Butterfly Cove

by Christina Skye

  “Isn’t there some way to track those things? Don’t banks keep a list of depositors? I thought that was a security requirement after 9/11?”

  “In the case of very large cash deposits, yes. But not in the matter of safe-deposit boxes. The contents are not examined or recorded by the bank. Privacy is respected.” Harrison Monroe cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’ve done everything I can. Of course, you might consider other measures. Possibly you can check your father’s personal letters. If that is unsuccessful, I would suggest you hire a private investigator.”

  “To find what? My father wasn’t a criminal. He was the mayor for two terms. His real estate business was in solid shape and he paid all his bills on time. What would an investigator do to help me?”

  “An investigator might find details of accounts that we cannot trace. He might locate the transfer and/or sale of any items that are missing. He might determine business partners that your father never mentioned or other people who had access to your father’s account. As I understand it, your father was fairly disorganized at the end of his life. His records appear to be incomplete.”

  Disorganized? Olivia knew now that her father had been in the early stages of dementia. He had good days that could fool her and all his friends, but in the end his decline had come with shocking speed. If only he had asked Olivia for help...

  But of course that was out of the question. Sawyer Sullivan would never stoop to ask for help from his daughter.

  Olivia refocused her thoughts with an effort. “So how much money is left?”

  The lawyer cleared his throat again. “There is one account. Its balance is thirty-four dollars.”

  “That’s all? Everything else is...gone?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “This won’t even pay your own bill.” Olivia felt angry. Even worse, she felt helpless. “Thank you for your help. I will pay your bill in installments, if that is acceptable. As you know, my finances are very thin right now,” she said stiffly.

  “I’m certain we can work out a delayed-payment plan. I’ll have someone from our accounting department call you.”

  Olivia’s face reddened. She hated to be in anyone’s debt. Growing up, she had always known her father was highly respected, a key figure in Summer Island’s hierarchy. No important decision was made on Summer Island without his participation.

  How had he left her this kind of financial disaster?

  She hung up and then said nothing, crossing to pour herself a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, she drank it slowly.

  “You look white, Livie. What is it?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” But the words came as a rush, too fast and too flat. Olivia looked through the window, watching the flow of cars and bikes and kids and families headed to the Harvest Fair.

  In the distance she could see blue cruisers pull into the police station and wondered if Rafe was driving one of them.

  “Now try telling me the truth,” Jilly said quietly.

  “Okay. You may as well know. I didn’t get a vacation—I was fired.” Tears backed up, burning her eyes. “And now I find my father took all his money and most of mine, but we can’t find any of the accounts. So I’m broke.” Olivia closed her eyes, fighting her embarrassment and anger, but somehow relieved to share the truth with her friend. “Everything is gone. All except for thirty-four dollars.”

  Jilly just stared at her in shock. “That’s all?”

  “Afraid so. Aren’t you going to tell me it was my bad management or my decadent lifestyle?” Olivia gave a hoarse laugh. “I guess it was all those trips I made to Ibiza and Monte Carlo and that month I spent in Paris.”

  Except Olivia had done none of those things. She had never taken a break beyond a long-dreamed of trip to Italy. Beyond that, her life had been pure work. Architecture school. Internship and then two high-pressure jobs in Oregon. She had loved architecture—right up to the day she had been fired without preamble or explanation.

  She didn’t regret the long years of graduate study and the internships, but she hated that she couldn’t pull her weight now, when the Harbor House was so close to opening.

  “Livie, I don’t understand. We all assumed that you and your father were in good financial shape. I mean, this house has to be worth a lot. And he always had great cars. Everything new for Sawyer Sullivan.”

  Olivia gave a grim laugh. “Yes, he always loved a grand lifestyle. And the house should be worth a good amount. But my father didn’t keep up with the repairs. I didn’t realize until the end how confused he had become. He took money out of one account and put it in another account. He had at least a dozen different bank accounts, and he didn’t keep good records. The lawyer and I have been going through his papers, trying to figure things out, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “When you said thirty-four dollars, you meant that he spent all his money? Yours, too?” Jilly blurted out.

