Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze

by Thayer, Nancy

  “Would you like some coffee, Emma?” Sean asked.

  “If I had it, I’d throw it in your face, Sean Shreve,” Emma muttered darkly.

  The door opened to the hall and a woman police officer escorted Sheila Lester into the room. As she was being seated, Jim appeared in the hall, talking with a man who, Emma told Marina, was Chief Coffin. The two men remained in the hall, murmuring in low rumbling voices, until the last person arrived. Spencer Bracebridge hurried in, dressed in khakis and a polo jersey, looking concerned.

  “All right, folks.” Chief Coffin entered the room, which seemed cramped with all the people in it. “Have a seat, everyone. Let’s see what we can get sorted out here.” He nodded toward the arresting officers. “Riley?”

  Riley opened his notebook and cleared his throat. “At eight-thirteen, the station received a phone call from Lily Fox, stating that at nine o’clock, a robbery would be taking place at 135 Hyacinth Lane. Miss Fox said she had overheard two women plotting to steal some lightship baskets. Sean Shreve and I drove to the location. We saw the two women leave the house carrying a number of lightship baskets, which are present at the end of the table. We apprehended the suspects and brought them into custody.”

  Emma snorted. “The suspects,” she echoed under her breath.

  Chief Coffin leaned back in his chair. “All right, Emma, why don’t you tell us your story.”

  “My story?” She was white with anger and her freckles stood out on her face. “My story is that I’ve been employed by the Bracebridge family to read to Millicent Bracebridge five days a week. I’ve become very fond of Mrs. Bracebridge, and I respect the love she has for all the Nantucket antiques and heirlooms in her house. I’ve been noticing that the lightship baskets—she has seven of them, all very old—looked different. They’re lined up on the window seat of the front bay window. Mrs. Bracebridge has macular degeneration and can’t see very well. She can probably see well enough to know shapes, objects. She can tell, I think, that seven baskets are there, but not whether or not they are the original ones. It wouldn’t occur to her to even wonder about that, anyway. But I could tell that five of them were different. I suspected that someone was stealing the baskets and replacing them with cheaper, newer versions. But I didn’t want to worry Mrs. Bracebridge or tell Spencer about it unless I was sure. So I asked Marina to ask Sheila if she would evaluate the baskets and she agreed to do it, but she refused to come into the Bracebridge house without permission, so I said I’d bring them to her.”

  Chief Coffin interrupted Emma. “And Marina is?”

  “Marina Warren. She’s my friend,” Emma said stoutly. “She’s renting our cottage, and she’s taking lessons from Sheila. She said she’d help me. And that was what we were doing—taking them to be valued, and then we were going to put them back, all without bothering Mrs. Bracebridge.”

  Chief Coffin leaned down the table. “Sheila?”

  “Everything she said is true,” Sheila confirmed.

  “Could you examine the baskets and tell us if you have any idea whether or not they’re old?” Chief Coffin asked.

  “Easily.” Sheila smiled. “These baskets are not original. I don’t have to check the bottom for a signature. I can tell by one glance. I don’t think they’re even handmade.”

  Chief Coffin sighed. “Well, then, Spencer, what do you think of all this? Do you want to press charges?”

  “Absolutely not,” Spencer said. “I’m grateful to Emma for bringing this to my attention, and I appreciate her sense of discretion. I’ll sit down with my grandmother and tell her about the baskets. It might spur her into being more realistic about the heirlooms she’s got tucked away in her house.”

  “You need to be aware that someone is stealing from her, Spencer,” Chief Coffin said. “Perhaps these women weren’t, but someone is.”

  “Yes, Chief, and I think I know who it is,” Spencer replied. “But it’s a private matter.”

  Chief Coffin slowly scanned all the faces at the table. “Does anyone want to say anything else?” He waited. He put both hands flat on the table and studied them for a moment then announced, “Well, then, everyone is free to go.” He stood up.

  Marina turned toward Emma, but Emma had approached Spencer.

