His Saving Grace

by Janice Carter

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THURSDAY WAS PROMISING to be a great day. Grace received an early morning phone call from Suzanna. “I had a long talk with Mom, who pointed out that although we didn’t need the memorial for ourselves, maybe the town did. Besides, I don’t have to go out there to see it if I don’t want to.”

  Grace thought about that call most of the day. She wasn’t certain that the town needed the memorial either, but she did. Zanna’s comment about never going out to the site also suggested she couldn’t be the mystery woman taking flowers. She must remember to tell Drew when he came the next day. Her excitement about getting the go-ahead from Suzanna rose even more when Ben called late afternoon.

  “My engineer thinks the lighthouse is good for restoration. Bricks need replacing and repointing. A few floorboards need repairing and shoring up. The concrete base is okay, stable in spite of a few chips here and there. He didn’t know anything about the light equipment but figures the Coast Guard will offer advice on that.”

  “We’re good to go?”

  Ben laughed. “It sounds like you definitely are, Gracie. Yeah, go for it. I’ll email you a copy of his report.”

  She closed the store early, hoping Henry wouldn’t come around on a surprise visit and scold her. Then she got to work, typing up an ad for The Beacon enlisting volunteers to fundraise, and composing a few signs for shop windows about the proposed project. She searched the town’s website for information about the next scheduled budget meeting and if time would be allotted on the agenda for input from residents. When she discovered that the final meeting would be in early September, the surge of adrenaline from the morning slowed down. Her appeal for council funding and any town zoning permission would be bolstered by the public support she could garner in the meantime. Demonstrating that residents were contributing financially—and perhaps even volunteering time as well—would be the bestselling point of all.

  Nothing to stop her now.

  * * *

  WHAT COULD BE more exhilarating than knocking on a door that would be opened by Grace Winters?

  Drew had never considered himself a romantic. He’d always been too organized and precise in thought and manner, more concerned with the proper way of going about his life than a spontaneous one. But when the closed sign on the bookstore flipped over to reveal Grace’s smiling face on the other side of the door’s windowpane, Drew felt a rush of desire and longing. Desire to wrap his arms around her, hold her against him and to stay like that for as long as possible.

  But neither option was possible because he was bringing bad news. Still, when she moved into his arms, his intention to give her the news right away vanished. Later, he told himself, when the best opportunity arose.

  “Good trip?” she asked, stepping out from what Drew felt was an awkward hug.

  “Yes.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was full of life and enthusiasm. Everything about her glowing.

  Then her expression altered. “Anything wrong? You seem a bit hesitant.”

  Drew pulled her close again. “I’m fine. It’s all good.”

  “Come on upstairs with your things,” she said. “Terry will be here soon and I still have to get the coffee urn going.”

  “Terry?”

  “The guest author, remember?”

  “Right.” He followed her inside and through the interior door that led up to her apartment. She opened the door at the top of the stairs and stood aside to let him walk past.

  “Take your things down the hall to the bedroom. I’ve got it ready for you.”

  Her bedroom was smaller than his in Portland, with basic furniture—double bed, bureau and a small desk. What got his attention though was the lack of personal touches—no photographs, pictures on the walls or even fancy pillows propped on the bed. She’d been staying in this room for at least five months, but there was little evidence of that. When he returned to the tiny living area, she handed him a set of keys.

  “I’ve already moved my stuff into my parents’ place, so I won’t need to bother you later.”

  Drew wrapped his hand around hers. “You wouldn’t be bothering me.”

  The glow reappeared in her face and he was about to bring her closer when she murmured, “Terry’s probably waiting.”

  He reluctantly let her go. “I’ll be down in a sec.”

  “Take your time. I have coffee on downstairs.”

