Chapter Five
Chrissie fit so comfortably into the routine at Blossoms it almost frightened her. Sophie ran a tight ship, but she was a pleasure to work with, and Chrissie could not have been happier. She easily made it through the first week of her trial period, and after they’d closed up on Wednesday, on her way home she’d detoured at Kelly’s Point Road and parked behind Scoop.
Grace’s daughter, Lucy, who was married to Clay Montgomery, had set aside some vegetable seedlings for her, and by the time Chrissie had picked them up and chatted for a while with Clay, she was later than usual, so much so that the schools had already been let out and the small shop was crowded with kids who all appeared to be in their early teens. There was so much chatter and laughter it reminded her of a diner she’d once worked in that had been a block away from a high school. The students would descend in droves, and for an hour every day, she and the others would run themselves ragged because the owner refused to bring in the late shift an hour early to help deal with the barrage of kids. Chrissie had hated the job, the tips were terrible, the owner not only an insufferable bore but a grouchy one at that, and she’d quit after six months.
She got in line behind a pair of giggling girls and tried hard not to listen to their whispered conversation, but it was hard not to overhear. Chrissie remembered a time when she’d been the object of such groundless gossip and how it had hurt when untrue stories made their way back to her and there’d been no way to defend herself. In high school, it had sometimes seemed that backstabbing was an intramural sport, and no one had been immune for the entire four years.
“Yeah, and she wore black jeans. Who wears black jeans? So uncool.”
“Connor said when she and James got out of the car, her clothes were all jumbled.”
“Figures. Slut.”
When she couldn’t listen to another snarky word, Chrissie cleared her throat. Loudly, making eye contact with the girl who was facing her.
“You know, girls, you’re in a public place,” Chrissie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You never know who might overhear what you’re saying.”
The girl who’d been doing most of the talking turned away, her face red. The one whose back was to Chrissie muttered, “Mind your own business.”
“I’m trying to,” Chrissie whispered.
The line moved slowly and the girls fell silent until it was their turn to place their orders. They got their ice cream and eyed Chrissie suspiciously as they passed on their way to the door.
She turned her attention to the chalkboard listing that day’s specials. The chocolate raspberry that Jared had tried was on the board again but with a twist: marshmallows. Chrissie was a sucker for marshmallows. She’d even learned to make her own, which tasted nothing like the commercial ones. She was pretty sure Steffie used the packaged kind, but she was intrigued, and when she got to the counter to give her order, a frazzled Steffie grinned and said, “An adult! My kingdom for an adult.”
Chrissie laughed.
“They’re all good kids for the most part, but today it seems like there’s an unending line of them. And the girl who works for me in the afternoons had to stay late at school for a makeup test.”
“Want me to pinch hit? I can scoop—ha-ha-ha, see how I slipped that in there?—with the best of them.”
“Ha-ha. Yes. I caught it.” Steffie rolled her eyes but laughed all the same. “The worst is over, but thanks. Besides, I heard you have a new gig. Working with Sophie at Blossoms.”
“Still on my trial period but I’m crossing my fingers. Of course, it means I have to wait till later in the day for my Wednesday fix at Scoop, but it’s worth it.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Your friend was in around noon.”
“What friend?”
“The diver. The guy who owns the boat out in the bay over near the island? I can’t think of his name.”
“You mean Jared Chandler?”
“If he’s the guy you were here with last week, yeah.” Steffie looked behind Chrissie and noticed the line was starting to grow again. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a cone with the chocolate raspberry marshmallow. One scoop in a sugar cone, please.”
“You got it. Anyway, he came in around noon and sat at the table near the door. Finally, I told him we were counter service only, because I didn’t know if he was waiting for someone to take his order. So he looked at his watch—it was around twelve thirty or so by then—and came up to the counter. Funny, but he ordered the same thing you just ordered. Only three scoops, like last week. Guess he was feeling brave, ’cause he ordered a cone, had to be close to a foot high. Sat back down near the door while he ate the top scoop, then grabbed a bunch of napkins and walked out.”
Steffie handed the cone to Chrissie and moved to the cash register, continuing to chatter as she rang up the sale.
“Yeah, he’s a cutie. Were you supposed to meet him here?” Steffie asked.
“I don’t think so. Why?” Chrissie handed over several bills.
“He looked like he was waiting for someone. I just thought—” She shrugged. “Maybe he was simply passing time.”
“Probably.” Chrissie dropped her change into her bag and grabbed a few napkins out of the container on the counter. She said good-bye to Steffie and walked out onto the boardwalk, trying not to think about the possibility that Jared had been waiting for her.
