Better Than Gold

by Mary Brady

  When thoughts of Mia faded, anger surfaced, and he forced himself to pay attention to the town instead. There were more residents out now. A man and a woman each pushing a baby stroller. Two middle-aged women in jogging suits strolled casually off onto a side street.

  A redbrick building sandwiched between two white-painted wooden buildings appeared to be an upholstery shop and one of the white buildings, a small grocery store. The other white building seemed currently unused.

  Apparently, pink was out because equipment had been set up and was blasting the peeling pink paint from the tattoo parlor, exposing the brick below.

  At the church, he parked in the gravel lot, got out of the car and shoved his fists deeply into his pockets. When he touched the old velvet pouch with his aunt’s last secret, it did not lift the darkness.

  He hadn’t taken the beautiful old ring out of the pouch since the evening at the nursing home. Maybe in the dim light of the room he had made it all up. For all he knew the ring was a glass bauble set in brass.

  No. It was real.

  Walking around the perimeter of the old church some of the anger abated, leaving an empty ache in its place.

  The old church stood unpainted, facing the elements naked. Modern updates like concrete steps and replacement wooden siding probably spoiled things for the purist, but if the Loch family money had preserved the artifact, they should be applauded. Preserving history belonged to everyone.

  As a breeze of the warming day brushed his face, he squeezed the pouch in his pocket. Margaret MacCarey had left a secret as her legacy. A secret he’d have to discover, someday, when it felt easier to probe into the history of the very dear woman.

  Mia’s image floated into his thoughts, and when he concentrated on her beautiful face, a little of the darkness faded.

  He knew he could face Heather Loch now and she might help him find what he needed to free up Mia’s building. He pulled his hands from his pockets and headed back toward the entrance.

  Gulls pecking at something on the sidewalk squawked and flew away as he approached the front entrance, where the sign above the door read, simply, Bailey’s Cove Museum.

  Below the sign were a pair of weathered but well cared for doors of exotic wood in an arched doorway, most likely mahogany. They looked out of place in a church so small and so old and had probably been imported, perhaps as an offering by a rich church member who had sinned badly or a dowry of sorts by the establishing clergy.

  Suddenly, one of the peaked doors swung open and a small, smooth-faced woman with a bush of flying white hair charged out. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Daniel glanced behind him to see to whom she was speaking.

  There was only him.

  “Dr. Daniel MacCarey, get in here.” She indicated the open door of the museum.

  There might be promise in the Bailey’s Cove Museum, at the very least enthusiasm.

  * * *

  “MONIQUE, HE’S EASY to look at which wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t just as easy to talk to.” Mia paced furiously between the dry cleaner’s reception desk and the front door, and then back again.

  “So you let your guard down, gaped at his gorgeousness and ran off at the mouth.”

  “I did that. I did all of that in spades.”

  “Well then, let me say that I’m truly happy someone can still push those particular buttons for you.”

  Mia felt flushed and swiped a hand up to her forehead to push her hair out of her face.

  Monique merely grinned.

  “He’ll be gone soon and forever, so if I did gape and run off at the mouth, there will be little impact on my life.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t just go after him, get yourself some. Make hay while the sun shines.”

  “Hay? Do I have to make hay now?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, unfortunately, but you know that’s not my way. Jumping in the sack and then bidding a fond adieu is not my style.”

  “And how’s that workin’ for ya?” Monique struck an ear-cocked pose.

  “I’m a miserable picker, Monique. Is giving up an option?”

  “I’ve seen you hang on tooth and nail to lesser things. I don’t think it’s in you to just walk away.”

  “He’s put everything in a holding pattern. If I have to wait for more than another two or three days I’ll get stuck at the end of Markham Construction’s jobs queue.” She smoothed her hair down.

  “You’re brave people, Mia Parker. You can do this.”

  “Sorry for so much moaning. How’s your granddad doing? In light of everything I didn’t speak with him yet. I was afraid it would reinforce his idea that he should leave if I asked him to work for me and then had to put him off.”

  Monique smiled and said, “Jim O’Donnell tapped him to help for a couple days on his boat. I guess Timmy is going to have another little brother or sister soon and Jim had to take the missus into Portland to see the specialist. That quieted Granddad down a bit.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “So, what will you do now?” Monique asked as she turned away to insert several shirts into the clothing carousal.

  “Take you up on a drive down to Portland when you get off work. I need to take that blouse back to the department store.”

  “Yeah, and we can stop at the grocery mega-store.”

  “And I can fill my cupboards while I have a couple of pennies to rub together.”

  “Yum. Frozen dinners, bread and peanut butter.” Monique grabbed another handful of clothing to be sorted and hung in its place. “And more yogurt.”

  “Go ahead and mock my eating habits. I hate yogurt, but it’s good for me.”

  The door behind her chimed and Mia turned as Officer Gardner entered. His look of happiness seemed to fade when he saw Mia, but he strode in quickly and dropped his armful of laundry on the counter. Monique smiled at him and he grinned at her.