  “Spencer, I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s all right.” Spencer frowned. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  Emma turned to Sheila. “Sheila, thank you so much for coming down here. I’m sorry to spoil your evening.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Sheila said. Leaning over a chair, she hugged Emma. “Honey, in a few years we’ll all be dining out on this story.”

  Marina thanked Sheila, and they hugged as well.

  The door was opened and they filed out of the room. After a whispered consultation with Spencer, Emma carried three of the baskets and Spencer carried the others. As they walked past Officer O’Hara and Officer Shreve, Emma muttered, “Little weenie.” Officer Shreve blushed.

  It was after eleven when everyone left the police station. Spencer drove Emma, Marina, and Jim back to Jim’s truck, still parked near the Bracebridge house. If she had been alone with Emma, Marina thought she would have burst into relieved and even hysterical laughter. But both Spencer and Jim were somber, and Jim was obviously steaming.

  When they arrived at the Bracebridge house, Emma said, “Spencer, I’m really sorry. I didn’t handle this well. I was trying—”

  “It’s okay, Emma,” Spencer interrupted. He turned to Marina and Jim. “I would be grateful if you’d help me keep this quiet. Frankly, I’m not sorry this happened. My mother has been helping herself to some of the family heirlooms, and she needs to stop. I’ll see that she stops. But I’d hate to see her or my grandmother embarrassed publicly.”

  “We won’t say anything,” Jim promised solemnly.

  Next to him, Marina nodded, enjoying the rush she got from hearing Jim say “we.”

  Emma asked, hesitantly, “Would you like help putting them back?”

  “That would be great,” Spencer said. “Then I’ll drive you home, Emma.”

  They all awkwardly bid one another good night. Emma and Spencer headed toward the Bracebridge house with their arms full of baskets.

  Marina climbed into the cab of Jim’s pickup and looked over at him. His profile was stern, unsmiling.

  She took a deep breath. “You seem upset.”

  Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re going to have to decide, Marina, whether you’re my person or Emma’s.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “I’m Emma’s father. Emma might be a grown woman, but I’m still her father. She’s still my daughter.”

  “Are you upset about the baskets?”

  “Of course I am!” Jim’s voice darkened. “She was caught stealing. If she hadn’t been fortunate enough to have everyone concerned ready at her beck and call to come down and help her out, who knows what would have happened.”

  “Oh, Jim, please—”

  “You and Emma act as if this was some kind of lark.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, Jim, we hardly committed a crime. In fact, we were in the process of discovering a crime. We should have been in and out of there with no one knowing about it. Emma planned to talk privately with Spencer. We wouldn’t have been found and arrested if Lily hadn’t phoned the police station, which I have to say is a pretty crappy thing for her to do to her sister.”

  Jim was silent for a long time. They rode together in a steamy détente until he came to their house. He parked in front of it, turned off the ignition, and faced Marina.

  “Lily’s my daughter, too, Marina.”

  “I know that.”

  “I don’t like to play favorites. Now all three girls are grown up, and I’m doing my best to stand back and stay out of their arguments. I’m their parent, Marina. And if you are going to move in with me, you have to decide whether you’re going to move in as a friend of the gi
rls or a friend of mine.”

  “Why can’t I be everyone’s friend?” Marina countered.

  “Marina. I am twelve years older than you. You are ten years older than Abbie, twelve years older than Emma, and eighteen years older than Lily. Maybe you should be with a man closer to your age.”

  “Oh, Jim!” Marina went speechless.

  “I need you to be on my side against these girls,” Jim continued. “I can’t even consider what it would be like otherwise. Have you thought ahead to what’s going to happen when Emma confronts Lily?”

  “But Lily was wrong!” Marina insisted. “She acted like a little rat, a little weasel! Calling the cops on her own sister!”

  “More like calling the cops on her own sister and you,” Jim quietly pointed out.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Think about it. Did Emma confide in Lily? Did she ask Lily to go with her to get the baskets? No. Emma confided in you. She teamed up with you. And now, when we go into the house, you’re going to be on Emma’s side, against Lily.”

