Chapter Two
Cass Logan had booked a suite of rooms at the Inn at Sinclair’s Point for a week that had so far stretched into two. She could have gone back to her condo in Baltimore while they awaited the permits for Deiter Construction’s latest project, but she liked the accommodations and was enjoying herself so much she decided to extend her stay. She played tennis every morning, and every other day she went for a bike ride to explore the area. She’d set up her computer on the desk in the suite’s sitting room and spread out her design plans on the coffee table, and though it was only a temporary office, the suite had everything she needed.
As the lead architect for her father’s company, Cass had designed homes for several of his projects along Maryland’s Chesapeake shores. But this project—Cannonball Island—was special.
The already-small population of Cannonball Island had been declining for years along with the number of watermen who called the island home. Entire families simply left to seek employment and a life elsewhere, walking away from homes that had been battered by storms for a century or longer. As one former resident whose property was directly across the road from the Chesapeake had put it, “That roof was replaced every eight to ten years for the past fifty. Time to move on.” As a result, the island was dotted with abandoned homes in various stages of disrepair. Deiter Construction had tracked down the owners and purchased the properties at fair market value for the structures and the land with an eye toward building houses that retained the design and flavor of the originals.
When Cass and her father met with environmental consultant Alec Jansen to discuss the feasibility of development of the island, she’d gotten her first look at those tiny, dilapidated two-hundred-year-old houses. She saw not the rot, but the charm and the serenity of the unspoiled island. She’d imagined expanded floor plans that incorporated reclaimed wood and brick in the new homes. She’d been able to convince her father that her vision was the one that would best sell, and to the surprise of just about everyone—except Cass—Brian had completely scrapped his original plans to build modern structures of glass and steel and gave his daughter the green light to design the project as she saw it.
Of course, if the houses didn’t sell, she’d have more than a little egg on her face. Her dad was entrusting her with the multimillion-dollar development of valuable land. Cass knew and appreciated the stakes, and she recognized she had a lot to prove. The solution was to make sure no stone was left unturned in making the project as unique and attractive as possible. There were lots of places on the Eastern Shore where a bundle could be dropped on a new home. The Deiter Construction houses on Cannonball Island had to deliver something the others couldn’t. She was still trying to put her finger on exactly what that might be. The use of whatever could be salvaged from each property was important, but there had to be more. She was positive she was on the verge of finding that elusive something.
This morning Cass had played her usual hour of tennis and returned to her room with a spring in her step. She brewed coffee in the small coffeemaker and poured a cup, then, still in her tennis whites, went through the open French doors onto her balcony. She liked to feel the cool breeze off the bay while she worked and often took her iPhone with her to sit on one of the comfortable chairs and read her email and make phone calls.
From her chair she could watch the other guests of the inn go about their activities, and she often did. There was always something to do for those who liked to keep moving, as the inn offered tennis, sailing, canoeing, kayaking, and biking. A library on the first floor had books for rainy days, and organized walking tours of the town were offered. The playground on the far side of the inn had been masterfully planned, and full-time former camp counselors were there to supervise the children should the parents want to spend their time doing something other than watching their kids on the play equipment. The Inn at Sinclair’s Point had more going for it than Cass’s quiet, empty apartment, so there was no mystery in her deciding to stay on while the project was getting under way. Not that Cass disliked her condo, but she’d been alone for months since her divorce became final, and she’d found that too much peace and quiet left her feeling restless. Spending some time at the inn was the perfect antidote.
She finished reading her email and responding to those requiring a prompt reply, then went to the railing and leaned over to watch a young family cross the lawn on their way to the parking lot. The mother had a child on each hand, and the father carried a third. Something in the man’s stride reminded her of her now-ex-husband, and she felt the slightest pang of regret—not for the divorce, but for the sorry way their marriage had ended.
