Cranberry Bluff

by Deborah Garner

  “Why, Mr. Winslow, what a sweet thing to say!” Sadie let out a flattered laugh befitting a woman half her age. At least she had spirit.

  “Please, call me Bryce.”

  “Bryce it is, then.” Another laugh.

  Out of view, Molly rolled her eyes. At least Sadie was still there in the breakfast room. Molly wouldn’t have to converse with him alone. Sadie could keep the conversation going herself, as could Bryce, she suspected.

  Molly emerged from the kitchen with Bryce’s breakfast plate and a fresh pot of coffee. She paused. A new, vastly improved model replaced the dripping, rain-soaked man who had arrived so late. His hair, now dry, was a lighter brown than it had appeared the night before. His casual sweater didn’t hide his muscular build the way his wet suit had.

  Bryce met Molly’s gaze as she approached him, and his eyes sparkled under the overhead light.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, picking up his coffee cup and holding it out. She felt herself blush as she filled his cup. Freshly showered and shaved, he wore a faint trace of cologne. What was that scent? Something woodsy and invigorating.

  “And how is our lovely innkeeper this morning?” He smiled brightly at Molly.

  Sadie jumped in. “She is lovely, don’t you think? I was so relieved when I arrived yesterday. Some innkeepers are just plain insufferable. Oops! Not nice to say so, I know. But it’s always a relief to know your host or hostess is welcoming. Makes a place feel like home, even if it’s only for a short time.”

  “Indeed it does,” Bryce said. “Feels just like home.” His gaze never wavered, and Molly’s discomfort grew.

  “Actually, I’m a little tired today,” Molly said, directing the comment to Sadie. She smiled to tone down the passive-aggressive jab after it slipped out. Bryce hadn’t arrived late on purpose, after all.

  “Well, that’s understandable, dear,” Sadie said. “I’m sure keeping this place running is a lot of work. And you manage so well all alone. It’s gorgeous and so inviting!” She finished a last bite of frittata and set her fork down, exhaling. A satisfied smile spread across her face.

  “Sadie’s right,” Bryce said. “This must be a lot of work. I hope you’re able to get enough rest.”

  Molly fought back the urge to look at Bryce. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was teasing her. “Usually I do,” she said.

  “Oh, my!” Sadie glanced at her rhinestone wristwatch and jumped up. “Stores are opening already. You must excuse me. My favorite part of coming up to Cranberry Cove is the shopping! So many quaint things we don’t see in the city.” She pushed her chair in and left the room, her hand waving above her head. “Have a good day, everyone!”

  “Wine and cheese at five o’clock,” Molly called after Sadie. She exhaled, nervous. Now only Bryce remained at the table. She removed Sadie’s plate and started for the kitchen.

  “Ah, it’s later than I thought,” Bryce said. That amazing voice caught her before she made it out of the room. “The breakfast hours are over. I don’t want to hold up your morning.” There was no way to avoid him. Molly did an about-face. Bryce folded his cloth napkin and set it on the table.

  “Oh, don’t worry – take your time,” Molly said. “No rush. Checkout’s not until eleven.”

  “Well, in that case I can really take my time. I’m not checking out today.” Bryce flashed another bright smile.

  Molly paused, remembering the question mark on his registration card. How had she managed to take a reservation without noting the departure date? It was a good thing there was no one else checking into that room on the day’s schedule. She could extend the booking another night.

  “Right,” she said quickly. “You check out on….” With luck, he would fill in the blank.

  “Next week, I believe,” Bryce said.

  “Next…week…?” Molly tried to keep her response from sounding like a question, but was unsuccessful. She barely kept the panic out of her voice. How was she going to deal with him for a whole week? She could hardly focus as it was. She took Sadie’s plate into the kitchen and returned to fill up Bryce’s coffee.

  “Yes, next week,” Bryce repeated. He turned down the refill. “Isn’t that what your records say? I’m sure that’s what I reserved.”