It was Wednesday, and Steffie had commented on the fact that Chrissie stopped in every Wednesday right before noon. What were the chances he’d have remembered such an offhand remark? And even more unlikely, that he’d be there today, on Wednesday, around noon?
It sure sounded as if that’s what had happened.
She’d been trying not to think about Jared at all. Working from early morning to late in the afternoon was exhausting and gave her little time for idle thoughts about great-looking guys with smiling eyes. The truth was she really wasn’t ready to think about any guy. The last one had damn near killed her, and she wasn’t about to go down that road again. Besides, it felt good to be just Chrissie for a while. She needed to get reacquainted with all those parts of herself she’d lost, those parts Doug had forced out of her with his bullying and his fists.
That was never going to happen again. New Chrissie knew there were pieces of the old Chrissie she’d liked, and she was going to find every one of them and put herself back together. She’d made inroads to that end since she came to the island, reading all those books she’d passed on because Doug liked her attention at night. She hadn’t baked for pleasure in forever, since Doug had told her she was getting fat. To a girl who’d grown up overweight, with image issues that had followed her into adulthood even though she’d lost the weight years ago, his words had made her go cold inside.
She’d stopped running in the mornings because he didn’t want other men watching her. She’d given up her long walks because he didn’t like to go, and if she went alone, he’d interrogate her for an hour when she got home. Where had she been? Whom did she talk to? Did she meet up with another guy? Who was he? And depending on his mood, she was likely to get smacked around a little before he was finished.
She sang in the shower whenever she pleased now without fear of giving anyone a headache, since Ruby was the only other person in there, and she was downstairs on the other side of the building. This morning, Chrissie’d belted out an entire Bangles medley: “Manic Monday,” “Eternal Flame,” and “Walk Like an Egyptian.” It had felt great.
New Chrissie would never allow anyone to smack her around again. That knowledge was empowering. It made her stand a little straighter and walk with a greater sense of confidence.
Still, the thought that Jared Chandler might have been looking for her was intriguing.
A woman with a baby in a stroller sat on the first bench drinking coffee from a paper cup, and an older couple sat talking quietly on the second one, so Chrissie strolled toward the pier. Many of the boat slips were empty, though from the end of the pier she could see a bow rider heading toward the dock. The engine had been cut and the driver was backing the boat into the slip on the rise and fall of the wake he’d churned up. A cruiser moored at the dock swayed with the tide. A catamaran sailed by and a kayaker with uneven strokes kept close to the shore, paddling around the pier and the outcrop of land where Captain Walt’s restaurant sat overlooking the bay. On the boardwalk two gulls fought over a piece of a discarded bagel.
The fishing day had ended and most of the watermen in town tied up their boats overnight at the marina past Alec’s boat shop, where the water was deeper. She walked in that direction, thinking she’d poke into his shop and say hello. When she reached the long, low, and wide building that housed the business Alec had taken over from his uncle, she saw that, although he’d been running the shop for several years, the original sign—ELLISON’S: BOATS FOR THE BAY SINCE 1896—still hung over the door. Right now, the sign Chrissie was most interested in was the one in the window: CLOSED.
She’d finished her cone, and after dabbing the napkin at the sides of her mouth, she balled up the paper and dropped it into the trash can that stood next to the walk that led down to the marina. From there she could see the point where the New River entered the bay. At a higher elevation, she could probably have seen the warehouses Dallas had turned into a film production studio, and farther up River Road, Blossoms.
She’d promised herself that with the warm weather, she’d spend more time exploring St. Dennis. She knew the area was rich in history, and while she’d read about how the town was founded and how they’d duped the British during the War of 1812, she wanted to find the one house in town that had taken a cannonball, and the tiny church that the earliest settlers had built. She knew, too, there were stories she’d yet to hear about the island as well as the town, and Ruby knew them all. She intended to hear every one. Whenever she’d asked her mother what she knew about their family, Dorothy would brush her off, saying, “Old news. Who cares?” Well, Chrissie cared, and she wanted to learn. Ruby knew all of Cannonball Island’s secrets, and before long, Chrissie would, too.
From now on, she promised herself as she walked back to her car, she’d take two hours every Sunday and walk around St. Dennis. That would be her primer, and after her walk, she’d tell Ruby what she’d seen and ask her what she knew.
• • •
TRUE TO HER promise, on Sunday morning, Chrissie dressed in shorts and a cotton tee and tied on her walking shoes. She grabbed her sunglasses from her bag, then went into the sitting room to let Ruby know she’d be gone for a few hours. To her surprise, Ruby stood in the doorway wearing a blue skirt and a white blouse topped with a red sweater, her feet in her favorite white sneakers, her handbag over her arm.
“Gigi, you look so patriotic.”
“And I guess you be going on a picnic.”
