On Sunset Beach (4 page)

“Ahem.” Lucy coughed.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Dan smiled at his sister. “Lucy’s skills as an event planner are what really made our name, but the chef has turned out some pretty spectacular meals.”

“We gave him the menu for tonight.” Grace took Ford’s arm as they walked into the lobby. “All of your favorites.”

“That’s great, Mom. Thanks.”

“How ’bout you and I go out to your car and get the rest of your bags?” Dan offered.

Ford held up the two bags he’d brought with him. “This is it. Been living in tents or huts for the past six years, so I don’t own very much.”

Their expressions said it all.

“Really,” he told them. “It wasn’t always that bad.”

They walked toward the stairwell in silence and Ford could only imagine what they were thinking. When they got to the bottom of the steps, his mother
said, “Oh. Dan’s son D.J.’s been using your old room, dear, so we had to move you into another suite. I hope it’s all right.”

“It’s fine, Mom. Any room that has a bed and a bathroom with a working shower is more than fine,” he assured her.

“There really isn’t another room in the family wing, since Diana has Lucy’s old room. We needed to keep Dan’s children together, and—”

“Mom, don’t worry about it.”

“I saved a special room for you.” Dan took Ford’s bags from his brother’s hands. “Overlooks the bay, has a sitting room and a bedroom. Nice fireplace, one of the few rooms that has its own balcony …”

“Captain Tom’s old room?” Ford paused on the step.

“Yup.”

Ford grinned. “I always wanted to sleep in that room.”

“I thought you’d like it.” Dan grinned back.

“Dan, don’t you think the room just around the corner from the family suite might be more appropriate?” Grace frowned and gave her eldest son a look of clear disapproval.

“Nah. You heard Ford. He wants Captain Tom’s room.” Dan continued up the steps.

“Ford,” Grace called from the bottom of the steps. When he turned, she said, “That room might have a few”—she cleared her throat—“cold spots. You might be more comfortable sleeping in a different room.”

“ ‘Cold spots’ is Mom’s shorthand for ‘uninvited guests,’ if you get my drift,” Dan whispered loud enough for their mother to hear.

“Daniel, you know there have been reports …” Grace threw her hands up in defeat. “Oh, never mind.”

“Mom, you still think that the old captain is hanging around?” Ford laughed. “Dan used to try to scare me with that old tale about how the old man never left the building and how he haunts his old room.” He winked at Grace. “I don’t scare quite as easily anymore. But I’ll tell you what. If Tom shows up, I’ll be sure to get an interview for the
Gazette
. Can’t promise a photo, though …”

He took the steps two at a time to catch up to Dan, who’d already reached the second-floor landing.

“You remember the way?” Dan asked.

“Sure. Down this hall, take a right, and go to the end. Last door on the left. I used to sneak in there every chance I got. Never did see the captain, though.”

“I think that was something Mom made up to keep us from going out onto that balcony and falling off.” Dan made the turn onto the side corridor and Ford followed.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. She and Dad had any number of crazy stories about their ancestors. Tom was, what, Great-Granny Hunt’s maternal grandfather?”

“Something like that. I know he went back about four generations.” Dan handed one of the bags off to Ford so he could search his pockets for the key to the room.

Dan fitted the key into the lock and gave the doorknob a good twist. The door swung open silently.

The two men entered the suite through a short hall that led to a sitting room with a brick fireplace over which hung the ancestor in question.

“Ah, there’s the old guy.” Ford stood with his hands on his hips. “Good to see you again, old man.”

The portrait’s dark eyes seemed to be looking back at them as they entered the room.

“I’m sure he’s happy to see you, too.” Dan went past him into the bedroom. “There’s only a light blanket on the bed, but if you need something else, just let housekeeping know. It’s been pretty hot lately, and even though we have central air these days, this part of the building doesn’t seem to cool off quite as well as some of the others.”

“Central air, huh? So much for Mom’s cold spots.” Ford followed Dan into the bedroom, where an old poster bed stood directly opposite a pair of French doors. Ford crossed the room to open them, stepped out onto the balcony, and inhaled deeply. “Ah, the Chesapeake. Nothing smells quite like it.”

“Be grateful we had the marsh dredged last year, or you’d be smelling something else entirely.”

Ford laughed. “Hey, that marshy smell is a big part of one of my fondest childhood memories.”

“Yeah, you and that buddy of yours …”

“Luke Boyer.”

“Yeah, him. I remember the two of you used to spend hours out there and come home covered in mud and mosquito bites.”

“Tracking nutrias. Never caught any—never really wanted to. The fun was all in the hunt.”

“You’d find the hunting not as good these days. Nutrias have been mostly eradicated in this area. I’d like to get my hands on the guy who thought it would be a good idea to raise those nasty little critters.” Dan stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips.

“I don’t think anyone expected them to get loose. I think it was someone’s get-rich-quick scheme. Raise the animals, sell them for their pelts. Just didn’t turn out that way.”

“They created chaos in the marsh here a few years ago before the town found a way to control them. Furry little bastards ate through large sections of the wetlands, cleared out whole areas of bulrush, cordgrass, cattails—you name it, they ate it. Big loss of habitat for a lot of wildlife. You take out the native grasses, the sediment erodes, and the native plant populations suffer.”

Ford walked to the end of the balcony and looked across the vast lawn to the wetlands his brother was going on and on about. He knew all about the nutria and the damage the population had done in changing the face of the wetlands. He was well acquainted with the many ways that outside forces could change a place.