  “I’m sure that’s right,” Molly said quickly. “I just don’t always have dates in my head. I should go check the inn’s register.” She cringed inside at the lame excuse to leave the room.

  Bryce stood. Again Molly fought to stay calm and detached. His casual khakis revealed a trim waistline.

  “Thank you for breakfast.” Bryce smiled once more before leaving the room. Molly watched him walk down the inn’s hallway and listened to his footsteps on the stairs. Only when she heard his guest room door close did she start back to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Susie followed Sadie into The Closet Collection, a cozy boutique in the center of Cranberry Cove’s historic district. Racks of women’s clothing lined both walls, sorted by color and size. Susie thought this was an odd way of organizing a store. If a customer liked blue and wore a medium, anything she might want would be in one section – blouses, pants, jackets, sweaters, even shoes. For the heftier purple-lover, an equally abundant yet consolidated section could be found elsewhere. Susie was used to boutiques being organized by type of clothing article: all sweaters in one area, all skirts in another.

  “This is my favorite store,” Sadie said. Her enthusiasm was evident as she browsed from rack to rack, starting with reds and moving right down the line to browns. She gathered up a dozen hangers of assorted items and headed for the back of the shop. “This is where you mix your colors!” she exclaimed as she latched her dressing room door.

  Susie bypassed the clothing racks and headed for a glass case of jewelry. Pendants of semi-precious stones and crystals spread across shelving inside. Earrings and bracelets dangled from circular racks above. Susie lifted a card from one of the racks, holding a pair of pearl studs against one ear lobe. With her other hand, she shifted the remaining earring holders on the rack so they hung evenly, without spaces between the cards. Heading for the ivory section of the store, she flipped through a row of sweaters, finding a sweet cardigan with tiny pearls for buttons. Perfect, she thought. And an excellent match for… she moved to a corner display of clothing and pulled an elegant pair of beige slacks from a waterfall display. Yes, that would make a good combination and would go well with the earrings. She checked the price tags of all three items – a little expensive, but that wouldn’t be a problem.

  “How does this look?” Sadie’s voice boomed across the sales floor as she stepped out of the dressing room. She wore a ruffled blouse in fire engine red, along with a flowing skirt in bright purple. Noting Susie’s raised eyebrows, she explained, “Red Hat Society! Meetings every month. I have to make a fashion statement at the events, you know.” She popped back into the dressing room.

  Moving around the store, Susie picked up an emerald T-shirt, snug blue jeans and a lacey beige camisole, matching that with a sparkling bracelet of multicolored beads and crystals. A third and fourth outfit chosen, she joined Sadie in the dressing room area, picking a space two stalls down.

  “What did you find?” Sadie shouted. Susie heard a clattering of hangers.

  “Cute stuff!” Susie replied, her voice cheerful. Not really, she thought to herself.

  A third voice entered the conversation. “Are you finding everything you need?” a salesgirl asked. “Should I bring other colors or sizes?”

  “I’m fine,” Susie said. Her muffled voice carried through the camisole she was pulling over her head.

  “Nothing needed here,” Sadie added. “Everything is fabulous! This is my favorite store in Cranberry Cove!”

  “Delighted to hear that,” the salesgirl said. “I’ll check back in a little bit, just in case you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” Susie and Sadie said simultaneously.

  Susie worked her way through
the outfits, while chatting with Sadie over the thin, dressing room walls. Once Sadie left and headed for the sales counter, Susie gathered her choices and left the dressing room, circling the store to replace some of the items on racks while the salesgirl was ringing up Sadie’s purchases.

  As Sadie gathered her items, Susie set the ivory sweater on the counter.

  “Excellent choice,” the salesgirl said. “I love the pearl buttons down the front. I have this same sweater – couldn’t resist it when the shipment came in.” She lowered her voice and bent forward as she removed the security sensor from the sweater. “I love working here because we get to see everything UPS delivers. We get first choice – and an employee discount.” She glanced around as she admitted this, which Susie found ridiculous, since there weren’t any other sales clerks or customers in the store.