“Just going on a walk. I thought I’d walk around St. Dennis a bit, do a little sightseeing. Maybe learn more about the town.”
“You want to be knowing St. Dennis, you be asking Grace. Her family ran the only paper in town for over one hundred years.”
“I saw some of the clippings on the wall at Blossoms. Weddings, funerals, births.”
Ruby nodded. “If it happened in St. Dennis, the Ellisons wrote about it.”
“Ellison.” Chrissie’s brows knit together, trying to remember where she’d just seen that name.
“That be Grace’s maiden name.”
“I saw the name on the sign by Alec’s boat shop,” Chrissie said. “I walked down there the other day after work.”
“That be Grace’s brother, Clifford. He took in Alec and raised the boy after Carole—his mother—died. Carole be Grace and Clifford’s sister.”
“I’d heard Alec was Grace’s nephew, but I didn’t know about his mother, or that he’d been raised by his uncle. Well, I learned something today, and I didn’t even have to leave the house to do it.” She slipped her sunglasses onto her face. “I’m taking that walk anyway. After being inside for most of every day, I need to move my legs.”
“Been walking plenty around the island at night,” Ruby reminded her.
“That’s different. That’s just a stroll after dinner. Today, I’m walking with a purpose.”
“I be heading to the inn to have lunch with Grace. Might as well walk with you.” Ruby headed to the door.
“It’s a pretty long walk, Gigi.”
“One I’ve made many a time before.” She opened the door and stepped through it.
“For crying out loud, the woman’s gonna freaking kill herself,” Chrissie muttered. She followed Ruby outside, then turned and locked the door behind her. “Wait up, Gigi. I’ll drive you. I can walk from the inn.”
“All right.” Ruby smiled.
“Oh, you.” Chrissie laughed as she went to the car, her keys jangling in her hand. “You knew I wasn’t going to let you walk a mile in this heat.”
Ruby was still smiling as she got into the car.
“Might be we’ll sit out on that covered porch at the inn for lunch,” Ruby was saying as they drove over the bridge.
“You two have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Can’t even tell how many years. Course, I be older, but age just be a number.”
“True enough.” Chrissie grinned. “Well, you know they say that sixty is the new forty, and seventy is the new fifty.”
Ruby gave her a side-eye. “And one hundred is still one hundred.”
“You’ll be one hundred and one soon,” Chrissie reminded her as she turned at the sign for the inn. “We should have a party.”
“Best be making it a good one.”
Chrissie found a parking spot near the inn’s back door. She helped Ruby from the car and walked her inside. Grace greeted them in the lobby as if she’d been waiting for them.
“How nice,” Grace said. “You brought Chrissie with you today.”
“Oh, I’m not staying. I’m taking a walk,” Chrissie explained. “I want to become better acquainted with St. Dennis. I’ve heard so much about the history, I’d like to see more of it myself.”
“Do you know what you’d like to see?”
“I thought today I’d check out the art center. I heard Sophie’s family used to own the place.”
“Folks ’round here always called it the mansion. First true mansion ever built in St. Dennis. Generous of Curtis—he’s Sophie’s grandfather—to give it to the town for the center.”
Chrissie recalled that ridiculous story Sophie’d told her about how Rose never really left. “Sophie seems to think her grandmother still stops by there from time to time.”
“Oh yes, Rose.” Grace nodded vigorously.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Rose still stops by the old place. Mostly when Curtis is there, or one of her grandchildren.” Grace’s voice dropped to a confidential level. “You probably know that their son, Craig—he was Sophie and Jesse’s father—was the black sheep of the family. Left home under a dark cloud, stayed away for years while he sowed his wild oats. Married—oh, I don’t know how many times now, three or four at least. Sophie’s mother was his second wife, I believe. Maybe the third. Anyway, Sophie and Jesse never got to meet their grandparents when they were younger. Never did get to meet Rose. They just met Curtis a few years back when Jesse came into town and told his grandfather he wanted to know him and wanted to work for him at the law firm.”
“That took a lot of courage,” Chrissie said.
“Indeed it did. Curtis Enright is one formidable man. But it all worked out, and Jesse took over the firm from Curtis so he could finally retire.” Grace sighed what sounded like a happy sigh. “Rose was a lovely woman, and she and Curtis adored each other. They were one of the happiest couples I ever knew, wouldn’t you say, Ruby?”
Ruby nodded. “Rose do still be around. She showed up the night Lis showed off her paintings down at the mansion.”
“Gigi, you really believe that?”
“Sure as I’m standing here. And standing is not what I be here for.”
“Goodness, you’re right. We’re having lunch.” Grace took Ruby’s arm. “Now, veranda today?”
