Far Harbor

by JoAnn Ross

  “Only God can decide whether or not a body’s gonna live or die,” Henry argued. He raked his fingers through snow white hair as wispy as dandelion fluff. “Though I reckon Ida may have had a hand in the outcome,” he tacked on reluctantly.

  Dan decided that it was time to move things along. “Well, now that we’ve got all that settled, what would everyone say to getting down to discussing what brought us here today?” he asked with forced enthusiasm.

  “Might as well,” Henry muttered in a way that suggested since neither Lindstrom woman had turned out to be a pushover, there was no point in baiting them any further. He hooked his cane over the wooden arm of his chair, folded his arms, set his face, and looked straight at Savannah. “You want the place, here’s what you’d better be prepared to pay.”

  The price was at least twice what the property was worth.

  “That’s a bit more than I’d planned.” Dan admired the way Savannah kept her voice calm even as the outrageously inflated price caused the color to drain from her face.

  “After all,” she said, obviously mustering strength, “as I mentioned before, according to the inspector who examined the property, there’s a great deal of work to be done to even bring the lighthouse up to code.”

  She opened a manila envelope, pulled out some papers, and held them toward Henry. When he refused to take them, she placed the papers on the pine coffee table between them.

  “That cost doesn’t even factor in what it will take to make it livable.” She countered with a price half what he’d stated.

  “Some high-flying resort company from down in your old neck of the woods offered a helluva lot more than that.”

  “I have no doubt they did. Having worked for a number of resorts, and knowing how they operate, I also suspect that the first thing they’d do is raze the house.”

  Henry held his ground. “Can’t see why they’d want to do that. Wouldn’t be much market for a Far Harbor lighthouse resort without the keeper’s house.”

  “It’s not that large,” she pointed out. “If the new owners tore it down, they could construct one of those huge redwood and cedar resorts that are springing up all along the coast.”

  She’d obviously done her homework; as Henry’s attorney, Dan knew that International Timeshare Resorts had indeed suggested a plan to tear down both houses.

  “Of course, they might decide to keep the lighthouse,” she allowed. “After all, they could always use it to sell fake scrimshaw, miniature totem poles, and CDs of whale songs to tourists.”

  “No jackass is going to be selling fake scrimshaw made in Taiwan or Tijuana outta my lighthouse,” Henry warned.

  “I’d hate to see that as well,” Savannah replied smoothly. “But if you sell it to ITR, it won’t be your lighthouse any longer, will it?”

  Henry harrumphed. “Won’t be my lighthouse if I sell it to you, either.”

  “I was thinking about that on the drive over here.” Savannah reached into the folder again and pulled out a sheet of handwritten figures. “I believe I may have a solution that would suit both our purposes.”

  He gave her the long, unblinking stare that Dan had gotten used to. If she was even slightly intimidated, Savannah didn’t show it.

  “Well,” Henry demanded crankily, “you gonna share this idea or keep it all to yourself? I’m not a damn mind reader.”

  “I was thinking we could become partners.”

  “Partners?”

  Savannah nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Why in sam hill would I want to be partners with you?”

  “Perhaps because it would allow you to retain part ownership of a home that’s been in your family for three generations. At the same time, you’ll be making a profit from the property.”

  “What makes you think you can even turn a profit from that ramshackle old place?”

  Dan flashed Savannah a discreet thumbs-up for having gotten Henry to agree that the property was far from livable. The only indication that she’d seen the gesture was a fleeting glint of satisfaction in her eyes—a glint that came and went so fast, Dan would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching her carefully.

  “I’m very good at what I do, Mr. Hyatt. I know the hospitality business and I’ve been preparing for this all my life.” Her expression and her voice softened. “Also, quite frankly, I can’t afford not to, either financially or emotionally….

  “There’s one more thing,” Savannah offered. “If we’re partners, you’ll always have a home at Far Harbor.” She glanced around the plant-filled room that, despite the staff’s attempts at cheeriness, couldn’t overcome the odor of illness and despair. “You could move out of here.”

