On Sunset Beach

Chapter 11

FORD dragged the kayak onto the grass, then carried it into the small boathouse where Dan stored the canoes and the kayaks for the use of the inn’s guests. Ford kept this particular kayak separate because it was his favorite and he didn’t want someone else taking off in it when he wanted to use it, which was all too often this past week. He knew he needed to do something besides paddle and read, but being on the water gave him time to think. He just wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or a bad one.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t made an effort to fill his hours in other ways. Every day this week, he’d walked down to the tennis courts, Dan’s racket in hand. He’d told himself that it was exercise he was after, but he couldn’t kid himself into believing that he hadn’t been hoping to catch a glimpse of the pretty blonde. So far, the only game he’d been able to scare up was one against Hal Garrity, the retired chief of police who had to be closing in on seventy, and who, as a friend of the family, had court privileges even though he wasn’t staying at the inn.

Hal had beaten the pants off him.

Ford had gone with D.J. to soccer tryout yesterday morning, and he’d sat on the bleachers and watched a bunch of twelve-year-olds show off their dribbling and kicking skills. It held his interest for all of the twenty minutes that his nephew was on the field, and after that, his mind wandered all over the place.

Twice in the past week he’d walked into town. He’d had coffee one morning at Cuppachino with his mother, Lucy, Clay, and a bunch of St. Dennis residents he didn’t really know. The talk had been about a new restaurant that had just opened out on River Road. Sophie Enright was the owner and there was much chatter about how great the food was and how everyone would meet there for lunch at noon. Everyone except Ford had agreed. Instead he’d stopped at Book ’Em and picked up a few new books, the reading of which had served to give him another excuse to spend time alone in his room.

There’d never been a time when Ford had been inactive, when he’d had to look for things to occupy his time. He’d always been in a structured environment of one sort or another—he’d gone from school into the military—and having no set schedule was driving him crazy—crazy enough that he’d all but decided to ask Dan to find a job for him at the inn. He had an open offer of employment from an old buddy who’d started up a security firm, but that was in Virginia, and Ford didn’t think that his mother would ever speak to him again if he left so soon after having been home for a whopping ten days.

For the first time in his life, he had no real focus, and it was making him flat-out nuts. Something was going to have to change.

He held the door open for a trio of middle-aged women who were deep in conversation and he went into the cool of the lobby. His clothes were wet and uncomfortably sticking to his skin, and he couldn’t wait to change. As he started across the lobby floor, he looked up toward the staircase that bisected the lobby. His mother was on the landing, just about to descend. Seeing him, she smiled broadly and raised her hand to wave to him, and before Ford could register what had happened, she’d stumbled somehow and was falling … falling…

“Mom!”

Ford reached the staircase in less than a heartbeat, but already Grace had landed at the bottom of the stairs, her head on the last step and her body on the floor. A bone protruded from her right forearm, and her left leg lay at an odd angle to her body.

“Call 911!” he shouted across the lobby to the reception desk as he felt for a pulse. “Someone get Dan!”

His brother was there in a flash.

“Dear God, what happened?” Dan knelt next to their mother.

“She fell.” Ford couldn’t believe it even though he’d seen it. “It happened so fast. One second she was on the landing, the next she was falling and I couldn’t get there in time to break her fall.”

Dan reached out to Grace as if to pick her up, but Ford brushed his hand away.

“Don’t touch her, don’t try to move her,” he said. “You could end up doing more damage.”

“Is she still breathing?” Dan wanted to know.

“She is. She—”

“What happened to Mom?” Lucy demanded as she, too, fell to her knees next to the still form.

“She fell from the landing.” Ford repeated what he’d told Dan.

“Oh my God, is that her bone?” Lucy pointed to her mother’s arm and began to cry.

“Let’s hope that’s the only break she has.” Ford didn’t like the way Grace’s leg was bent, but didn’t want to get his siblings more upset than they were. He was grateful to hear the shriek of the ambulance’s siren as the vehicle sped up the drive.

Seconds later, there were four EMTs rushing across the lobby with a gurney, and Ford, Dan, and Lucy were all forced to back away while their mother’s condition was assessed. After what seemed like an eternity, the medics lifted Grace very carefully onto the gurney and headed toward the door.

“Wait! I’m going with you!” Lucy rushed after them.

“Come on, Ford.” Dan tapped him on the arm. “I’ll drive.”

