Firefly Beach (15 page)

Mary fetched a worn Tupperware bowl and filled it to the brim.

“Strawberries?” Beth asked.

“You’re not very good in the etiquette department, Beth,” Mary said bluntly. “If we’re imposing on the woman, the very least we can do is bring her some strawberries.”

“Oh.” Beth felt a little foolish, but she was not entirely certain as to why.

“Let’s go.” Mary headed for the door. Beth followed her and ran down the stairs, her heart pumping in excitement. Mary led her two blocks behind and then to the right. “It was a blue house. That I remember. The color of a robin’s egg…on the left.”

The ladies walked down the street searching for a blue house. A green car with several splotches of primer rolled slowly along the right side of the road, stopping at mailboxes. Beth assumed it was the neighborhood mailman.

“Hello, Patricia,” Mary called, waving joyfully.

“Hey, Mary.” A woman leaned out of the passenger window and deposited a bundle of letters in a mailbox.

As they drew closer to the car, Beth observed that it was not an altered, right-side driving vehicle. It was a normal, early 1990s Chevy Lumina with a steering wheel on the left. Patricia sat in the passenger seat, fumbling with a box on the floor, and she steered with her left hand stretched across to the other side. It was not clear from Beth’s perspective how the mailwoman handled the gas and brake pedals.

“How does she do that?” Beth whispered in awe.

“Who knows?” Mary shrugged. “So long as the mail gets delivered.”

Mary stopped suddenly in front of a white house. She stared at the house and the yard. “Well, it’s not blue, but I think this is it. I remember this pear tree,” she said, gesturing to the large tree in the front yard. “It was quite a bit smaller back then.”

They approached the door and knocked. A young woman in her thirties answered, a baby on her hip and a toddler peeking around her legs. Mary glanced at Beth.

“Hello, my name is Mary Schmidt from the bed and breakfast
.
This is Beth LaMonte.” Mary held out the Tupperware container filled with strawberries.

The young woman balanced the baby in one arm and fumbled with the strawberry container using her free hand. She set it on a table near the door. “Thank you very much.” She nodded politely.

“You look busy. I’m sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Sarah Windler.”

“I’m sorry. No one lives here by that name. But we’ve only been in this house three years. We bought it from Mr. Swanson. I don’t know how long he owned it. I could dig up the phone number if you’d like, but it will probably take me a couple of days to find it.”

“No. Please don’t trouble yourself,” Mary replied.

Beth was frustrated. She very much hoped that the young woman
would
trouble herself, and she was a little disappointed with Mary’s response. She decided she would return later and ask her to look for the number.

“Thank you for your time,” Mary said to the woman. Then she turned to Beth. “Let’s visit the neighbors. I know Mrs. Miller lives here.” She pointed to the house on the right. “She’s been here forever. She’ll probably remember the Windlers…or the Whitneys…or whomever they are.” Mary laughed as they made their way to the neighbor’s house.

A woman in her early seventies answered the door.

“Hello, Mary. Do come in.” She turned to Beth. “And who is your friend?”

“This is Beth LaMonte. Beth, Louise Miller.” The women shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Beth.”

“And you.”

“Beth painted a gorgeous picture of
The Cove.
You should come by and see it. I highly recommend her.”

Beth blushed as Mary threw her a whimsical look.

“Did she now? I’ll have to check it out then.” Louise pointed toward the living room. “Sit down ladies. What can I do for you this lovely summer morning?”

Mary sat in an armchair. “We’re looking for Sarah Windler who used to live next door,” she explained.

“You mean Sarah Wylder?”

“Yes,” Mary replied. “It
was
Wylder.”

“W-I-L-D-E-R?” Beth broke in.

“No, W-
Y
-L-D-E-R. But I’m afraid I don’t know where she is. She moved out years ago…when she went to college. Then her brother left and her parents moved out a couple of years after that.”

“Do you know which college?” Beth blurted out impatiently.

Mrs. Miller turned slowly toward Beth, pursed her lips, and thought for a moment. “I believe it was the University of Washington. Yes, I’m sure of it, because I remember thinking, ‘Why do you need to go all the way across the country when we have perfectly good universities right here in Maine?’”

