a chaise lounger, a fluffy wrap thrown around her, a half glass of white wine within reach. Stella’s eyes were shut, and the thick shawl moved up and down in rhythm. AJ had made little noise when she entered the garden, but she wasn’t surprised when the lounging figure spoke.
“You’re late. Did you go for a climb?”
AJ threw herself into a large, padded wicker chair. She started to place her feet on the small adjoining footstool, and changed her mind, tucking her feet beneath her. The cushion enveloped her, and the last snippets of stress flowed out of her as she succumbed to the magic of nature. A small teapot sat next to her on a warmer, and she poured a cup of something smelling of ginger and jasmine.
“Perfect.” AJ took a sip, leaned back, and closed her eyes in keeping with her hostess.
“I changed the tea twice already. Those warmers are useless. I hope my plants enjoyed the earlier attempts.”
“I went to the library.”
Stella nodded. “That makes sense.”
The two women sat without speaking for some time, one not ready to talk, the other willing to wait. After a second cup of tea had been consumed, AJ let out a contented sigh and found Stella watching her.
“I was going to chastise you.” Stella didn’t wait for AJ’s confession. “I thought about it all afternoon. Why you didn’t tell me about him. Why you would leave out how young he was, how gorgeous he was. Why you seemed to be hiding him. Lots and lots of questions. But maybe you didn’t see any of that.” Stella sipped her wine, her gaze drifting to her garden. She pulled her wrap to her, twisting the edge of it with the one hand unattached to her wineglass.
Stella hadn’t finished, so AJ poured more tea, relieved that Stella was letting her off the hook, at least partly. She wouldn’t get away with all of it.
“Finn Murphy isn’t just a gorgeous man. There’s something underneath the tanned face and those stunning green eyes.” Stella repositioned her wrap and poured herself more wine. “It’s that piece of him running underneath all that maleness that has you intrigued. Maybe it’s the story we both know is there. Even I know there’s a story there, and I only met him for a few minutes. But I think it’s the mystery of the man dragging you back.” Stella’s words lingered in the garden air.
Stella’s quick assessment surprised AJ—she’d spent all of five minutes with the both of them. All the questions and doubts AJ had been ignoring bubbled up, and she tucked her feet in tighter, grabbing her tea like a protective amulet.
After a few seconds, AJ shook her head. “No. It’s just the story. There’s a really good one there. I can feel it down to my bones. An old ship comes out of nowhere, with a captain who asks lots of questions but reveals nothing of himself. I just don’t know how to crack it.” AJ slipped a glance at Stella, a small grin over the rim of her tea. “And it doesn’t hurt he’s one hunk of a man.”
“There you go.” Stella stretched and pulled her wrap tighter against her. “Do you just find him attractive, or is it more visceral? Do your insides get all tingly and mushy when you see him?”
“Stop.” She refused to agree to Stella’s simplification of the situation. “It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
AJ stared into the candle of the tea warmer, losing herself in the speckle of fire, not sure how to express her thoughts. She drained the last of the teapot, focusing on her next words, saying the only thing she knew to be true. “I don’t know. I don’t know him yet, and I know it sounds cliché, but it’s like I’ve known him for years. He frustrates me with his refusal to answer questions or divulge anything about himself, yet for some reason, I feel safe around him, and I know I shouldn’t. The more I dig, the less I know.”
“And there’s no tingly.”
AJ sighed. “Of course there’s tingly. Too much damn tingly.”
Stella laughed. Not a small, “I’m with you there girl” laugh, but a deep gut laugh she couldn’t stop. It spread uncontrollably to AJ, her laughter coming out in snorts, which made the two of them laugh harder.
The laughing continued until tears streamed down their cheeks. Stella finally held up a hand. “Stop. Stop right now.” But when the two women looked at each other, they laughed again.
They fought for control, avoiding eye contact until they could pull themselves together, refusing to allow the slips of laughter still remaining to take over. Stella unwrapped herself from the chaise, disappearing into the house for a minute, returning with a wineglass and a new bottle of wine. Pouring a fresh glass for each of them, Stella returned to her original position, pulling the wrap back over her.
AJ settled back into the comfort of her own chair. “Well, I needed that,” she said with a contented smile. “What keeps drawing me back to him?”
“You did get a good look at his face and the way those pants fit, right?”
AJ shook her head. “It’s not that. I mean, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s not that. You hit on it right from the beginning. There’s something beneath his looks and his Irish brogue that keeps pulling at me. I just can’t pin it down. Is it the mystery?”
