Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (6 page)

“That's
the spirit.”  Lifting the plastic lid on the Chinese food confirmed what Nicole
suspected: that the leftovers she had accumulated thus far had lost their
appeal and gained instead a kind of dread.  Defeated, she closed the fridge.  

“Are
you sure you don't want to tell Mom and Dad what happened last night?” Alyssa
asked.

“No...not
yet.  They'll worry too much.  What's the point?  Besides, it will only inspire
Mom to come down here—and as soon as she comes, she'll take over everything. 
And don't you tell, either.”

“I
won't, as long as I know that you're not a sitting duck.  For example: must I
remind you of the recent apartment debacle?”

Unconsciously,
Nicole rubbed her neck.  “Here we go... No really, it's a good question—must
you?”

“Yours
was the only place broken into.  Obviously whoever did it considered you a
sitting duck.”

“Roger
Wasserstein did it!  He did it because he has a drug problem.  It wasn't my
fault.”

“No,
of course it wasn't your fault, I wasn't saying that,” Alyssa said, softening
her tone.  “And by the way, you still don't know for a fact that it was Roger. 
You just assumed that.”

“Everyone
assumed that.  There were reasons why.”  The break-in had been a fluke—albeit a
terrifying one.  There hadn't been enough evidence to charge Roger, and he had
denied it of course, but the fact that his parents hurried to
Boston
, packed him up
and ushered him home with them, spoke volumes. 

At
the end of it all, the only precious thing that was taken was the emerald
pendant Aunt Nina had given Nicole for her college graduation.  The pendant was
never recovered.

Firmly
now, Nicole said, “I've always believed that Roger was the one.”

“You
chose
to believe it.”

“Technically
what's really the difference—between believing something and choosing to
believe it?”  Apparently the lawyer in training didn't have a quick response
for that one.  Nicole pointed out, “It's the same thing.”

Alyssa
backed off.  “Look, Roger probably did do it, for all we know.  My only point
was that you latched onto that conclusion because it was the most innocuous
scenario put before you.”

“Look,
this is old news.”

“Okay,
fine.  So what are you going to do now?  More cataloging?”

“Actually,
I was thinking of walking into town and picking up a few groceries.  Just the
essentials.”

“Milk,
eggs, ketchup, and toilet paper?” Alyssa said dryly.

“Ha. 
I'm no bachelor.  Milk, eggs, brownie mix and toilet paper.”

“That's
a good bachelorette.  Oh, shoot!  I'm late for class!  Why does this always
happen to me?” Alyssa railed against the cruel world.  “I'm always late!”

After
they hung up, Nicole headed out.  Wandering all the way down Orchard, she
eventually came to
Main
.  What stretched out before her was bright and
welcoming, gilded with color.  Red, orange and gold leaves decorated the
street.  Crisp green petals like sheets floated with the breeze. 

She
felt safer as she walked, as if the events from the night before were being set
further into the past with each step.  Along the sidewalk were quaint shops
with wooden placards, and ghosts and jack-o-lanterns in storefront windows.  When
she came upon a coffee shop with a pumpkin sitting on the doorstep, she hooked
a right. 

As
Nicole walked inside, a bell tingled—and someone nearly smacked into her. 

“Oh!”
the man said, sounding just as startled as she felt.  “Sorry about that, miss. 
My fault.”  Then, abruptly, he seemed to stop—as though he were caught in a
double-take.  After a long, hard look, the man gave a chivalrous nod and
stepped aside.  The relaxed grace of the gesture didn't match the intensity of
his initial reaction, however. 

Nicole
managed a polite smile.  The man was much older than she, maybe in his early
sixties.  He had a pound-puppy kind of face, slicked gray hair and
weather-beaten overalls.  Coffee dripped from his lid in fat drops.    

“You
causing trouble again, Hermster?” a voice called out then.

Both
Nicole and the older man turned.  A clean-cut guy in his thirties was walking
toward them with a grin. 

“Morning,
Zack,” the older man said.