“That be fine.”
Grace turned Ruby in the direction of the dining room through which they’d pass to the veranda. Grace glanced over her shoulder. “Chrissie, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
“Positive, but thank you. Gigi, I’ll be back for you later.” Chrissie watched the two women walk past the hostess and head for the French doors that would lead them outside.
It must be nice to have a friend who’s known you for much of your life. Someone you don’t have to explain yourself to, who knows what’s important to you and knows your heart, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. She’d never had a friend like that, though there was a time when she thought Lis might be that person, but they’d lost touch for so long.
She was so deep in thought she almost walked right into the double doors, and the man who was coming through them.
“Hey, you know that walking while zoned out is considered an offense around here, right? Like jaywalking except you don’t have to be crossing the street. I heard the fines are pretty steep if you get caught.” Jared grabbed her by both arms to pull her out of the doorway and out of the path of a family of five who were coming in behind him. He was wearing tennis shorts and a white polo shirt and held his racket under one arm.
“Sorry. My mind was wandering.”
“I figured that out. Where are you off to?”
“Just going for a walk.”
“No destination?”
“I’d like to check out the art center. Lis has some paintings on display in the gallery. I’m embarrassed that I haven’t made time to go before this.”
“Okay if I tag along with you?”
“Sure. You’re done playing?”
“Got stood up, so I never made it onto the court.” He grinned, then shrugged. “Sometimes you score, sometimes you don’t. If you could wait till I ditch the racket, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He crossed the lobby and took the steps two at a time. In less than five minutes, he was back, still dressed the same except he’d added the green Eagles ball cap he’d worn the first time she saw him.
He opened the door and held it for her, and they walked side by side toward the main road.
“What brought you to the inn?” he asked.
“I dropped off Gigi—Ruby—to have lunch with Grace.”
“No lunch for you?”
“I need to walk. To stretch my legs.”
He glanced down at her legs as if about to comment, then apparently thought better of it.
She thought about asking him about Scoop, but was afraid she’d look foolish if it had only been a coincidence that he’d been there on Wednesday around noon. She was relieved when he said, “You still owe me ice cream. Don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook just because you didn’t bother to show on Wednesday.”
“You were there?” she said, though she knew he had been. “It never occurred to me that you’d actually go.”
“There was ice cream involved. Steffie’s ice cream. Wasn’t going to miss out on my payback. So you still owe me, and I expect you to ante up.”
“I’d be happy to, if you could wait till late afternoon. I got a job. I’m working at Blossoms, of all places.” She explained how she’d been hired, leaving out the hired-fired-hired part.
“I guess Sophie heard about your breakdown of her oyster stew and figured you knew your stuff, huh? Maybe she was afraid you’d take her secret recipe and use it as leverage to get hired somewhere else.”
“It was more like her cook is leaving at the end of next week and she wanted to hire someone pronto. I applied and she’s given me a two-week trial.”
“When’s the trial up?”
“The end of this week, and as far as I know, she hasn’t interviewed anyone else, so I’ve got my fingers crossed.”
“Is this what you want?”
“I was beyond ready to go back to work, and Blossoms is definitely my kind of place. I just wasn’t sure about leaving Ruby to deal with the store by herself. Of course, she reminded me that she’s been doing that for about the past million years. And I know she’s capable of handling the customers—most of them are islanders and they know where everything is, so she just pretty much stays behind the cash register. I still take care of the earliest morning crowd and I still bake stuff for her, but I worry that she’ll get overtired. And with new people coming onto the island to check out the new homes that are being built, I guess I’m afraid no one’s checking up on her.”
“Owen told me about Cass’s father wanting to build on the island and buying up some abandoned houses and Cass designing the homes to replace them.”
“Cass’s houses are going to be built using as much of the old ones as possible. The old brick, the old floors, the old wavy glass in some of the windows. Very clever, I thought. Way to blend the old with the new.”
“But they’re really small, right?” he asked.
“The originals were small, but Cass is making them a little larger. I think she’s trying to appeal to singles and couples, maybe a family of three but no more. She’s marketing them as little getaways, weekends, vacations, in an unspoiled, natural setting.”
“Where do I sign?”
“I think she only has something like fifteen to twenty places to sell, so you better move fast. She has a big advertising campaign set to start this weekend in all the big papers—D.C., Baltimore, Philly, New York. She’s pretty sure she’ll sell out before the end of the summer.”
“Good for her. It does sound like a good idea.”
“Ask her to show you her designs. They’re beautiful. I’d be tempted to buy one myself if I could afford it, but she’s going to be getting top dollar for those little places. Exclusivity is apparently a big draw.”
