More to Give (8 page)

As Sam passed through the lobby on his way to lunch, Rosemary Withers marched through the front doors of the Anchor Inn. Jaw set and her bushy brows nearly touching, the woman appeared ready for a fight in a floral-print dress that looked as if orchids were attacking her.

Sam sighed. This was not his day.

“Good morning, Rosemary,” he said, employing his most charming smile. “Nice to see you, as always.”

“I’ve told you before, those big-city charms won’t work on me,” his archnemesis barked in her bulldog way. “I hear you’re starting renovations on the Sunset Harbor Inn. Why haven’t I been consulted?”

As president of the Anchor Preservation Society, Rosemary Withers took it as her duty to protect and preserve anything and everything deemed “historic” with her life. Or at least with her formidable personality, which was as daunting as a merciless firing squad.

Sometimes Sam thought he might prefer the firing squad.

“We’ve finalized the plan only today, Rosemary,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not tearing the building down or adding on to it. This is a surface makeover to change the look and atmosphere, but I can assure you we fully intend to preserve the historic aspects of the facility.”

“William Thomas erected the first walls of that building in 1911,” she charged on, as if Sam hadn’t spoken and didn’t know the history of his own property. “That makes the center structure more than one hundred years old and impales upon us the need to preserve that history.”

Sam wouldn’t have minded being impaled with something right then.

“And preserve it we shall,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Sam bowed. “I’m on my way out.”

Rosemary persisted. “I’ll need to see the plans.”

Breathing deeply, Sam silently counted to ten. Since the Anchor Inn had been built in the 1960s, Rosemary had been a thorn in his side about the color scheme only, as the building needed to blend well with the historic sites around it.

He could see the Sunset Harbor Inn was going to be more of a fight. A fight Rosemary would enjoy a great deal more than he would.

“As I said, the improvements to the Sunset Harbor Inn are cosmetic. The structure is not being altered in any way, so you have nothing to worry about.” Placating he would do, but Sam wasn’t about to give this interfering old woman the power to approve or disapprove of his plans.

With narrowed eyes that accentuated the deep lines across her forehead, Rosemary stared him down. “What color?”

With a triumphant glare, Sam said, “Same as it was before. Blue gray.”

Her response was a huff as she pulled her quilted purse tight against her shoulder. “I’ll have my eye on the project and expect to be consulted if any structural changes get added later on.”

“Of course,” Sam said, more affirming the fact that they both knew she’d be watching and not that she’d ever be consulted.

Rosemary continued to stare until her face suddenly softened and she almost smiled at him.

Almost.

And then she exited the building, leaving Sam staring after her. What was she up to now? But then he knew. As Rosemary traveled everywhere via bicycle, Sam hoped he could reach the inn before the pushy old biddy did.

CHAPTER 8

S
taring at the inside of her office door, Callie took several deep breaths in an effort to channel every ounce of inner confidence she could muster. Olaf had already said he and Bernie would help with the renovation. Heaven forbid they not get to play their daily game of checkers.

But now she needed them to take a larger role. To become team players and see her as their leader.

In other words, she needed to charm them into believing they would be in charge.

As expected, she found her quarry on the porch, huddled around their ancient checkerboard. Olaf was playing the red checkers and seemed to be winning. He’d ordered Bernie to king him with a joyous chuckle as Callie approached.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, shooting for a cordial tone. “Enjoying your game?”

“What do you want?” Bernie said, eyes glued to the board as he rubbed his chin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

So much for a smooth approach. “I wondered if I might talk to the two of you about the renovations for the hotel. Olaf mentioned before that you’d be willing to help with the work.”

“Then we can play on our lunch hour,” Olaf said, flashing his gap-toothed grin. The twinkle in his green eyes stirred Callie to imagine he might have been handsome in his day. “You said that would work.”

“Yes, I did.” Callie hedged, unsure of how to proceed. “But you see—”

“You can’t change your mind now,” Bernie said, granting Callie his rarely given attention. “So what are you hemming about?”

Straightening her shoulders, Callie blurted, “I’ve been told you’re the best person to handle the restoration of the exterior. Is that true?” she asked Bernie.

The grizzled islander scratched one ear, drawing attention to the gray hairs growing out of it. Callie returned her focus to his watery blue eyes. “I know more than most when it comes to fixing what the weather breaks down around here. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do you believe we can save the shingles?” If Bernie didn’t give the answer she needed, Callie wasn’t sure what they would do. But instead of giving a yes or no, he rose from his seat, shuffled down to the end of the porch, and examined a few shingles that were exposed to the elements.

He rubbed a hand along the peeling surface, scratched, and even sniffed. Returning to the checkerboard, Bernie said, “We can save ’em. She’ll need a lot of scraping, but we can get the old girl back to new again.”