Zack
said hello, then switched his gaze to Nicole.  “Zack Hyat,” he said,
introducing himself.  She shook his hand.  “And this here is Herman
MacDonald.”  She noticed that Zack Hyat's windbreaker read
Coast Guard
and
he wore a silver wedding ring.

“Hi...I'm—”

“
Nicole
,”
Herman MacDonald blurted.

That
gave her a start.  “How did you know that?”

“Sorry,”
he said with a deprecating smile.  “Same reason I was staring.  You look just
like your aunt—I mean...”  He paused.  “As much as an aunt and niece can look
alike, of course.”

“So
you knew her?”

“Yes,
yes…we were real close friends.”  There seemed to be something else that he was
not saying.

”Unfortunately,
I never got to meet her,” Zack Hyat spoke up, stepping a foot closer.  “But
I've heard good things.  Nina Corday was sort of like a local celebrity around
here.” 

For
the next few minutes, Nicole and Herman MacDonald went on about Nina.  To an
outsider, the conversation might sound like gushing clichés, but it made Nicole
feel better, like she was Nina's continuing ally.  Sometimes
too-little-too-late was all there was.

“How
long will you be staying in town?” Zack asked.

With
a shrug, Nicole replied, “I'm not sure.”  She didn't want to bore every person
she met with a long checklist of things to do to settle affairs here.

Herman
MacDonald seemed uncomfortable somehow.  “Well, if you ever need anything, you
just call,” he said and left.  The bell jingled loudly as he went.

“Hermster's
retired, but he still takes handyman jobs,” Zack explained casually.  “Sort of
the go-to guy around here.  And in case you couldn't guess, everyone calls him
‘The Hermster.’”  She supposed she appreciated the information, but it wasn't
like she was about to whip out the nickname the next time she saw the guy. 

Then
Zack mentioned that the Coast Guard Station was located on
South
Beach
, and that if she
ever wanted a tour of the lighthouse, to let him know.  Apparently it was one
of the main tourist attractions during the summer season.  “And if you're
looking for a good place to eat or grab a drink, people usually hit the Squire
after work.  It's right down the street.” 

After
Zack Hyat left, Nicole got on line.  Across from her, a chalkboard menu spanned
the wall, and just below it was a strip of mirror. 

As
Nicole's eyes scanned the menu, they found their way downward, landing on her
own reflection for a brief moment.  She suddenly noticed another woman's face
beside hers in the mirror.  She seemed to be staring at Nicole through the
glass.

When
their eyes locked, the woman glanced away. 

Nicole
looked away, too, but when she glanced back, she found the woman watching her
again. 
Maybe I’m mistaken
, Nicole thought.  Perhaps this lady was just
caught in deep thought, not really focusing on her in particular.  After all,
she wouldn’t want last night’s assault to make her paranoid now. 

Either
way, Nicole observed, she was a most strange looking woman.  The broad
triangular shape of her face gave her an almost space-alien look.  A shock of
white hair, which sprouted up from the crown, disappeared into the dark twist
on the top of her head.  At first glance, she appeared around forty—and exotic,
maybe of Asian descent.  Upon second glance, though, she appeared ageless; it
was the oddest thing, but with her inscrutable expression, slightly bowed
figure, and too-smooth skin, she could have been anywhere from forty to
seventy.

Finally,
the woman dropped her gaze.  She turned and walked away, her image all but
sliding off the mirror.

After
she returned to the house, Nicole found herself standing at the foot of what
used to be her aunt’s garden.  It was hard to picture flowers growing here. 
Suffering the pressure of weather, the soil had cemented into chocolate-colored
concrete.  Try as she was, Nicole could not kick up a single puff of dust. 

But
somehow she would have to, because she had decided to restore Nina's garden. 
As a sort of tribute to her aunt, she would have this garden back in bloom and
bursting with color.  It seemed like the least she could do at this point.  Of
course, it would be good all around since fixing up the garden would add appeal
to the house when she sold it.

“Excuse
me over there!”

