Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) (29 page)

Now the question of the day was whether or not the tulips she’d so strategically placed bulb-by-bulb would awaken to another season of The Cornelia Inn or would they sprout in the foreground of a condemnation notice? She didn’t know the answer, but with each step she took, her need for something definitive grew stronger.

She rounded the corner of the building and spotted the men and their clipboards. She braced for the news. “So, any verdict?” Oddly, her voice came out normal, almost friendly, as if the men were deciding on paint color for the shutters.

“We’ve got more data to gather,” Whitey stated. He glanced up at Sarah briefly before holding a camera in front of his eye.

The agent took a step in her direction. “Who was it that told you the foundation was sinking? Your carpenters?”

“No, actually, it was a private citizen looking to purchase the inn. After talking with my carpenters, they concurred. Or at least they agreed with the necessity to investigate the condition, anyway.”

“Well, you’ve got some serious damage going on, Mrs. Grayson, so in that respect whatever led you to make the call was a good thing,” Dennis said. His twitching moustache reminded Sarah of a dizzy caterpillar. She was feeling a little dazed herself.

“A good thing,” she echoed.

“But, the source of the water will determine more, right Whitey?”

The inspector looked away from his lens. “I’ll need to access the crawl space.”

Sarah led them to the sunroom where they navigated the clutter. She saw their eyes scanning the disheveled mess.

“My carpenters were, uh, stopped in mid-project,” she explained. “Now everything’s on hold.”

Dennis crouched in front of the basement’s hatch. He aimed the beam of a flashlight into the space while Whitey slipped through the passageway.

“How’s it look?” Dennis asked.

“Wet. Lots of water.”

Sarah turned on her heel and strode out from the sunroom needing to be beyond ear shot of what they were saying. She found herself back in the kitchen staring out the back door’s windowpane. The grounds needed a spring cleanup. It was getting near the time when she’d usually call the landscaper to come and work his magic, tidy up the lawn and the shrubbery. She stepped away from the scene.

Hannah returned with the sandwiches just as Sarah ended her call to Melrose Caterers.

“I got tuna subs.” Hannah withdrew two cylindrical packages from the bag. “And chips. I need chips today.”

She withdrew an extra-large rectangle of chocolate and waved it in the air. “And the brick you ordered. Maybe I’ll take a bite of chip then a bite of chocolate…you know, go right straight to hell.”

Sarah shook her head but felt the signs of a true smile playing across her lips. “You’re
so
my daughter.”

She grabbed for the chip bag and tore it open, offering it to Hannah to reach in for the first handful.

Hannah motioned with her head toward the handset Sarah had just placed into its cradle. “Who was that?” she asked with a mouthful of crunch.

“The caterer. She was so wonderful about everything. And genuinely sympathetic.”

“I’ll pay you back for the deposit, Mom. It’ll take a while, I’m afraid. But, I will.”

Sarah did not respond, deciding that Hannah simply needed to say the words aloud.

They unwrapped their sandwiches and each took a bite.

“I can’t believe I’ve put you all through this,” Hannah said after she swallowed. “If I could undo it, Mom, I would.”

“Hannah, look, imagine if you went through with the wedding and then came to realize it wasn’t right. So, let’s be grateful for that, even if it took you until now to get here.”

“You know, Mom,” Hannah said with a cock to her head. “You’re really handling this way better than I’d have imagined.”

“Nonsense.”

“You are. I mean, I like it.”

A grin broke out across her lips. “And, I’m also liking that you’ve opened yourself up to the idea of a relationship of your own.”

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but her daughter held up a hand. “Please, I saw two mugs in the upstairs sink, two dishes in the drainer, a few damp towels in the bathroom…”

“Okay, your honor. I plead the fifth.”

The sound of their shared chuckles warmed Sarah’s heart despite the fact that she didn’t really know what was going on with her and Benny.

Their night together had been amazing, and she knew she liked him—more than liked him. But what that all meant, well, there was no way to tell. She only knew the thought of his leaving town, moving away from Ronan’s Harbor, made her ache inside.

Dennis Madison called out. Sarah and Hannah rushed to hear the news. They found him standing in the foyer looking over Whitey’s shoulder as they both perused the inspector’s open notebook.

Dennis lifted his gaze and smiled with another caterpillar-like twitch. “Mrs. Grayson, these are just preliminary remarks, obviously, and we’ll have to prepare our final report, but for now I can tell you that the culprit of your damage comes from faulty plumbing.”

“Okay…” she said, not knowing whether this was bad or worse news.

“And, that means that your policy will cover the damage. Minus your deductible, naturally.”

Without thinking her hands flew to grip his arms. “Really? Oh, thank God, really? I won’t lose The Cornelia?”

“Lose it?” Whitey made a face. “No way. It’ll take some overhauling and time. But trust me; you’ll be able to get your inn in shape.”

She couldn’t help it. She started to cry. In the flash of that moment, she had allowed her greatest fear to surface. Hannah slipped an arm around her mother and tucked her close.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said as she swatted the tears on her face. “I was just so worried. I’d been told the place was going to be condemned.”

The agent patted her arm as if she were a lunatic. But, she was one relieved lunatic. The two men shook Sarah’s hand before taking their leave.

“I didn’t realize how worried you were,” Hannah said. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad it could have been?”

“And, add that to your barrel of fun?” Sarah said. “I knew you’d been tense about something. I wanted to spare you more concern.”

Hannah reached up and tightened the elastic band holding her hair up in a ponytail. “You should have trusted me to be okay with knowing what was going on.”

A smile came to her lips. “Right back at you, kid.”