  Drew guessed he wouldn’t see her for much of the day, nor even through the weekend. She had a business to operate and he gathered sales were slow. But he’d come prepared to entertain himself. He’d brought a thank-you gift of a bottle of Scotch for Henry, binoculars for a bird-watching hike and his laptop to prep for his job interview in two weeks. His stint as acting group commander was no guarantee he’d land the promotion.

  By the time he got downstairs people were milling about the coffee urn or sitting in the chairs set up around the reading area. A man who looked to be in his sixties was chatting with a guest next to a lectern and Grace was putting the finishing touches to the display on the table nearest the cash counter. Drew picked up one of the books—Stories of the High Seas—to read the back-cover synopsis. The front featured a cloudy ominous seascape with a small boat struggling against an enormous wave. Drew’s stomach lurched at the mere sight and he decided right then to pay Henry a visit rather than stay for the talk.

  Fortunately, Grace was now occupied with a customer purchasing one of the books and as he made his way past her to the front door she glanced up, startled to see him leaving. He gave a small wave, held up the gift bag with the Scotch inside and motioned to the door.

  The day was bright and sunny with a cooling sea breeze. Drew strolled down Porter Street to Main, then descended onto the boardwalk edging the marina. The town’s sights were familiar now and he was beginning to feel less like a visitor. As he was passing The Daily Catch bistro, the chef-owner was sweeping the roped-off section of the boardwalk that served as an outdoor eating area.

  “Hey,” the man greeted. “How’re things?”

  “Great, thanks. Beautiful day.”

  “It is until it isn’t.” He laughed. “Maine weather, you know. I’m Tom Nakamura. You were here with Grace Winters a week or so ago.” He extended his right hand.

  “Yes, and we had an amazing meal,” Drew said as he shook hands. “Thanks, too, for comping dessert.”

  The other man grinned. “Good customer service. Brings people back.” Then he asked, “So do you live in town or visiting?”

  “Visiting this weekend. And doing some work, too.”

  “Oh yeah? What kind of work?”

  “I’m with the Coast Guard, stationed in Portland.”

  “No kidding! Like, search and rescue? That sort of thing?”

  “Um, no. I’m with the lighthouse maintenance section. I’ve been surveying lighthouses in the greater Portland area and that’s what brought me here to the Cove.”

  “No way!” Then he frowned. “Were you inspecting our own lighthouse?” He jerked his head toward the far rocky peninsula across the inner harbor.

  “I did have a look, yes.” Drew was beginning to wish he hadn’t mentioned the lighthouse, thinking suddenly that Grace wouldn’t want him to have this conversation. At the same time, he told himself she was far too obsessed with the tower.

  “That thing hasn’t worked for a few years,” Tom was saying. “What’s your verdict, then?”

  “Huh?” Drew’s mind shifted from Grace back to the man standing in front of him.

  “I assume when you inspected it you had to make some decision about it, right? Get it working again or whatever?”

  “Would you like that? For the lighthouse beacon to be shining?”

  Tom shrugged. “Kinda. It would be pretty and maybe a tourist draw, which we badly need, though I suppose the light isn’t necessary for safety anymore
. The place has a sad history. Don’t know if you’ve heard about it from Grace—she was right in the thick of it, she and her family.”

  “I’ve heard some of it.”

  “Yeah, well the whole thing cast quite a pall over the town. I was away at college for the aftermath, but my younger brother, who was in Gracie’s year at school, remembers the story that went around. One of the summer girls had apparently been leading Brandon Winters on, knowing he had a crush on her, and sent him a note to meet her during the beach party. No one knows what happened after that or why Brandon was caught at the lighthouse in high tide. Anyway, it was all a long time ago. I’m sure most people have forgotten the story or never knew it in the first place.”

  Some hadn’t forgotten. Drew pictured Grace’s sweet but determined face.

  “Are you still seeing Grace?”

  Drew nodded.

  “Good. She’s a great person. Say hi to her for me.” Nakamura began to sweep again.

