Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) (12 page)

“I heard. Please tell her I asked after her.”

The moment felt awkward. Sarah couldn’t tell if it was solely her own feelings bathing her emotions. Jeremy and Hannah’s breakup had been tough on both of them; and if truth be told, on her, too.

They were two nice kids that had needed to move on, she to college, he to taking over The Beachcomber. Theirs had been a love too young and mistimed to go the distance.

Halting her thoughts, she asked, “How’s business?”

“Doing well.” His mouth turned into a proud grin. “You haven’t been inside since I took over. Why don’t you come in and take a look?”

Obligingly they followed Jeremy into his little store, the lights low except for a bright hue emitting from a backroom doorway.

“It’s past closing time, but we’re here unpacking a shipment that arrived late today.” Jeremy shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. “I don’t trust the boxes to stay out there overnight. Not these days.”

Just then a figure appeared in the doorway to the back of the store—the same young woman Sarah had seen earlier, diminutive and spry, with a cardboard box braced at her hip. Her eyes brightened when she saw them and her lips curved into a polite smile. She waved what looked like a box cutter in the air. “Am I opening everything tonight, Jer?”

Jeremy checked his watch. “It’s getting late, Mara. Why don’t you go on home? We can inventory the merch tomorrow. But come here a second, I want to introduce you.”

She approached and Jeremy made the introductions by laughingly referring to Mara as his “right hand man.” But, Sarah didn’t miss the warm, appreciative look Mara’s eyes cast when she gazed up at Jeremy.

He turned to Sarah, stretching his arms wide. “Well, how do you like the place?”

“It’s great, Jeremy. You’ve made some nice changes. I like the cabinets.” She pointed to a couple of pieces of old white-washed furniture positioned strategically in the store, each used for the display of merchandise. “Nice touch.”

“Her idea.” Jeremy pointed a thumb at his beaming
right hand man
.

This Mara seemed like a lovely girl, and if the two were a couple, it made Sarah’s heart glad. She’d always liked the boy—kind and soft-spoken, earthy and unpretentious; very unlike Hannah’s new love, Ian. She stole another glance at Mara. The raven-haired, brown-eyed beauty was physically the polar opposite of her flaxen-haired, pale-skinned, obviously Austrian- featured daughter.

Gigi had wandered down an aisle and was browsing a rack of greeting cards, chuckling at the messages.

Sarah navigated past the display of suntan lotions and sunburn remedies. She eyed the shore-themed items arranged on the shelving, taking in packages of balsa pine airplanes, nylon kites, and colorful plastic buckets with shovels.

Near the cards, on a separate shelf her eyes riveted onto a stack of stationary. She felt a sharp jab at the sight of the same beach-patterned paper that the mysterious notes had been written on. She grabbed a package.

“Gigi,” she whispered hotly. “Look.” She shoved the stationary at her friend.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

“Yes, it is.” She turned around to find Jeremy at the front counter going over some paperwork with Mara.

“Did you need something, Mrs. Grayson?” he asked.

“This seashell stationary…” She waved the package toward him as she maneuvered closer to the counter. “Have you sold any of this lately, say in the last two weeks or so?”

“Not sure,” he said turning to Mara. “Why? Do you need more than one package?”

“Uh, no.” She gave a little laugh. Embarrassed at his misconception that she intended to purchase the stationary, she laid the package on the counter, deciding to buy it. “This one will be fine.”

“Mara here can ring you up.”

Mara waved a wand over the price tag while Sarah reached into her purse for her wallet.

“I do the inventory and the ordering,” she said casually. She accepted the five-dollar bill that Sarah extended her way and slipped it into the cash drawer.

While she counted out coins for Sarah’s change, she continued. “We had three packages of that specific pattern a few days ago. I guess I need to reorder it. Funny how merchandise can just sit there for months and then out of nowhere one item becomes the customer favorite. Want us to let you know when the new stock comes in?”

Mara handed the change to Sarah before slipping the package into a thin paper bag.

“No thank you.” Sarah took the bag from Mara. “This is more than enough.”

“It’s funny how you can never tell what’s going to move off the shelves. Crazy, right?” The girl smiled.

“Yes,” Sarah said. “Crazy.”

****

Sarah and Gigi headed back to The Cornelia Inn, their shoulders hunched up against the breeze kicking up from the ocean. Sarah’s head spun with the events of the evening, questions pelted her brain like grains of sand in a windstorm.

“Sarah, don’t get yourself spooked by any of this, okay? I mean that stationary’s probably available everywhere.”

“I know,” Sarah breathed audibly. “But the fact remains that I’ve got two anonymous notes and the clock’s ticking toward the wedding.”

“Do you think it’s true that Ronan’s Harbor is headed in a direction we don’t like? I mean, could what Benny said happen around here?” Gigi asked.

“No.” She stopped her pace, planted her feet firmly. Gigi stopped beside her. “Listen to me. Pay no attention to whatever Benny says. I don’t. He’s only interested in selling and moving on.” She began to walk again and Gigi followed suit.

When they reached the inn Gigi jumped in her car, tapped her horn in goodbye, and drove off. Sarah let herself in and bolted the door behind her.

The old mariner’s clock on the mantel sounded the stroke of eleven. It was time for bed, but she itched to pull out her reservation log. She had avoided it long enough.

Now that Benny had so graciously planted the seed that the town could suffer if it took on a new flavor, she had to see in black and white what the season promised for The Cornelia.

She sat at the big kitchen’s island with a cup of her chamomile in front of her. The light above her bathed the ledger’s open pages. She ran a finger down the list of names already booked. She didn’t have to look up last year’s figures to know the lineup was sparse.

