Sometimes, curating such a vision meant you had to weed out anyone or anything that might get in the way and gum up the works. Tangle the fishing nets.
Of course, Van Holt and his folks up on Harbor Ave didn’t flaunt their ill-will, but they still tended to it. Loosely, to be sure. Vaguely, even. Managing such perfection meant they had to actually act and make the proper concessions to preserve what beauty spread out before them.
Over the years, that’s what each mayor was assigned to do. First and foremost: keep the place safe. Keep it pretty. So, they propped up a few useful older folks in positions of interest, like a craggy lighthouse keeper, looking out for the odd ship that floated down Lake Huron decades back, wayward and lost and about to crash into the shoreline and ruin everything.
Amelia learned this through her careful study of the case surrounding the disappearance of her father, of course. After all, what could be worse for a tourist town’s image than a missing local?
A dead one, of course.
Fortunately, none of the evidence Amelia uncovered so far indicated any sort of death for her father. At least, none that would have taken place in Birch Harbor. And in what reality would a mayor or a town council member have one of their citizens killed? It didn’t happen. Period. Despite the fact that Amelia’s education on the topic was limited to a thin stack of paperwork Michael managed to retrieve from the Birch Harbor Police Department’s evidence room, she could suss out that a murder wasn’t in the cards for the Hannigans.
Apart from that, she learned other things, too. Like, for example, that when the Actons pointed a finger at Nora, the police ran with it, questioning every Hannigan they could find. And, for example, when they had run into a dead end on the Hannigan tip, they stopped the inquiry altogether.
The town never cared about finding Wendell Acton. They cared how they would look in the greater Lake Huron media.
And that’s exactly why Amelia now stood in front of a series of framed newspaper clippings.
Three front pages, each from a different month during the year of his search. They read like a brief, turbulent tale of a local family who’d fallen to pieces.
The first: Local father and husband missing from lighthouse area.
The article to follow charted his movements from the start of that summer through to August. It also, conveniently and hurtfully, incorporated the suspicious and distinct absence of his family during that summer.
The second: Hannigan family implicated in disappearance of local man.
That article offered brief, useless updates. They’d searched the whole of the town, on foot and by air, and reached the same conclusion as before. It was odd, but that’s as much as they knew.
The last: Wendell Acton left town. Case closed.
This one was most maddening and came years later. Many years, in fact. The conclusion was sloppy and wrong and detailed a quickly abandoned search and few answers.
And it ended, inadvertently, with a hurtful, cruel question in the form of a supposedly unrelated article that took up a narrow strip of real estate further down on the page (that part, Amelia did not frame but instead hid from daylight).
It read: How to nurture your marriage. Ten tips from local wives who get it right.
Quoted in the article was a familiar name. The name of a woman who Megan was coming face to face with right as Amelia stood there, the slip of paper in her hand as she stood in front of the three framed pages.
Michael asked her not to frame the articles, and if she was going to, that she at least kept them hidden in a closet or the cellar.
But no, she refused and instead displayed them tastefully (as tastefully as one could display such a tragedy) in the corner of the living room, just beyond the wood-burning stove and its little concrete platform. A safe reminder of why Amelia really returned to Birch Harbor: to see to some unfinished business.
For all of Amelia’s adult life, she’d been searching. For a good part, a great role. Overnight success on the heels of a long haul. A contradiction, yes. But Amelia’s efforts were never consistent enough to call anything she accomplished earned success. If it came, it would probably come as luck.
But once she was home, home home, she knew she was never searching for fame or money. She was actually just running.
And so, she turned her attention back to the lake. The house. The Bungalows, the field, the cottage, her sisters, and everything that made up her very full life. Her life in a town where, in fact, she was a little famous. And that’s when she knew there was a different search that needed tending. One that lived in her heart.
And it’s why, even after her sisters pooh-poohed her efforts, she let them. She let them so that they could have peace and she could have space to keep searching.
In the meantime? Well, the meantime was very good to Amelia. The meantime was filled with those things that a woman wouldn’t find in a misguided trip around the globe. It was filled with her first real love. Career satisfaction. Contentedness. Pure, boring, simple, fulfilling contentedness.
She looked back down at the fluff piece.
Local wives who get it right.
She saw the absence of Nora’s name. Poor, maligned Nora. Queen of Birch Harbor.
Mainly, she saw Judith’s name.
Judith Carmichael.
23
Megan
“With all due respect, Mayor Van Holt, what I’m proposing is something akin to a speed dating service. I can assure you every aspect of the events will be decent. It’s a business Birch Harbor will be proud to sponsor.”
Even as the words spilled from her lips, Megan didn’t recognize them.
All due respect?
I can assure you?
Who had she become? It appeared that gone was the loser housewife who couldn’t even land an online gig as a social media rep.
“Sponsor?” Judith Carmichael dipped her pointy chin to her microphone. “This has nothing to do with sponsorship or even endorsement. You merely applied for a special events permit.”
It was ridiculous that Van Holt had called in the council for the meeting. It put Megan on the spot and might have sent her into a tailspin. Fortunately, she was surprising even herself and performing as well as she could.