“Yeah, Owen says the houses are going to be really cool, with views of the bay or the river. The right advertising will bring in buyers in droves. But I see your point about having a lot of strangers on the island with Ruby being alone in the store.” His mouth upturned on one side in a sort of half smile. “Course, someone acts shady, she could always strike ’em down with some spell or something. I bet she’s got some serious mojo.”
“Watch what you say. She might decide to turn you into a toad.”
“You think she could do that?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
They reached the center of town and waited at the crosswalk on Charles Street as the light turned red.
“Which way?” Jared asked.
“Let’s cross here and go up Cherry Street to Hudson Street.”
“I’ll follow you, since I don’t know one street from another and I have no idea where any of them lead.”
“How long have you been in St. Dennis?” The light turned green and they crossed the street.
“Long enough to have made an effort to find my way around on my own. Which I haven’t done, but I’m making up for it today,” he said.
The houses on Cherry Street were an odd hodgepodge of architectural features. At first glance, they appeared to be bungalows, with all the charm and front porches and gables. But they were all built before bungalows came into fashion, and had elements of various styles, with Victorian trim here and a mansard roof there, and almost every one boasted flowering shrubs and masses of daffodils that spilled almost onto the sidewalk. Chrissie paused briefly in front of a white clapboard house with second-floor gables and a slate roof and a fenced-in front yard that was a riot of color.
“Vanessa lives here,” she told Jared.
“Vanessa . . . ?”
“She owns Bling, the women’s store right in the center of town. She’s Beck’s half sister.”
“Right. Tall, long dark curly hair. Pretty. Married to that guy who does the guided adventure tours out in Montana. Used to be in the FBI.”
“That’s the one.” She smiled slyly. “Now, if it’s a witch you’re looking for, people tell me the woman who used to live in this house was the real deal.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “They say she’s still here.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
Chrissie started walking and Jared fell into step with her.
“Vanessa. Steffie. I’ll bet Grace knows about it. You should ask her.”
“Maybe I will. You believe it?”
“No. But I think they believe it.”
When they reached the corner, Chrissie pointed to the left.
“I’m pretty sure the art center is down this way,” she said.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Chrissie asked, “So what else did you see that you can’t explain?”
“Çatalhöyük,” he said without hesitation.
“What’s that?”
“Maybe the world’s oldest city. The houses were built together like a giant beehive. You had to get inside by going through a hole in the roof because they had no doors.”
“Why didn’t they have doors?”
“Because the walls were all contiguous to the house next door. Like I said, a giant beehive.”
“Where was this place?”
“Southern Turkey. The city was alive and thriving between—are you ready for this?—7500 B.C. and 5700 B.C.”
“So the thing you can’t explain is why they built their houses like that?”
“Nope. I can’t explain what happened to the people who lived there. The entire civilization disappeared without a trace.”
“Have you ever been there yourself?”
Jared nodded. “Rachel is married to a guy whose sister is a famous archaeologist—Daria McGowan. Sometimes she takes a group of friends and relatives to different sites she’s worked on.”
“So where does she think all these beehive people went?”
“She has no idea. So if she can’t explain it . . .”
“Neither can you. Got it. No woo-woo factor there, like the ghosts we were discussing, but I get it.”
They arrived at Hudson Street’s dead end at Old St. Mary’s Church Road. Across the street was the St. Dennis Art and Community Center.
“That’s the old Enright mansion,” Chrissie told Jared. “Sophie’s grandfather owned it and he gave it to the town. And that”—she pointed to a stone building directly across from where they stood—“is the carriage house. They use it for special exhibits. Lis’s work is hanging in there.”
“Let’s see if it’s open.”
The door to the building was unlocked, so Jared pushed it open and they stepped inside. An older gentleman stepped out from a side room.
“Hi, folks. Come on in,” he said. “We’re only open for another half hour, but the mansion’s open till five. I’m the docent of the day, if you have any questions. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“We heard there’s an exhibit of Lis Parker’s work.”
“Ah, yes. Lisbeth Parker. Local artist, grew up on Cannonball Island right across that bridge at the end of Charles Street.” He gestured for Chrissie and Jared to follow him.
It was a small room, and partitions set at ninety-degree angles to the walls created a sort of maze. They followed him around to look for the beginning.
“Here you go,” the docent told them. “Parker’s work starts here.”
“Thanks.” Chrissie waited for Jared to catch up. He’d paused to look at something on one of the walls near the door. She pointed to the large watercolor of the marsh on Cannonball Island.
“Wow. That’s really lifelike.” He stepped closer. “Beautiful use of color. I had no idea she was this good.”
He went on to the next painting and had a similar reaction.
“Did you know how good she is?” Jared asked.