Beth smiled. She hoped this new information was the beginning of a trail that might lead to Sarah Wylder and on to the elusive Katherine Thompson. Sarah would know where Katherine went, she hoped. And then Beth would be able to track down the diary’s author, putting an end to the mystery. Of course, the plan hinged on a number of ifs, but Beth was excited nonetheless.

The other ladies chatted for a while, but Beth paid little attention to their conversation. She was already planning her next set of phone calls.

* * * *

Mary and Beth returned to the bed and breakfast a little before noon. They were surprised to see Abigail standing on the front porch laughing with, of all people, Kenny McLeary. Mary tossed Beth a curious glance, but Beth didn’t acknowledge because she was staring in fascination at Kenny. The pair on the porch had not yet become aware of the two approaching women, so for a moment they continued talking as if no one was watching. Kenny looked natural and relaxed, the laughter entirely transforming his features. Beth barely recognized him.

Thirty seconds later, Kenny appeared to notice them out of the corner of his eye. He stopped laughing and put on his familiar stoic face. Beth was stunned.

Mary took advantage of the awkward moment. “Hello, Mr. McLeary. What brings you to my abode on this fine morning?”

“Just dropping something off. I’ll be out of your hair, ma’am,” he said as he quickly brushed past the ladies. He glanced up at Beth on the way, obviously fraught with embarrassment.

Mary called after him. “Oh, do stay for lunch.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am, but I must get back to the store.”

“Nice to see you.” Her saccharine sweet tone lingered while the echo of his receding footsteps faded away.

Livid, Abigail scowled at her daughter.

“What?” Mary asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t
mock
him,” Abigail whispered sharply.

The Virginia Point ladies walked to the sitting room. Beth followed slowly, taking one last glance over her shoulder before entering the house.

“So what was that all about?” Mary asked.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Please, Mother. I’m just bursting at the seams with curiosity.”

Beth wanted to admit that she was curious too, but she wasn’t sure it was an appropriate time to share such information. So she sat quietly and listened.

“He was dropping off some jewelry,” Abigail said finally.

“You’re buying jewelry?”

“No, I’m selling it.”

“You’re selling jewelry?”

“Yes, in Palm Beach.”

“Really?” Mary asked with great fascination.

“Yes,
really.
Kenny and I split the profit.”

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“Yes you will if you mock that man in my presence again.”

“I only invited him for lunch, Mother. You’re so sensitive.”

“I saw it in your eyes. You were needling him. You know he doesn’t like to socialize.”

“He sure was having a nice time with you, now, wasn’t he?”

“Kenny and I go way back.”

“Really? How come I never knew about this?”

“If you disappear for over twenty years, you cannot expect to know everything that goes on in your old hometown.” She glared at Mary, but Mary sat silently tapping her index fingers together. Abigail sighed. “I suppose the only way I’m going to get out of this is to tell you the story.”

“I’m all ears,” Mary said, grinning triumphantly.

Beth followed the conversation with great intrigue.

“Okay,” Abigail began. “Kenny moved here when he was in his mid-twenties. You were still in Norfolk. You barely had time for your mother and her stories.” She cast a reproachful glance in Mary’s direction.

Mary rolled her eyes.

Abigail continued. “He was a young man with an impressive talent, and he wanted to sell jewelry. He worked out of the house he rented from the Willoughbys. But people around here were a little leery of him, with his southern accent and all. For goodness sakes, Mary, he was a transplant…and a wilting one at that.”

“I understand, Mother. You’ve always had a soft spot for the emotionally distressed.”

“Yes, and I had a lot of practice with three daughters.”

Mary scowled.

“Anyway, I wanted to help him out, make him feel welcome here, so I became his first customer. I bought a silver brooch with three emeralds. It was shaped like a pine tassel, graceful and quite charming.”

“I remember seeing you wear that.”

“Yes. That was Kenny’s work. I recommended him to the visitors who stayed at
The Cove,
and he managed quite well. I sort of took him under my wing. He didn’t have any family to look after him.”

Mary cocked her head expectantly.

“He grew up in Alabama. His mother was a drunk and his father was abusive. He ran away from home when he was fourteen.”