  Drew waved and continued on his way to Henry’s, mulling over this different take on the lighthouse. Perhaps Grace was right about the need to preserve it. He’d have asked Tom his opinion about a memorial but there was no point, considering the tower was slated to be torn down. Unless he could come up with an alternate plan.

  Drew spotted Henry sitting on his front porch when he turned the corner onto his street. He waved and as he got closer, held up the gift bag.

  “Thanks for letting me stay,” he said, climbing onto the porch. He handed the older man the bottle of Scotch, amused at the expression of delight in his face when he opened the bag.

  “Sit, and you needn’t have brought a gift. You looked after Felix for me. Going for a bird walk?” He gestured to the binoculars around Drew’s neck.

  “I am. Care to join me?”

  “Thanks, but no. Taking it easy today.”

  “Grace told me you’re on the list for a hip replacement. Any idea when that will happen?”

  “Anytime in the next six months, they said.”

  “Hopefully sooner than later. Let me know when. I’ll come visit you in the hospital.”

  “I’d like that. So, you here for the weekend?”

  “Staying at Grace’s. She’s with her parents,” he quickly added.

  “’Course she is.”

  Drew caught the twinkle in his eyes and smiled. “Guess I should get on my way, then.”

  He stood. “Oh, thought I might also have another look at the tower. Can I get the key?”

  Henry frowned. “Gracie still has it.”

  “She does?”

  “Borrowed it the other day. I don’t know why. She was all excited though. I’m sure there’s a spare one around somewhere. Give me a minute.” He struggled to his feet and went inside.

  Drew wondered why Grace had needed a key. He knew she’d only been to the site a couple of times and doubted she’d visit it on her own. The place had too many bad memories.

  A few minutes later Henry emerged, holding a small padlock key. “There you go.” He passed it to Drew, who pocketed it. “Come back for a longer visit next time. We’ll have a shot of Scotch together.”

  “I’d like that. Take care, Henry. I’ll bring this back later.”

  “You can give it to Gracie. Then she’ll have them both and you’ll know where to find them when you make a decision about the lighthouse.”

  His keen eyes probed Drew’s face, seeking a response that Drew wasn’t able to make. Yet. He waved goodbye and headed for the shore. By the time he got there, he’d changed his mind about hiking into the dunes and aimed for the lighthouse instead.

  He was only several feet away when he realized someone had been at the site recently. The flag and packet of firecrackers from the July Fourth weekend had been trampled and, as he reached the locked door, he noticed small sections of the white stucco exterior had been scraped, exposing the red brick beneath.

  Drew unlocked the door and pushed it open, covering his nose in anticipation of a billow of dusty air. But there were only a few motes whirling about and when he stepped inside, he noticed a chalk mark next to the gaping floorboard and another on the floor below the missing bricks on the far wall. Someone had definitely been inside and he didn’t need to follow any dots to get to the answer. These were signs of an inspection.

  Drew didn’t bother going up to the gallery. He’d seen enough. Locking up behind him, he decided to forgo his bird walk and strode determinedly back to town.

  * * *

  TERRY WAS WRAPPING up his presentation, which had gone far too long in Grace’s opinion, when Drew returned. She’d been a tad miffed that he’d left rather than stay for the talk but had gathered from his signals that he was going to see Henry. The event had drawn about twenty people, all of whom were buying books. They applauded when Terry finished and milled around him as well as the coffee table. Grace worked her way through to Drew, standing at the coffee urn. “Hi there. Did you go visit Henry?”

  “I did.” He smiled but his gaze didn’t linger, drifting over her head to the group of people.

  “Well, I’m glad you made it back. Terry’s eager to meet you. I told him you were in the Coast Guard.” She craned her neck to beckon to the author and when he drew near, she introduced them.

  “Mighty pleased to meet someone from the Guard,” he said, beaming as he shook Drew’s hand. “Where are you stationed?”

  “Portland. But I’ve only been there a few months.”

  “Search and rescue?”