Chrissie shook her head. “I knew she always wanted to paint, and I remember when we were little that she always had one of those little art kits and she drew and painted all the time. So I wasn’t surprised when she grew up to be an artist. I’m not surprised at how good she is. I’m only surprised that I hadn’t realized it.”
They went through the maze, commenting on the works displayed, one after another: the view from the point, foam-covered driftwood on the bay’s wrack line, the abandoned chapel down the road from the store on Dune Drive, the rocky jetty that helped form the cove where the locals tied their boats up at night, a stack of crab traps on the sand. By the time they reached the end of the exhibit, Jared was ready to move on, but Chrissie wanted one more go-round of Lis’s work. He followed along patiently and even commented several times about aspects of this painting or that he’d missed the first time through.
“Stop back again in a few weeks,” the docent told them when they’d finished. “She’s supposed to be bringing a few new ones in to add to the collection.”
“We’ll definitely do that,” Chrissie said.
On their way out, Jared grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, “I call this one Nightmare on Charles Street.”
Chrissie paused to look at the painting he was pointing to.
“Oh my God. That’s hideous. What is it?”
“The little card here says it’s a cat.” Chrissie could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. “Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright, by Hazel Stevens.”
The docent cleared his throat.
“That’s one of the paintings that was entered in the local artists’ competition. One of the perks of entering was having your work displayed here in the gallery. We’d promised to exhibit all the paintings submitted.”
“It’s—” Chrissie struggled for a nonjudgmental word. “Very different from . . . the others in the gallery.”
“Yes, indeed. It is that.” The docent held the door for them. “That’s one of Mrs. Stevens’s cats. She has several others. Cats, that is, and she painted each one of them.” Without cracking a smile, he added, “This was judged the best of the bunch.”
“Well . . .” Chrissie tried to think of something else to say about the painting, but couldn’t come up with anything other than “Nice of them to be true to their word and hang the painting.”
“Not sure about the decision to hang it next to the door, though. It might deter people from viewing the rest of the exhibit,” Jared said as they followed the path from the carriage house to the mansion. “I bet they’re sorry they ever made that promise. That thing was downright awful. I’m probably going to have nightmares tonight.”
Chrissie laughed. “Maybe we’ll see some pretty in here to chase the creepy out of your head.”
The path led to the mansion’s main door, and once inside the huge foyer, they were met by another docent, this one a woman who appeared to be in her late seventies.
“You’re free to wander anywhere that’s open. If a door is closed, however, we ask that you respect that,” she said.
Chrissie and Jared acknowledged the request and set out to explore the huge old house, from the first floor to the attic. It had been set up to accommodate everything from children’s crafts in two rooms on the first floor, to a conference room on the second floor that, according to the note on the door, was used primarily for social and civic meetings. Another room served to display works by a local sculptor, and yet another, miniature boats made by a retired waterman, which caught Jared’s eye. It seemed every craft and hobby had its designated space in the old mansion, and when they made it back to the first floor, they went into the parlor that was open to the foyer by a large pocket door.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, and around the room, various chairs and sofas were arranged for group discussion or for solitary reading. Chrissie sat in a rocking chair and put her head back and rocked slowly, while Jared walked around the room, stopping occasionally to read the title of a book.
“I don’t smell anything,” she said.
Jared turned to her, a book in his hand. “What did you expect to smell?”
“Gardenias. Sophie said her deceased grandmother Rose comes back here. When she’s here, you can smell gardenias.”
He took a deep sniff. “Nope. No flowers of any kind.”
“I knew it.” She closed her eyes again and rocked peacefully.
“Are you all finished with your nap?” Jared said a while later.
“I wasn’t napping. Just rocking.” Chrissie got up and smiled. “Ready to resume the tour? I think you can walk around the grounds, too.”
“I think I’d rather save that for another day. I’m getting hungry.”
“We can walk back to town.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the time. “I should be picking Ruby up soon anyway.”
Once outside, Jared started to cross the street to go back the way they’d come while Chrissie had taken five steps to the right.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I wanted to check out the old church.” She pointed to the street sign. “Old St. Mary’s Church Road. The church—Old St. Mary’s—is up this way. But you know your way back to the inn.”
“Yeah, but . . .” He appeared torn. “Where’s Charles Street from here?”
“It’s at the top of this one. That’s where the church is. You’ve probably passed it fifty times without realizing it.”
“Well, if it’s Charles Street either way, I’ll go with you.” He walked in her direction. “There are places to eat on this end of Charles, right?”
“We’re not far out of the center of town. Like, two blocks from the light.”
“Seemed like we walked farther than that.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“It has been kind of fun. Not my usual kind, but still.” He nodded as if to himself as they walked along. “The architecture on this side of town is interesting. I’ll bet some of these old houses could tell some wonderful stories.”