Mary furrowed her brow. She was envious that her mother was privy to gossip unbeknownst to her. “When did he share this with you?”

“When Nana died. I was grieving and he opened up to me. He told me that he had tried to go back and look for his mother, but he was never able to find her. He was living in Philadelphia at the time, working for a jeweler. When he couldn’t find his mother, he moved up here and branched out on his own.”

Beth looked down for a moment. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have been on her own at the age of fourteen. She remembered how lost she was in her teenage years – angry with her father for not being there, and lashing out at her mother because she
was
there. Her poor mother seemed to take it in stride as if it were her expected burden to absorb, without recourse, all of Beth’s hormonal pain and resentment. She felt momentarily ashamed. That afternoon, her opinion of Kenny McLeary changed – from faint amusement to modest admiration.

Mary interrupted Beth’s reflections. “So how did you end up in the jewelry business?”

“Oh, now that’s a long story.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll tell you the short version.” Abigail gave Mary a warning glance. “Kenny wanted to open his own jewelry shop. It was the fall of 1994. The Lyndon family was selling
Jeanie’s Ice Cream Parlor.
He called me to ask if I thought it was a good idea. I told him that not only did I think it was a great idea, but I would loan him the money to get it off the ground.”

“Wait. You were already in Palm Beach. I remember when Kenny opened his shop.” She pondered for a moment. “And I remember that you made a big deal of encouraging me to tell our visitors about him.”

“Yes. And I also sent you a teardrop diamond pendant that same year.”

“You little sneak.”

Abigail chuckled. “Anyway, we agreed on a loan payment structure of ten years, but he paid it off in eight. That first year I was concerned. I wasn’t sure he would make it. He was doing very well until he met a witch of a woman named Melody.”

“Ah, I remember her,” Mary said thoughtfully. “She was rather flamboyant – the town drunk.”

“Yes, among other things. Poor Kenny. Drunk mother, drunk girlfriend – the fate of a young man with a troubled childhood.” She continued with the original story. “Anyway, this Melody was greedy, and she distracted him. He spent more time designing jewelry for her than designing pieces to sell. I pleaded with him during the summers when I visited. I thought about calling the loan, but I just couldn’t. He was such a lost soul, and my protective, motherly instincts pre-empted my financial wisdom. Thank God that didn’t backfire on me.

“In February of ninety-eight, he decided to propose to that monster. She laughed in his face. She was having an affair. He called me the next morning, distraught. Then, out of the blue, he sent me an absolutely stunning engagement ring. I don’t know if he meant for me to keep it. It was an awfully lavish gift to send one’s lender. So I sold it and wired him the money. Fifty-three hundred dollars.”

“Fifty-three hundred dollars?”

“It was a one-carat marquise diamond, beautifully set. A woman bought it for her grandson. She was encouraging him to make a commitment to his lady friend.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe how much money some of those old birds have.”

Beth bit her lip, trying to keep a straight face.

Abigail continued. “Anyway, Kenny was flabbergasted. I called him and told him that I couldn’t possibly accept such a gift, but that the jewelry business held promise in Palm Beach. We made an arrangement, and he’s been sending me a dozen pieces or so a year ever since.”

Mary shook her head. “All of this going on right underneath my nose. And I thought I was the queen bee on the gossip chain here in Virginia Point. You’ve outdone me again, Mother.”

“When you pay more attention to
who
people are than what they are doing, you’d be surprised what you learn.”

Mary groaned. “All right, Mother. Good advice…and
great
story.”

Abigail shook her head.

“After all that I’m starved,” Mary announced. “Let’s make some lunch. Beth are you going to join us?”

Beth looked at her watch and stood abruptly. “Oh,” she said, startled. “No, thank you. I had important phone calls to make this afternoon. It is already almost one o’clock. I’d better run, but thank you for the invitation. And thank
you,
Abigail, for sharing your story. Kenny makes a lot more sense to me now. I never imagined he was such a courageous person.”

Abigail smiled. “I’m glad the moral of the story wasn’t lost on
everyone,
” she said, gesturing to Mary with a shrug that said
what can you do?