Jaymie did know. It would take a while to let it sink in that they were husband and wife, on the run from her father’s mob buddies. As much as they had wanted to keep it secret, there was a very real threat that the whole island would soon know about Ruby’s past. The news chain was mysterious and efficient. It wouldn’t come from her, though. “Garnet will make a good co-owner for you and your mom. How is she doing?”
“Mom went to see Mrs. Lindsay this morning, and I think it made her feel better. Did you know that Mrs. Lindsay is putting her house up for sale?”
“I heard something about it.”
“Someone is looking at it today, some rich folks from out of state.”
“Yuck. I hope they don’t ruin it. It’s got the best view on the whole island.”
• • •
DANIEL CALLED, AND she spent a half hour on the phone with him, reassuring him that she was just fine, and downplaying the actual sequence of events so he wouldn’t freak out on her. She then had to do the same with her father. He wanted her to come home right then, but she told him that she still had work to do, and she’d be home later.
She then worked all day to get the place just right. Later that afternoon, Zack came over and grilled her on everything she knew, thought, or conjectured. By the time he was done, she was exhausted and ready for him to leave. He didn’t look so attractive through the jaded and exhausted eyes of a woman on the brink of telling him off.
She took the ferry back to Queensville, had a satisfyingly long gossip with Valetta at the Emporium, checked in on Cynthia at the Cottage Shoppe—it was almost ready for its grand opening; Cynthia had taken Jaymie’s suggestions for the kitchen, but had bought up a lot of the enamelware dishes, so Jaymie kept all she had won at the auction—and returned home. Her mom and dad were out to dinner, so she had the house to herself. She got an email from Nan confirming that the article was indeed going to be in the paper, along with a couple of photos. Her blog was still lonely, with just three followers—Valetta, Dee Stubbs and Becca—and a comment or two.
She slept like a log, and awoke early, as nervous as a kid on the first day of school. Becca had called to say she and Kevin wouldn’t make it for the actual dinner, but would come the next day to meet Daniel’s parents. Jaymie had been counting on her big sister’s help, and it made her crazy that she would have to bear the brunt of all the stress herself.
Her mother fretted over Jaymie’s hair, her clothes and every other little thing about her. Jaymie had put on too much weight. She couldn’t wear shorts; wasn’t she going to wear a skirt? And she wasn’t just going to put her hair up in a ponytail, was she? Why didn’t she curl it for once?
Finally fed up Jaymie escaped, heading out to the island early with a loaded Red Flyer wagon full of vintage tableware and linens. Her parents were coming out later, with the Collinses. The two mothers had actually—unexpectedly, amazingly—gotten together and made all the food, so for once, Jaymie didn’t have to worry about them.
As she disembarked the Ferry Queene and hauled her wagon along the dirt road toward the cottage—no Hoppy with her today—she saw Zack jogging along the beach, looping back from the dock. How often did he do that? It seemed like she saw him twice a day jogging! He saw her and trotted up beside her. Today he again looked relaxed and casual, not business-suit-all-work Zack as he had been the day before.
“Hi,” she said. She was shyer around relaxed-Zack than business-Zack, for some reason.
“Hey, so today’s the day, right? The family dinner at Rose Tree Cottage. Let me help you with that.” He took the handle of the wagon and started off, with her trotting behind.
She struggled to come up with conversational fodder, but he was keeping too quick a pace anyway, so it had to wait until he hauled the wagon up to the front porch and picked up the heavy vehicle, easily lifting it up to the porch. She would have unloaded it at the bottom and taken three or four trips to get all the china and silverware unloaded. He helped her get it inside, and then plopped down at the kitchen table while she unloaded it onto the counter.
Real vintage china, she had decided, not paper plates. It was the environmentally sensitive thing to do, and besides, she had some nice summery patterns that she wanted to mix and match with plain china. And silver . . . She was going to use her grandmother’s Leilani pattern, because it was so pretty . . . light and floral. Zack fidgeted. She glanced up from wondering about her “Vintage Eats” article in the Wolverhampton Howler to find him staring at her, an intense look on his face.