Callie exhaled as relief washed over her. “Thank goodness.”

Jumping one of Olaf’s checkers with his own, Bernie said, “We’ll start in the spring.”

“We can’t wait that long,” Callie argued. “The entire renovation has to be done by Christmas.”

Olaf snorted. “Then you’d better bring back the blessed child, because that would take a miracle.”

She aimed for the one thing she knew neither man could ignore. “Then we’ll have to find a miracle, because this hotel will be renovated and open for business the weekend before Christmas. I thought you were the men for the job, but I’ll have to find more skilled and knowledgeable islanders in the village.”

“There ain’t nobody got my skills and knowledge. You can search all the way up the Banks and you still won’t find anyone who knows what I know.”

Thank heaven men never outgrew their egos.

“Good,” Callie said, as if she and Bernie were in perfect agreement. “We’ll start first thing Monday morning. I’m assuming you can find the manpower we’ll need?”

Bernie crossed his arms. “It’s short notice, but I should be able to find a crew.”

One down. One to go.

Callie turned her attention to the man on her right, flashing her brightest smile. “There’s a great deal of furniture inside that could use a master’s touch. Is it true that you have a way with such things?”

Olaf actually blushed, sending pink crawling over his forehead to disappear under his fishing cap. “Well,” he said, “I don’t like to brag.”

Callie caught Bernie rolling his eyes but remained focused on her prey. “If I found the right fabrics, could you repair and refurbish the furniture?” She added an extra incentive. “We’ll happily supply your name to any guests who express an interest in purchasing a one-of-a-kind piece of their own.”

The twinkle gained several watts. “That sounds like a good deal to me.”

“You’ll still pay him,” Bernie said. The words were a statement, not a question.

“Of course we will.” Callie resisted the urge to pat herself on the back. “Then we have a team. Bernie’s in charge of the exterior improvements, and Olaf, you’re in charge of the furniture. We’ll create a workshop right here on the premises.”

Before Olaf could answer, the chime of a bell sounded from somewhere behind Callie, but it wasn’t the front door this time. Bernie leaned to glance around her, then ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, mumbling a profanity.

Curious as to what or who could cause such a reaction, Callie scanned the parking lot and found an elderly woman barreling toward the porch steps, looking like a flower-bedecked Wicked Witch of the West come to take her dog. The bicycle even had a wire basket on the front.

The new visitor pulled to a stop to the left of the stairs, threw a nylon-covered leg over the seat, and leaned the yellow bike against the railing. Tapping her hair into place, she pulled a quilted bag from the basket, pulled it onto her shoulder as if strapping on a weapon for combat, then stomped up the stairs.

“Are you the stranger Mr. Edwards brought to town to fix up this hotel?” she asked upon arriving on the top step.

Callie nodded, struck speechless by the enormous orchids engaged in a botanical skirmish all over the woman’s dress. She almost expected petals and shredded leaves to fly into the air around her.

“Are you aware that the first walls of this structure were erected more than one hundred years ago?”

Having done her homework when she’d found the ad for the open position, Callie nodded again.

“And are you aware that we take historical preservation very seriously on this island?”

As she’d also researched the island as a whole, Callie knew there was an Anchor Preservation Society in charge of protecting the island’s past. Perhaps she’d underestimated their dedication to the cause.

“My name is Callie Henderson,” she said, extending a hand. “And you are?”

“The spawn of Satan,” Bernie mumbled behind her, garnering a pinched-face look from their crusading visitor.

“My name is Rosemary Withers, and I am president of the Anchor Preservation Society. I’ve come to review your plans for the renovation of this hotel.”

Callie had faced historical societies before and knew full well what one could and could not do with older properties. As they were not tearing down, altering, or adding on to the current structure, Ms. Withers had nothing to worry about where this particular renovation was concerned.

Callie also knew Sam should be the person dealing with this situation.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Withers.”

“Mrs.”

“Excuse me?” Callie said.

“It’s
Mrs.
Withers. I was married for fifty-two years, and the fact that Wilford Withers has proceeded on to meet his maker does not make me any less of a Mrs.”

Nodding, Callie considered for the first time in her life that perhaps Evelyn Henderson
wasn’t
the most difficult woman on Earth.

“My apologies. Mrs. Withers. I’m sure if you speak with Mr. Edwards—”

The woman cut her off. “I spoke with Sam before I came here. I’d like to see the plans.”

There would be no plan sharing without direct orders from her boss.

“Would you like something to drink, Mrs. Withers?” Callie ushered the woman toward the entrance. “I did read up on Mr. Thomas, who of course was the person behind the birth of this structure more than a hundred years ago, but I’m sure that your knowledge of the man and the building would put my meager research sources to shame.”