  “It looks that way.” Olivia rubbed her neck as pain radiated along her shoulder. “If I had known he was so confused and that things were in such chaos, I would have demanded answers from him. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. He hid everything from me. He was always good at that.” Olivia looked out the window at the gray line of the sea, where white breakers hammered against the cove.

  “We’ll help you. You know that,” Jilly said fiercely.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll manage. First off, I’m going to fix the house up and sell it. It’s way too big for me anyway.”

  Jilly studied the big ornate staircase that climbed in a dramatic spiral up two flights. “I always liked this house. It was always so perfect, so well organized and clean. Even the floors gleamed like mirrors. Growing up, I told myself I’d have a house like this of my own one day.” Jilly gave an embarrassed laugh. “Surprised?”

  “Trust me, the last thing you want is a house like this. It’s a terrible money drain.” There was no point in telling Jilly that a place like this was also filled with loneliness. Too pristine ever to be comfortable. “But,” she continued slowly, “if you like it so much, you and Walker should buy it,” Olivia said firmly. “I’m putting it up for sale next week.”

  Jilly stared at her in shock. “You’re really going through with this?”

  “Absolutely. The real truth is, I hate this house. It’s about time that I started making some changes, and I may as well start right here. A place this size should go to someone who will use every room and fill the whole house with children.” This was something that Olivia never meant to do. “Until I’m solvent again, I need to be very careful about my expenses, Jilly. That means I can’t pull my weight at the Harbor House. I only wish—”

  “You’ve always pulled your weight, Livie. You just do it in different ways. And we’ll help with this place. We’ll clean it until it glows, so you get the best offer available, and that will help you back on your feet. Until then, forget about the Harbor House. After selling my restaurant in Arizona, I have a nice nest egg put aside, and it’s going into renovations. Walker and I have discussed all this.”

  Olivia wanted to argue with Jilly, but there was nothing more she could say. Her friends could cover the costs temporarily while Olivia dug her way out from under the mess that her father had left. Then she would find a job and pick up her end of the expenses. She had to stay positive.

  Jilly stared down at the restless gray ocean. “I know your grandmother left you a legacy. What about that?”

  Olivia picked at her nail. “Gone. They can’t find any of it.” She forced down her pain and bitterness. “Everything is lost—my grandmother’s old letters and photographs from Paris in the twenties. Her vintage scarves and lace gloves. I loved those things.”

  The despair must have shown on her face because Jilly rested a hand on her arm. “The miserable weasel,” she muttered. Olivia heard it, but she pretended not to. “How could he do that to you?”

  Olivia was thinking pretty much the same thing, but she had given
up trying to understand her father. He had never discussed business with her or anything else financial.

  The two of them sat unmoving while seabirds circled overhead. Somewhere in the back of the house a clock chimed noon. It was less than a mile down to the sea, Olivia knew. Less than a mile to fresh wind and a deserted cove where she could walk facing the water, where no one was watching her.

  But the cove would have to wait. Right now the Harvest Fair was about to begin up on the hill. Olivia refused to let this bad news spoil that for her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “THIS IS A bad idea.” Jilly trailed after Olivia down the hall. “I think you should stay here and rest. Let someone else do the judging today.”

  “I’ve been resting for a week already and I’m going crazy from resting.” Olivia slid her keys into her pocket and grabbed her scarf. “I wouldn’t miss the Harvest Fair for anything. If you don’t want to take me, I’ll walk. It’s just up the hill.”

  “I know exactly where it is,” Jilly grumbled. “It’s in the same spot it’s always been for the last seventy-five years. Were you always this stubborn or is it getting worse?”

  “That’s the pot calling the kettle black. Can we hurry? I need time to see all the costumes. You know what a madhouse it can be.”