“Maybe you’ve finally met your match.” Stella was already refilling her glass. “I do believe I’m going to get tipsy tonight.”
“And maybe it’s my innate curiosity and gut feeling telling me he’s hiding something.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Blame it on your reporter’s instincts, and we’ll ignore all the tingly.”
“That’s a fantastic idea.” AJ stood and grabbed her glass. “We’ll forget about it all for the time being. How about you make us some dinner before you’re too sloshed to find the kitchen?”
“By all means, let’s bury it for now, if you want. But nothing stays buried for long.” Stella took another sip of wine and leaned back against the chaise. “I’ve decided I’m still a touch mad at you. I’m thinking pasta. You know where the pots are.”
27
The law offices resided in a stately brick building located in the more expensive north side of downtown Baywood. The town wasn’t large enough to bear distinctive monikers for the various downtown sections, but, over time, the locals knew what part of town they were in by which street they crossed. The age of the street signs, the style of light fixtures, and general upkeep of the buildings defined each section of town. There was no official name for this area of town, and no one would ever find it written on a map. The locals referred to it as Northside. Not an extraordinarily original name, but, as with anything of this nature, the more people said it, the more the name took hold.
Early Monday morning, Ethan entered the Northside building. He had walked from his own office building, which was more centrally located. The walk took only twenty minutes with his long-legged stride, even with stopping to look in the windows of a few shops along the way. He resisted the coffee shops, though the scent of the fresh brew mixed with a whiff of baked goods almost made him stop. The coffee tasted so much better here. He could never seem to get enough and spent the rest of his walk plotting how he could take large quantities back with him.
He rode the elevator to the top, and his irritation grew. He shouldn’t be the one tracking down Adam to garner results. Days had gone by without any word from him. Ethan understood the man had other clients, but he was paying good money for the research. He should have confirmed that Adam would be in the office at this hour, but no matter. He enjoyed the walk over, and his unannounced arrival at the office would leave a profound message for the man, whether he was in or not.
The elevator doors opened to a plush foyer of dark paneled walls, vintage cherry furniture, padded carpeting, and a guard dog receptionist. It didn’t matter where you were, law offices, especially those catering to the more affluent families and corporations, were all the same. Ethan had to admit this particular guard dog was a fine-looking woman, with the consummate smile, the pleasant-enough hello, and a touch of frost in her stare, the perfect combination of aesthetics to keep unexpected visitors away from the talent. Unfortunately for her, no gatekeeper or security guard could keep Ethan from attaining his objective. That proved to be the case on this visit as well. Adam surprised the receptionist with his immediate agreement to have Ethan escorted to the back offices.
The lavishness of the lobby diminished as Ethan walked through the inner offices, but turned to opulence in the private chamber of a senior partner. Tall bookcases lined one wall. Plaques and expensive art ran along another, framing a granite counter holding both a small espresso machine and what looked like a well-stocked bar. But the focus of the room was the two remaining walls: floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the town. The desk, positioned in front of the windows, stood like an island between Adam and his clients. To soften the perception, a small sitting area with a leather couch and two matching chairs camped near the side bar.
Adam thanked the receptionist and smiled at Ethan, pointing to a chair across from a desk piled high with stacks of folders and papers, looking out of character compared to the uncluttered room surrounding them. “I know I should have called,” Adam said. “I can’t remember when I’ve been this busy.” He spread his hands toward the mass of paperwork on his desk. “I can’t seem to get ahead of it.”
“I guess it’s helpful I’ve come to you,” Ethan said, his voice clipped.
Adam’s smile slipped, allowing Ethan a glimpse of how tired the man was, an impression of a bad night’s sleep. But Ethan knew the look of someone carrying trouble.
“I do have some information for you.” Adam jumped up, grabbing a small cup from his desk, once again the perfect host as he headed for the espresso machine. “Can I make you something? Coffee, espresso, latte?”
Ethan’s instincts were to decline, but he had walked by too many coffee shops. “I could use a good espresso.”
“Top-of-the-line machine. Cost a fortune but worth every nickel. This is better than ten secretaries combined.”
Adam worked the machine like a well-practiced barista, and the cup set in front of Ethan made his mouth water. He sighed when he took his first sip. He would need to get one of these machines. It would be worth it, even for his short time here.
When Adam returned to his chair, he sipped the brew, closed his eyes, and emitted a sigh equal to Ethan’s appreciation. After a minute he refocused on Ethan. “I’ve been researching properties that might fit the bill, homes that have been around a long time, near the coast, all that. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me sooner. Maybe because it’s been closed for so long, no one gives it much thought anymore.”