“Point taken,” Hannah said, the words rode on a little grin. “I’m going for a walk, Mom. I told Jeremy I’d stop by and let him know how I’m doing.”

“Have you had time to process your thoughts about Jeremy?”

Hannah shook her head, bunching her mouth sideways. “I’m too overwhelmed to really sort anything out. But, there’s something in here.” She placed a hand to her chest. “And it’s never really gone away. What that means, I guess time will tell.”

“Have you talked with Ian?”

“Yes.”

“How’s he doing?”

Hannah blew out a breath. “Truthfully, in one way he seems relieved, though mad as hell in another.”

“Mad?”

“Ian likes to call the shots.” She smiled ruefully. “Trust me; he’ll be the first one of us to recover.”

Hannah double-checked her ponytail before breezing out the door.

****

It was all in the timing and Benny had always sucked at that. He stood at the ancient stove, hovering over the small, dented pot, stirring the milk and grated coconut with a warped rubber spatula.

He hadn’t tried the recipe for more years than he could count. Hell, finding it shoved in that old box of his mother’s had been a feat of its own. He’d had plenty of time to abandon the spontaneous cockamamie idea, but no. Once he started to rummage through the cards and clippings, he couldn’t stop himself.

The dry ingredients were no problem. He was good with measurement. That’s how he lived too, he mused as he scooped flour into a tin cup. Exactitudes. Just what’s needed. No more, because
more
guaranteed a flop.

He sighed as he dumped the white powder into a glass bowl. He refilled the cup and dumped that measurement on top of the first, forming a powdery soft mound.

He grasped his old hand mixer. The outdated avocado-green tool was one of the few items that actually belonged to him. He sunk the beaters into the softened butter and pushed the “on” button. This was the tricky part, the one he’d never gotten right. Timing.

Timing is everything,
his mother used to say. He thought of her in her floral dress. Her jet black hair tied up in a knot, hand at her hip, eyes locked on her project as she created another culinary masterpiece. Her timing had always been impeccable, only failing her once—she’d died too soon.

Benny liked making quick breads and muffins. He was good with the cookie recipes handed down from his mom, too. All had become second nature. But in those recipes were margins for error. He could make do with the ingredients of those concoctions and they always turned out pretty damned good. They were easy.

You’ve got to accept what you’re good at.
That was
his
motto.

He thought of what he would be doing once the cake was out of the oven. He had to tell Sarah the news about the permits being issued, and yet he was reluctant to see her. He couldn’t look into those amber eyes right now knowing that he would soon be walking away.

He’d thought of calling her about the permits, but that was just chicken shit. He breathed in deeply, letting the air expend through his mouth. She deserved a face-to-face visit.

He concentrated, or tried to. He still had the frosting to finish. His mind consistently reverted to thoughts of Sarah—of looking into the eyes of the woman he’d managed to disappoint in record time.
Disappointing women,
he mused with a shake to his head,
accept what you’re good at.

Later, with the cake cooling on racks, Benny knew he’d waited long enough. He changed his ingredient-soiled shirt, ran a comb through his hair, and splashed water on his face.

On his way to her inn Benny tried to practice his words.
But, how do you tell a woman goodbye when you feel like this?
He swore aloud. No more, he vowed. Done.

He reflected on the Key West brochure. He recalled his notion to retire there, maybe bake for a coffee shop, hell maybe even
open
a coffee shop.

That far away no one would know he used to be a cop. They wouldn’t know, or care, that he’d had a life before he’d stepped foot onto their shore. It would be so easy.

That had been before Sal convinced him to go in on the Ronan’s Harbor beach house partnership. That had been before Sarah Grayson.

His brother was an opportunistic scam artist and that’s just what Benny felt like as he pulled his car up in front of The Cornelia Inn. He closed his eyes. He could not erase the memory of last night.

He could still feel Sarah in his arms, the softness of her skin on his fingertips. If he’d had any sense he’d have left before it got to that—but he’d known it would happen, at least at some visceral place—and that had been his crime.

Benny rang the doorbell and waited. Even after variations of what he should say had rolled around in his mind time and again he didn’t know exactly what he would utter. The words lodged in his throat.

Sarah opened the door and stood staring at him. She was a vision in a dark green sweater, her hair wavy and soft. She bit her lip.

He felt a pang somewhere just at the glimpse of a tooth pressing down onto the softness of her pink lower lip. She’d nibbled his the night before, had whispered she liked his mouth.

“Hey there,” she said. A tentative smile formed on her lips, reaching her eyes.
Those eyes.

“Hey there,” he echoed. He sounded hollow to his own ears, as if his entire chest cavity was empty, void of what belonged inside, a heart.

“Sarah, I’ve got some things to tell you,” he said.

****

A jolt shot through her. Just seeing Benny at her door did that to her now. At the sight of him, an image of their entwined bodies popped into her head and stole her breath.

But, there was something else, some unease. She felt it, and saw it in his dark eyes. She took a step from the threshold and stood beside him on the porch. She softly closed the door behind her.

“Hannah just got back from a walk. She’s inside. Can we talk out here?”

“Sure.”

She moved to the top step and sat down. Benny sat in place beside her. She didn’t look at him, but rather focused her eyes on a patch of dead grass that would need to be reseeded.

“I went to see John Reynolds,” he began. “I told him the whole story and he’s going to deal with the zoning guy for his involvement in Clyde Stone’s plan.”

“Good.” She turned to him. “Thank you.”

“And he’s revoking the complaints my brother and I filed. He’s going to put a rush on the permits. You shouldn’t have any trouble now, Sarah. It’s over.”

There was no joy in his eyes. She could feel that there was something more. Whatever that was, she was sure she didn’t want to hear it.

“Benny, the wedding’s off.”