  “Tomorrow after four all right with you, Lenny?”

  “Yes, ma’am. See you then.” With that he spun, acknowledged Mia and marched out.

  Mia danced around in a circle. “Hot damn.”

  Monique turned away with the bag of Lenny’s uniforms. “Say, where is your handsome doctor, professor, outsider man?” she asked, her back still toward Mia.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Mia scrambled around the counter. “What’s up between you and Lenny?”

  Monique made a scrunched-up face. “A date, all right? We’re going on a date.”

  “Oh, my, God.” Mia hugged her over the bag of laundry.

  “I know he’s not the super-handsome, high-powered big shot I always thought I should find.” Monique looked at her with almost an apology on her face.

  Mia gently slipped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Listen, the night we had the lobster and Lenny hauled my butt to the police station, he was a real gentleman. He’s a nice guy but all the while we were at your house, he was giving you such a look, a lovesick look. And you are so well suited, therefore, I am officially thrilled for the both of you.”

  “Really, you thought he was nice? You thought— Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Me? With all my great experience in finding Mr. Right, should tell you who to pick?” Mia rubbed her hands together. “So where are you going?”

  “He’s taking me to the Butterfly on Thursday.”

  “All the way to Bangor.”

  “When he called me after you left, he was like the Lenny we knew as kids. You know, funny and interesting.”

  “Let’s see. You work days and he works evenings. Many a marriage has been saved by opposite shifts.”

  Monique slugged her on the arm.

  “Ouch.”

  “Marriage. Shut up.”

&nb
sp; Mia hugged her friend who squeezed back hard. “Follow your heart, sweetie.”

  “So, seriously, where’s your man?” Monique asked.

  “He went to the museum.”

  Monique answered with a burst of laughter. “You sent him by himself. That’ll give him a dose of see what ya get for messing around in a small town’s business.”

  “Heather’s probably got him pinned in a corner by now while she recites her lineage.”

  The door opened with a whoosh and a serious ringing of the bell and Mr. Wetherbee breezed in. “You still here?” This time he greeted the two of them with a great big grin and disappeared quickly between the beaded curtains.

  “He’s been to lunch at Mandrel’s and then stopped for a little nip at Braven’s,” Monique said as she smiled. “He doesn’t drive there, I gotta give him that. Even in the winter.”

  Mia rubbed her stomach. “Lunchtime?”

  “You can have one of my strawberry yogurts.”

  “Thanks, but I’m off to find Chief Montcalm to see if he and his people can help me keep the town out of my building. Thompson and O’Donnell have been hanging around.”

  “I’ll be headed over to Pirate’s Roost myself to dig for treasure as soon as you pull out of the parking lot,” Monique said with a smirk.

  Mia gave her friend a backward wave as she headed out the door. “I expect Lenny reports often.”

  Her phone started to ring as she was getting into her car. Markham Construction, the caller ID said. They probably wanted to confirm when they could begin work at Pirate’s Roost. Monday might be possible if Dr. MacCarey was done with the site on Friday and she and her crew could prep on the weekend.

  “Hi, this is Mia.”

  “Mia, this is Jennifer at Markham Construction.”

  Mrs. Markham. She didn’t call often. “Hi, Jennifer. Are you calling about next week?” She played through her head the begging and pleading she’d have to do to get Rufus, Stella and Charlie to work on the weekend, but she knew she could get at least two of them. She’d just do the rest. Heck. She didn’t need sleep.

  “I am. We’ve heard you’ve stopped work on Pirate’s Roost again. We’re sorry to hear that.”

  Fate twisted painfully in her chest. How had they found out? That’s right. Markham’s brother is married to a woman who used to live in Bailey’s Cove.

  “We should be able to get back in soon.”

  “I’m sorry. We can’t take that chance. We need to reschedule.” Jennifer’s tone was sympathetic but firm, that’s why they had her make this kind of call.

  “No, Jennifer, I can get the place ready.”

  “You know we’ve done this before a couple of times. The last time, we ended up laying off a few people. We need to move on to the next job.”

  “Can you wait a day or two and then cancel my job if we need to then?”

  “I’m sorry, Mia, I really am.”

  “Mrs. Markham, can you give a tentative to the next job and keep mine on the schedule?”

  There was a long pause. “I can try to do that. Although, if there are any difficulties, I’ll have to call you back.”

  Mia flopped into her car and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. She banged her head on the headrest a few times and then started her car and headed for the Bailey’s Cove police station.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AS IT TURNED out, Mia wasn’t able to be squeezed into Chief Montcalm’s schedule until two o’clock the next day. To fill her time, she’d spent Monday afternoon talking with the bankers in person and generally trying her best not make herself crazier than she already was. The bankers, at least, seemed willing to give her the leeway she needed, mostly because they were only postponing the draw on the lines of credit.

  After she and Monique returned from their shopping trip late in the evening, they drove past Pirate’s Roost just to check on things. The building was fine.