“Where are they going to take her?” Ford jogged to keep up with his brother.

“I’ll ask but I’m pretty sure it’ll be Eastern Memorial out on the highway. It’s the closest.” Dan stopped at the ambulance to confirm the destination and found his sister in an argument with the EMTs.

“I need to go with her,” Lucy insisted as Dan took her by the arm and tried to steer her away from the vehicle.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you do that. We’ll take good care of her,” the medic told her firmly. “You can follow us—”

“I want to …” Lucy tried to shake off Dan.

“Stop it, Lu. Use your head. Let them do their jobs. You can ride with Ford and me and we’ll meet the ambulance there.” Dan nodded to the EMT who mouthed, “Thank you,” before closing the ambulance doors.

“Someone should be with her.” Lucy began to cry again as they ran to Dan’s car.

“Someone is with her,” Ford said. “Several someones who know what they’re doing. They’re the ones she needs right now.”

The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever, but by the time they’d arrived, Grace was already in triage.

“They’re going to take her for X-rays,” the physician’s assistant told them. “Why don’t you all go into the lobby until we get things settled back here. We’ll keep you updated, I promise.”

“I never saw Mom like that.” Lucy buried her face in her hands.

“None of us have.” It was clear that Dan was rattled, too. “Come on, Lu. Let’s go sit down and try to calm ourselves. It won’t do Mom any good to see the three of us this upset.”

They pushed three chairs together and sat in silence for several moments.

“Her arm was broken.” Lucy stated the obvious.

“Broken bones can be fixed,” Ford, who’d seen more than his share of broken bones, reminded her.

“I hate thinking that she’s in pain.” Lucy’s face was white, her eyes rimmed in red.

The simple statement hit Ford hard. He’d seen so much pain over the past few years that in some ways he’d become immune to thinking about what others felt. But when it came to his mother—his indomitable, invincible mother—he, too, hated the thought. She was the epitome of strength to him, the standard by which he’d judged women, and the reason, he knew, why the helpless type had never appealed to him. After their father died, Grace had kept the inn going while running the newspaper and raising three kids. She was loved and respected by everyone who knew her for her gentle nature as well as her can-do attitude. She was deeply involved in community affairs and a staunch defender of St. Dennis’s history. He could not think of one person who’d ever had an unkind word to say about her.

The fact that he’d given her years’ worth of sadness by his absence pained him now more than he could say.

Hang in there, Mom, and I promise I’ll stick around for as long as you need me.

He cocked his head to one side. Funny, he thought, but for a mere instant, it was almost as if he heard his mother whisper: “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that, son.”

Over the next several days, Grace was watched over and kept company by at least one of her children at all times. By Thursday afternoon, though the pain medications kept her a bit groggy and her brain somewhat fuzzy, she was awake almost as much as she slept.

“What’s this?” she’d demanded of Ford upon opening her eyes for the first time.

“What’s what, Mom?” Ford dropped his magazine on the floor and hurried to his mother’s bedside.

“This thing. What is this thing?”

“It’s a cast,” Ford explained. “Your arm was broken when you fell. You have one on your leg, too, don’t you remember?”

“I fell …?” Grace had scrunched up her face in confusion, and Ford had had to explain the events of the last several days.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Grace had grumbled before closing her eyes and falling back to sleep.

Ford took the Saturday-morning shift, since both Lucy and Dan had a wedding at the inn to set up.

“She’s been awake several times,” Lucy told him as she scanned the emails on her phone. “Each time she seems to be a bit stronger, though she’s still a little confused about what happened.” She paused. “You said you saw her fall?”

Ford nodded.

“Was there someone behind her on the steps?” she asked. “Someone with her? A woman?”

“No. Mom was the only person on the stairs when she fell. Why?”

“It must be the drugs, then.”

“What must be the drugs?”

“Oh, last night she was muttering something in her sleep, something about someone named Alice having pushed her or somehow had caused her to fall down the steps.”

Ford shook his head. “She was dreaming. She was alone at the time.”

“Funny.” Lucy appeared thoughtful. “I remember hearing about someone named Alice who Mom knew when she was younger …”

“What about her?”

“Nothing.” Lucy shook off whatever she’d been thinking. “In any event, she’s been a little more lucid each time she wakes.”

Lucy paused at the door. “I hate to leave.”

“You go. I’ve got this.”

