by Jean Stone
Earl picked up where Kevin left off. “Francine has already agreed to manage the household staff. She has some experience now, you know. And she says she can do the online marketing for the rentals, which your brother and I know diddly about, but she’s young so she gets it. As much as Claire and I have loved having the girls with us, I think Claire will need some quiet time now that she’s getting better. And God knows you need a place to live.”
Annie sat, stupefied.
“We’re also going to build two outbuildings,” Kevin said. “One will be a garage. I’ll live in an apartment above. The other building will be a workshop that you and I can share: I can do carpentry on one side, you can make your soaps in the other. And, of course, I’ll be the caretaker. And I’ll keep working with Earl. So the whole thing will be a family affair. So to speak. And for your information, you did not miss out on the place in West Tisbury. There never was one. That was Taylor’s idea to help stall you another day so you wouldn’t make any stupid decisions while we worked out our plans with Colin and Fiona.”
“With both of them?” Annie finally found her voice.
“Thanks to you two,” Earl said, “they might wind up being friends again.”
“So,” Kevin interrupted, “as you can tell, we’ve been busy while you’ve been dancing through the tulips.”
“Hollyhocks,” Earl corrected. “Tulips are in the spring. You’ll have to learn these things if you’re going to turn The Inn at Chappaquiddick into a ‘destination,’ as Francine calls it.”
“So Francine has been in on this.”
“Sure,” Earl replied. “We’ve been working nonstop on this for the past few days. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it for a few years. But then you two came along, and everything else happened, and . . . well, things fell into place. But we didn’t want to disappoint you if we couldn’t convince Fiona to sell. As it turned out, she said as long as we make it nice, she’ll sign off on it. Maybe she’ll even visit next summer. As a paying guest. We know it’s happened fast, Annie, but hot damn, the timing has been perfect.”
Annie felt as if she’d walked into a movie of someone else’s life. “What about from October until June? Can we rent half of the six rental bedrooms to people who need decent places to live at rents they can afford?”
The two men looked at each other. Kevin deferred to Earl.
“Why not?” Earl said. “It might be a good way to keep the town folks happy about our enterprise. But are you thinking we’d leave the other three vacant all winter?”
Annie bit her lip. “No. Can we make them year-round rentals? And can we offer them at a reasonable cost?”
Kevin whistled. “Well, we can always turn the venture into a nonprofit. That way, we’d be helping people and helping the island.”
Annie smiled. “You guys are amazing.”
“Yes, we are,” Earl said.
* * *
When Annie finally got home, she decided to call John. She no longer cared who might be in the room, or if he went outside to talk. This time, unlike with Mark, Annie knew she’d chosen a good man. Or he had chosen her. Or her dad and Murphy had conspired on her behalf, the same way Earl and Kevin had.
John answered. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” she said. “I called to tell you that I found a place to live.”
He laughed. “So I heard.”
She howled. “I can’t believe your father told you!”
“He didn’t. Kevin called a couple of days ago to ask if I’d be okay with it.”
“My brother?”
“Yeah. About your height, same hazel eyes, a little stocky . . .”
Annie laughed. “This has been a huge conspiracy!”
“Did you agree to it?”
“Of course I did! How could I not? It’s a perfect solution.”
“For the long run, too. I mean, it opens new possibilities for us, too, doesn’t it? If down the road we decide to make some changes in our . . . um, living arrangements? Who knows how we could reconfigure your private ‘wing’ to suit more than you.”
“I like hearing you say that.”
“Me, too. But first you have a book to write.”
“And you have a daughter to raise.”
“And then you’ll have an inn to run.”
“And another book to write.”
“And in between . . .”
“And in between we can share my bed. Sometimes.”
“More often than sometimes, I hope. Like maybe in the mornings after Lucy’s left for school and I’m not due yet at work?”
“Count on it.”
“Good. Because I really like your bed.”
“Me, too,” Annie said. “And it’s even nicer when you’re in it.”