The day Bruce Logan walked into Cass’s English lit class sophomore year at Penn State, she knew he was the guy for her. He was tall and lean and had that rugged look about him that always turned Cass’s head. He was on an ROTC scholarship, so Cass knew he’d owe the military a year of service for every year of college. Back then, it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea. They were married the day after graduation, and the plan was for Cass to get her architect’s degree, after which she’d work for her father while Bruce served out his obligations. She’d save as much money as she could so that when his required term of service was completed, they would be able to buy a house and start a family. Unfortunately, neither of them could foresee that Bruce would fall totally in love with the military. When his time was up, when he should have been preparing to leave, he was volunteering for another tour of combat—and after that, another. It hadn’t taken Cass long to realize that the plans they’d made were never going to happen.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce had told her. “I love you, Cassie, I do. But what I’m finding out about myself is that I was meant to be a career soldier. It’s who I am. I’ll go wherever they send me and I’ll stay as long as they tell me to stay, do whatever I’m told. I know it’s not what we planned, but I think all my life I’ve been looking for something bigger than myself, and this is it.”
Why that something hadn’t been the love they’d shared and the life they’d planned together, Cass would never know. But clearly, where he needed the challenge of the next deployment, she needed the stability of a home. Cass didn’t judge him, but she couldn’t live that life. She suggested the divorce, and he had quickly—a little too quickly, she’d thought—agreed.
Their parting had been bittersweet, but she’d let him go and set about making a life for herself. She’d been unsure where she’d land until she set foot on Cannonball Island that first time. Something here had spoken to her in a way she couldn’t define, but she knew she was meant to be here, meant to be the one to help set the island on a new course, just as Bruce knew where he belonged.
This was her path now, and she was determined to follow to see where it might lead.
A ping from her phone reminded her she’d reserved a bike for a late-morning ride. She went back inside and turned off her computer. It was a beautiful sunny day in a perfect little bay town, and she was determined to get out to enjoy it. She changed into bike shorts and a matching tank, tied on her sneakers, tucked her short blond hair behind her ears, and, after grabbing her room key and sunglasses from the desk, set out for the kiosk behind the inn. She picked up the bike she’d reserved and the required helmet, along with a bottle of water from the cooler. Soon she was pedaling leisurely along the inn’s long winding driveway toward Charles Street, the main road that ran from the highway through St. Dennis and straight out to the bridge that separated the town from Cannonball Island.
At the end of the driveway, she paused. A ride through the side streets of the town or to the island? She weighed the choices. She’d just gone on a walking tour of the oldest section of St. Dennis’s historic district two days ago, so clearly, the island was the way to go today. She’d get a better workout if she rode all the way around and came full circle back to the bridge. It would give her a chance to once again look over the available home sites so she could finally decide where she wanted to build her own house, because she was determined that one of the houses would be hers. By the time she’d circumvented the entire island, she’d probably have polished off the single bottle of water she’d brought with her, so she could stop at the general store and buy another.
If she happened to run into her friend Ruby, that would be a plus. Of course, it was just as likely she’d run into Ruby’s great-grandson Owen Parker, who was tall, dark, ruggedly handsome, and oh so easy on the eyes. Not that she was the least bit interested.
Cass had Owen Parker figured out the first time she met him. Too good-looking for his own good had been her first thought, but something else about him made it hard to look away. His artist sister had been exhibiting some of her paintings at the art center in St. Dennis, and on a whim, Cass had decided to go. It had taken just one conversation with Owen to know he was also charming and funny, a man with many interests and a scattered background. This scattering of places and things had set off her alarms. It seemed that over the past few years, he hadn’t stayed long in any one place. Cass wasn’t about to give a second look to any guy who followed a wandering star. She’d been there and done that. The ink was barely dry on her divorce papers.
Still, she couldn’t deny that the last time she’d met someone who drew her eyes the way Owen did was the day she’d met her ex. And look how that had turned out, she’d cautioned herself. Best to ignore the man even while she fell in love with the island.
She pedaled along the road that ran the entire way around the island in a loop, the bay on one side, the dunes and wetlands on the other. Where the marshes had receded, small houses battered by time, wind, and water, abandoned by the families that had built them, stood facing the bay. Deiter Construction had bought every one of them. Cass still couldn’t decide which of the sites to purchase for herself. She had it narrowed down to three possibilities. Today she’d ride past all three.