“And I’ll bet Grace knows them all.” Chrissie thought about that for a moment. “Gigi probably does, too.”
Up ahead was the library and a series of brick buildings that served as professional offices. Chrissie saw signs for engineers, accountants, and law firms.
“That must be Sophie’s brother,” she told Jared as they walked past a building with a sign out front reading ENRIGHT AND ENRIGHT: ATTORNEYS AT LAW. “And a few doors down is Alec’s office. You know he’s an environmental consultant, right?”
“I did know that. We’ve talked on several occasions about efforts being made to clean up the bay and renew the fishing and crabbing industries. He says they’ve come a long way over the past ten years.”
“Oh, there’s the church, on the corner.” She pointed up ahead.
“That little bitty building?”
“Hey, show some respect. That’s the oldest building in St. Dennis, which just goes to show that they regarded their faith as more important than anything else.”
When they reached the church, Jared read the sign posted out front. “The sign says it was built in 1718. That’s really early,” he noted. He tried to peek through the windows but it was pretty dark inside.
“It was open this morning but closed about a half hour ago.” Chrissie pointed to the sign that told the church’s story.
“Guess you’ll have to take another walk next Sunday if you’re going to get inside.”
“Guess I will.” She walked around the small building. Rosebushes had been planted on each of its four corners, and ivy trailed over the arched front door, which was barely tall enough for a man of Jared’s height to enter without ducking. “It’s pretty. I bet it’s nice inside. So I will come back. You?” She looked back at Jared, who hadn’t bothered to walk around the church when she did.
“Probably not.”
Chrissie took a few pictures of the church on her phone, including one of Jared standing next to the sign.
“So I guess you’re more interested in food right now.” Chrissie put her phone back into her pocket.
“Way more.”
“Help is just a few storefronts away.” She pointed up the street. “I see two restaurants, a take-out place, and a bakery within steps of each other.”
“On my way.” He set off across the street. “Lag behind and you’ll be left in the dust.”
She laughed but took her time catching up with him.
“Here we are. The Checkered Cloth. I heard their takeout’s pretty good.” He stopped in front of the shop, his hand on the door handle. When she didn’t move toward the door, he asked, “Aren’t you coming in?”
“I think I should get back to pick up Gigi. She’s probably waiting for me.”
“Yes, but thanks. Enjoy whatever you end up getting.”
“One of everything on the menu.” He grinned. “Thanks for letting me join you. It’s a pretty cool little town. I enjoyed the company.”
“Thanks. Me, too.” She started walking toward town.
“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” he called to her.
“Maybe we could.” She kept walking, afraid if she turned around she’d change her mind and follow him into the shop. She thought he’d gone inside, but then he called, “You still owe me an ice cream cone.”
She stopped and turned to him. “I owe you a dish.”
“Huh?”
“You had a dish last week, not a cone. A cone would be an upgrade.”
He laughed, and while she’d thought he’d go directly into the shop, she could swear she felt his eyes on her. She didn’t have the nerve to turn around again to see if she was right.
The center of St. Dennis held a number of wonderful shops, some in storefronts, others in old houses that had been retrofitted for retail purposes. The gourmet spice shop, Curry Favor, and the children’s clothing store, Giraffe, were both in Victorian houses with wide porches and bay windows. The bookstore, Book ’Em, was a storefront, and its big window facing Charles Street never failed to lure Chrissie inside.
Five minutes won’t make a difference to Gigi, she assured herself as she stepped inside.
She spent well more than five minutes going through the stacks of sale books, then the new releases that were on a table near the front window.
“I thought you were in a hurry to get back to the inn,” she heard a male voice say behind her.
“I am,” she said without turning around. “But I had to make a quick stop. Gigi loves thrillers and mysteries—the gorier the thriller, the more convoluted the mystery, the happier she is. I see her favorite author has a brand-new book out this week, so I thought I’d surprise her.”
Jared took the book from her hand and placed it back on the display. “She already has this one.”
“No, it just came out.” She picked it back up again.
“And she’s probably holding an autographed copy in her hand right at this moment.” He returned the book to the stack.
Chrissie stared at him blankly.
“You want to know how I know?” He leaned closer. “Maybe I’m psychic, too. Maybe I know things. Maybe I have, you know, that eye thing.”
“If you ‘know things,’ what am I thinking?” she asked, even as she tried unsuccessfully not to smile.
“You’re wondering how I know that Ruby has this book.”
“Ha. Nope. I was wondering how you ate so quickly if you were soooo hungry you were going to order one of everything.”
“How long does it take to eat a couple of burgers and an order of onion rings, and a handful of cookies?”