“You’ve had, what, six hours of sleep since Wednesday?”

He’d stayed from the time they’d admitted Grace until Friday morning, when Dan and Lucy insisted that he go back to the inn with Dan and get some sleep.

“More than that. Go ahead, do what you have to do. We’ll be fine.” Ford picked up the book he’d brought with him and moved a chair closer to the window, where the light was best, and sat down and tried to read the spy novel he’d picked up earlier in the week, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think of was the woman in the bed, and how her life was going to change, at least for a while.

When he’d wished for something to happen, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

“Mom? You’re awake.” He closed the book and switched to the chair next to the bed in one smooth movement. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” She hesitated before asking, “Was I hit by a truck?”

“You fell down the main staircase at the inn.”

“Ah, yes, I do remember now that you mention it. Sorry. I seem to be a bit forgetful. I think Lucy told me … Is Lucy here?” Grace’s head moved slowly from one side of the room to the other.

“She was here last night and earlier this morning, but she and Dan have a wedding to deal with and—”

“Of course. The McGonigal wedding. Lovely people.” She grimaced as she tried to move.

“What can I do for you, Mom?” Ford was on his feet. “Do you want to sit up a little more?”

“Yes, and I’d like some water.”

“Let’s see if we can get you upright a little without causing you any pain.” He reached for the bed controls and raised the back by inches at a time.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Ford, just get me up,” she said impatiently.

“I’m trying to go easy.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

Ford paused. “You want to rethink that last one?”

“All right. I’m not fine. Just move this contraption a little faster.”

He maintained the slow speed on the controls, watching her face to see if she showed any signs of pain.

“There. That’s good. Thank you.” She nodded. “Now if I could have a drink …”

He held the large tumbler to her lips, but as soon as she had the straw in her mouth, she snatched the cup with her good hand and drank. When she finished, she handed the cup back to him.

“Nothing wrong with my left hand, Ford.”

“I can see that.” He set the cup on the tray next to the bed and pulled the chair closer to the bed. “Now, how are you really feeling?” he asked as he sat.

“My left leg hurts like the dickens,” she admitted, “and my right arm isn’t feeling too good either, and I have the headache to end all headaches. Other than that, I’m fine and ready to go home.”

“Do you want me to ring for the nurse and see if it’s time for your pain meds?”

“She’ll bring it when it’s time. I hate to take that stuff, you know. It makes me groggy. And it’s addictive. Why, I’ve read any number of stories of how people have become addicted to prescription medications.”

“We’ll make sure they cut off your supply before that happens,” he said drily.

“Oh, you.” Her left hand reached out for his and he took it. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ford.”

“I’m glad, too. I’m happy that I was here when …” He gestured to her casts. “Of course, I’d be happier if we could have skipped this part.”

“It is what it is. Into each life a little rain must fall, and all that.” Grace sighed heavily, and Ford knew that she was in pain. She closed her eyes and winced.

“Mom, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing, dear.” She winced again, her hand squeezing his. “It’s enough to know that you’re here.”

She closed her eyes, and Ford thought she was drifting back to sleep, but a few moments later, her eyes still closed, she asked sleepily, “What day is it, anyway?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Her eyes flew open. “But it can’t be Saturday.”

“Yesterday was Friday, Saturday usually comes next.”

“Well, then, they’re just going to have to let me out of here. Give me that damned thing so I can call for the nurse.” She sat up and reached for the buzzer.

“Whoa. Hold on, Mom. What’s the big deal about Saturday?”

“I have an interview this morning. An important one. It’s for the paper and I—”

“So we’ll call whoever you’re supposed to talk to and explain what happened.” If they didn’t already know, he added to himself. He was pretty sure that everyone in St. Dennis knew by now that Grace had taken a tumble. There were almost a dozen flower arrangements lined up on the windowsill. “I’m sure whoever you’re supposed to meet will understand. We can reschedule and—”

“No. You don’t understand.” Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. “I wanted to write a series. The articles are supposed to spread out over the next weeks. It’s important. I have it all planned …”

Ford couldn’t remember seeing his mother cry since his father died. A few tears now and then, but she was really crying.

“Mom … Mom … it’ll be okay.” He tried to soothe her.

“I’ve never, ever failed to get the paper out on time. Not one time, in all the years since my father passed it on to me. Not even when your father died. I’ve always gotten the paper out on time.” She began to cry harder, and Ford thought for sure her heart was breaking.