  Henry blinked. Once. Twice. A third time, reminding Dan of an old owl that used to live in the rafters of his grandparents’ barn when he was a kid.

  “Place won’t be ready any time soon,” Henry pointed out. His voice had lost its usual sardonic edge. It now sounded faint and frail.

  “That shouldn’t prove a problem.” The way Lilith slipped so smoothly back into the conversation made Dan realize that she and Savannah had planned this tag-team approach ahead of time. “Mother only has one foster child living with her at the moment, and as it happens, Gwen is away at science camp. Of course I’ve moved out since my marriage, which means there’s more than enough room for you at the house.”

  A three-generational female tag team, Dan thought with admiration. There was no way either Savannah or Lilith would have dared volunteer such a thing without first getting Ida’s okay.

  “House?” Shaggy white brows flew upward like startled pigeons. “You suggesting I stay at that crazy old woman’s house?”

  “I’m going to say this one more time, Henry,” Lilith said with a swish of silk as she crossed her legs. “I do hope you’ll listen. My mother is not crazy. She can, admittedly, be eccentric. However, since it appears that your life has settled into the doldrums these days, perhaps having it shaken up a bit might not be such a bad thing.”

  Henry rapped the cane on the Berber carpeting with scant, muffled effect. “My life’s just dandy the way it is, damn it.”

  Not a single person in the room challenged the obvious lie.

  “All right,” he surrendered finally on a wheezing huff of breath. “Since you seem so determined to buy the place, but can’t meet my asking price, I reckon I don’t have much choice but to give you a break.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hyatt.” Her eyes swimming, Savannah stood up and took both his hands in hers. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

  “I’m already regretting it.” He tugged his hands free, pushed himself out of the chair with a mighty effort, and looked up at Dan. “It’s time for Wheel of Fortune. You take care of the paperwork, then bring it to me to sign when it’s done.”

  “No problem.”

  “Better not be.” Warning stated, he shuffled away.

  The three of them watched him go. Finally, Savannah sighed. “I hope I never become that dried up and bitter.”

  “Of course you won’t.” Lilith’s full sleeve fluttered like a brilliant butterfly’s wing as she put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Despite that horrid man you made the mistake of marrying, you’re still my sweet, open-hearted little girl who used to bring home stray kittens.”

  Savannah was watching Henry make his slow, painful way down the hallway. “I seem to recall you saying something about my aura being muddy these days.”

  “So I did,” Lilith agreed blithely. “But it seems to be glowing again.” She looked at her younger daughter with approval. “It does my heart good to see things finally working out for you, darling. And now that we’ve got this little transaction settled, I must run.”

  “I thought we’d go out and celebrate,” Savannah said.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’d dearly love to, but I only have an hour to get ready for the dance at the VFW.”

  “The VFW?” Savannah was clearly surprised. And no wonder. Dan was also having tr
ouble envisioning this former Vietnam War protestor—who’d been arrested back in the late sixties for throwing red paint on army recruiters—doing the two-step at a hangout for former military personnel. “You do realize that those initials stand for Veterans of Foreign Wars?” she asked. “Which you’re not.”

  “Well, of course I’m not.” Lilith combed a slender hand through her long slide of silver hair. “But Cooper is. Since my behavior after he shipped out to Vietnam all those years ago was admittedly less than admirable, I feel I owe him this one.”

  Savannah’s smile was soft and fond. “Better watch it, Mom. You’re entering the danger zone. Any moment now you might discover maturity.”

  “Wouldn’t that set tongues wagging?” Lilith’s laugh reminded Dan of the silver wind chimes his mother had given him for a housewarming gift. She kissed Savannah’s cheek, then Dan’s. “Have fun, you two.”

  She left in a fragrant cloud, her skirt swirling around her still-shapely calves and her hips swaying in a way that caused a host of masculine eyes to watch her leave. Dan couldn’t help chuckling when one elderly man, apparently enthralled with this voluptuous goddess who’d suddenly appeared in their midst, actually ran his wheelchair into the wall.

