Authors: Mariah Stewart
On Sunset Beach (25 page)
“Anyway, you do the best you can to keep the killing at a minimum. Or at the very least, to keep the bad guys aiming only at each other.”
“That was the short version, wasn’t it.”
“More or less.”
Mostly less
, she thought, but she let it go. They ate in silence for a few moments before he looked at the stack of cardboard boxes and asked, “What are all those boxes from?”
“The stuff I ordered online. Everything came today and had to be unpacked and washed and put away. That’s what I was doing when you called.”
He looked her over. “You don’t look so sweaty to me.”
“I jumped in the shower the second I got off the phone,” she admitted.
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
Ford laughed, the dark moment having passed. “You wouldn’t believe how long a person can go without a hot shower. But if you’re out of polite society long enough, it’s not as much of an issue.”
They’d finished the pizza and tossed the napkins into the empty box. Carly carried their plates to the sink and rinsed them before setting them on the counter.
“No dishwasher?” Ford asked.
“You’re looking at ’er. But it won’t be too bad. Most of the time, it’ll just be me here by myself.”
“Now, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“It’s okay. I have a lot of work to do in a very short period of time. When the idea of the gallery was first
proposed, the town council was thinking of combining the opening with the house tour they do at Christmas each year, which would have given me months to get this thing organized.” A strand of hair slipped out of the elastic to hang into her face. She pulled off the elastic, smoothed back her hair, and redid the ponytail. “When I spoke with Ed the other day, he made an offhand remark about some people on the council wanting it sooner, possibly for some town holiday at the end of the summer, but I’m trying not to think about it because I’ll panic. One month is simply not enough time.”
“Well, the carriage house is just about finished, right?”
“Aside from the HVAC work—which should be done by Friday—the only thing left is the security system. I meant to call your friend today, but I got distracted with moving. I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Assuming he can do what you need, at the right price, within a few weeks’ time, you could be ready by the end of the summer. I’m guessing the town holiday is Discover St. Dennis. It’s a full weekend, Friday through Sunday. It’s actually a festival the town started about ten years ago to bring new faces into town—you know, drum up the tourist trade, attract the day-trippers. I haven’t been around for it the past few years, but they used to have sailboat races and a big picnic down in the park and a footrace for charity early in the morning, that sort of thing.”
“I can see where someone would think that would be a good opportunity to unveil the exhibit, but I need more time.”
“I thought we just walked through what still needed to be done.”
“That’s just the building. There’s still the exhibit catalog. Thank God the book is finished. That’s a huge weight off me.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s about Carolina the woman as well as Carolina the artist. I wanted it ready to go a week or two before the exhibit. I thought if I could get some highprofile publicity, it would spur on sales of the book, which would in turn generate interest in the exhibit. I’ll have to call in a few favors, but I know some people in PR who I think I can count on to give me a hand where the promo is concerned.”
“So what still has to be done?”
“The catalog of paintings for the exhibit.”
“What’s involved in that?”
“I’ve read through the journals and made notes on all the paintings Carolina described as she was doing them. I have to match up the notes with the actual works, so that next to the photos of the paintings in the catalog, I can quote Carolina, what she said about each. And then I have to write a coherent narrative for the introduction.”
“I feel your pain there,” he muttered.
“What?” She stared at him before laughing. “And speaking of your temporary career, weren’t you going to show me the latest article?”
“Right.” Ford stood and retrieved the folder from its place on the counter. He opened it, and handed Carly the several pages it contained.
She skimmed each page before going back to the first and reading through to the end.
“It’s really good. You hit every point we’d wanted to make. You could have a future in this, you know.”
She handed the folder back to him.
“For the love of God, please don’t let my mother hear you say that.” He pretended to look horrified. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke another leg if she thought it would get me to take over the paper.”
“You don’t really think your mother fell on purpose?”
“Of course not.” He dismissed the thought. “But you have to admit, it was awfully convenient.”
“If she’d fallen while you were away, would you have come home?”
“Good question. I hadn’t thought about that. I’d like to think I would.” He seemed to be thinking about it now. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I would have. If I didn’t come back, the responsibility for the paper would fall on Dan and Lucy. Dan has his hands full with running the inn and raising his kids. Lucy has a really full event schedule, so I have to think I’d have come home. Besides, my mom never asked much of any of us, so if she needed me here, I’d be here.”
“Even if it meant leaving behind whatever it was that you left?”
“There wasn’t anything left to leave, Carly.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”
“It’s okay.” He smiled sadly. “But that’s a story for another time.”
“Will I hear it?”
“I think you will. But we’ll drop it for now.”
She could sense that he was ready to leave—wanted to leave—so she stood.
“Oh. Your wine.” She started to open the refrigerator door, but he reached out for her hand and held it.
“Save it for next time.”
“Okay.” She’d been hoping there’d be a next time.
“What do you do on the weekends for fun?”
“Fun?” She pretended to not understand. “Weekends?”
Ford laughed and drew her to him. “I was thinking maybe a real dinner out, you know, a Saturday-night thing. We could work on the plot of your catalog.”
She laughed. “It has no plot.” Her heart began to race as his arms closed around her. “It’s a
catalog
.”
“Still, there are things you might want to discuss.”
“Actually, there is something I’m not sure about, something I discovered about Carolina.” Her mind flashed back to
Stolen Moments
, and the story it told.
“What?”
