“She seems real sweet.”
He could almost hear Arlene dropping a fishing line with baited hook into the water. He bit into his hamburger, taking extra time to chew, hoping she’d get back to those dishes most likely scattered on the kitchen floor.
“She’s pretty, and Lord, she has a cute little figure.” Arlene put her hand to her heart. “And she’s real good to her dog. Shit, I knew this would happen.”
“What?” He ate another fry quickly, knowing he had only fifteen minutes for lunch.
“I kind of like her. I like having a part of Beth back. Be nice if she stayed around.”
He slowly set down the burger and carefully wiped his hands on the paper napkin. “You don’t know her. None of us knows who she really is.”
“Maybe if she sticks around for a time, we’ll all get better acquainted.”
He bit into a fry, knowing damn good and well time didn’t fix all problems.
She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Don’t kid me or yourself. You liked her too. You were always one to take in the stragglers.”
“She’s not a straggler, and it’s to all our advantage she not stay.” Once he had control of the land that went with the house, he could leverage the value of the land for the loan he needed.
Arlene looked befuddled. “I don’t want to like her. But damn it all, I just can’t hate her. Not yet, anyway. Of course, she is Beth’s daughter, so that means it won’t take long before she pisses me off. I swear, Beth Jessup was as confounding as she was fun.”
“It’s a fluid situation.”
“Winter Cottage should have gone to you, not Lucy. You have plans and dreams for that property. Samuel Jessup never wanted it and could barely keep up the place.”
“He maintained and inspected enough. He did what he could so his daughter or granddaughter could inherit.”
“Miss Arlene.” Natasha, her grin wide and full, poked her head out the swinging doors. “I think you better come here.”
She mumbled a prayer. “Be right there, baby.” She hurried into the kitchen, leaving him to his meal.
The house was the key to the land. Though the trust was attached to the house, whoever controlled the house had control of the land, which was not entailed.
Like he’d told Lucy, he’d never get rich, but expanding the vineyard, and ultimately building the bayfront development, would provide jobs and keep the area growing.
He had lots of big plans for the land. But until Lucy gave up her claim, he was in a holding pattern.
Lucy
With the keys to the Dodge Charger in hand, Lucy led Dolly through the front door. The old house keys felt cumbersome and heavy as she secured the lock. She crossed the tall grass covering the front lawn to the garage, also built of similar material and painted yellow.
The second key on her ring opened the lock, and inside, a flip of the switch revealed two cars that appeared to have been freshly washed and polished. The Dodge Charger was painted a bright pink, had a long, heavy body, and was trimmed in bright silver chrome. Paint it orange and slap an “01” on the side, and she’d be in a Dukes of Hazzard episode. She was glad the front door opened and she didn’t have to slide through an open window like Bo and Luke.
She ran her hand over the smooth, polished finish as Dolly jumped in and took her place in the passenger side.
She pressed the automatic-door remote attached to the visor, and the garage doors rattled and shook as they slowly rose up on pulleys. Before her was a stand of trees, and beyond it, the top of the lighthouse, which was dark.
A turn of the key and the engine rattled to life, and she slowly pulled out. She turned onto the deeply rutted road, shifted to the lowest gear, and, holding her breath, drove forward. Her tires caught and spun, and she muttered a curse. She kept her pressure on the accelerator slow and steady. The tires felt underinflated, but they kept turning as she inched through the sand to more solid ground. A small but satisfying victory.
She retraced the route back into the town of Cape Hudson. With only a few streets crisscrossing through town, it was easy enough to find the grocer located on the block behind Arlene’s diner. She parked in front with the engine running so Dolly could stay warm. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
The dog barked, tossing her a sad expression that worked on Lucy every time. “I know. You’re pitiful. I’ll be right back.”
The store was small, and though it didn’t have a lot of variety, it did stock all the basic staples. Hank had said there was an account here, but she grabbed a cart and went straight toward the cashier. The tall woman smiled, her tanned face etched by lines from too much sun. Her name tag read PAULA.