  “I certainly do. That’s why you should stay home. Okay, okay, fine. I’ll drive you.” Jilly walked out onto the porch. “Remember last year? There were two fistfights, as I recall. Will Rafe be there to keep the peace?”

  “I have no idea what Rafe’s plans are.” Olivia’s mouth tightened. “You’ll have to ask him for details.”

  Jilly shook her head and muttered the word stubborn a few times as she started the car, but she kept any other comments to herself.

  The big meadow near the old oak was already crowded with tables and tents when the two women arrived. Olivia wandered through the crowd with Jilly, smiling at old friends and stopping to talk with neighbors. Someone was roasting poblano chiles over an open grill and the smoke was fragrant and intense as it drifted over the hillside. That smell always caught Olivia, making her remember dozens of other festivals that had taken place here on this big field full of wildflowers above the ocean.

  But so far there had been no butterflies. It seemed that every year fewer and fewer made their way to Summer Island. Olivia knew it was because wild space was being lost to development. She hated the idea of losing a part of the island’s natural beauty and wildlife.

  “Almost ready?” The mayor and his wife bustled up, disturbing Olivia’s revelry. “The judging is about to start and you’re late.”

  “Actually, I’m right on time.” Olivia was finding the conversation irritating and she’d barely been in the couple’s presence for five seconds. “I think, if you check, you’re early.”

  The mayor cleared his throat. “I suppose that might be possible. But never mind. This is going to be a hot event. We have nine Jumanji contestants already, plus several Madelines, an Owl Moon father and daughter, all kinds of Dr. Seuss and a whole bunch of Wild Things.”

  “That’s Maurice Sendak,” the mayor’s wife added. “They’re monsters.”

  “I think I knew that already,” Olivia murmured. But she tried to keep her good mood even though her shoulder throbbed just a little. She smiled at the crowd of excited children and parents who were united in their love of wonderful and inspiring books. “Well, I think there’s a Wild Thing headed right toward us. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “OLIVIA LOOKS LIKE she is enjoying this.” Tom Wilkinson finished off his third chocolate donut and handed a cup of hot apple cider to Rafe. “You want some of that cherry-gelatin mold?” the county sheriff asked him.

  “Think I’ll pass,” Rafe said dryly.

  “You know how seriously everyone takes the contest. Olivia will have some hard choices.”

  “Why is Olivia the only judge? I still don’t get that part.”

  “Oh, her father did it for years. After he died, it seemed right that Olivia should carry on the tradition as his only child.”

  Rafe studied the children dressed as Sendak monsters or owls or Jumanji animals and rubbed his neck. “She always did know how to calm people down. She knows how to listen, too. But her shoulder isn’t healed yet, Tom.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Then you’d better head on over and see that she wraps up the judging as fast as possible. Because you can count on it that the mayor and his wife will drag this out as long as they can. It makes them feel important,” the sheriff said dryly.

  “Me? You want me to tell the mayor to back off and hurry Olivia up?” Rafe cleared his throat. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re on duty right now, Russo. I’m off. Plus, Olivia will listen to you.”

  “Like hell she will,” Rafe muttered. Smoke drifted up from barbecue grills and hot-dog counters and popcorn tents and suddenly Rafe was back in Afghanistan, caught by the acrid smell of burning garbage and cordite. “Look, Tom—maybe you should send someone else. None of those people up there want to see yours truly wading into the middle of their fun. I’m still the bad kid on the block as far as most of these people are concerned.”

  “Then show them you’ve changed,” the sheriff said dryly. “They’ll forget if you give them a reason to.”

  “Forgetting isn’t easy. I try all the time,” Rafe said slowly. “Right now I’m back in Afghanistan and that sound I hear is gunfire, not firecrackers.” Rafe glanced at his old friend, a man he had looked up to since he was fifteen. “When does it get better and actually start to feel normal to be a civilian again? I keep hoping, but frankly it hasn’t happened yet.”