Ethan sat straighter, the espresso forgotten. “You’re talking about the Westcliffe Inn?”
Adam slammed the espresso cup on the desk while somehow keeping it from breaking. “Damn. If you knew the name of the place, why did you make me do all that research?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then how?”
“You bumped into Stella at the records office. She was there looking for information on the Westcliffe herself.”
“How do you know that? Why would she be interested in it? Is it for sale again?”
“I was with her and your sister on Saturday.” Adam’s eyebrows rose. Ethan hastened to explain. “I wanted to see some antique stores, and AJ was the perfect guide. I suggested Stella come along, but that’s not the point.”
“Fine. None of my business, except for the Westcliffe piece.”
“The topic of Westcliffe came up at lunch. Stella said she had bumped into you, and when she asked the clerk about the Inn, the woman already had the information at hand.”
“Huh.” Adam leaned against the chair. “What interest do they have in it?”
“AJ’s doing a story on the place. It was my doing, I suppose.”
“Yours? How’s that?”
“When I first met your sister, she was having trouble coming up with her next article. I had just rented the McDowell place. When I discovered her interest in history, well, the idea came to me.”
“Yes, I read her story. She definitely found her niche there. So now she’s decided on a series.”
“Seems fitting with the number of old buildings around here.”
“And it so happens her next target is the same building you’ve been searching for.”
Ethan couldn’t ignore the number of coincidences piling up, and Adam gave him the opening to validate AJ’s story. “She said she spent a lot of time there growing up, going to the tidal pools with your father.”
Adam slapped his hand on the desk. “I knew it sounded familiar. Damn. I forgot all about it. They used to go off by themselves to play in those pools and talk about history. I went once, bored me to death.”
“And you weren’t bothered by the time they spent together?”
“Bothered?” Adam laughed. “I was so happy the two of them were out of the house. All I wanted to do was hang out with my friends, raise a little hell the older I got. Dad and I never had the same interests.”
“Why all the friction between you?”
A shoulder inched up. “I don’t see it as friction. Growing up, what older brother wants his sister hanging around? Especially a bookworm. Now, well, I have my own life, she has hers. If it wasn’t for Mom, I’m not sure we’d ever find time to seek each other out. Probably won’t after Mom goes. Madelyn and AJ don’t get along, if you couldn’t tell.” Adam collected both cups and brewed another round. “Families. Don’t get me started. Most of my business comes from families that don’t get along. Why would mine be any different?”
Adam’s mood lifted as he spoke
of his family’s dysfunction. He seemed to find comfort in his area of specialty. The weariness melted away. Placing the espresso in front of Ethan, Adam stood at the window and gazed at the city below. “Westcliffe Inn,” Adam said. “Been closed for over thirty years now, which is when it was last sold.”
Ethan tensed, waiting for the next piece to fall into place. “And the buyer?”
“As you expected. It was purchased by what looks to be a shell corporation. The only name I can find associated with it is someone by the name of Hensley, located in England.”
Ethan stared into his cup. It was all coming together.
When Ethan didn’t respond, Adam continued. “I did some additional digging. It’s currently managed by an individual who handles two other properties close by, although those appear to be true summer rentals. The Westcliffe simply stands empty.”
Already knowing the answer, Ethan asked anyway. “Who’s the manager?”
Adam set down his cup and turned toward his files. The stack seemed in disarray, but he immediately pulled one out from the middle of the pile. Opening it, he ran his finger down the page. “A Mr. Leonard Jackson. I don’t know the man, and couldn’t find out much, but he was born here. Seems to run a variety of small businesses. Generally keeps to himself, from what I can determine.”
Ethan smiled. Mr. Jackson. The name AJ had mentioned. So she had met with him, which would make sense if she were writing a story on the inn.
“Do you want me to meet with Jackson?” Adam asked. “See if I can find out anything more about the owners?”
“No. Give me a day to think over what you’ve given me.” Ethan drained the last drop of espresso, not sure when he’d find anything this good again.
“I can check out this Mr. Hensley if you want.”
“No. Leave it.” Ethan’s words, sharper than he intended, drew another lifted eyebrow from Adam. Ethan played it down. “Sorry. I’ve been tracking this for such a long time, I wasn’t sure I’d ever find the place.” He plastered on his best noncommittal smile. “I guess I’m surprised is all. I never worked through the next steps. I’ll get back to you in a day or two.” At the doorway, Ethan turned back to Adam. “Thank you for the coffee. I can honestly say it’s the best I’ve ever had.”