He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stand to see his mother so upset. It almost seemed that this realization—that her beloved Gazette might have to go on hiatus—was more devastating to her than the physical pain of her injuries. “Mom … look, tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“You would?” With her good arm, she reached for the tissues on the tray next to her bed. Ford handed her the box and she pulled a tissue free. “You’ll help me get the paper out?”

“Of course, Mom. Whatever you want me to do.” He patted her left shoulder reassuringly.

She pulled another tissue from the box and wiped her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s more complex than you might think.”

“So you’ll walk me through it.”

“You’d really do this for me?”

“Mom, I’d do anything for you.” The lump in his throat cautioned him not to say more.

She rested her head back against the pillows. “You’ve taken a huge weight off my mind, Ford. I don’t know what I’d do if we couldn’t …”

“Don’t even think about it. The paper is going to be out on time, Mom. Just give it to me in steps.”

“Well, the first thing you have to do is this interview.” She paused. “Have you ever done an interview, son?”

“Sort of.” He wondered if interrogations might count as roughly the same thing but thought better of asking. “What’s the interview about?”

Grace told him about Curtis Enright’s handing over his property to St. Dennis and the new art center in detail, and her plan to do a series of articles about the proposed gallery in Enright’s newly renovated carriage house. She yawned, the effort to explain having exhausted her. She rested her head again and closed her eyes.

“The appointment this morning at the carriage house is to interview the person setting up the gallery and the exhibits. Today’s just the first interview, like I told you. It’s just to introduce her to St. Dennis. Take some pictures. Make sure there’s a good one for above the fold. There’s a file on my laptop that has a good deal of background material on it along with my notes for the interview. There’s also a little notebook on my desk that you should probably read before you go.”

“Okay. Not a problem.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

She sighed happily and began to drift off to sleep.

“Mom.” He shook her gently. “You didn’t tell me who I’m supposed to be interviewing.”

“Carly,” she whispered. “Carly Summit …”

Carly Summit. Ford frowned. Where had he heard that name before? It sounded familiar, and yet he couldn’t put a face to that name, something he was usually very good at.

He hurried through to the parking garage, located the car he’d borrowed from Dan, and drove straight to the inn. On his way to his mother’s office, several people stopped him to ask about Grace. He realized then he didn’t have a key to the office and couldn’t find Dan. The grandfather clock in the lobby chimed twelve noon. Frustrated, he stood outside his mother’s office door, wondering if it would be inappropriate to kick it down. He was seriously considering doing just that when Dan showed up and unlocked the door. Ford went straight to Grace’s desk. Her laptop sat in the middle, but once he turned it on, he realized he didn’t know her passwords. He groaned, then spotted the notebook she’d mentioned. He picked up and flipped through it. Just as she’d said, there were lots of notes about the carriage house renovations and a list of questions she wanted to ask during what she referred to as “Interview #1.” He didn’t have time to read through it now, but he could skim the outline as the interview progressed. How hard could it be?

He pocketed the notebook, turned off the light, and headed for the lobby door and the car he’d left right outside the door in front of the “No Parking at Any Time” sign.

The drive to Enright’s took exactly seven minutes, due mostly to traffic in the center of town. Summer Saturdays in St. Dennis, he was learning, were swell for the merchants and the restaurants because of the weekenders and the day-trippers, but they were murder on the residents. He took backstreets all the way down to Old St. Mary’s Church Road, all the while wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

He almost wished he’d kept his mouth shut. In one way, he did wish exactly that. He knew nothing about real interviewing. Oh, he’d taken a course or two in journalism back in college, but that was years and another life ago. Even he had to admit that interrogating terrorists wasn’t the same thing. But his mother had looked so despondent, had been in such a state of despair—well, there was no way he could not have stepped up.

In his mind’s eye, Ford kept reliving over and over that terrible moment, watching Grace fall. He could see himself moving as if in slow motion to reach the bottom of the stairs before she did, hoping to catch her, to break her fall—and failing. He couldn’t help but think if he’d been just a few steps quicker, she might have been spared the pain of those broken bones. The doctors said it was a miracle that she hadn’t fractured her hip. Actually, what they’d said was they couldn’t understand how she hadn’t.

Grace had been a great mom—the absolute best—and if what she needed was someone to take her place at the paper, he’d be her man. He wouldn’t fail her in this.