  The sheriff tossed his empty cup into a garbage bin. “Two men in zebra costumes are about to duke it out with a Dr. Seuss bird in red cowboy boots while their wives shout encouragement. On what level do you consider that to be normal?” the sheriff said. “Now go on over there and rescue Olivia so we can get this contest finished. I don’t want any book characters spilling blood on my watch.”

  * * *

  THE PROBLEM WAS that Olivia didn’t want to be rescued, Rafe discovered. He watched her, his expression grim as he cut through clusters of costumed contestants and eager family members trailing after Olivia.

  When she saw him, she stood her ground. She waved off his suggestions that she should sit down and take a break. She told him stiffly that she didn’t need any help and that she could handle her duties as a judge just fine. She wasn’t going home until she was done.

  But the faint lines of strain around her eyes told Rafe that she was in pain, no matter what she said. And when the Jumanji zebra decided to tackle one of the Wild Things and then two angry fathers knocked over a table filled with Summer Island book contest T-shirts, Rafe decided enough was enough. He broke up the fight, sent both angry fathers off to different food tents for ten minutes to cool off, and then he steered Olivia over to the booth where Jilly and Walker were giving out free hot cider and newsletters about Harbor House.

  “Make her sit down and rest, will you? Her shoulder is hurting again.”

  “It is not,” Olivia said stiffly.

  Rafe ignored her. “It’s been hurting for the past ten minutes and she needs a break. Get her some of that hot cider, okay? I’m going to round up the contestants and the mayor so he can announce the winners. There’s no reason to drag this out.”

  Jilly was already steering Olivia to a chair. “He’s right, Livie. You do look pale.”

  “I can manage a little longer.” Olivia smiled gratefully as she accepted cider from her friend. “But everybody is getting too upset. And if there are any more fistfights...”

  “There won’t be.” Rafe’s voice was hard. “Because the next father who even looks like he’s planning something stupid is going to get tossed right into my cruiser.” He motioned curtly to the mayor and stalked off.

  “When did he get so bossy?” Olivia said, watching him stride off.

  “I’d say he was taking charge.
I’m glad to see it. These contests keep getting out of control.” Jilly frowned at the milling crowd next to the mayor and his wife. “So who is the winner?”

  Olivia took a deep breath. “It’s close. But Jumanji just got edged out by Dr. Seuss. How do you argue with a Tizzle-Topped Tufted Mazurka bird wearing red cowboy boots? Father and son in the same costume.”

  “You gotta love this town,” Jilly said, beaming.

  * * *

  OLIVIA WAS GLAD when the mayor finally stopped talking and she could announce the winner in the Harvest Fair Book Costume event. There was a burst of hooting and loud clapping, and she waited while the prizes were handed out, and then turned to go back to the Harbor House tent.

  But the mayor and his wife called out loudly to her, cutting her off. “We were just going to try some barbecue over on the other side of the hill, Olivia. You should join us. I think that your father’s lawyer is over there and we can all have a nice talk. I know that he’s been wanting to speak with you.”

  “I’m a little tired right now,” Olivia said flatly. The last person she wanted to see was Harrison Monroe. “I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Yes, she can.”

  Olivia looked up, surprised to feel strong fingers open on her back.

  Rafe glared at the mayor. “Sorry, but Olivia is going with me.” He was already guiding her through the crowd.

  “Going where?” The mayor blinked angrily at him.

  “Tom Wilkinson wants to talk to Olivia.”

  “About what?” the mayor persisted.

  “He wants to ask her about some design flaws in the new annex for the police station. He said to bring her right over.”

  Olivia felt hot and breathless, acutely aware of the pressure of Rafe’s thigh against her hip and his hard shoulder against her arm as they walked away. “Is that true? Are there design flaws in the annex plans?” she said anxiously.

  “Hell, no. I just wanted to get you out of there. That seemed like the fastest way.” Rafe steered her through the crowd, his face unreadable. “Why didn’t you just leave? You didn’t have to stay and shake everyone’s hands.”