  He exchanged a look with Savannah, who burst out laughing. Enjoying the sound that was half honey, half smoke, Dan realized that it was the first time he’d heard her reveal an iota of humor since she’d returned home.

  Savannah Townsend had been the quintessential small-town girl most likely to cause boys to hold their notebooks in front of their jeans: prom queen two years in a row, pep squad all four years, yell queen her senior year. The male membership of the senior class had voted her the girl they’d most like to be stranded on a deserted island with, and she’d been equally popular with the girls. The fact that her father had been world-famous bad-boy rock guitarist Reggie Townsend hadn’t hurt her reputation, either.

  Dan had recently represented Savannah’s grandmother Ida’s pregnant teenage foster child in an adoption case. When he’d met the family at the winery of the adoptive parents, he’d taken one look at Savannah, recently returned from LA, and decided that she was even more beautiful than he’d remembered.

  With her wild clouds of fiery hair, golden California tan, and emerald eyes, she’d resembled a member of some mythical race of women, forged in fire by a master alchemist. Yet, although she’d grown up to be dazzling, he’d sensed a sadness in her that had nothing to do with the solemnity of the occasion.

  They’d been thrown together again a few weeks later at his cousin’s wedding, where Savannah, wearing a dress that shimmered like moonlight on sea foam, had provided a dazzling contrast to the bride’s cooler, luminous beauty.

  Watching her closely, Dan had noted that even as her lush ruby lips had curved often, befitting the joy of this family event, the smiles had never quite touched her eyes. As the wedding festivities went on into the night, she’d grown more and more emotionally distant—almost ethereal, like the ghost of Lucy Hyatt, rumored to still reside in the lighthouse.

  But now, as she laughed, she reminded him of the Savannah he’d once known, the glowing girl who could make a guy renowned for his hit-and-run dating style think terrifying, forever-after thoughts.

  When her floral perfume slipped beneath his skin, creating an inner tug more complex than mere sexual attraction, Dan reminded himself that after a tumultuous and exhausting eighteen months, his life was finally getting back on track. The last thing he needed right now was a romance with a woman on the rebound. Especially one who, despite her apparent whim to settle down in Coldwater Cove, would undoubtedly soon find small-town life too confining for her big-city tastes.

  4

  I da Lindstrom sat at the old oak rolltop desk she’d bought when she’d first begun her medical practice, right here in this very house, and stared down at a leather-bound address book stuffed with pieces of paper. The book, along with the telephone that was now buzzing with that annoying off-the-hook sound, was a sign that she’d been about to make a call. But to whom?

  “Think, damn it!” She pressed her fingers against her temple and forced her mind to focus on the clues at hand. She had, after all, become very good at following clues since her once razor-sharp mind had turned so uncooperative.

  “A waist is a terrible thing to mind,” she muttered, unwittingly falling back into her unconscious habit of malapropisms.

  Frustrated, she pulled one of the pieces of paper from the flap on the inside front cover of the address book and read through the list she’d made the morning she’d returned home from the hospital after that stupid fall that had gotten everyone so excited.

  “Number one. Does recent memory loss affect job performance? Ha! It can’t affect my job performance because I’m retired.”

  All right, so she may have gotten a bit more absentminded, but that was only natural, especially in this hurry-up world when so many outside things demanded immediate attention, all at the same time. It was perfectly understandable that she’d occasionally forget things, such as her reason for having come into her former examining-room-turned-den in the first place.

  “It’ll come,” she reassured herself as she rubbed her uncharacteristically icy hands together. The trick was to remain patient and not panic. Concentrate.

  “Number two. Does patient have difficulty performing familiar tasks?”

  No problem there. Relief came in such a cooling wave, she decided that boiling all the water out of the teakettle this morning didn’t really count. That, after all, could happen to anyone.

