“I’d heard Alec was Grace’s nephew, but I didn’t know about his mother, or that he’d been raised by his uncle. Well, I learned something today, and I didn’t even have to leave the house to do it.” She slipped her sunglasses onto her face. “I’m taking that walk anyway. After being inside for most of every day, I need to move my legs.”
“Been walking plenty around the island at night,” Ruby reminded her.
“That’s different. That’s just a stroll after dinner. Today, I’m walking with a purpose.”
“I be heading to the inn to have lunch with Grace. Might as well walk with you.” Ruby headed to the door.
“It’s a pretty long walk, Gigi.”
“One I’ve made many a time before.” She opened the door and stepped through it.
“For crying out loud, the woman’s gonna freaking kill herself,” Chrissie muttered. She followed Ruby outside, then turned and locked the door behind her. “Wait up, Gigi. I’ll drive you. I can walk from the inn.”
“All right.” Ruby smiled.
“Oh, you.” Chrissie laughed as she went to the car, her keys jangling in her hand. “You knew I wasn’t going to let you walk a mile in this heat.”
Ruby was still smiling as she got into the car.
“Might be we’ll sit out on that covered porch at the inn for lunch,” Ruby was saying as they drove over the bridge.
“You two have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Can’t even tell how many years. Course, I be older, but age just be a number.”
“True enough.” Chrissie grinned. “Well, you know they say that sixty is the new forty, and seventy is the new fifty.”
Ruby gave her a side-eye. “And one hundred is still one hundred.”
“You’ll be one hundred and one soon,” Chrissie reminded her as she turned at the sign for the inn. “We should have a party.”
“Best be making it a good one.”
Chrissie found a parking spot near the inn’s back door. She helped Ruby from the car and walked her inside. Grace greeted them in the lobby as if she’d been waiting for them.
“How nice,” Grace said. “You brought Chrissie with you today.”
“Oh, I’m not staying. I’m taking a walk,” Chrissie explained. “I want to become better acquainted with St. Dennis. I’ve heard so much about the history, I’d like to see more of it myself.”
“Do you know what you’d like to see?”
“I thought today I’d check out the art center. I heard Sophie’s family used to own the place.”
“Folks ’round here always called it the mansion. First true mansion ever built in St. Dennis. Generous of Curtis—he’s Sophie’s grandfather—to give it to the town for the center.”
Chrissie recalled that ridiculous story Sophie’d told her about how Rose never really left. “Sophie seems to think her grandmother still stops by there from time to time.”
“Oh yes, Rose.” Grace nodded vigorously.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Rose still stops by the old place. Mostly when Curtis is there, or one of her grandchildren.” Grace’s voice dropped to a confidential level. “You probably know that their son, Craig—he was Sophie and Jesse’s father—was the black sheep of the family. Left home under a dark cloud, stayed away for years while he sowed his wild oats. Married—oh, I don’t know how many times now, three or four at least. Sophie’s mother was his second wife, I believe. Maybe the third. Anyway, Sophie and Jesse never got to meet their grandparents when they were younger. Never did get to meet Rose. They just met Curtis a few years back when Jesse came into town and told his grandfather he wanted to know him and wanted to work for him at the law firm.”
“That took a lot of courage,” Chrissie said.
“Indeed it did. Curtis Enright is one formidable man. But it all worked out, and Jesse took over the firm from Curtis so he could finally retire.” Grace sighed what sounded like a happy sigh. “Rose was a lovely woman, and she and Curtis adored each other. They were one of the happiest couples I ever knew, wouldn’t you say, Ruby?”
Ruby nodded. “Rose do still be around. She showed up the night Lis showed off her paintings down at the mansion.”
“Gigi, you really believe that?”
“Sure as I’m standing here. And standing is not what I be here for.”
“Goodness, you’re right. We’re having lunch.” Grace took Ruby’s arm. “Now, veranda today?”
“That be fine.”
Grace turned Ruby in the direction of the dining room through which they’d pass to the veranda. Grace glanced over her shoulder. “Chrissie, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
“Positive, but thank you. Gigi, I’ll be back for you later.” Chrissie watched the two women walk past the hostess and head for the French doors that would lead them outside.
It must be nice to have a friend who’s known you for much of your life. Someone you don’t have to explain yourself to, who knows what’s important to you and knows your heart, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. She’d never had a friend like that, though there was a time when she thought Lis might be that person, but they’d lost touch for so long.
She was so deep in thought she almost walked right into the double doors, and the man who was coming through them.
“Hey, you know that walking while zoned out is considered an offense around here, right? Like jaywalking except you don’t have to be crossing the street. I heard the fines are pretty steep if you get caught.” Jared grabbed her by both arms to pull her out of the doorway and out of the path of a family of five who were coming in behind him. He was wearing tennis shorts and a white polo shirt and held his racket under one arm.
“Sorry. My mind was wandering.”
“I figured that out. Where are you off to?”
“Just going for a walk.”
“No destination?”