  “Um, no. Lighthouse maintenance.”

  “Ah!” Terry looked briefly at Grace. “Come to see our own tower, here in town?”

  “I have.”

  Grace waited anxiously for Drew to mention his survey, but he didn’t. In fact, she thought he seemed preoccupied. Usually he was friendlier, and she felt a slight disappointment at his apparent lack of interest in Terry.

  But the author seemed oblivious. “Where were you before Portland? I know some people in the Guard.”

  “I was farther up the coast. Southwest Harbor.”

  “Were you there last year when that fishing boat disaster happened outside Bar Harbor?”

  Grace was certain Drew stiffened.

  “Terrible thing that was,” Terry went on. “I heard there was some kind of inquiry after but never found out the result. Did you?”

  Drew cleared his throat. “Uh, no.” He turned to Grace and only then did she notice his white face and trembling hands as he set his coffee cup down on the display table.

  He looks like he’s going to be sick, was her first thought. Either that, or faint. She noticed that Terry was about to ask another question and she intervened. “Terry? I see some people are waiting to have their books autographed and I must get to the cash counter.”

  “Oh?” He turned around. “Goodness. Don’t go away,” he said, smiling at Drew. “I’m planning another book on marine disasters and would love to get your expertise. And take a book, won’t you? On the house,” he announced grandly.

  “Is everything okay?” Grace asked Drew as soon as Terry had moved off.

  He took a long deep breath, placing his fingertips on the table as if to steady himself. “I’ll wait for you upstairs, Grace. There’s something we need to discuss.”

  Grace watched him walk toward the door leading to her apartment, his shoulders pulled back almost in defiance, as if he were bracing himself against a sea wind. That gait and the iciness in his eyes a minute ago confirmed her sickening suspicion. He knew something.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DREW PACED AROUND the apartment, waiting for Grace. He shouldn’t make assumptions, but who other than Grace would have organized an inspection? Hadn’t she mentioned mere days ago that the family company had engineers and couldn’t one of them do the inspection? Despite his insistence that there was a protocol, a procedure to fol
low, she’d gone ahead anyway.

  The irritation—no, the anger—that suffused him was a relief compared to the nausea and shakes he’d had when he first entered the apartment. Thank heavens he’d escaped any further questioning by that author. He’d felt so ill he was about to lie down on Grace’s bed when he imagined her lying in it, too, and pushed back the temptation. Right then he didn’t want to picture her in any other role than villain. Or manipulator.

  No. Neither of those words were appropriate. They were unfair. He went to the kitchen sink to pour himself a glass of cold water and drank it in one go. But at the very least, he decided, she was either underhanded or lacking in judgment. Perhaps impulsive and obsessive could work, as well. By the time he heard her footsteps on the stairs almost an hour later, Drew had mentally scrolled through an entire thesaurus of adjectives that could apply to Grace Winters. And they all flew out of his head the instant he saw her pale, pinched face.

  “What’s happened?” she asked when she opened the door into the kitchen, where he stood waiting for her.

  He ignored the pitch in her voice and forced himself to stay on target. “Perhaps you should be telling me.”

  She brushed past him into the living room area and sank onto the sofa, tucking up her legs. “I’m too exhausted, Drew, and I can only give myself an hour for lunch so please, just get to the point.”

  Drew hesitated. Unlike his father—and perhaps Grace’s—he wasn’t the kind of man who needed to take charge. There had been no upper hand in any of Drew’s relationships with other women. There was only give-and-take. Respect and consideration. Speaking and listening. Taking in Grace’s drawn face, he felt his anger dissipate. But not his hurt pride.

  He sat down in a chair across from her. “I went out to the lighthouse,” he began, and she straightened up immediately, about to say something when he held up his hand. “Let me finish. I noticed that someone has been there, making what looks very much like an inspection. Or part of an inspection, anyway. Was it someone from your father’s company and if so, who arranged it?”