The first was on the eastern side of the island, and with that destination in mind, she pedaled a little faster. Two lots past the oldest chapel on the island—itself long since abandoned by its congregation—she came to a stop. Straddling the bike seat, she scanned the site from one red-painted lot marker to the others.
Two hundred years ago, the ancestors of Tom Mullan had built this small house from the scrub pine they found on the island and some oak that a relative had smuggled to them by boat from the mainland. It had three of the smallest bedrooms Cass had ever seen and a great room that boasted a brick fireplace. The Mullan place had been the first structure on the island Cass had entered, and she’d immediately been struck by the possibilities of what could be done there. For that reason, and because the property had a clear view straight across the bay four seasons of the year, Cass had developed a liking for the location.
She put the kickstand down and moved her sunglasses to the top of her head as she walked the driveway that had been created by innumerable cars parking on the same spot of grass over the years. A pair of red-winged blackbirds watched her warily from reeds that grew on a nearby dune. It was so quiet she could hear their wings beating when they took off. She reached the walk in front of the house and studied the structure.
The design was so charming, so elegant in its simplicity, the windows small but well placed, the door set back just a bit under a little arched overhang. As an architect, she appreciated all its lines and curves. She hated the idea of this house being a teardown, but really, it was so small, it was just enough for one person.
The thought was like a thunderclap inside her head. It was so simple, it was genius.
Why couldn’t they renovate a few of these little houses—the ones that were salvageable—and sell them to singles who wanted a private getaway spot all their own?
Mentally she walked through the interior once again. Kitchen, living room, dining room, mostly one space. A fireplace. Three tiny bedrooms, but two could be combined into one to give a decent-size room, closet, and bath. The other bedroom could be a study, or an artist’s studio, or a guest room. The hall bath could be expanded through a small addition to the back of the house. They’d have to gut the inside, but that was okay, certainly better than taking the entire house down, and they’d reuse all the old materials they could.
Window boxes on those front windows, she thought as she walked around to the back, and out here, a patio big enough to entertain if that’s what the owner felt like doing. A cobbled walk, maybe, and a place out front for a few chairs where one could watch the bay.
She felt like patting herself on the back. She was already planning what she’d tell the marketing people to stress in their ads.
Maybe just a handful of these little places, just enough to give those who were interested in such things the feeling of a community. The area from St. Dennis to Rock Hall offered so much in the way of activities and cultural events that one would be hard-pressed not to find a dozen fun things to do on the weekends. Not everyone has children or a significant other. How nice to have a place that understands the needs of singles.
Would it be best to sprinkle such places throughout the island, or to build a sort of colony? She’d have to think about that and study the houses they’d already purchased to see if others would be suitable.
She was still writing ad copy in her head when she heard the pounding of feet on the macadam. She looked to her right just as the runner passed her bike, gradually slowed, then stopped.
“Hey, Cass.” Owen Parker stood at the foot of the driveway in running shorts, sunglasses, and that was about all. The shirt he’d apparently been wearing when he first set out hung around his neck. He was breathing hard, and sweat dripped down his face as well as his bare chest.
It was tough to look away from such manly beauty, but she forced herself to ignore the gloriousity that was Owen Parker. There be folly.
“Hey, Owen. Nice day for a run.” She affected a neutral tone and strolled casually to the road.
“It was when I first started out, but since the clouds have moved out, man, it’s hot. Almost as hot as yesterday, and yesterday was a beast. I didn’t even get my full run in. At least today, I got one full loop around the island.” He used the shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. She tried to ignore that one slow stream that slid down his chest to the waistband of his shorts. It took all her willpower not to reach out and run her finger along its path.
He swiped at it and it disappeared.
Cass cleared her throat. “It has warmed up. Still nice, though.”
“Yeah, my mom always said a hot day on the island was better than any other day anywhere else.” He shrugged. “Of course, she moved to Arizona first chance she got, so I guess we should take that with a grain of salt.” He glanced up the driveway to the house. “I heard you bought the place. Your dad’s company, that is. This place and a bunch of others.”
“That’s right.”
“Knocking ’em all down?” She could see his eyes narrowing even behind the dark lenses of his glasses.
“That hasn’t been decided yet.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Oh? I’d heard that was the plan.”