“I think I’ll save that for Saturday.” She smiled and tugged on the collar of his cotton shirt, drawing down his face until that sexy mouth was hers. She kissed him, holding on until he began to kiss her back. His lips were soft and oh so sweet, just as somehow she’d known they’d be, and something inside her wished the kiss would go on until they couldn’t breathe. His arms tightened around her and pressed her against him until she swore she could hear his heart beating.
As a first kiss, it was a bell ringer.
Then it was over, and those lips were whispering in her ear. “Thanks for dinner.”
Carly leaned back and laughed. “You brought dinner.”
“Right. Well, then, thanks for sharing it with me.” He kissed the side of her face. “Looking forward to Saturday.”
“Me, too.”
“Call tomorrow about the security system.”
She nodded and unlocked the front door. “Will do.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks.”
He leaned back in for one more kiss, then he was out the door. Carly leaned against the jamb and watched until the lights from his car disappeared at the end of the street.
Well …
She exhaled as she closed the door and locked it. She’d been wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and now that she knew, she couldn’t wait to kiss him again. She went into her room, opened the closet, and looked over the clothes she’d brought with her. She wanted to knock ’em dead on Saturday night, and nothing in the closet fit the bill. She made a mental note to hit Bling between now and their dinner date. Vanessa always had something killer in stock, and killer was exactly what Carly had in mind.
Diary ~
Well, this is certainly a fine kettle of fish I find myself in. Note to self: When asking Alice to intervene, be more specific. Giving her carte blanche—i.e., “I’d do anything …”—should come with a caveat. And I know Alice’s hand was in this—literally. I swear that I saw her right before I took that tumble, felt a little nudge right between the shoulder blades. Which is interesting because in her life here on earth, Alice never set foot in the inn. An agoraphobic, she rarely went into her own backyard except to tend to her herbs, and then only because there was no one else to do that for her. Nice to see she’s getting out more these days
.
When I said I’d do anything, had I said, “I’d give an arm and a leg …?” I can’t recall
.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much, since the end result is what I was looking for. Ford has taken over for me at the paper. Of course, I’m going to have to milk this thing for all it’s worth. If he finds out I have voice-recognition software on my laptop, he’ll be wanting to drop off his notes so I can write the articles myself, and that simply won’t do. I need him to work on his skills so he can feel confident in his ability to take over for me permanently. Between you and me, his first two attempts were far better than I let on—but
I know my boy, and I know how he reacts to challenges. If he has to work at something, he puts his whole heart into it, but if it comes easily to him, he loses interest. He’ll make a fine newspaperman, as fine as his grandfather and great-grandfather in their day. The
St. Dennis Gazette
is his destiny, as the Inn at Sinclair’s Point is Dan’s. I just need to find a way to make that as clear to him as it is to me. I know this is where he’s supposed to be just as surely as I know that Carly Summit is the one for him. Stubborn boy! He’s been to interview her twice already and he’s barely even mentioned her name beyond the article
.
But something is going on with him. The light surrounding him isn’t as dark as it was when he arrived home. Perhaps he’s finding some peace. He’s spent a lot of time out on the Bay, and when I ask him, he says he’s revisiting places he used to go. I suspect he means places he used to go with his father. Daniel always made a point to do things with Ford, who, as the youngest, seemed to be left behind by his older brother and sister. They had a special bond, and I believe that he, of the three children, suffered the most when Daniel died
.
Whatever it is that is haunting him now, whatever the cause of the darkness, I sense the same sort of grief that
emanated from him when his father passed. I have tried to rely upon my own powers to see into his heart, but as always, my powers fail me when it comes to Ford. I’m hoping that he’ll find a way to put that sadness aside. I would hate for him to go through life carrying so great a burden
.
~ Grace ~
A
T
ten minutes after eight on Thursday morning, Carly’s phone began to ring. From her own experience, she knew that nothing good ever came from a call before nine
A.M.
or after midnight.
“Carly, Ed Lassiter here. Sorry for the early call, but I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as I could, give you the news before someone else did.”
“What’s that, Ed?” Carly’s stomach began to knot with dread. She had a feeling she already knew where this call was headed.
“The council met last night to discuss how to proceed with the Enright property, and the vote was unanimous. We’d like to dedicate the new community art center on the Saturday of the town’s three-day Discover St. Dennis weekend.”
“That’s August,” she said flatly.
“Right. The end of August.” Then, as if to tell her something she didn’t already know, he added, “That’s next month.”
When she did not respond, he went on as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in her lap.
“We know how hard you’re working and we know you can make it happen.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” She hung up without protesting. What good would it do? The decision had been made, and made without her input.
Her emotions veered wildly between anger and panic.
As if she didn’t have enough to stress about. How could she accomplish everything in less than a month?
Breathe
, she demanded. One long breath followed by another until her head cleared and rational thought returned. She had a to-do list. She’d follow it and somehow she’d find a way. There was no choice in the matter. The building had to be ready and the book had to go on sale in two weeks.
The book. How was she going to get it into the marketplace to make the kind of splash she’d envisioned? That was the purpose of the book, wasn’t it? To introduce the art world to Carolina, to make everyone who was anyone flock to St. Dennis for the opening of the exhibit? Without the book, what were her chances of doing justice to Carolina’s work? In her New York gallery, this wouldn’t be as much of a problem. Many of the people she wanted to draw to the exhibit were in New York—well, those who hadn’t left the city for the summer, anyway. But here, in this tiny town on the Eastern Shore, she wasn’t as certain that even if the book went on sale tomorrow, she could generate the kind of interest in the gallery that she’d been hoping for. She’d have to call in a lot of favors.