Chapter 31
“Reckless assault and battery. The subject engaged in conduct that caused bodily harm to another person.” Detective Lincoln Butterfield had escorted Fiona, Colin, Annie, and Kevin into the same room where, only days ago, Roger Flanagan had been planted in a chair, declaring that Fiona was a liar.
“So Nicole can be arrested for trying to make me sick?” Fiona asked.
“It’s a felony. With a sentence of up to five years in a state house of correction. As a woman, she’ll go to Framingham. If she gets two and a half years or less, she’ll go to a house of correction. But not the one here on the island.Women have to go to Barnstable, over on the Cape.”
Annie and the others listened in stunned silence. Like her, apparently none of the others had expected Nicole Flanagan would go to jail.
“Of course,” he continued, “we have to prove it.”
Annie cleared her throat. “We can. Nicole used Taylor Winsted to bring the cake into the house. When you talk with Taylor, I think you’ll agree she didn’t know the honey was bad.” Unless the rest of those details were needed—about Taylor being Jonas’s mother, or about the “deal” the Flanagans had made in trade for their grandson—little seemed to be gained by telling all to the detective.
“Nicole knew I wouldn’t be able to resist the cake,” Fiona added.
Then Colin jumped in. “The day before, I saw Nicole on the boat. She said I could use it to make my sister sick. Then the plan was to intimidate her by threatening the lawsuits, and that then she’d agree to sell the house.”
“Which shows intent,” Kevin added.
Annie edged forward on her chair. She knew that no matter how many mysteries she’d written, she’d never know every law. But bit by bit, she was learning.
“Tainted honey is rarely fatal in humans,” Lincoln continued. “But . . .” Then he read the statute that said if someone knowingly gives another person food that contains a foreign substance, it doesn’t need to be lethal; they only need to have known it could be harmful or cause discomfort. “I think it’s safe to call poisoned honey a foreign substance.”
“Wow,” Kevin and Colin said simultaneously.
Fiona looked paler than when they’d walked in. “For all she knew, I could have died.”
Lincoln shifted on his chair. “And you’re sure Roger wasn’t in on the plan?”
“No. We’re not,” Annie replied. “But I am sure you’ll find out.”
The detective winked at her. “I’m glad you saved some of the work for us.”
“You’re all so busy right now. . . .”
He nodded like a patient father. “Still, you should have come to us as soon as you’d spoken with Myrna.”
She nodded. “Next time you can count on it.”
Then the door opened. Roger Flanagan walked in first, followed by Nicole. Annie let out a small squeak when she saw who came in after them: John.
“I believe you all know Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan,” John said.
Everyone stared.
“Mrs. Flanagan has something to say.”
Nicole raised her chin, a gesture that helped tighten her neck flesh so it nearly equaled the skin on her face. “I did it,” she said, her voice sweet and syrupy, as
Earl would have expected if he were there. She looked at Fiona. “I am so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to cause such a stir. But you’d become terribly disagreeable.”
That’s when Annie noticed that Nicole’s hands were behind her back; John must have put her in handcuffs.
“Apology to the victim duly noted,” Lincoln commented.
“I do have one question,” Annie interrupted. “Nicole, how did you get the filmmaker to agree to whisk Colin off the island?”
Nicole grinned. “That was easy. We knew Colin hadn’t had a film made in a long time. Fenterly and Roger have been friends forever. He is Dana’s godfather; he adores her. I told him Colin might try to disrupt the reception, that he still loved Dana and was angry she’d broken off with him.”
“I don’t still love her, Nicole,” Colin said. “She’s not even thirty-five and she’s on her third marriage. We were kids when we dated, but she’s never grown up, has she?”
Nicole aimed daggers at him with her eyes.
“I’ll take her over to Booking,” John said. “Roger, I suppose it’s all right for you to join us.” The trio left the room.
Annie thought for a moment, then asked Lincoln, “You already knew about Nicole?”