  In bed, when she had finally banished pirates, bills and bankers from her mind, the image of Daniel MacCarey seeped into her head and would not leave. His handsome face, his quirky humor that so meshed with hers, the dark shadows of past wounds in his eyes.

  When she couldn’t sleep, she tried scolding herself. The two of them were passing ships, after all—no matter how sexy his lips were, how beautiful his eyes were, how much more he could make her feel with a look than Rory ever had with his whole arsenal.

  She’d spent Tuesday morning with the useless minutiae that had seemed so vital to her construction project a week ago, and she hoped dearly would be important again. A lunch of pineapple and plain yogurt because they were all she could get down, and the time had finally arrived to leave for the police station.

  None too soon. The teens, Mickey and Tim, had been loitering again that morning on her drive-by. She wanted to padlock them to their desks at school, but she remembered what it was like to be inside when spring warmed things up, and this day was a peach.

  The police station was on the opposite end of town from the old church and the site of Pirate’s Cove stood almost at the midpoint between the two. The “new” section of town, built in the 1950s, included the police station, the town hall, the new church and the town’s most popular café, Mandrel’s, along with a motel and several shops.

  “Chief Montcalm has somebody in there, Mia, but he should be finished any minute,” Melissa, the receptionist said when Mia arrived at the station. “He said he’s glad you’re here, he has something to discuss with you also.”

  Melissa Long had been several years ahead of Mia at South Harbor high school. Her naturally flaming-red hair and starkly pale skin had made her the most popular cheerleader, prom queen, student council president, et cetera, in the school’s history. She had married one of the Long “boys” whose family owned the grocery store down near the upholstery shop.

  “Thanks, I’ll be in the waiting room,” Mia said after she finished filling in and signing the logbook.

  The woman nodded and smiled. Melissa had a sad smile these days, as if she had been expecting more out of life and hadn’t gotten it. That was the kind of look that seemed to precede people’s deciding to move away from Bailey’s Cove. “Missy” had been an artist and her yearbook said she wanted to own her own studio. Maybe she would someday, right here in Bailey’s Cove. Prosperous small towns could use more than one of almost anything.

  As she approached the six-chair waiting room, Mia could smell the burnt coffee. She helped herself anyway and poured in a hefty dose of powdered creamer.

  “Pour two if you don’t mind.”

  She nodded at the chief’s words and upturned a second cup.

  “White stuff?” she asked as she looked over her shoulder. He seemed to fill the doorway even though he wasn’t a big guy.

  “Black. Please.”

  He took the cup from her and nodded his thanks. “Let’s go to my office.”

  She followed him across the waiting room and the lobby, feeling as though she were scurrying after his measured stride.

  In his office, she and the chief took up their usual positions on opposite sides of the old desk. Mia remained silent. Chief Montcalm had something to say and she wanted to find out what it was before she started to run off at the mouth, as Monique said, and forgot to listen.

  “How are things going with Dr. MacCarey?”

  “We sort of have this understanding right now. He knows what I need. And I know he’s doing what the site requires based on the significance that the person in my wall played in history. I assure you, Chief, there have been no fisticuffs—yet.”

  The chief gave a faint smile and Mia realized she had just jabbered. She closed her mouth and folded her hands in her lap.

  Chief Montcalm took his cue. “You wanted to see me and there is always a good reason.”

&nbs
p; “I’m worried about people inviting themselves into my building, worried about the burial site.”

  He nodded and jotted something down before he looked up and said, “I have read the reports of what happened here during the last treasure frenzy, so I have an idea where your fear is grounded.”

  “My dad was a kid,” Mia said as she leaned forward in her chair. “He remembers the fires and the crowds. Says the thing he remembers most is being afraid. Do you think it could happen again?”

  “It would be easy to say no, but today’s communication capabilities might help or hinder. It’s hard to say. We have already increased coverage in the area of your building, but please let me know if you need anything more.”

  “I’m very grateful, Chief, because thanks to social media, I can see the information about treasure in Bailey’s Cove splashed across the world in seconds and having a come-one-come-all effect.”

  “Speaking of the media, I have some old records dating back to the earliest era of the town, which you will not have seen.”

  “You’ve got records? Accurate records of what went on around here when the town was established?”

  “I suspect old doesn’t necessarily mean accurate. They are whatever the person writing them needed them to be at the time.”

  “But I thought all the records were burned in that fire in the fifties.”

  “The official records did get destroyed. These are private logs akin to a diary. They have been maintained and handed down from one person to the next among the highest-ranking law enforcement authorities in the town at the time. These records might have information germane to the remains in your wall.”

  “Do they tell what happened to Liam Bailey?”

  “Liam Bailey initiated the log.”

  “No-o-o.” Mia snapped forward in her chair in disbelief. “Not the man himself, dead two hundred years. Wow.”

  She watched Chief Montcalm’s face for any hint the man was kidding—as if—and continued. “It makes a kind of sense. He must have been used to keeping a log. He had been a ship’s captain for somewhere around a decade. Why didn’t I know about these records?”