“There is no final plan.” She slid her glasses from the top of her head to her face.
“You still thinking about building a place for yourself?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Alec mentioned it over dinner one night last week. You know he’s engaged to my sister, right?”
She nodded.
“So the question was . . .”
“A nosy one. I heard you. I’m not sure what I want to do.” She stared at him for a moment.
“Sorry. I guess Alec got it wrong. I was under the impression you liked it here.”
“I do like it here. It’s peaceful.” She turned and looked back at the old Mullan house. “I like that my designs for the homes are all touched by the history of the island. It’s a place where you can hear yourself think and you can . . . Well, you get the idea.”
“I do. Lived here a good part of my life.”
“But not recently.”
“No. Not recently.”
“Why’s that? If you love it here so much, why have you been just about everywhere in the world but here?” Turnabout was fair play, she decided. He asked a personal question, wasn’t she entitled to do the same?
“I guess, for a long time, there wasn’t much to keep me here. Now Jared’s got this gig going, and I’ll have work to keep me busy.” Owen smiled. “I do love a good dive.”
“Are you a professional diver?”
“Yeah, but I only take on jobs I want to do. All dives aren’t created equal.” He looked to the bay. “I love to dive here because I can’t resist the opportunity to see what the bay’s been hiding from me all my life. Besides, it’s home. But I’ve enjoyed warm-water dives, too—Florida, Mexico, the coast of South America, parts of the Mediterranean. But I always come back to the island.” He swabbed the back of his neck with the shirt. “In between dives, I do other things.”
“I seem to recall you telling me that. Bush pilot. Fisherman. Ranch hand. Did I miss anything?”
“That’ll do. I guess the diving we’re going to be doing here has thrown a monkey wrench into your plans. I’ll do what I can to keep things moving so we don’t delay you too much.”
“What are you talking about?” she snapped.
“You know, the ship . . .” He stared at her.
“What ship?”
“The ship over in . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, hell. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Tell me what?” She felt like grabbing him by the neck and shaking it out of him.
“The Maryland Historical Society suspects there’s a sunken ship in the mouth of the Waring and they’ve put a hold on the permits until we figure out what’s down there and if—”
“Who is we?”
“The salvage company they called in to explore the site. Chandler and Associates. Well, actually, I’ve been hired to do some of the diving, and—”
“The salvage company . . . you mean Chandler? Jared’s company?”
Owen nodded. “Well, his family’s company, but yeah, I’m going to be working with him.”
“I met him at the inn. He never mentioned any of this.” Cass felt bewildered.
“Does he know you work for Deiter Construction?”
“We never really got into that. It was just a conversation in the lobby. Dan Sinclair introduced us and we just had a brief conversation. He said he was here to dive on a wreck in the bay. He never said anything about the river. About our dock.”
“Probably because he didn’t realize it was something you should know about.”
“How long is this going to take? Why can’t we begin construction while you’re diving? Why weren’t we notified?”
Owen held up one hand and counted off on his fingers to answer her questions. “One, no way of knowing right now because it hasn’t been determined what’s down there. Two, if the ship is where it’s believed to be, the dock you wanted to build at the mouth of the river will have to be relocated. You’re going to have to find another place somewhere around the island where the water is deep enough so the dredging will be kept to a minimum because there are oyster farms in the bay. You’re going to have to locate them and steer clear.” He held up the third finger. “I imagine the state has already sent a letter.”
“To my father? Oh, crap.” Brian Deiter was not going to take this well. He hated delays, and if he received a letter out of the blue telling him his newest project was being put on hold, he wouldn’t care if the Titanic was found at the bottom of the Waring River. “I’m going to have to call him and tell him. What’s this ship they think is there?”
“Ruby thinks it’s a pre–Revolutionary War merchant ship.”
“Oh, crap. That’ll hold things up forever.” She was in hot water and she knew it. Her father had already sunk a lot of money into this project. She cringed at the thought of the phone call she was going to have to make.
“Maybe it won’t be too bad,” Owen said as if trying to soften the news. “Maybe it’s something that can be dealt with quickly.”