  She also didn’t have any problems with language. Perhaps she mixed up her words from time to time, but if her family and friends were to be believed, and she had no reason to doubt them, she’d been doing that all her life. Nor had she suffered any disorientation of time and place, problems with abstract thinking, or decreased judgment.

  “Does patient misplace things?” She frowned. “Stupid question. Name me one person who doesn’t lose their car keys from time to time.” Hadn’t Raine, whom everyone knew was smart as a tack, done the same thing when she’d dropped by to visit last Saturday? They’d practically turned the house upside down before finding them behind a sofa cushion.

  Number eight regarding mood swings didn’t count, nor did nine: changes in personality. She’d never been a moody person, had never suffered PMS, and had breezed through menopause with hardly a ripple even without the hormone replacement that was so readily available for women these days.

  Why, she was the same person she’d been at thirty. “Better,” she decided.

  Ida had to laugh out loud at the final “warning sign” on her diagnostic list. If there was one thing she wasn’t suffering from, it was loss of initiative. Hadn’t she managed to take care of three delinquent teenagers when the entire social system of the state of Washington had given up on them?

  Two of the girls were now safely placed with relatives, and while Gwen, admittedly, might have gone through a rough patch, she certainly seemed on the straight and narrow. Her therapist had assured the family that the girl was coming through the separation from her infant daughter as well as could be expected.

  When she heard a car engine outside the house and saw Savannah’s red convertible pulling into the driveway, Ida folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into the front of the address book, hiding it behind a checklist of things she should make certain she did before leaving the house. Not that she’d ever leave the shower running or the stove turned on, but it never hurt to be cautious.

  “I’m a doctor. I’ve been diagnosing people’s illnesses for fifty years. I should certainly know whether or not I have Alzheimer’s,” she muttered. “And I don’t.”

  The front door opened. “I’m in here, darling,” she called out to her younger granddaughter with feigned cheeriness. Today had been important for Savannah, she remembered, frustrated anew when she was unable to recall exactly why.

  “I got it!” Savannah breezed into
the den, her smile as bright and happy as it had been back when she’d cheered the Coldwater Cove High School Loggers to victory.

  “That’s wonderful!” Got what? Ida sneaked a quick glance at her checklist, hoping for some small assistance. “I’m so pleased for you.”

  “Of course now the work begins.” Savannah crossed the room and picked up the phone receiver that was still lying on the desktop. “I’m sorry. Did I interrupt you making a call?”

  “It’s not important.” So that’s what that annoying sound was. Ida forced a smile that wobbled only slightly as Savannah replaced the receiver in its cradle. “Tell me all about your day. I want to hear everything.”

  “You were right, as usual.” Savannah settled down on the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and tucked her legs beneath her.

  “Of course. Grandmothers are always right.” In contrast to her icy hands, Ida felt a bead of sweat form above her upper lip. Her mind turned with the heavy, slogging effort of truck tires stuck in a mud bog.

  “Offering Henry Hyatt a chance to move in here clinched the deal.”

  Henry Hyatt…. She’d treated him for prostate trouble ten years ago. It had been a cold wet June during a spring of record rains that had made it seem as if summer would never come. Ida recalled the case, as she did that of all her other patients, with crystal clarity. But surely that wasn’t what Savannah had been concerned about?

  “I’ve always loved that lighthouse, but I have to admit, Gram, I’m still having a little trouble believing that it’s actually mine.”

  Ida latched onto the clue like a drowning woman reaching for a piece of driftwood in a storm-tossed sea. The lighthouse! Savannah was buying the Far Harbor lighthouse to turn into a bed-and-breakfast. How had she forgotten such an important thing?

  “You’ll make a grand success of it,” she assured her granddaughter with renewed vigor born of her relief at having finally sorted out the puzzle. “And I’m pleased as peanuts that my offer of hospitality to Henry helped clinch the deal. But I have to warn you, Savannah dear, if that cranky old man expects breakfast in bed, like they undoubtedly do for invalids over at Evergreen, he’s going to have to sleep in the kitchen.”