Lincoln laughed. “Word travels fast around here. And to ease all your minds, whether or not she winds up in jail, no one has to worry about the Flanagans anymore. Rumor has it their place is up for sale. They’ll be moving to Nantucket.”
No one in the room seemed sorry to hear that.
* * *
Once they were outside, they stood in the parking lot, next to the errant Porsche, which, Colin confessed, belonged to one of his friends in New York.
“I can’t imagine who told John about Nicole,” Annie said. Her list of suspects, however, was short.
Kevin’s face reddened.
“You called him last night?” Annie asked.
“No. I told Earl. He must have called him.”
“Or Claire did,” Annie said, “if Earl had told her.”
“Or Taylor,” Colin added.
Yup, Annie mused for the millionth time, definitely a small island.
Fiona shook her head. “Enough! It doesn’t matter. Nicole didn’t get away with it. Though I’d like to think she thought the poison would scare me, not kill me.”
“My sister believes that all people are inherently good,” Colin said.
Kevin chuckled as if he understood. “I assume you’re headed back to New York?”
“We both are,” Fiona said. “But I’m not going to fly. I’m riding with Colin. We want to get to know each other again. Especially since we’ll be working together.”
“Really?” Annie asked.
Fiona nodded. “We’re starting our own documentary production company. Our first film will be a history of ballet in New York, from the genius of Balanchine to today’s schools for kids. I’m too old to dance now, and I was never prima material. But I know the industry, and I think others might like to see behind the scenes.”
“No more war films, Colin?” Annie asked.
“Nope. Littlefield Productions will focus on the arts. Next we’ll do art museums. Best of all, by selling the damn house, we won’t have to hunt for investors.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Or beg our sister, Sheila.”
Annie could have offered to share the research on museums that she’d amassed for her novel, but she knew every artist needed to follow his or her own heart. Instead, she said, “If you’re looking for a budding artist to feature, there’s always Jonas.”
Colin snorted. “You do know that whole thing was a scheme, don’t you? That getting you out of the cottage was part of the plan so Nicole would be able to tear down their house, ours, and the cottage, too?”
“For her mega-mansion ‘show palace’ and its breathtaking grounds,” Annie said.
“Yup. I wonder what kind of palace she’ll build in prison.”
“I don’t care!” Fiona cried. “It’s done! We’ll be back for the trial, if there is one. Otherwise, I hope I never have to see the Flanagans again. Even Dana. Who might have been in on it, too, for all we know.” She reached over and hugged Annie. “Thank you, my new friend. For everything.” Then she hugged Kevin, too. “And you. I know you were a big help. Thanks for believing in me.”
Colin hugged Annie, then shook hands with Kevin. “Nice to meet you both. Good luck with the inn. I have a feeling it will be a smashing success. Which will piss off the Flanagans even more.”
Annie and Kevin watched the Littlefield siblings climb into the Porsche. Colin turned on the ignition and the engine rumbled to life—once again reminding Annie of Mark’s car, the symbol of her ex-husband’s material world. She wondered what he was driving now, wherever he was. Then she waved to Fiona and Colin, knowing that her life had grown too precious to waste any more of it thinking about Mark.
As she turned to walk toward her car, Kevin’s text alert sounded. He looked at the screen and said, “Huh,” then, “Wow.”
“Something interesting?” Annie asked.
“You might say so. That was Taylor. She wants you to know she’s going to audition with Monsieur LeChance’s ensemble, whatever that means. She also said that Jonas is moving into her garage apartment.”
“Wow,” Annie echoed his reaction. “That’s incredible.”
“Yup,” Kevin said. Then his phone actually rang. He checked the screen again and smiled.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, “you’re on speakerphone. I’m on the Vineyard with Annie. How’s the cruise?”