  “But Lily—”

  “If you move in with me, it will be like Emma having an ally and Lily having an enemy.”

  “Oh, my Lord.” Marina leaned her head back against the seat. “This is like some labyrinthine medieval conspiracy.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty accurate description of what it’s like, having daughters. Having children in general, I’d imagine.” Reaching out, he gently stroked Marina’s shoulder, relenting. “I’m not saying it’s always like this,” he chuckled. “Sometimes it’s the three of them against me.”

  Marina laid the side of her face against his hand.

  “I’m not saying you would ever be called upon to discipline one of the girls. I mean, they’re women now. They come and go, they’re inventing their own lives. When the summer’s over, they might all be gone, or they might all stay on. If you move into the house with me—”

  “When,” Marina corrected, brushing her lips against his hand.

  “When you move into the house with me, you can bet there’ll be some kind of dramatic crisis, probably with lots of weeping and name calling. I mean, remember how rude Lily was when she saw you had on that bedspread of Danielle’s.”

  “She was a bit extreme.”

  “I know that. And I love her just as much as I love Abbie and Emma.”

  Marina considered this. “I’m not sure I can love all three girls the same.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Jim told her. “I just want you to love me the most. I just want you to be clear about it, that you’re on my side.”

  Marina nodded. “I can do that. I want to do that. I want to be on your side, Jim.” She moved toward him. “Actually, right now I’d kind of like to be on your—” leaning over, she whispered the word against his lips.

  The house was unusually still. At the end of the hall, light bloomed from the kitchen. They walked through the house and found Abbie and Lily seated at the kitchen table, both obviously exhausted.

  “What’s going on?” Jim asked.

  Abbie stared, without speaking, at the table.

  Lily answered. “Abbie took Harry, the little boy she’s been babysitting, to the fair. He fell off his carousel horse, hit his head, and scratched his face. It terrified both of them. She took him to the hospital—” Seeing the fear on her father’s face, Lily hastily added, “Harry’s okay. The doctor said he was okay. And he was normal all day, and now he’s asleep and his mother is with him.”

  “Oh, Abbie.” Marina put her hand on Abbie’s shoulder. “How frightening for you. But he’s okay, that’s the important thing.”

  Abbie said, in a dull voice, “I know.”

  “Was his mother mean to you? Did she—”

  Jim interrupted. “Marina, let’s go out to your cottage and get that article we talked about.”

  Puzzled, Marina said, “What article?” Then she saw his face. “Oh. Right.”

  They went out the back door and walked in silence to Marina’s cottage. Once inside, Marina turned to Jim. “Is there a problem? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Marina—” Jim ran his hand through his hair and paced across the small space, stopping at the other side of the room. “I’ve heard the girls talking. I’m pretty sure Abbie’s having an affair with Harry’s father. No one’s asked my opinion, Abbie hasn’t come to ask my advice, she hasn’t confided in me, and she’s an adult now, and God knows I’ve made my share of mistakes. But I don’t like Abbie being involved with a married man.”

  “I see.” Marina crossed the room and leaned against Jim, wrapping her arms around him. “Goodness. What a dramatic evening your women have given you. Aren’t you exhausted?”

  He nuzzled his chin on the top of her head. “I’d like to take you to bed right now. But I think we’d better wait until Emma comes home.”

  Marina paused. Part of her really wanted to join Emma when she got back, to tell Abbie about their adventure with the lightship baskets. Emma would be furious at Lily, but she would calm down. Marina could imagine all of them sitting around the kitchen table, laughing. She felt she had become part of their lives. It seemed only natural for her to be with them.

  But really, it was Jim she wanted to be with, to belong to. He had asked her to choose between him and his daughters, and she understood the wisdom of that choice.

  “Let’s sneak in the front door and into the living room and see if the Red Sox game is still on,” she suggested with a grin.

  “Brilliant idea,” Jim agreed. He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked together, companions, through the night to the front of the house.

  42

  Abbie

  After Marina and their father left the kitchen, Abbie remained at the table, paralyzed by her emotions.