“What are the chances of that? A Revolutionary-era merchant ship,” she repeated aloud. “Swell. I guess I better make that call.”
“Hey, sorry for giving you a bad day.”
She nodded absently and turned away as she took her phone from her pocket and speed-dialed her father’s number, her heart in her throat. She walked up the driveway to the house, no longer thinking about the plans she’d drawn up for its revival. It pained her to realize the renovations here might be further in the future than she’d planned.
And her father might pull the plug on the entire project if he got his back up, and that would be a disaster. She had put so much of herself into the planning, plus it could tarnish her personal reputation, damage her credibility. Everyone in the company knew this was her baby. She was starting to wish she’d held off making the call when her father picked up.
“How’s my favorite girl?” He sounded as if he was in a good mood. Cass’s heart sank, knowing she was about to ruin it.
“Dad, I’m sorry to have to make this call, but—”
“Cassie, you all right? Something happen there?” His voice went full-on concerned dad.
“Oh, no, no. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. You sound upset.”
“I am upset. I just got some news that . . .” Oh, why beat around the bush? Might as well put it out there. Cass took a deep breath. “Dad, you’re going to be getting a letter from the Maryland Historical Society. They’re going to be putting a temporary halt to the dock on the island. They think there’s—”
“What?” Cass could see her father rising from his chair, his face turning red as he loomed over his desk. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She explained the best she could with the few facts she had.
“How long is this going to go on? What kind of delay are we talking about here? If I can’t offer a dock to the potential buyers who want to be able to come and go on their boats, I got a problem. The dock has to be convenient to the houses. No one’s going to walk clear around the island to get to their damned boat.”
“You’re assuming there’s a place to build a dock on the bay side, Dad. That hasn’t been established yet. I’ll find out what I can, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something. I wanted to get to you before you heard from the state.”
“There was a letter from the state somewhere,” he mumbled. Cass could hear him rustling papers on his desk. “Must have misplaced it somehow. Tell me again why moving the dock has stopped the entire project. Why can’t we just move the dock and get on with it?”
“Because in the construction phase, we need to transport material to the island by boat, remember? The one bridge onto the island wasn’t built to carry heavy loads.”
“Why don’t we just build a bigger damned bridge?”
“It’s a historic site, Dad. Back in 1814—”
“Eighteen fourteen,” he grumbled. “It’s 2017. So how long’s this gonna take, Cassie? I got contractors lined up, I got supplies on order, equipment on hold. I can’t expect everyone to wait around until I get the all clear.”
“I spoke with one of the divers who’s going to explore the site and determine if in fact it’s going to merit historic designation. He said he’s determined to get this under way as soon as possible, and he’ll let me know as soon as he knows what’s down there.” Owen hadn’t exactly said all that, but it sounded good, and if it placated her father for now, she’d go with it. “We’re just going to have to be patient and hope for the best, but in the meantime, you might want to think about moving some of the subs to the Carmen Hills project.”
“I hate to . . .” Her father sighed deeply. “But you’re right. As soon as you hear, though . . .”
“You will know as soon as I know.”
“I want to put up a spec house as soon as possible.” Cass could hear in his voice that he was starting to calm down. “I’ve been thinking maybe one of those lots that face the bay.”
“We might be able to start clearing the lots. I don’t see the harm in that, but I’ll talk to Alec and see what he thinks. Without the materials, though, we have nothing to build with. I can ask if he thinks there’s another option for the dock. I think we need to be proactive and get ahead of this thing. If we could move the dock to, say, the bay side, that’s where you’d offer the houses to the buyers who have boats.”
“Just what I was thinking, Cassie. You took the words right out of my mouth. Talk to whoever you have to. Tell him we’re ready to put up a spec, one of those really great designs of yours. Keep this project on track. I hate delays. Time is money. And you know if this thing drags on too long, I’m going to have to bail on the entire thing.” He sighed deeply. “So you coming back to Baltimore while this is being hashed out or what?”
“I think I’m going to hang around St. Dennis for a while. I haven’t had a vacation in forever and I’m overdue.” Cass paused. “I like it here. I have a lovely suite of rooms at that beautiful old inn where they treat me like a princess and feed me very well three times a day—sometimes four, if you count afternoon tea, which I’ve come to adore. Why would I come back to Baltimore?”