“You’re on Martha’s Vineyard?” she cried with what sounded like delight. “How wonderful! The cruise has been fabulous. I’ve made some nice friends. But Duncan’s gone, no love lost there. He hooked up with one of the showgirls and disembarked in Sydney. So much for old men. But I’m so glad you two are together! How do you like the island, Kevin?”
He looked at Annie as if stifling a hearty guffaw. “It’s an interesting place.”
“Annie, did he tell you it was my idea for him to visit you?”
“No!” Annie cried, her mouth dropping open. “Seriously?”
“Guilty,” her brother replied.
Donna’s happy voice resonated through the phone. “I can’t wait to hear about your adventures when I come home next month.”
“Absolutely,” Kevin said, because Annie was too flabbergasted to speak. “There’s lots to tell.”
They passed “love you’s” around, then Kevin hung up. “Well, that woman is in for a surprise.”
“I guess none of us is ever too old for surprises,” Annie said. “I feel like there’s been a giant conspiracy around me all this time!”
“If there has, it’s only been with the best intentions for you to be happy,” Kevin said.
“And John’s back,” she said, her head, her heart, warming.
“Right. And I’ll start camping out on Earl and Claire’s couch tonight. Lucy arrives tomorrow on the ten forty-five.”
Annie’s eyes quickly welled up. She gave her brother the biggest bear hug she could manage because, in that moment, she felt like the luckiest woman in the world.
Another cliché! Murphy whispered with disdain. What would your editor say?
And Annie laughed, safe in the knowledge she would meet the deadline for her manuscript, safe in the love of her twenty-first-century family, safe in the home that she’d found, at last, and intended to never leave.
Be sure to look for the first Vineyard novel
in this series, by Jean Stone
A VINEYARD CHRISTMAS
Available now
in bookstores and online
Read on for a special preview....
Chapter 1
The turnout was better than Annie had expected. It was, after all, a bitter, see-your-breath kind of morning, with a brisk December wind whirling around Vineyard Sound. But sunshine was vibrant against a bright blue sky, painting a perfect backdrop for the evergreens and colorful
lights that decked the lampposts along Main Street, the storefronts, the town hall. Around the village, the traditional Christmas in Edgartown celebration was underway: on her walk to the elementary school gymnasium, Annie had witnessed the beloved parade of quick-stepping marching bands; mismatched, decorative pickup trucks; and a Coast Guard lifeboat perched atop a flatbed trailer that carried Santa himself, who waved and shouted “Ho ho ho!” while tossing candy canes into the cheering curbside throngs.
The atmosphere inside the gym was equally festive as “Jingle Bells” and “Joy to the World” scratched through the ancient PA system. Browsers and shoppers yakked in high-pitched voices and jostled around one another—many were armed with reusable bags silk-screened with the names of island markets, banks, insurance agents. By day’s end, the bags would no doubt bulge with knitted scarves, island jewelry, specialty chocolates, and, hopefully, one or two of Annie’s handcrafted soaps.
From her station behind a table under a basketball hoop, Annie wore a hesitant smile. The Holiday Crafts Fair had been open less than an hour, but she’d already sold seven bath-sized bars and a three-pack of hand-shaped balls she called “scoops” because each was the size of a scoop of sweet ice cream. Her cash pouch now held fifty-two dollars—not bad for her first endeavor in making boutique soaps by using wildflowers and herbs that grew right there on Martha’s Vineyard.
But as happy as the earnings made her, Annie mused that fifty-two dollars was hardly a sign she should quit her day job. Then a middle-aged woman in jeans, an old peacoat, and a felt hat with a yellow bird crocheted on the brim approached the table. An islander, Annie knew. A year-rounder, like Annie was now. She’d seen her somewhere in town—the post office, the movies, the library. With the days growing shorter and colder and the streets less cluttered with tourists, faces were becoming familiar. The woman in the peacoat examined Annie’s wares, which were wrapped in pastel netting and tied with coordinating ribbon: pink for beach roses and cream; yellow for buttercup balm; lavender for violets and honey.