  Lily bustled importantly around the kitchen. “Here, Abbie.” She set a mug in front of Abbie. “Drink this.”

  “Not thirsty.”

  Abbie couldn’t stop her mind from relentlessy replaying the events of the day: Harry dropping his seahorse, Abbie taking her hand from his back for just a moment, bending down, the tinkling music, the way the horses rose up and down and up and down, the terrible sound of Harry’s head hitting the horse and his body hitting the wooden platform. Harry, limp in her arms.

  But Harry was okay. He was fine. He had not been seriously hurt. That was the important thing.

  But not the only thing. Harry had wanted his mommy. All day long, he had wanted his mommy.

  Perhaps tomorrow Harry would ask to see Abbie. “Where’s Nanny Abbie?” he would ask. Abbie’s eyes welled with tears. But when he was hurt, when he was scared, he wanted his mommy.

  The truly terrible thing was that deep in her deepest heart of hearts, Abbie’s own feelings were hurt. She was jealous, jealous of Harry’s need for his mommy, jealous of Sydney’s irrevocable position in Harry’s life, jealous of the way Sydney spoke with Howell tonight on the phone, jealous of the original basic triangle of mother/daddy/child. Her jealousy provoked a blizzard of questions and fears: What right had Abbie to think she could step into the middle of Harry’s family? If she really loved Harry—and she did—then how could she even consider causing a divorce between the child’s parents? She knew only too well how painful life could be when the normal family pattern was torn apart. The only logical, loving, right thing to do would be to step aside, away from Howell and Harry.

  Near her, Lily continued to babble cheerfully, like some kind of bizarre nurse in her high heels and gorgeous silk dress. “Drink the tea, Abbie. You need it. And when did you eat last? Never mind. I’m making you some cinnamon toast.”

  Lily prepared the toast just the way the sisters loved it, bread slathered with butter and sugar and cinnamon and put under the broiler for a few seconds, until the sweet smell swirled through the kitchen and everything had melted into a luscious thick crunch. The toast was the smell of comfort, the taste of love, the warmth of healing.

  When proudly Lily put the p
late of toast in front of her, Abbie discovered she was actually hungry. She looked at the clock. Good grief, it was almost midnight. She took a bite of the toast, and flavor flooded her mouth.

  “Thanks, Lily,” she said. “And thank you for leaving a party to come help me.”

  Lily smiled. “You’re welcome. I was glad to do it. Abbie—”

  The front door slammed and Emma stormed into the kitchen. When she saw Lily, her eyes went wide.

  Emma glared at Lily. “You little bitch. I can’t believe what you did.”

  Lily’s voice was suddenly small and high. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

  Abbie dropped her toast on her plate and looked from one sister to the other. “What—”

  Emma shook her head. “Don’t you dare go into your little girl routine, Lily. You’re not any of that. You’re not a little girl. You are a woman. A woman who makes decisions. And you decided to hurt me as much as you could—and why? What did I ever do to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Lily said miserably.

  Abbie asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, you don’t know?” When Emma turned to face Abbie, her freckles stood out on her skin as if they’d been drawn with black markers. “You haven’t heard? Didn’t Marina tell you that she and I were arrested because Lily called the police?”

  “You were arrested? For what?” Abbie glanced from Emma to Lily, seeking an explanation.

  “Marina and I planned to smuggle Mrs. Bracebridge’s lightship baskets from her house tonight and take them to Sheila to be valued, because I was pretty sure some of the baskets had been stolen and replaced with new ones.” Emma was spitting as she talked. “I wanted to be sure of this before telling Mrs. Bracebridge about it, or rather, Spencer, because I thought it was his mother who was doing it, and I didn’t want to upset everyone if I was wrong. And Marina said she’d help me carry them, they’re so bulky, and we called Sheila and agreed on a time to bring them over, and Marina and I went over there at nine tonight—and Lily called the fucking police to tell them there would be a theft at the Bracebridge house!”

  Abbie gawked at Lily. “God, Lily. Why would you do that?”