“I’d like to check out the art center. Lis has some paintings on display in the gallery. I’m embarrassed that I haven’t made time to go before this.”
“Okay if I tag along with you?”
“Sure. You’re done playing?”
“Got stood up, so I never made it onto the court.” He grinned, then shrugged. “Sometimes you score, sometimes you don’t. If you could wait till I ditch the racket, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He crossed the lobby and took the steps two at a time. In less than five minutes, he was back, still dressed the same except he’d added the green Eagles ball cap he’d worn the first time she saw him.
He opened the door and held it for her, and they walked side by side toward the main road.
“What brought you to the inn?” he asked.
“I dropped off Gigi—Ruby—to have lunch with Grace.”
“No lunch for you?”
“I need to walk. To stretch my legs.”
He glanced down at her legs as if about to comment, then apparently thought better of it.
She thought about asking him about Scoop, but was afraid she’d look foolish if it had only been a coincidence that he’d been there on Wednesday around noon. She was relieved when he said, “You still owe me ice cream. Don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook just because you didn’t bother to show on Wednesday.”
“You were there?” she said, though she knew he had been. “It never occurred to me that you’d actually go.”
“There was ice cream involved. Steffie’s ice cream. Wasn’t going to miss out on my payback. So you still owe me, and I expect you to ante up.”
“I’d be happy to, if you could wait till late afternoon. I got a job. I’m working at Blossoms, of all places.” She explained how she’d been hired, leaving out the hired-fired-hired part.
“I guess Sophie heard about your breakdown of her oyster stew and figured you knew your stuff, huh? Maybe she was afraid you’d take her secret recipe and use it as leverage to get hired somewhere else.”
“It was mo
re like her cook is leaving at the end of next week and she wanted to hire someone pronto. I applied and she’s given me a two-week trial.”
“When’s the trial up?”
“The end of this week, and as far as I know, she hasn’t interviewed anyone else, so I’ve got my fingers crossed.”
“Is this what you want?”
“I was beyond ready to go back to work, and Blossoms is definitely my kind of place. I just wasn’t sure about leaving Ruby to deal with the store by herself. Of course, she reminded me that she’s been doing that for about the past million years. And I know she’s capable of handling the customers—most of them are islanders and they know where everything is, so she just pretty much stays behind the cash register. I still take care of the earliest morning crowd and I still bake stuff for her, but I worry that she’ll get overtired. And with new people coming onto the island to check out the new homes that are being built, I guess I’m afraid no one’s checking up on her.”
“Owen told me about Cass’s father wanting to build on the island and buying up some abandoned houses and Cass designing the homes to replace them.”
“Cass’s houses are going to be built using as much of the old ones as possible. The old brick, the old floors, the old wavy glass in some of the windows. Very clever, I thought. Way to blend the old with the new.”
“But they’re really small, right?” he asked.
“The originals were small, but Cass is making them a little larger. I think she’s trying to appeal to singles and couples, maybe a family of three but no more. She’s marketing them as little getaways, weekends, vacations, in an unspoiled, natural setting.”
“Where do I sign?”
“I think she only has something like fifteen to twenty places to sell, so you better move fast. She has a big advertising campaign set to start this weekend in all the big papers—D.C., Baltimore, Philly, New York. She’s pretty sure she’ll sell out before the end of the summer.”
“Good for her. It does sound like a good idea.”
“Ask her to show you her designs. They’re beautiful. I’d be tempted to buy one myself if I could afford it, but she’s going to be getting top dollar for those little places. Exclusivity is apparently a big draw.”
“Yeah, Owen says the houses are going to be really cool, with views of the bay or the river. The right advertising will bring in buyers in droves. But I see your point about having a lot of strangers on the island with Ruby being alone in the store.” His mouth upturned on one side in a sort of half smile. “Course, someone acts shady, she could always strike ’em down with some spell or something. I bet she’s got some serious mojo.”
“Watch what you say. She might decide to turn you into a toad.”
“You think she could do that?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
They reached the center of town and waited at the crosswalk on Charles Street as the light turned red.
“Which way?” Jared asked.
“Let’s cross here and go up Cherry Street to Hudson Street.”
“I’ll follow you, since I don’t know one street from another and I have no idea where any of them lead.”
“How long have you been in St. Dennis?” The light turned green and they crossed the street.
“Long enough to have made an effort to find my way around on my own. Which I haven’t done, but I’m making up for it today,” he said.
The houses on Cherry Street were an odd hodgepodge of architectural features. At first glance, they appeared to be bungalows, with all the charm and front porches and gables. But they were all built before bungalows came into fashion, and had elements of various styles, with Victorian trim here and a mansard roof there, and almost every one boasted flowering shrubs and masses of daffodils that spilled almost onto the sidewalk. Chrissie paused briefly in front of a white clapboard house with second-floor gables and a slate roof and a fenced-in front yard that was a riot of color.
“Vanessa lives here,” she told Jared.
“Vanessa . . . ?”