He could have told Dan how the long bloody wars had changed the face of emerging African nations, but what, he asked himself, would be the point? Besides, the last thing he wanted to do right at that moment was to look back at the devastation he’d left behind when he’d boarded the helicopter outside Bangui in the Central African Republic. Ford had witnessed the kind of horrors that were the stuff of nightmares. Being here, in this peaceful place, was almost jarring to his senses.

“So, you ready to head downstairs and see if we’ve exaggerated about our chef?” Dan asked from the doorway.

“Think I could grab a quick shower and change my
clothes first?” After having traveled nonstop for the past forty-eight hours, Ford was a little road-weary.

“Sure thing. Just come down to the lobby when you’re ready.” Dan started toward the door. He glanced back over his shoulder and said, “I guess it must be great to be back after all those years living in those foreign places.”

“Yeah. It’s great to be back.”

“I’ll see you downstairs.” Dan closed the door behind him.

Ford stood in the middle of the small sitting room, taking in the papered walls that surrounded him and the cushy carpet under his feet, the comfortable-looking sofa and chairs. He went into the bathroom and stared at the clean white tiles and the gleaming glass shower. There were fluffy towels on a chrome shelf and a new bar of soap in a porcelain dish on the counter next to the sink. He picked up the soap and inhaled its light pine scent. The everyday things he’d once taken for granted were now luxuries that he’d only dreamed about. He turned on the hot water and let it run through his fingertips.

After where he’d been, home seemed like the most foreign place of all.

Chapter 3

C
ARLY
spent the next six days reading, making notes, sketching out the last half of Carolina’s biography, and making changes to the order of the paintings as they’d appear in her exhibit. To show them in chronological order, arranged by subject, or by medium? She still couldn’t decide. Any way they were shown would be fabulous, she knew. Chronological order might best show off the woman’s incredible talent as she sampled the different media, searching for the best fit. Then again, the thought of hanging those dramatic land- and seascapes along the same wall made Carly’s heart beat just a little faster. On the other hand, the oils would make such a statement, all those dark brooding colors lined up side by side along a stark white wall.

She made a note to have the gallery walls repainted a whiter white before she announced her exhibit.

Then again, it was difficult to completely plan the layout of the paintings when she wasn’t sure what else was out there to be bought, or borrowed. More oils? Landscapes? Who knew what masterpieces Carolina had seen fit to give away to her friends and
neighbors over the course of her lifetime? Had the list she’d left in her journal reflected the entirety of her gifts, or were there others that she had forgotten to include?

Carly shot off an email to Ellie inquiring on the status of her efforts to pin down Grace Sinclair to see if she knew any of the recipients of Carolina’s largess as noted on the list, then waited expectantly for a response. When a full half hour had passed and no reply had been forthcoming, she dialed Ellie’s number. Disappointed when the call went directly to voice mail, she left a brief message (“Call me”) and disconnected the call. She tried to get back into the rhythm of reading, but was so distracted watching for an email or anticipating a call that she finally gave up. She’d no sooner closed her notebook and turned off the desk light than the phone rang.

“So what’s going on?” she asked. “Please tell me you spoke with Grace.”

“Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, I was with her when your call came through, but we were at a meeting and we’re supposed to have our phones turned off. I left mine on vibrate because my sister was at her friend’s house and was going to call me when it was time for me to pick her up. I’ll be happy when that kid is old enough to drive.” Ellie had been granted custody of Gabi, her fourteen-year-old half sister following the death of the girl’s mother and the incarceration of their father.

“So what happened? Tell me already. I’ve been going crazy trying to put this exhibit together. I will need to integrate the new paintings—assuming we find them—into the collection of the ones I already
have. And you know, I need to decide how they’re going to show—”

“Carly …”

“I’m going to have the walls in the gallery painted stark white. You know, so there’s no color to compete with, but any way I show them, it’s going to be absolutely glorious. I can’t wait to see—”

“Carly.” Ellie interrupted Carly. “There’s something you need to know.”

Carly fell silent. Something about the tone of Ellie’s voice made her stomach churn.

“I told you that Curtis Enright had given his home and property to the town, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. Why?”

“Did you get the part where I told you that he was hoping that an arts center would be part of the plan?”

“Yes, I said I thought every town should have an art center. So what?” Carly fought an urge to bite a fingernail, a habit she’d ditched in seventh grade but one that always threatened to sneak back when she was under stress.

“I’m on the committee that was putting together some suggestions for the town council to review. The art center was voted on, as were several other proposals that we don’t need to talk about right now.”

“I’m not sure where this is going, but I have the feeling I’m not going to like it.”

“Yes and no. Here’s the deal: there will be an arts center in the mansion. But the council wants a grand opening that would include an exhibit of works by St. Dennis artists.”

Carly’s mouth went dry.

“Car? You there?”

“Shit, yes, I’m here.” Carly sank into the nearest chair. “They want your paintings.”

“Yes. They want my paintings.”

“Wait. How did they even know about your paintings?”

“My great-aunt Lilly knew everyone in town, and at one time or another practically everyone she knew had paid her a visit. A lot of people saw the paintings hanging throughout the house, but they don’t know about the ones from the attic. Then someone did a Google search for Carolina, and found out that two of her paintings have sold for big bucks over the past few years, and that two or three are hanging in big-time museums. Grace had written an article about the auction in New York where two of Carolina’s paintings together fetched over two hundred thousand dollars. Grace said she even had several in the inn and that the town was welcome to borrow them as long as they could guarantee their security.”

“So why can’t they just show those paintings? The ones from the inn and the ones that everyone knows about?”

“For one thing, they’re trying to make this as big as possible.”

“So …?”

“So when they asked me if I had any other paintings, or if I knew of any others …”