“You must have inhaled it all.”
He shrugged. “I told you I was hungry.”
“I guess so. Anyway, back to the subject at hand.” She pointed to the book under discussion. “So how does Ruby already have the book?”
“Delia Enright, the author, sent a copy to Grace and one to Ruby, because she knows they are both fans.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Delia’s my dad’s girlfriend. If you can refer to people in their seventies as boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They’ve been together for years. Delia loves to come to St. Dennis and stay at the inn. She’s done a couple of signings here at this store. She said she always feels inspired here. She and Grace have become great friends.”
“So she’s related to Sophie and Jesse then? That’s why she comes here?”
Jared shook his head. “No. Delia’s husband was Curtis Enright’s son. They divorced, and her ex remarried. Actually, he’s remarried a couple of times. One of those wives—maybe the second or the third, I don’t remember which—was Jesse and Sophie’s mother.”
“Got it. Well, you just saved me twenty-five bucks, so thank you.” She left the book where he’d put it and walked to the cash register with the others she’d selected.
Barbara Noonan, the shop owner, asked Chrissie, “Find what you were looking for, Chrissie?”
“I did. Thanks.”
Barbara glanced over Chrissie’s shoulder to Jared. “Hi, Jared. I understand we’re going to be seeing your dad this summer.”
“Yeah, I heard Delia’s having a signing here.”
“She’s such a good sport to come here every year. The customers love meeting her and we sell a ton of books, but it has to be exhausting for her. This place is always packed for hours when she’s here, and she never turns anyone away.”
“I remember from last year. It was pretty intense, but she likes to meet her readers.”
“And we’re so glad she does.” Barbara bagged up Chrissie’s books. “Tell Ruby we’ll have another new Burke in two weeks. She can call me if she wants me to put one aside for her.”
“I’ll do that, thanks, Barb.”
On the way back to the inn, Jared asked Chrissie, “Tell me the truth. Were you just ditching me back there, when you said you had to get back?”
“Of course not. Honestly, as hungry as you said you were, I figured it would take you about an hour to eat, and I knew I wanted to stop to pick up a couple of books, so I just thought I should keep moving.”
“You swear?”
“I swear. Truth zone.”
“Huh? Truth zone? What’s that?”
“That’s when you have to tell the truth, no matter what, and the other person has to promise not to hold it against you. You just have to accept that what you’re hearing is the pure, unadulterated truth, no malice intended.”
“So let’s suppose I asked you out to dinner—just as a friend—and when I came to pick you up, you asked me if your dress made you look fat and I said yes, because it did, you wouldn’t get mad?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Frankly, I can’t see myself ever asking you or any other man for his opinion on how I dress.” Been there, done that. Not gonna happen again. “But yes. If we’re in the truth zone, I can’t get mad. It’s like you’ve made a pact to let the other person speak honestly.”
“Got it.”
They crossed at the light and continued the walk back to the inn on the sandy shoulder of Charles Street, the sidewalk having ended at Kelly’s Point Road.
“So what you’re saying is there’s nothing that might be exempt from that whole, tell-the-honest-truth thing?” he asked.
“No exemptions, no exceptions.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“I’ve found that a lot of the time, people don’t really want to hear the truth. They want to hear what they want to hear.”
“Agreed. But the whole idea behind the truth zone is that you care enough about the other person—as a friend, a lover, a relative, whatever—that you tell them the truth. If I was wearing something that looked terrible on me and I asked you about it, as a friend, I’d expect you to tell me the truth. What good would it do to tell me I look fine when I don’t? Not that I’d ask, but you get the point.”
“I do.” He seemed to think about that for a minute or two. “Who came up with this truth zone idea?”
“I did. And before you ask, it was because I was lied to for so long about so many things, I never knew what to believe.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. Can I ask . . .”
“No. You can’t.” She forced a smile. “But thanks anyway.”
There were some things you didn’t discuss. Like where your father went and why, and why did he take your brother and leave you behind? Surely your mother knows, so why has she been lying to you for all these years? The truth zone had never been part of that conversation, and probably never would be. Dorothy Jenkins had never met a lie she wouldn’t tell. And then there was Doug, and the lies he’d told to keep her from leaving. Like how he’d stopped drinking and how sorry he was for what he’d done and said the night before.
“So about that ice cream you owe me,” Jared said when they reached the inn’s lobby.
“Wednesday. Five o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
Chrissie went into the dining area and searched for Ruby and Grace. She could see them through the double doors, sitting on the shaded veranda and sipping cool drinks. When she reached the table, she pulled out a chair, asked the waiter to bring her an iced tea, and turned to Grace.
“So tell me how you know Delia Enright . . .”