She turned her gaze on Judith, and prickly heat climbed up her spine, activating another onslaught of reasoning. “Excuse my terminology, Councilwoman Carmichael, but surely you understand that I mean Birch Harbor will be proud to champion my small local business and support my efforts to move back home and contribute to society here. To the economy, too.” She flashed a phony smile at the woman, a secret message meant to say I know who you are. I know what you’re doing!
It might have worked, except one of the less spiteful—and less clever—council members chimed in. “I think it’s an interesting idea,” the man added, his accent so thickly Michigander that it even stood out to Megan as notable. “But I still don’t fully understand it, Miss Hannigan.”
“Mrs. Stevenson,” Megan corrected robotically.
“Stevenson?” Mayor Van Holt answered. “I thought you were—”
Megan flicked a glance to him then to Michael, who cleared his throat. “Megan’s married name is Stevenson. I thought we indicated that on the permit application?” He glanced nervously at Megan then back to the board. “Hannigan Field was left to her in her parents’ will.”
“Don’t you mean her mother’s will?” Judith Carmichael slid her readers down from her artificially slight nose and snaked her head around the slender neck of the microphone. She looked nothing like the lost woman Megan had met earlier in the summer. Then, introduced to Megan and her sisters as Gene Carmichael’s wife, she came across as little more than a wide-eyed tourist.
A question formed in Megan’s throat, and she knew she couldn’t continue her request without asking it first. “May I ask you something?” Megan interjected, her tone as deferent as she could make it in the face of the snotty remark and against the confused backdrop of her n
ame on the permit.
Judith Carmichael’s eyes narrowed and she raised her chin.
Michael cleared his throat beside Megan, but she pressed on, opening her gaze to the whole of the board. “May I inquire as to each council member’s term of service?”
“Irrelevant,” Judith Carmichael snapped back.
But Mayor Van Holt raised a hand. “Excuse me, Miss Hannigan—or, Mrs. Stevenson, rather. Shouldn’t we focus our attention and time on your request for an events permit?”
Michael cut in. “I think, Mayor Van Holt, what Mrs. Stevenson hopes to learn is the cause for such a severe response to her request.”
Megan began to wonder if she was on trial for something, based on the way Michael was handling himself. She didn’t question it however, and even softened as he went on. “As I hope the council can see, her business proposition is entirely above board. Many of you have heard about matchmaking websites? Perhaps even dating apps?” he prompted.
The quieter council members now murmured in easy agreement.
Judith Carmichael, naturally, spoke in response. “That would be different,” she huffed.
“And it wouldn’t draw revenue in the same way as a physical matchmaking event,” Megan added, her nerves turning to raw steel as she held the woman’s gaze.
Bristling and leaning back, Judith flapped a hand up like she was tired of listening to such nonsense. She didn’t want to listen to reason, that much was obvious. She had a different motive. Something more sinister that Megan wasn’t prepared to confront. Not entirely, at least.
“The issue remains,” Van Holt added, “we aren’t clear about how you’ll organize this event. And in her concerns, Mrs. Carmichael brought up some good questions. Advertising and marketing might be a real issue here, Michael.” He broke from his dry, professional demeanor, releasing them all from the little show and talking to Michael man-to-man, rather than mayor to civilian representative.
Megan let out a sigh and just shook her head, but Michael pressed his hand on her shoulder. “Mayor, is Mrs. Carmichael the only council member to bring forth concerns? I have to ask because her role, and forgive me for asserting myself here, Mrs. Carmichael, but her role is that of a summer representative rather than a long-time or even permanent resident. Her voice, er, Mrs. Carmichael,” Michael now shifted his soft, even gaze to Judith, “your voice is an important one. But so, too, are those of the rest of the council.” Michael waved his hand across the board. His implication was clear. He was accusing Judith of ramrodding the others into submission. It was a risky move.
Looks of surprise and even amusement crossed some of their faces.
“Well,” the frumpy man who spoke earlier answered, “Judy—”
“Judith.” Judith Carmichael lunged at the microphone to correct the poor guy.
“Ope, sorry Judith,” he replied, ashamedly. “Judith mentioned a real problem we could have.”
“And what’s that?” Megan interjected, losing her patience with the motley bunch.
“Didn’tcha say, Judith, that this place is going to turn into Hannigan Harbor if we aren’t careful?”
Megan’s mouth fell open. As did half the board’s, the mayor’s, and Michael’s. She turned her stare to Judith, who didn’t so much as flinch at the accusation.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Carmichael, council…?” Michael cleared his throat and started in on what Megan hoped would be nothing short of a lambasting.
But Mayor Van Holt broke in, “Now, now. Let’s all just calm down.” His face reddened and the puffy skin around his neck seemed to swell as he leaned into his microphone. “First of all, yes, Judith did wonder about a… a conflict of interest, all right? All right. And that did become a question, in fact. And that question along with the confusion over what in the world you planned to do up on that field, well,” he chuckled nervously, “we were all scratching our heads, all right?”