“What can I do for you, hon?” Paula asked.
“I’m Lucy Kincaid. I’m supposed to have a store account.”
“You sound like you’re not sure about that, Lucy Kincaid.”
“I’m not. Hank Garrison told me I did, but I thought I’d save us both the embarrassment and time before I loaded my cart with food. It’s the Buchanan account.”
Paula grinned. “Of course you’re Lucy Kincaid. I’m just teasing. I know it’s you. I went to school with your mama. Sorry to hear about her passing.”
News traveled fast. “Thanks.”
“My boss is a stickler for details. You got an ID?”
Lucy fished her wallet from her purse and produced her Tennessee driver’s license.
Paula studied it and then looked at Lucy again. “Nashville is a long way from here. How long did it take you to make the drive?”
“About fifteen hours.”
“I suppose you had to stop a few times for Dolly.”
What didn’t everyone know about her? “That’s right.”
Paula studied the driver’s license picture again. “Your hair was bluer when you had this picture made.”
“It’s almost all grown out.” Beth had asked Lucy to dye her hair a happy blue, but as they began, Beth’s hair fell out in clumps. The chemo treatment was the culprit, but there was nothing they could do. Beth had started to cry, so Lucy offered to dye her own hair as a distraction. Beth laughed and bet Lucy she didn’t have the nerve. An hour later, Lucy was sporting blue streaks in her hair.
Paula handed back the license. “Arlene said you looked like Beth Jessup.”
Lucy would have to get used to people referring to Beth as a Jessup. “I got that a lot growing up.” She tucked the license back in her wallet. “How well did you know Beth?”
“We went to high school together. It was me, her, and Arlene. We were trouble waiting to happen, though I got to say, your mama was the instigator. We were all on the cheering squad until she got kicked off.”
“What happened?”
Paula laughed at an old memory, then grew more wistful. “Chickens. She set loose a handful of chickens as a senior prank. Never was good at following the rules.”
If Paula had been friends with Beth, then she’d have known who she was dating. “Did Beth date anyone in high school?”
“She dated a lot of boys. Very popular girl, your mama.” The woman leaned in, studying Lucy. “Can’t say you look like any of the boys I knew back in the day. It’s as if your mama made you all by herself and just spit you out.”
“That would be a neat trick. Who would be on the short list if a girl had to guess?”
“There was Noah, Brian, David, and Bill. And she did get into Norfolk on Saturday nights when her daddy was out to sea, which was all the time.”
“She like any of them enough to leave town with them?”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant until the day she left. I caught her throwing up in the bathroom at the diner. She tried to laugh it off as a hangover, but I have eight younger brothers and sisters. I know what pregnant looks like.”
“How did she react?”
“Asked me not to tell, and I didn’t. I figured we’d all find out soon enough, but then she just took off. I never saw her again. I was heartbroken.”
“Nope. So I suppose if she did leave with a fella, it was one of the boys from Norfolk.” She shook her head, as if seeing her old friend through an older lens. “Beth could be fun, but it couldn’t have been easy having her as a mama.”
“Beth was a good person. Not organized, but kind.” And for Beth to turn her back on Cape Hudson meant something unspeakable had happened, literally. Lucy would be wise not to forget that. “Is there a limit on the account?”
“Nope. You could buy out the contents of the store, but I don’t think you want everything.”
“No.”
“Well, then, it’s whatever you want to eat.”
“Thanks.” She spent the next ten minutes loading up on vegetables, rice, lentils, two flashlights with batteries, wine, and a dozen cans of dog food. As tempting as the doughnuts and pastries were, she’d eaten her share in the last few months, and it was time to clean up her act.
When she returned to the register, Paula unloaded her groceries and bagged them.