“You’re going to a lot of trouble for this dinner. You must really want to impress Dan’s folks.”
She frowned and looked down at the flowered china in her hands. Did she? She hadn’t thought of it that way, but she did feel the tension that comes from hoping someone likes you. “Not impress them . . . Well, maybe. I don’t know. I want them to like me. That’s natural, right?”
“Yeah, it’s natural to want your boyfriend’s parents to like you. I guess I’d better get going,” he said suddenly, heaving himself up and heading for the front door. “I’ve got to get to work. Got a lot to do today.”
“Okay. Bye!” she called out, as the screen door slammed behind him. What was up with him? Men always said that women were unfathomable, and all the while they walked around being a mystery wrapped inside a puzzle within an enigma.
For the next several hours she was too busy to worry about it. She hadn’t had time to make new cushions for the outside chairs, as she had planned, but she had made a very quick trip to a design store and bought some inexpensive cushions that worked nicely for the time being. They were yellow floral chintz, and they glowed in the shade of the alders. She set the white wrought iron table with the floral china, softly burnished silver, and butter yellow damask napkins, and piled some tarts and petits fours on a raised china tray in the center.
After finishing up, she gave Sammy a call, and told him to come on over. He came with a professional-looking camera and took a couple of dozen photos, awed and grateful at how the work looked, given that with his design and her flourishes, the setting now looked like a landscaping magazine layout.
He took off, since he and his mom were heading back to the college that very afternoon so they could finalize the arrangements for their apartment near the campus. Jaymie dressed in the shorts and nice blouse she thought appropriate for a casual family dinner. She didn’t know what to expect. She had left the menu and food to the two moms, and hadn’t really had a chance to check in on them. It would have been presumptuous, she thought, to have even tried.
When the two older couples arrived, Daniel and the dads doing all the carrying, Jaymie was thrilled that it was all so well organized. Mrs. Collins had made sensible choices for their cottage picnic menu: sliced ham, red potato salad, creamy coleslaw, green salad, sliced tomatoes. It started with a cold soup, a kind of gazpacho that was spicy, but really tasty. Good thing she had brought pretty china bowls along with the plates and dessert dishes.
“This is amazing, Jaymie,” her mom said. They sat in the cool shade as the sun began its descent after a hot August day, the men chatting about golf and politics, while the women had gone over—lightly, not in detail—Urban’s unfortunate demise in the ravine. “I would not recognize the ravine, the way you have it fixed up.” She turned to Mrs. Collins, and said, “Alan and I spend a week here every summer, and I’m really looking forward to it this time. I can bring my book down here, to the shade, and lie on a chaise lounge.”
Jaymie beamed with pride and her dad squeezed her shoulder. “The real praise has to go to Sammy Dobrinskie,” she said. “That kid is going to be a talented landscaper. He already is, in fact!”
After, when the men offered to do the dishes, Mrs. Collins suggested that Jaymie show her around the island a little.
“Go on, honey,” Jaymie’s mom said, with a wink. “I’ll supervise the fellows so they don’t brea
k any of your vintage china.”
So Jaymie walked off with Daniel’s mother, leading her down to the beach, then up the road, shivering a little as she passed the Lindsay home. Debbie Collins eyed the house, but Jaymie kept up a line of chatter, talking about the island and about Rose Tree Cottage, how her great-grandparents had built it a long time ago as a retirement residence. Finally she fell silent, though, noticing that Debbie Collins lagged behind.
“Can we just sit for a few minutes?” the woman said. “Maybe down on the beach at that picnic table.”
They had made a loop, and were now near the beach again, so Jaymie led her down the path to the sandy spot where the picnic table was. The sun was red gold and hanging low in the sky, just beginning to touch the western horizon behind Queensville.
“My Daniel is a very special young man,” the woman said, and left it hanging there, like a question.