Megan lost her nerve. It vanished. Poof. Leveraging the Hannigan name had been a mistake.
But worse than that?
Perhaps she had a bum idea. Perhaps a matchmaking gala, a summer singles mixer… perhaps it was the wrong approach all together. Maybe they were right. Maybe it would all end then and there.
Michael started to answer, but she tugged his arm and whispered, “It’s fine. They’ve said no.”
Clearing his throat yet again, he gently shushed her and added one final, devastating remark. “Mayor, council members, if your denial of this permit hinges on Megan’s ancestry, then I regret to inform you that I’ll be filing a lawsuit. To hold an individual accountable for the sins of her father is nothing short of discrimination. And that’s assuming Megan’s parentage or familial ties are even questionable at all. They aren’t. The Hannigan name is a good one. Kate continues to prove that in the growing success of the Heirloom Inn. Amelia will prove that with her museum. And even more, Nora Hannigan proved that by her charity and selflessness. I don’t stand here today to lecture you on the facts, however.” His face turned to the woman who sat on the mayor’s righthand side. “What I stand here for is not only in defense of Mrs. Megan Stevenson and her family but also in the pursuit of supporting my own community. And so I’ll say it again,” he lifted a finger and flashes of Atticus Finch at a podium blinked through Megan’s mind, “if Mrs. Carmichael’s opinion has tainted this board, then I may be moved to take things a step further.”
Megan flushed at Michael’s threat, but watching Judith Carmichael’s face blanch and crumple was well worth the dramatic gesture.
“I’m not tainting anyone’s opinion,” she spat back. “I merely suggested that what with that bed-and-breakfast and talk of some lighthouse exhibit and the fact that your mother owns half the town, well don’t you think it’s smart for us to be conservative and diligent? Don’tcha think it’s not a smart idea to… to just rubber stamp any old proposal that crosses our desk?” She was inflamed now, and no one could stop her. Megan held back and waited for this woman, this woman who’d embedded herself so quickly in local life, to short circuit. Judith did not short circuit, however. She had more to say. More revelations. “When I was on the town council at Heirloom Island, we had a similar problem where one family dominated the economy. It’s the very reason I moved inland.”
“Then why are you here? If you were so set against small-town politics, why strongarm your way into Birch Harbor?” Megan couldn’t help it. She unleashed the question like a missile.
But Judith just smirked. “My husband lived here when he was younger, which I know you know, Miss Hannigan. And after we moved, he kept visiting, and I felt it was important that if he—we—were going to continue to be a part of Birch Harbor’s society that it was my duty to help make it the best that it could be.” She drew her fist across her chest in a little show of might, but Megan wasn’t convinced.
Behind the woman’s words was the truth. There was something more. A familiarity there. A fear that Megan recognized in her own mother for so many years.
Judith Carmichael wasn’t protecting Birch Harbor.
She was protecting her jealous heart.
24
Kate
Kate’s timer went off and still no sign of Megan or Michael.
Without a second thought, she unbuckled herself and punched the door open, treading with a purpose in through the door and directly to the secretary.
“Hi.” She flashed a perfunctory smile. “I’m a party to the proceedings with the town council and Megan Stevenson. I’d like to join their meeting, please.”
Her mouth hanging open for a moment too long, the woman then twittered for some moments, alternating between juggling the phone and flapping through scattered paperwork. “Um,” she came up with at last, “I think it’s a closed meeting.”
Kate licked her lips then jabbed a hand into her purse. She reached for her wallet, drawn to the only silly thing she could think of.
Her freshly minted business card.
She slapped it down on the desk and t
apped a finger on the white space. “Katherine Hannigan of the Heirloom Inn.”
Thrown off again, the woman peered at the card through her glasses then suspiciously up at Kate, confused no doubt, but also… maybe… intimidated? Kate wasn’t above using coercion to get in that room and help her sister.
The secretary pulled the card closer in and frowned deeply. “There’s no Stevenson here that I’m aware. But Hannigan, yes.” She bit her lip and tugged her readers from her nose.
“Stevenson, yes,” Kate asserted. “Megan Hannigan Stevenson. My sister and business partner. I’m a little late, sorry. They are expecting me, however.” Kate pressed her lips in a line, willing away the white lie into the ether. She just needed into those doors so she could help sort things out.
But the woman behind the desk was proving to be more sentinel than secretary. She rose and pushed the white rectangle back to Kate. “I’ll just go see.”
Then, as the woman turned to go toward the nearest wooden door, it creaked open, Michael’s hand pressed against it as Megan appeared. Kate searched her expression for a look of triumph but didn’t see it.
Megan wiggled the back of her hand at Kate as the three of them moved to the waiting area just feet away from the reception desk. “They didn’t work.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked, frowning and ignoring the secretary who made a light harrumph sound as she returned to her swivel chair.
“My black nails. They didn’t work.” A sad smirk curled Megan’s lip, and Michael let out a long sigh.
“They said we could reapply if we clarify the event, but—”
“But what?” Kate asked, looking at Megan.
“But Judith Carmichael doesn’t want us doing business here,” Megan answered.
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