  Wrapping the sweater in tissue paper, the girl slid it into a sturdy paper bag with the store’s name and logo on the front. She handed it to Susie with a smile. “Enjoy!”

  “I plan to,” Susie responded with enthusiasm. Though it didn’t equal Sadie’s glee, it was enough to satisfy the salesgirl.

  Sadie was waiting on the sidewalk, holding several bags. Susie trailed her through an artisan co-op, a yarn shop, a shoe boutique, two jewelry stores and three other clothing establishments. Sadie left each location with a new batch of purchases. Susie bought an item or two at some of the stores, nothing at others.

  “Newlywed budget,” she said as Sadie eyed her small collection of bags. “I try to buy only a few things each time I shop.”

  “Widow’s wealth!” Sadie laughed, barely able to juggle the massive number of bags she held. “Time to drop these off at the inn. I must free my arms up for more shopping later!” She bustled down the sidewalk with Susie following.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Molly dried the last of the breakfast dishes and put them away before sitting down to look over the inn’s schedule. No new arrivals were due that evening, or the next. But she had to do some shuffling to accommodate Bryce Winslow’s longer stay. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t written down his departure date. That wasn’t like her. She always kept on top of the details in her reservation book. Had their phone conversation thrown her off-balance that much? Apparently it had.

  She didn’t like feeling scattered, the way she’d felt when she left Tallahassee. Taking over Aunt Maggie’s bed and breakfast in Cranberry Cove had been a chance for her to reorganize her life, to start over. It was one of the main reasons she was there.

  Molly shuddered, thinking about Florida. Her life there had been peaceful for so many years. She’d loved her job as an administrative assistant at a small advertising agency. Long work hours during the week were rewarded with free weekends. She didn’t have to put in the extra hours that the ad execs did. Saturdays and Sundays often found her enjoying the warm waters on a Gulf Coast beach or adventuring through swamp areas. She’d landed some impressive alligator pictures on one of those trips.

  Her duties at the ad agency were basic, which suited her just fine. She handled incoming phone calls, made coffee, kept appointment calendars updated and ran errands when needed. Aside from the lack of romance in her life, it was a perfect existence. Until that day.

  She hadn’t realized at the time that she’d walked into a bad situation. It was an ordinary morning. She’d stopped at FedEx to send out an overnight package, chatting about sports with the clerk, a college student. He was a Gators fan; she was a Seminoles fan. They had a long history of jovial teasing whenever she dropped off shipments.

  From the FedEx office she’d stopped at a favorite coffee house, grabbing a decaf macchiato to go. Her next stop was a quick drive-through at the post office, where she dropped a batch of metered mailings in the driveway box. And then she went to the bank.

  For the three years she’d worked for the ad agency, she’d taken a daily deposit to the bank. She was a stickler for accuracy, and the execs appreciated her efficient loyalty. She never thought twice about her quick jaunts in and out of the bank building. It was an errand, just like any other errand she had to run. At least it was, until the day a woman at the teller’s window next to her pulled out a gun. One minute Molly was thanking the teller for the ad agency’s deposit receipt. The next, she was sprawled out on the floor, like everyone else who had the misfortune to be in the bank at that moment.

  It had all happened so quickly, though it didn’t seem like that at the time. The news reports later would say the robber was gone within six minutes. To Molly, face pressed against the bank’s cold, marble floor, it felt like hours.

  That should have been the end of it. The whole episode should have gone down as a terrifying close call. She could have gone on with her life as it had been if not for a wild twist of fate. The robber had the same build, hair length and hair color as Molly, who had walked away quickly after the incident even before police arrived. She was shaken, but assumed the experience was over. Little did she know what was about to unfold.