“He is,” Jaymie said. “Everyone here has gotten to know him this summer, and everyone likes him.” It was true; even Mrs. Bellwood, Queensville’s annual Queen Victoria, and one of the oldest members of the heritage association, had admitted that he was a very nice young man and a great host of the annual Tea with the Queen at Stowe House. His donation to the association of money and a good computer—with all the software necessary for the association to keep on top of things like its website and accounts—had helped, but his own personality and easygoing nature had done the rest.
“I will admit he seems happy.”
It was grudging, and Jaymie frowned into the growing darkness, wondering why.
“Happier than he has been for a while,” she went on, after a pause. “I won’t see him suffer again.”
“I . . . beg your pardon?” Jaymie stared over at the older woman.
Debbie Collins’s round face was set in a grim expression. “I don’t know how much you know about that . . . that Trish creature, but she hurt him so badly, I felt like murdering someone for the first time in my life.”
She said it with a quiet, cultured voice, but there was a faint growl that reminded Jaymie of a tigress defending her cub. It began to dawn on her what this walk and talk was all about. This was a chance to probe Jaymie to see what her intentions were! Was she supposed to be in the position of the dangerous young men who were often the heroes of the historical romances Jaymie loved to read? Was Daniel being cast as the young innocent, whose heart and honor needed to be defended by a parent or guardian?
With wide eyes, Jaymie examined the other woman, trying to figure out what was behind that placid exterior. She felt like she was stuck in the middle of Pride and Prejudice, being warned away from Darcy by the dreadful aunt.
“I won’t see him hurt like that again,” Mrs. Collins said, steel in her polite voice. “Unless you can promise me that you won’t do the same as that . . . that girl did to him, I will do all in my power to break this thing up before it goes too far, and I have the tools, believe me.”
Jaymie had a hard time finding her voice. Really? She was being warned away from Daniel? “How do you think your son would feel, hearing you say that?” Her voice was stiff with anger.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I won’t have him hurt.”
A cold knot centered in Jaymie’s stomach. “What if I told Daniel what you’ve said?”
“You won’t if you’re smart. If you make him choose between you and me, I’ll win. I have before.”
This was a new wrinkle, but there was no way she was going to be manipulated like this. “Mrs. Collins, don’t get me wrong, I mean no disrespect, but Daniel is not a teenager.” She got down off the picnic table and tugged at the legs of her shorts, which had ridden up. She faced the woman, her cheeks flaming red with fury, and said, “I would never purposely hurt Daniel, but I can’t predict how things are going to go between us. Right now we are friends . . . close friends. We’re taking it slow. I was badly hurt, too, not even a year ago, so I’m in no hurry to get serious.”
In fact, it was Daniel who had been pushing her for more of a commitment. But she decided against telling the other woman any of their private life. She would just use it against Jaymie, probably.
“Good,” Daniel’s mother finally said and got down from the picnic table, dusting off her skirt. “Let’s go back.”
They were silent during the walk toward the cottage, and Jaymie’s anger was chilling to frigid as they walked. She didn’t even notice until it was too late that Zack Christian, dressed in a gorgeous gray summer-weight suit, was walking toward them with a big smile on his face.
“I’d know who this lady is even if you two weren’t together. Jaymie, you didn’t tell me how much alike you and your mother look. Mrs. Leighton, can I just say what a wonderful daughter you’ve got?” He put his hand on Jaymie’s shoulder and squeezed, his smile intimate. “She’s not only beautiful, but intelligent and caring. You must be proud.”
There was shocked silence for a long minute, and Zack’s expression turned to puzzlement, as his gaze flitted between the two women.
“I am Mrs. Debra Collins,” she finally said, her voice hard. “Mother of Daniel Collins, Jaymie’s boyfriend. And who, exactly, are you?”
He didn’t explain, but beat a hasty retreat with a look of apology cast toward Jaymie. She sighed. Well, if the woman needed ammunition, she now had it.