“You’re driving Mrs. B’s Dodge Charger. Explains now why Hank took it to the auto shop last week to have it looked over.” She rang up all the items. The tab came to ninety-one dollars.
“Do I need to sign anything?”
“Nope. I’ll just make a note and bill the account at the end of the month.”
“I appreciate that,” Lucy said. “If I wanted to read up on the house, where would I go?”
“That would be the library on Main. It’s a block from the water. You can’t miss it. The librarian, Mrs. Faye Reynolds, can answer just about any history question about the town, and if she can’t, she’ll find the answer. Mrs. Reynolds was also our history teacher in high school and would have known your mama.”
“And it’s open tomorrow?”
“It is.”
“Good to know.”
“You’re staying at the Buchanan house?”
“For now.”
“That place is solid as a rock. It’s not going anywhere in any storm. What do you think of the place so far?”
“Creepy.”
“Beth always said the same thing.”
“Why did she go to the house?”
“About a month before she left town, she got a job helping Mrs. B make her videotapes.”
“What kind of videotapes?”
“Beth didn’t talk much about the project but said Mrs. B wanted to tell her story and wanted it recorded. She paid good money to have Beth make the tapes.”
“Do you know where the tapes are?”
“I don’t have any idea. I suppose they’re somewhere at the cottage. I’d start with the attic.”
“Did you ever see the tapes?”
“No. Beth wouldn’t say much, but it was mostly Mrs. B talking about a woman named Claire.”
“Thanks, Paula.”
Lucy tossed her groceries in the Charger’s back seat, and Dolly rose up with her tail thumping. Lucy tugged a package of rawhide chews from one of the bags, tore it open, and gave one to Dolly. The dog immediately jumped to the back seat with the chew and got to work on it.
Back at the cottage, she parked at the end of the driveway and, hoisting her bags of groceries, walked along the path toward the house as Dolly set off with the remains of her chew stick. By the time she’d unloaded the supplies, her arms ached, and she looked forward to the day the driveway was repaired. She opened a can of dog food, and Dolly barked at the kitchen door. Lucy let her in and set down a plate for Dolly. The dog looked at the food, then at Lucy, and back at the food. She walked away from it and lay down on the kitchen floor.
“I know, we’ve been eating junk food for the last couple of weeks, and it all tasted good. But this food is actually good for you. It’s time we both ate better. I’m swearing off powdered doughnuts, so you’ve got to get with the program too.”
Dolly looked up at Lucy but wasn’t impressed.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m not feeling sorry for you.”
She searched the pot rack for a small pan. “I’m going to cook up a bunch of vegetables and maybe some scrambled eggs. I’ll share if you stop giving me that look.”
She dug out a cutting board and a knife and sliced up the onions, carrots, celery, and mushrooms. She switched on the burner and set the pan on it. “We have heat. Progress.”
Within ten minutes the veggies were cooking down in the pan and she’d scrambled three eggs in the bowl. Lucy opened the bottle of wine from the grocery store and poured herself a glass. She held it up. “Here’s to you, Mrs. B. I don’t know why I’m here or how long we’ll stay, but thank you.”
She sipped. The wine was passable. She served up the veggies and eggs on a plate and took a seat at the kitchen table. Dolly shamelessly inched closer.
She took a bite of her veggies, which were good enough but nothing like the burgers she’d lived on when she tended bar at Ray’s House of Blues back in Nashville. Absently, she scooped up eggs with a spoon and fed them to Dolly. The dog gobbled them up. “You’re not getting any more people food.” She knew that wouldn’t last. Dolly was her best friend now, and they both had been through a lot.
Dolly dropped her head and looked up.
“Don’t go all pitiful on me.”
She finished up her eggs and dumped what remained of the veggies in the trash before washing the plate and setting it in the drying rack.
She dug the flashlight and batteries from her shopping bag. “We should have a look at the attic. We’ve come all this way, so it’s time to get to know our new home.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lucy
January 15, 2018
With Dolly behind her, Lucy stood on the bottom step of a very narrow staircase that led to the fourth-floor attic. She flipped a switch, and a light bulb popped on.