  Molly had never been much of a television watcher. She didn’t turn on the news automatically when she walked in her apartment from work. That evening when she arrived home, her phone had been ringing, but she was exhausted from the trauma of the day and let it go to voicemail. So to say she was in shock when the police showed up at her door that evening would be an understatement. Had she been following the newscasts, she would have seen the photos being compared: the one from the teller window next to her, the one from the teller window where she was.

  Of course, she was cleared, after being dragged down to the police station and questioned for hours. Both tellers verified that she was not the robber. The security camera on the opposite side of the building showed her walking to her car, not running in the opposite direction. Close examination indicated that her hair was approximately one inch longer than the thief’s hair. She was at least an inch shorter, one deputy said, though there wasn’t a clear shot of the robber’s shoes. And her weight was about ten pounds heavier, another added, which had caused Molly to frown. No more late night snacking, she vowed.

  It should have all ended there, but it didn’t. The first few days were fine, in fact, almost fun. She was an office celebrity, the one who’d nabbed primetime television coverage without even needing to run an ad. Friends she hadn’t heard from for ages called to ask her out for coffee or lunch. Her neighbors brought over baskets of muffins. One boy rode by on a bike, waving and calling out, “I saw you on TV!”

  And then the notes began to arrive; cutout letters glued to pieces of paper contained the threatening messages. She found the first one under her front doormat, short and to the point. “We know you’re the one.” The second landed in her mailbox, stating, “You won’t get away with it.” The third one sent her over the edge: “We want the money back.” That started the chills running up her spine.

  Morning commutes had been leisurely drives before the bank robbery. Now they became paranoid trips with Molly checking the rearview mirror all the time. Grocery shopping felt dangerous; every passing customer made her nervous. Who was sending her the notes? It could have been anyone. Each person she ran into was suspect. She began to dread going out in public.

  Her anxiety heightened when she came home from work one day to find her front door ajar, her apartment ransacked. The contents of drawers had been dumped on the floor and her closet was a mess. Another note of choppy, glued letters was left on her kitchen table, saying, “We will find it.”

  She contacted the police, changed her locks and secured her windows, but it wasn’t enough to keep panic attacks at bay. Sleep was elusive and the tiniest noise sent her nerves careening. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t function at work and began staying away from home as much as possible, grabbing motel rooms or spending weekends out of town. The police had no leads.

  She started seeing a therapist to work on anxiety issues, but that proved useless, as well. The therapist helped as someone to talk to, but it didn’t solve the basic pro
blem: someone was after her.

  Nothing remained of the life she’d established in Tallahassee. She distrusted the people around her, becoming suspicious of everyone from her co-workers to the police officers handling the case. Was her therapist in on it? Was the grocery clerk watching her? Were the police starting to suspect she was actually guilty? Were her friends really friends? The constant paranoia suffocated her.

  And then Aunt Maggie passed away. Unmarried and childless, her aunt had left her California bed and breakfast to Molly in her will. Molly knew her mother’s twin sister had always considered her the daughter she never had. She had fond childhood memories of spending summer vacations in Cranberry Cove with Aunt Maggie, who told stories of how the town had attempted to grow cranberries, but found it wasn't as successful as it was for towns farther north, in southern Oregon. The cranberry bogs were gone, but the name “Cranberry Cove” had stuck, which was a good move for tourism. A visitor could hardly turn in any direction without running into cranberry something-or-other.

  Although Molly hadn’t visited often as an adult, she’d always kept in touch with Aunt Maggie, first through hand-written letters and, later, through email. That had been something – convincing her elderly aunt to get a computer and email account!

  After the bank robbery, taking over the bed and breakfast was a chance for Molly to escape, to move three thousand miles away and start a new life. She packed her bags and left in the middle of the night, bought a one-way train ticket to safety. Occasionally she still glanced over her shoulder or jumped when the telephone rang. But the threatening notes never followed her, and the guests at the inn were always pleasant. She’d kept no contact with any co-workers in Florida. Sometimes she missed the life she’d had in Tallahassee, the comfort of a longtime routine. But she never missed the daily fear.

  CHAPTER SIX