Daniel seemed to sense some tension when Jaymie and Mrs. Collins got back, and he anxiously corralled her, taking her aside and saying, “Did she upset you, Jaymie? She didn’t say anything, did she? She can be a little overprotective of me, but she means well.”
“Can you take a little walk with me?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, with a worried frown.
She steered him away from anywhere she thought they might meet Zack—though judging by the detective’s clothes, he was working, maybe even questioning some of the islanders about the murder—and so they ended up down by the Ice House restaurant. It was dark, but there was a pool of light now on the patio. She plunked down on a bench and ordered an iced tea from Lisa, while Daniel ordered beer.
“What’s wrong, Jaymie?” he said, his voice tense. “What did my mom say to you?”
How to handle this? The first heat of anger had burned off. “To be fair, she’s worried about me, and I don’t blame her. She loves you, and doesn’t want to see you hurt.” He started to talk, but she put her hand up. “I’m not going to share our conversation, and I’m not worried about it. But something else happened that upset me, and I want to tell you about it before your mother does.” She told him what happened with Zack, and how he mistook his mom for hers.
He laughed out loud. “Wow, you know, I guess she does kind of resemble you, vaguely. More than your own mom, in a way.” When she didn’t join him in laughing, he noticed, and said, more soberly, “Look, I’ll handle my mom.”
She glanced over and examined his beaky profile, and the hank of sandy hair that always brushed the tops of his glasses. “I don’t want her to take this the wrong way. Zack said I was . . . He kind of said I was intelligent and beautiful, and as my mother, she should be proud. That’s all, but . . . he kind of touched my shoulder, and I saw her expression . . .” She saw on his face that he was now taking the whole thing more seriously. This was going badly.
His voice was tense as he said, “Why would she take it the wrong way?”
She had decided to not tell him about how paranoid his mother was on his behalf, and how she had invoked the name of his ex-girlfriend who’d hurt him so badly, but maybe she should tell him all of it. “She’s your mom, Daniel, and protective; it’s her way, probably, to evaluate your girlfriend and see things where there’s nothing.”
He squinted through his glasses at her. “This doesn’t sound like you, Jaymie,” he said. “What are you really worried about?”
She sighed and took a long drink of iced tea, staring out over the river. She ju
st couldn’t tell him that his mother had as good as threatened to break them up; it wasn’t fair to put that between them. “We’d better get back. Your folks will want to get back to Queensville soon. I shouldn’t have left all the work of tidying up for everyone else, anyway.”
They walked back, arm-in-arm. But before they got to the cottage, he stopped her in a shadowy spot and kissed her. “That’s nice,” she whispered, leaning into him. He held her close, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. It was a lovely reminder of all of his good qualities, not the least of which was that he was a very good kisser. They strolled slowly back to the cottage, his arm around her shoulders.
The four parents were chatting on the front porch when Jaymie and Daniel got back. The two men were talking golf, of course, and the two women were comparing notes on the meal.
“It was all so good, Mrs. Collins,” Jaymie said sincerely, sitting on the top step of the porch stairs. “There was something a little different in your potato salad.”
“Curry powder,” she said, with a sharp nod. “It’s Martha Stewart’s recipe.”
“Jaymie, Debbie was just telling me the most wonderful news!” her mom said, brightly.
Jaymie’s heart thumped. News? What news?
“She and Roger have bought a cottage here on the island. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Cottage?” Jaymie’s mind was blank.
“Yes, the Lindsay one; we passed by it on our little walk, but I didn’t want to say anything just then. We were . . . talking about other things,” Debbie Collins said, her face composed and blank. “Poor Barb Lindsay is anxious to sell, after that hubbub the other day, and so it’s unofficially official. That fellow—Brock Nibley? Is that his name?—saw to it, and they’ve already drawn up papers.”
“But . . . how . . . Why . . .” Jaymie shook her head, looking from one of them to the other, and landing on Daniel. He shrugged. “How did you find out about it?”
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