Because of the wedding, she’d blocked out all of May and the first week of June, but that shouldn’t pose much of a problem. Her season didn’t usually kick in until Memorial Day and the summers had been steady in recent years. With spurts of visitors during the winter months, private group bookings, as well as Valentine’s Day, her income had progressed over time to a doable level.

She pulled out the file of those she’d mailed reminder cards to, her regulars. No response yet from the Harringtons, or the Kinnecoms. They’d been diehards over the years. The Nardos always came with their whole tribe for a family reunion. They’d all been faithful and they’d usually all been booked by this time of year.

The tea was getting cool, but the flavor was a welcome to her senses. She drank the whole cup. She decided that in the morning she’d make a few phone calls to her loyal visitors to see if their reservations had simply slipped their minds. Though, what if the economy had put too big a damper on folks’ vacation budgets? Or what if that damned Benny’s concern was more of a prophecy? What would become of the town, her inn? What would she do?

Sarah rinsed the teacup and closed her ledger. At the base of the stairs, she let her gaze appreciatively sweep over the tidy foyer. She placed her hand on the glossy finial, her fingers gently gliding over the beautifully detailed carving. Slowly she climbed the staircase. She was tired, though sleep would not come easily. That much she knew.

****

Damn it to hell, I can’t sleep.
Benny yanked back the sheet and leapt from his bed. Why should he be the only one in this plan to deal with the locals’ shenanigans? What he should do, what he really wanted to do, was call Sal, wake
him
up from his slumber. Mr. Police Captain hated that.

It was after one in the morning. Something nagged at him, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Could that altercation on the beach actually have anything to do with the clown writing those notes to Sarah?

He tried to shrug it off, went into the bathroom, and snapped on the light. He filled a cup with water and chugged it. His face in the mirror looked pretty bad—squinty eyes and frown lines cutting deeper than usual.

Wasn’t this supposed to be his time to relax, enjoy the ocean, and all that stuff? Instead he was up in the middle of the night and freezing in his skivvies while he tried to figure out what the hell was gnawing at him.
This is bullshit.

He snapped off the light. Heading back to bed, he tripped over one of his sneakers. He righted his stance and gave the shoe a sharp kick. And that’s when it hit him.
Damn it to hell.

Chapter Ten

Sarah’s doorbell rang just before nine in the morning. Luckily, she’d showered, but she was still in her robe, her hair a damp tangle.

Benny stood in her doorway, a foil-wrapped, shiny brick shape in his hands. She stifled a groan. She couldn’t deal with him this early, particularly after little sleep.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” Her tentative response was deliberately laced with a what-do-you-want flavor.

“Can I come in a sec?”

She shouldn’t let him in. He was nothing but a problem to her, in more ways than one. She considered slamming the door in his face. As she contemplated doing so, his aftershave wafted in through the door and made itself at home. The spicy scent wound itself around her and held her close like two bodies in a dance.
Not now,
she scolded herself inwardly.

She eyed the foil-covered block in his hands; saw his thumb rubbing gently over the glossy wrapper. Her throat scratched when she swallowed. She clasped the lapels of her robe nice and close and held them there.

“Just for a minute,” she heard herself say before opening the door wide enough for him to enter.

He handed the foil-covered parcel to her. “Banana bread.”

She just stared at the gift and then let herself look Benny in the eye. There was an intensity in those dark, shiny eyes; something smoldering, something unfinished, perhaps. Whatever it was compelled her and she didn’t like it. Yet, she continued to hold his gaze. She felt her nipples spring alive like a disloyal pair of daylilies. Not good.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” he said, eyeballs all intense and penetrating.

It floored her when the offer of a cup of tea spilled from her lips.

His facial expression eased and he nodded, offering a half smile. “Sure.”

She sliced the banana bread, the texture moist and dense. A succulent spicy aroma met her nose. For crying out loud, Benny
and
his baked goods were smelling up her house.

She made two cups of rich black tea, and placed them on the table. Benny sat quietly, watching her every move with his cop-sharp eyes. She skipped her usual dash of sugar, sipping the dark, strong tea, needing it to keep her alert.

“No nuts.”

“How’s that?” she asked.

He motioned to the slices she’d arranged on a dish. “I usually add walnuts, but I didn’t have any.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a dichotomy to think of this guy whipping up confections in his kitchen. Baking was usually an extension of love, an inner warm need. She stole a glance at him. Benny coupled with that description seemed absurd. Sitting with him and sharing a spot of tea seemed pretty damned absurd in itself.

“So, Benny, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Last night’s incident.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” She broke off a corner of the bread. It tasted good, understatedly sweet, but she didn’t tell him so.

“The guy that was accosted.”

“What about him?”

“I’ve never seen him before, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Benny shrugged a shoulder. “Who would I know in this town, right? But, you and Gigi didn’t recognize him either I’m guessing?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. Why would that be important?”

“Well, you know how the officer I spoke to said the guy kicked his leather shoe at the kid they transported to the hospital?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“His statement was that he’d just been minding his own business, taking a late stroll on the sand. He was in a business suit and wearing dress shoes. Who takes a walk along the beach like that?”

It didn’t make much sense now that Benny painted the picture. Yet, maybe the guy just
felt like it
. To each his own. “Odd, I guess.” She shrugged. “Maybe he just didn’t care about ruining his shoeshine. Not sure I’m following your point.”

“I talked with a couple of the locals this morning at Gilbert’s Barber Shop. Everybody’s buzzing over there. Nobody knows who this guy is. Apparently he had no car—he must have either gotten dropped off, or took the train or a cab. But, what’s his story?”

Sarah took a good look at Benny’s hair. The black waves did not appear to have recently seen the business end of a barber’s razor. So, what had he been doing at the barbershop this morning? Had he already figured out that the little establishment was the hub of Ronan’s Harbor gossip? If so, what was he after?