“Well, your mother worries, you know, that maybe you’re spending too much time by yourself. Like, maybe you’re depressed since the divorce, and—”
“Tell Mom I am happier now than I have been in a long time. As for being alone, I’ve met some interesting people here and I’m busy every day. I’ve been playing tennis in the morning and I joined a group to bike with sometimes in the afternoon. I’ve gone on walking tours and garden tours and to an art exhibit.”
“Really? All that?” Cass could hear the frown in her father’s voice. No one in his experience had been happy about being divorced. She knew both he and her mother had been harboring this image of her being crushed after hers became final. They were having a hard time believing she was actually happy on her own.
“Really. Besides, I’ve been finishing up the designs for the houses we’ll build once we get the green light. We have twenty-two lots to sell, and I want every house to be different yet still reflect the island’s heritage. That’s the promise we made to Alec and to Ruby Carter, and I very much want to honor that. I can’t think of any project I’ve worked on I’ve enjoyed more.”
“Well, you’re the architect. Make me proud I gave you free rein for this project.”
“I always make you proud, and you know it.” Cass knew it was true. Her father had been delighted with every home and every commercial building she’d designed for his clients. “We will keep this on schedule, and when these houses are completed, visitors to the island will be hard-pressed to know which of the houses are two hundred years old, and which are brand-new. At least, from the exterior.”
“That was the plan and that’s what’s going to sell out this project. So, call your mother once in a while. And keep me in the loop. Let me know what you hear.”
“Will do, Dad.”
That hadn’t gone so badly, Cass mused after she disconnected the call. Other than his initial blowup, he’d been rational. That was a plus. Now she was going to have to do what she could to keep things moving forward.
She put in a call to Alec and left a voice mail outlining her father’s concerns and asking for Alec’s advice. She walked around to the back of the house, where she’d envisioned a patio made from the brick they’d remove from the crumbling fireplace. She wondered if she could find someone local who made bricks by hand so they could rebuild the chimney. There was no way she would ever give up on this project. She was just going to have to make certain things moved quickly here. If her father started losing money due to the delay, he might decide to cut his losses and sell what he’d already bought here. She could not allow that to happen.
A ping on her phone alerted her to an incoming text from Alec.
Looking into it. Will get back to you.
Asked and answered. She called her father and let him know the situation was being addressed.
She’d just gotten back onto her bike and was about to put on her helmet when Owen made his second pass.
“Aren’t you dying from the heat?” she asked when he slowed down.
“Yeah. I was just thinking I was done for the day, but I’m too stubborn to quit. Thanks for giving me a reason to stop.”
“Don’t let me hold you.”
“I’ll take any excuse I can get.” He wiped his forehead with his forearm.
She wondered what happened to his shirt but didn’t ask because she didn’t want him to know she’d noticed and remembered. “Tell me a little more about this ship that you’re diving on.”
“All I know is what Ruby told me. She thinks it’s a ship that was carrying tea when the colonists had decided they didn’t want English tea. She said she’d heard a story about a shipowner from Virginia trying to hide one of his vessels that had been refused at Annapolis, but a storm had come up and the ship went down where it anchored, which, according to her story, was in or near the mouth of the river. She also thought there could be one of the bay’s sunken islands down there, but that will require a lot more research, depending on what we find and where we find it.”
“A sunken island?” Cass raised an eyebrow.
Owen explained how the winds and waters of the bay had eroded so many islands over the years and had relocated some of the sunken ships from where they’d landed when they first went down, to where they now lay.
“You mean islands were here one day and gone the next?” She pondered how that might happen.
“In most cases, it took a little longer than that.”
“But you mean small islands where no one lives, like Goat Island, right?”
“No. A lot of the islands that disappeared had whole communities, a lot like here. Houses, businesses, farms—all gone.”
“What did people do?” Cass wondered aloud, fascinated by the idea of towns, of farms, just, poof! Gone! “How could that happen?”
“That’s a story in itself.” He smiled. “I could tell you all about it over dinner. What are you doing on Saturday night?”