“She owns Bling, the women’s store right in the center of town. She’s Beck’s half sister.”
“Right. Tall, long dark curly hair. Pretty. Married to that guy who does the guided adventure tours out in Montana. Used to be in the FBI.”
“That’s the one.” She smiled slyly. “Now, if it’s a witch you’re looking for, people tell me the woman who used to live in this house was the real deal.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “They say she’s still here.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
Chrissie started walking and Jared fell into step with her.
“Vanessa. Steffie. I’ll bet Grace knows about it. You should ask her.”
“Maybe I will. You believe it?”
“No. But I think they believe it.”
When they reached the corner, Chrissie pointed to the left.
“I’m pretty sure the art center is down this way,” she said.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Chrissie asked, “So what else did you see that you can’t explain?”
“Çatalhöyük,” he said without hesitation.
“What’s that?”
“Maybe the world’s oldest city. The houses were built together like a giant beehive. You had to get inside by going through a hole in the roof because they had no doors.”
“Why didn’t they have doors?”
“Because the walls were all contiguous to the house next door. Like I said, a giant beehive.”
“Where was this place?”
“Southern Turkey. The city was alive and thriving between—are you ready for this?—7500 B.C. and 5700 B.C.”
“So the thing you can’t explain is why they built their houses like that?”
“Nope. I can’t explain what happened to the people who lived there. The entire civilization disappeared without a trace.”
“Have you ever been there yourself?”
Jared nodded. “Rachel is married to a guy whose sister is a famous archaeologist—Daria McGowan. Sometimes she takes a group of friends and relatives to different sites she’s worked on.”
“So where does she think all these beehive people went?”
“She has no idea. So if she can’t explain it . . .”
“Neither can you. Got it. No woo-woo factor there, like the ghosts we were discussing, but I get it.”
They arrived at Hudson Street’s dead end at Old St. Mary’s Church Road. Across the street was the St. Dennis Art and Community Center.
“That’s the old Enright mansion,” Chrissie told Jared. “Sophie’s grandfather owned it and he gave it to the town. And that”—she pointed to a stone building directly across from where they stood—“is the carriage house. They use it for special exhibits. Lis’s work is hanging in there.”
“Let’s see if it’s open.”
The door to the building was unlocked, so Jared pushed it open and they stepped inside. An older gentleman stepped out from a side room.
“Hi, folks. Come on in,” he said. “We’re only open for another half hour, but the mansion’s open till five. I’m the docent of the day, if you have any questions. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“We heard there’s an exhibit of Lis Parker’s work.”
“Ah, yes. Lisbeth Parker. Local artist, grew up on Cannonball Island right across that bridge at the end of Charles Street.” He gestured for Chrissie and Jared to follow him.
It was a small room, and partitions set at ninety-degree angles to the walls created a sort of maze. They followed him around to look for the beginning.
“Here you go,” the docent told them. “Parker’s work starts here.”
“Thanks.” Chrissie waited for Jared to catch up. He’d paused to look at something on one of the walls near the door. She pointed to the large watercolor of the marsh on Cannonball Island.
“Wow. That’s really lifelik
e.” He stepped closer. “Beautiful use of color. I had no idea she was this good.”
He went on to the next painting and had a similar reaction.
“Did you know how good she is?” Jared asked.
Chrissie shook her head. “I knew she always wanted to paint, and I remember when we were little that she always had one of those little art kits and she drew and painted all the time. So I wasn’t surprised when she grew up to be an artist. I’m not surprised at how good she is. I’m only surprised that I hadn’t realized it.”
They went through the maze, commenting on the works displayed, one after another: the view from the point, foam-covered driftwood on the bay’s wrack line, the abandoned chapel down the road from the store on Dune Drive, the rocky jetty that helped form the cove where the locals tied their boats up at night, a stack of crab traps on the sand. By the time they reached the end of the exhibit, Jared was ready to move on, but Chrissie wanted one more go-round of Lis’s work. He followed along patiently and even commented several times about aspects of this painting or that he’d missed the first time through.
“Stop back again in a few weeks,” the docent told them when they’d finished. “She’s supposed to be bringing a few new ones in to add to the collection.”
“We’ll definitely do that,” Chrissie said.
On their way out, Jared grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, “I call this one Nightmare on Charles Street.”
Chrissie paused to look at the painting he was pointing to.
“Oh my God. That’s hideous. What is it?”
“The little card here says it’s a cat.” Chrissie could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. “Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright, by Hazel Stevens.”
The docent cleared his throat.
“That’s one of the paintings that was entered in the local artists’ competition. One of the perks of entering was having your work displayed here in the gallery. We’d promised to exhibit all the paintings submitted.”
“It’s—” Chrissie struggled for a nonjudgmental word. “Very different from . . . the others in the gallery.”
“Yes, indeed. It is that.” The docent held the door for them. “That’s one of Mrs. Stevens’s cats. She has several others. Cats, that is, and she painted each one of them.” Without cracking a smile, he added, “This was judged the best of the bunch.”
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