Gray eyes turning softer, Mrs. Withers accepted the subtle compliment with the predictable amount of preening. “I would enjoy a cup of tea after my long ride over here.” As Madame President stepped into the lobby, she said over her shoulder, “I’d grab a notepad, dear. You’ll want to take notes.”

Of course she would. Callie smiled and nodded, ordering Jack, who thankfully was manning his station, to bring them tea as she herded Mrs. Withers into her office.

Sam cursed under his breath at the sight of the bright yellow bicycle leaning against the railing in front of the hotel. How the hell had she gotten here so fast? Maybe she hadn’t beaten him by much. If he hurried, there was still time to get inside before Rosemary ate Callie for lunch.

Racing through the front door, Sam looked over to the counter on his left, making eye contact with the wide-eyed teenager behind it. “Where are they?”

John or Jack or whatever his name was pointed toward Callie’s office.

Sam nodded in thanks, crossed the lobby, and entered without knocking. The scene that greeted him was not what he’d expected. If he hadn’t known any better, Sam would think Callie was throwing a tea party.

“Hello, Mr. Edwards,” his employee said, rising from her chair with a smile. “Mrs. Withers and I are having a lovely chat.” Smiling at the older woman still sitting at the edge of the desk, cup in hand, pinky in air, Callie said, “Did you know this building started as a warehouse for smuggled goods? Isn’t that fascinating?”

As the floor seemed to shift beneath him, Sam struggled to get his bearings. “That’s how the legend goes,” he said. “I always assumed it was local lore created to entertain the tourists.”

Rosemary tsked. “It’s as true as the chair I’m sitting in. I told you he didn’t understand, dear,” she said to Callie. “He doesn’t appreciate the history like you and I do.”

These two were a team now? Exactly how long had Rosemary been here? Maybe that bicycle of hers could fly. A fact that wouldn’t surprise him in the least.

“Now, Mrs. Withers, I happen to know that Mr. Edwards has great care for the history and character of his properties. When I was researching whether or not I’d like to work for him, I found an article about a factory he transformed into a hotel in downtown Charleston, South Carolina, in which he salvaged all the wrought iron and original wood floors of the structure. And all of it was repurposed and incorporated into the new plans.” With a complete lack of guile, she fluttered her eyelashes in his direction and asked, “Is that story true, Mr. Edwards?”

Maybe he’d stepped into a play. Callie was certainly putting on an award-winning act. “Yes, it is.” The hotel hadn’t been his, but he’d been in charge of the renovation, and salvaging the building materials had made sense from a financial standpoint, as well as appeased the local historical society.

“You see?” Callie said. “We’re all on the same page here. Preservation is key.”

Getting the best product was key, but Sam had recovered his wits enough to know now was not the time to voice this fact. “Of course,” he said instead. “Preservation.” The word sounded less than sincere to his own ears, so Sam accompanied the statement with what he hoped would pass for a sincere smile.

Rosemary didn’t look convinced. “Forgive me if I remain skeptical of Mr. Edwards,” she said, pinning him with one of her evil-librarian glares. As she turned her attention to Callie, the weathered face softened. “But I trust that you’ll keep him in line, my dear.”

Sam nearly choked from the effort of keeping his mouth shut. If letting Rosemary believe that Callie could in any way
“
keep him in line
” would keep the preservation society off his back, he’d gladly let the old woman have her illusions.

“There will be no need for that,” Callie said, earning herself bonus points. “Mr. Edwards has already approved the proposal I submitted, which took all of the historical aspects of the hotel into account. In fact, he insisted on the Brookside shade of green for one block of rooms, specifically for its heritage as a historic American color.”

Sam had insisted on the color to counter the more feminine shades Callie had proposed. Another point to Callie for creating the proper spin to appease Rosemary. She could have a future in politics if she ever left the hospitality field.

Rosemary’s bushy gray brows nearly touched her hairline. “Really? Well . . . ,” she said, looking as if she were sucking on a sliver of lemon. “Perhaps I judged Mr. Edwards too harshly.”

He should be gracious, but Sam couldn’t resist the temptation. “Apology accepted, Mrs. Withers. We all make mistakes now and then.”

Callie shot him an unfriendly glare of her own, reminding him of their purpose here.

“We do appreciate your willingness to share your extensive historical knowledge with us,” he said to Rosemary, bowing in her direction. “Your input is very important to us.”

This insipid bit of acting seemed to put him firmly back in Callie’s good graces, if the grin she gave him was any indication.

“Now, I do hate to put you off, but Mr. Edwards and I have a few details left to discuss before work begins next week.” Callie helped Rosemary from her chair, then escorted her to the door. “I hope it’s okay that I contact you with any questions as the project progresses?”