She shouldn’t. Really, she shouldn’t. But she was drawn to the story. Not, she told herself, to the man who was telling it. But it would be better to keep him in her corner, wouldn’t it?
“Just dinner?” she debated.
“That’s the offer.”
“Nothing else?”
“What else would there be?” he asked, all innocent charm.
“You make it really hard for me to say no.”
“Why would you want to say no?” He flashed a disarming smile.
“All right. Just dinner.” And information, she thought. Maybe by then he’d have an update on the ship. If they were going to have to move the dock, maybe he’d have some thoughts on that as well.
“You still at the inn?”
“I am.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven, if that’s a good time?”
“Perfect.”
“See you then.” He turned to jog away.
“Hey, Parker,” she called after him.
He turned and glanced over his shoulder.
“Bring your stories.”
Without breaking stride, Owen waved to acknowledge he’d heard.
That was dumb, her little voice scolded. You should have said no. He’s a player.
Yes, Cass admitted. But he’s a player with some really great stories, stories I can build on when we begin to advertise and market this project. And he’s a direct hotline to the ship that’s mucking up my plans.
Besides, it took two to play, and she had no interest in playing.
CASS HAD JUST enough time to return to the inn, check in her bike, and take a quick shower before joining Grace Sinclair, the inn’s owner, on the terrace for tea at four. From the doorway, she could see Grace at the large round table under the pergola where they met every afternoon. Dressed in a simple pale yellow sundress, her white hair pinned loosely at the top of her head, Grace appeared to be holding court. Cass was a little disappointed to find most of the seats already taken. She’d enjoyed the conversations she and Grace had had. Of course, some of the others at the table might be thinking the same thing when they saw her approach the table. Touché, Cass told herself as she slipped into an empty seat.
“Cass, I was hoping you’d join us today.” Grace briefly introduced the newcomers at the table.
Cass wasn’t sure she’d remember anyone’s name. “Nice to meet you all. And for the record, I wouldn’t miss afternoon tea. I’m becoming addicted.” Cass nodded when the server offered her a cup and waited for Cass to make her choice of several teas. She’d had Earl Grey three times in the past week and wanted something a little different—but not too different. She didn’t care for green tea and, at this time of the day, needed a little more caffeine than some of the herbal teas offered. “I’ll try Prince of Wales, thank you.”
Her tea was served and a plate of sandwiches passed her way. She helped herself to a ham and mustard, a salmon and cream cheese, and a watercress, her new favorite.
“Before you arrived, we were talking about the rumor going around town that there may be a sunken ship at the bottom of the river over near Cannonball Island, and word is that it may have been a merchant ship carrying tea during Revolutionary times,” Grace said.
“We thought it apropos to discuss while having tea.” A woman with blond hair that resembled straw and who apparently thought herself quite clever added, “Get it? Because we’re drinking tea?”
“Yes, I get it.” Cass took a nibble of salmon and ignored an urge to roll her eyes.
“The owner of the company that’s been hired to locate the ship will be staying here at the inn while the diving is going on. I can’t wait to talk to him. I think it’s all very exciting.” Grace sipped her tea from a pretty china cup that she’d once told Cass had belonged to her grandmother. All the cups they used for tea had belonged to someone in Grace’s family, and why, Grace had asked rhetorically, should they remain unused in the cupboard?
“Actually, I spoke with one of the divers a little while ago,” Cass said. “Apparently the diving will start soon. He did say something about ships having gone down somewhere else but drifting into the river.” At least, she thought that was what Owen had meant.
“Oh, yes. We have wicked storms here on the Chesapeake,” Grace explained. “Winds blow the waters about, currents change and shift. It’s no secret things underwater and above get moved from time to time. Why, whole islands have disappeared.”
Cass had her cup raised to her lips, but it remained there when she heard Grace’s comment. It was almost as if she’d known the lost islands had been a topic of conversation barely an hour ago. Cass knew Grace and Ruby were close friends. Had Ruby mentioned to Grace her theory that there could be a lost island at the bottom of the bay near where it met the river?
“Whole islands disappeared?” one of the women at the table asked. “You mean, real landmasses, gone?”