Dolly edged past her and sniffed the air. Her hackles rose, and her ears dropped.
Lucy climbed into the attic and spotted an overhead bulb with a pull string dangling from it. It too clicked on, and she now had enough light to see what she was dealing with.
The attic was long and dusty but almost empty except for a collection of four black trunks and broken furniture on the west side. At each end of the attic were twin brick chimneys, and between them sat a massive engine with wheels and fan belts. She guessed this old generator was the original power source for the house.
With a house this old, she’d expected it to be chock-full of dusty relics. Yet everything was neat and organized. It would appear Mrs. B had no trouble dispatching what didn’t serve a purpose for her. Ducking her head, Lucy crossed to the wardrobe boxes.
Each was a couple of feet wide and perhaps four feet tall. Cracked leather straps with brass buckles secured the top, middle, and bottom. A brass plate mounted on the front was etched with the letters CHB.
“CHB. Catherine Hedrick Buchanan?” She traced her fingers over the letters, wondering what had been so important to Mrs. Buchanan.
She rattled the lock and tugged, but it didn’t give way. “I suppose if I’m going to find out, I’ll have to find the key.”
Dolly nosed Lucy in the arm and whimpered. “You don’t like it here? Attics aren’t your thing?” She rubbed the dog on her head. “I don’t see any videotapes up here.”
The dog barked.
She reached for the light switch and glanced back at the trunks. She’d come to Cape Hudson looking for answers but so far had found even more questions.
An odd sensation, akin to a breeze on the back of her neck, shuddered through her body like icy fingers. A little creeped out, she shut off the light, and the two of them trotted down the attic stairs, then past the third and second floors to the first. She grabbed a jacket and shrugged it on before bracing for the blast of cold air she’d come to expect. Dolly raced outside, loving the cool wind that ruffled her fur. The dog barked and ran toward a thick stand of seagrass.
Lucy followed the trail through the bo
wed trees that created a natural archway. Hank had said the family graveyard was this way, and she was curious about Mrs. B and her family.
She didn’t have to walk long before she spotted the wrought-iron fence that ringed around three headstones surrounded by tall grass. The gate, rusted and worn, was stubborn and required that she pull hard before it squeaked and groaned open enough for her to slip through the opening.
She approached the three headstones. Centered was ROBERT BUCHANAN, 1885–1917. To the left was CATHERINE H. BUCHANAN, 1888–1990. To the far right was ROBERT BUCHANAN, JUNIOR, 1917–1974.
She smoothed her hand over the rough stone of Mrs. B’s headstone, wondering how she must have suffered when she buried her husband and then her son. “It sucks to lose people. You must have felt so alone.”
Lucy grabbed a fistful of scrub growing around the gravestone and pulled it up. She kept on pulling weeds until the space around Mrs. B’s stone was clear. “I’ll be back and get this area cleaned up.”
Dusting her hands, she rose and called Dolly. Barks echoed from the reeds as she walked back toward the cottage. When she arrived, a red pickup was parked at the end of the driveway, and a woman was getting out.
The woman, in her late twenties, walked over the graveled driveway with quick, purposeful steps. Her black hair was pinned up in a topknot, and she wore jeans, an oversize sweater, and a padded vest. A red scarf wrapped around her neck, adding a pop of color that brought depth to her pale skin. She was holding a pie.
“Hello there,” she said. “My name is Megan Buchanan. Welcome to Cape Hudson.”
“Thank you. I’m Lucy Kincaid.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, I know. I’ve heard all about you. One thing you’ll learn about Arlene if you stay for more than five minutes is she does like to talk.”
Lucy couldn’t begrudge the woman a little gossip. “Am I the talk of the town?”
“Are you kidding? You’re ground zero for gossip now.”
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