Abruptly,
Nicole turned.  A hefty woman in a skirt and blazer was charging toward her. 
She looked a bit like a big square with a head on top.  Caught off guard,
Nicole opened her mouth to say something, when she realized that there were
actually
two
women approaching.  One was trailing behind, obscured by
the one who was speaking.  

“Hazel
Baker,” the larger one said.  She declared her name in a way that assumed its
imperial importance.  Unfortunately, if it possessed any significance, it was
lost on Nicole.

 “Hi,”
Nicole said, giving a friendly smile, which seemed to bounce right off the
woman like a dart on an iron shield.  Her expression didn't change, as her
forceful gait thumped closer and she closed the gap between them.

“Good
afternoon,” Hazel Baker declared with all the joie de vivre of a prison guard. 
“I trust we’re not disturbing you.”

“No,
no...”  Nicole looked around. “I am just trying to figure out how I'm going to
revive this garden.”  Hazel barely spared a glance at the barren plot.  Up
close, Nicole observed the details of her face.  It was heavily drawn, with
whitish powder providing the canvas.  Her eyes thickly lined, her ruby lips
painted in coats, and her rouge applied with a Baby Jane hand.  She fared
better with her wardrobe.  Her jacket and blouse were coordinated, contouring
each other in shades of green; her gold earrings matched her lapel pin shaped
like a harp.  In fact, it was probably Hazel Baker's tasteful dress that kept
her from looking clownish or even a bit demented.

“This
is my sister, Ginger Bloomingdale,” Hazel added, referring to her plump
companion with the short dyed-golden hair and the reluctant expression.  “We
tried the front door but there was no answer.  Your front porch railing is
loose, by the way.” 

“Really? 
I didn't notice that.”

“We
live next door,” Ginger explained, her tone of voice much quieter and warmer
than her sister’s.  She handed Nicole a foil pan.  “This is for you.  Welcome to
the neighborhood.”

“Thanks,
that's so nice of you—”  

“I'm
so sorry about your aunt,” Ginger added.  As she said it, her smile weakened.

Nicole
thanked her.  “Did you know her well?”  She didn't recall seeing these women at
the memorial service, yet it was hard to imagine that Aunt Nina would not have
been friendly with her neighbors. 

“Yes,
sort of...we were both in the Chatham Preservation League of Ladies.  Hazel
here is president of the league.  That’s a cheddar-apple casserole, by the
way,” Ginger added, nodding toward the foil pan. 

 “Thanks
again—”

“Ginger
and I really can’t stay long,” Hazel interrupted.  “We need to be getting to
work.  We’re proprietors of a highly respectable private library, specializing
in local family histories.”

“Oh,
that’s kind of a coincidence,” Nicole said amiably.  “I’m an archives
librarian.  We’re in the same line of work.”

“Yes,
well as I said, we can’t stay long.  However, we did wish to speak with you.” 
Nicole waited.  “First of all, I trust the
incident
from last night has
been resolved.”

“Oh,
yes!  Thank you for asking.  The police are still looking into it, of course,
but I'm fine.  I was so lucky that someone came along at that time to help—”

“I
have no wish to intrude upon your affairs,” Hazel interrupted, “however, as a
life-long resident of Chatham—and a pillar of this community—I must ask you to
consider your neighbors when you choose the company with whom you consort.”

Bewildered,
Nicole tried to follow.  “I'm sorry?  What company?”  (Pillar of the community?)

'“Your...visitors...from
last night,” Hazel replied.  “I understand that when someone of your years sees
a beach, perhaps she or he automatically ascribe it some social purpose, to see
it as a place for bonfires and loud music and God knows what else.”  Her tone
managed to be both didactic and disgusted.  “But
Chatham
beaches are
quiet and clean and family-oriented.” 

“Look,
I—”

Hazel's
hand went up.  “Obviously I can't tell you what to do; I only ask that you to
keep this in mind, going forward.  Before you get defensive, let me also say
that I realize you're from
Boston
, and things are different—”