“Oh, yes,” Grace assured her. “It’s happened many times. The storms flood the land and eat away at the sand. Why, some years back, Hurricane Isabel caused a number of islands to completely flood. Tangier and Smith Islands were totally underwater. The damage was in the millions of dollars.”
“Smith Island?” Another women perked up. “Where those fabulous cakes are baked? That Smith Island?”
Grace nodded. “The point being, it isn’t unusual a ship on the bottom might drift or be pushed by currents to someplace other than where it sank.” She turned to Cass. “I hope this development won’t hold up your project, with the state being involved.”
“Actually, we are experiencing a delay right now because of the possibility that we might have to look for another place to build the dock to bring in equipment and building supplies. Lumber and such. Plus, eventually, the dock will be offered to buyers for their own use. It’s getting complicated.”
“What kind of project are you working on, Cass?” asked the blond with the strawlike hair. Julie? Joanna? Cass wasn’t sure.
“We’re going to be building a few—a very few—small houses on Cannonball Island.”
When the woman looked at her blankly, Cass told her, “It’s at the end of Charles Street, right over the bridge.”
“Oh, and the island has a wonderful history,” Grace exclaimed, then told how the British loyalists were forced to leave St. Dennis during the War of 1812 and were banished to the island. “There’s no place like it, Joanna. It’s one of the Chesapeake’s true unspoiled treasures.”
“And you’re building there? Are you a builder?” Joanna pressed.
“I’m an architect. My father is a builder. His company has developed up and down the Chesapeake over the past twenty years.”
“I have it on good authority the homes you’re designing for the island will be unlike anything else . . . well, anything anywhere.” Grace turned to the others. “Cass is basing her designs on the original architecture of the island, some very unique places, I assure you. She’s using the actual materials used to build the original structures wherever possible in her new homes.” Grace beamed at Cass. “I love the idea of using the same hardwood from the original floors in the new houses. The old window glass, the old brick . . . every house will be unique and will carry the spirit of the one that once stood on that same land. Imagine—walking on the same floors as the first inhabitants of the island. I think it’s so romantic and quite clever of you.”
“I’d be interested in seeing your designs,” the man sitting across from Joanna said. “I’ve been thinking about buying a small place on the bay for weekend getaways.”
“I’m afraid none of the houses will be grand, and most of them will be modest in size. Some will even be quite small,” Cass told him. Might as well get that out there. “We’re trying to have as little impact on the environment as possible.”
“So much the better. I don’t need much space, and it would be nice to have some time to myself, maybe one guest once in a while.” The man smiled broadly. “There’s something to be said about a vacation place that no one expects to be invited to, and I applaud your efforts to respect the history. In my spare time, I write poetry. Not very good poetry, but I enjoy it nonetheless. I’d love to have a getaway to sit and write whenever I please.” He smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, took out a business card, and passed it to Cass. “Who knows? Maybe such a place could inspire me to write something that’s less than dreadful. Give me a call when you’re ready to start selling. I’d like to take a look.”
“Me, too.” Joanna dug into her bag, came out with a small pad upon which she wrote her name and phone number. She passed it to Cass. “I’d love to have a place of my own. Well, our own. It’s just my husband and me, since our kids have grown up and taken off. We don’t need a lot of space, and we’re both interested in the environment and in history, so it sounds like the type of thing we’d like.”
“I’ll be happy to get back to you”—Cass glanced at the names—“Todd . . . and Joanna. As long as you’re not looking for a splashy luxury home with an excess of space, you might find something you like among our designs.”
“Scones, dear?” Grace held up a plate. “Or would you rather have one of these lovely little cakes today?”
Cass went for a lemon scone, a small smile turning up one corner of her mouth. Grace had fully intended to bring the development of the island into the conversation all along. She must have known both Todd and Joanna were looking for something to buy or build on the bay. How nice of her to bring up Cass’s project.
She bit into her scone, her eyes meeting Grace’s, and Grace winked. At that moment, Cass knew if she hadn’t learned one other thing since she arrived in St. Dennis, she’d learned to never underestimate Grace Sinclair.