The Enright place looked pretty much as Ford remembered it. Big and stately, the graceful brick house in the Georgian style stood surrounded by tall trees on the biggest single parcel of land that still remained in St. Dennis. He parked in the wide driveway behind a big, shiny, expensive-looking SUV with Connecticut plates and a battered old pickup with more than its share of nicks and dents. He paused once on his walk down the driveway to admire the gardens behind the house that were in full and glorious bloom.

He still thought it sounded crazy that anyone would just hand over a place like this, just give it away, since it must be worth a fortune. Mr. Enright must have a philanthropic streak as wide as the Chesapeake, Ford was thinking as he approached the door.

He’d just reached for the handle when the door opened.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Cameron stepped out into the bright sunlight, the door closing quietly behind him.

“Not much. You working here?”

Cam nodded. “Just finishing up a few details. Hey, sorry to hear about your mom. How’s she doing?”

“A little better each day. We’re hoping she’ll be home by Monday or Tuesday.”

“Knowing her, I’m sure she’s getting antsy to get out.”

“I’m sure she will be once she isn’t sleeping as much. They have her on some pretty heavy meds right now for the pain.”

“Poor Grace.” Cam shook his head. “Give her our best, will you? Let her know we’re thinking about her.”

“Will do.”

“So what are you up to? Curious about what we’ve done inside?” Cam gestured toward the building behind him.

“My mom had an interview set up for this morning with the woman who’s running the gallery, and she was so upset to miss it … you know, afraid the paper wouldn’t get out, that sort of thing. Anyway, I said I’d do the interview for her.”

“Nice of you.” Cam grinned. “Your mom is going to make a newspaperman out of you yet.”

“Not likely.” Ford snorted. “This is just temporary, till she’s back on her feet.”

“Well, let’s hope that’s soon, for both your sakes.” Cam glanced at his watch. “I’m late. Ellie’s going to kill me. I promised I’d be back at the house by eleven.” He hoisted the toolbox he held under his arm. “Carly’s inside. I’ll see you around …”

“Right.” Ford opened the door and stepped inside and out of the heat and humidity. The cool air surrounded him and he closed the door quickly.

“Cam, did you forget some …” The woman stepped out from behind a partition that divided the room into two equal parts, and Ford’s breath caught in his chest.

He blinked to make sure the heat hadn’t brought on a hallucination.

But no. It was her.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Ford Sinclair,” he somehow managed to say.

“Yes, I know.”

“You do?” He frowned. “How do you know?”

“I was at your welcome-home party.” She leaned back against the end of the partition.

“You were?”

“Yes, don’t you remember? We met in the lobby. I was looking at—”

“A painting, the one behind the receptionist’s desk, yes, of course I remember that part.” He could have added that he’d been kicking himself in the butt ever since for letting her get away that night without finding out more about her. Like her name. “But I thought you were a guest at the inn.”

“I was staying with Cam and Ellie, and I think your mother probably invited me to the party because she was afraid they wouldn’t come if they had to leave me home alone. I went into the lobby because I felt awkward, since I hardly knew anyone, including the guest of honor.”

“You weren’t the only one who felt out of place.”

“What, you? The party was for you.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a party guy,” was all the explanation he offered.

“By the way, I’m Carly Summit.”

“I was hoping you were.” And he had been, ever since he opened the door and saw her standing there. He should have put it together right away—the pretty blonde who’d shown such intense interest in the painting in the lobby would, naturally, be the art dealer. For days, he’d been wondering if he’d ever see her again, and now here she was, compliments of his mother.

Apparently, it was true: no good deed goes unrewarded.

“I’m so sorry about your mother’s fall,” Carly was saying. “I think it must have happened right after she left here.”

“She was here on Wednesday?”

Carly nodded. “She stopped by to go over a list that she was working on for me.”

“A list?” Grace hadn’t mentioned a list that morning.

“People who may have inherited paintings by a local artist. The same artist, incidentally, who painted the picture I wanted to look at in the inn.”

“Just say the word, anytime you want a closer look.”

Carly smiled. “So, Ford Sinclair, what can I do for you this morning?”

“You can give me those few minutes you were going to spend with Mom.” When Carly raised an eyebrow, he explained, “My mother asked me to interview you in her place. She was really worried about the series of articles she wanted to do for the paper not getting done, so I told her I’d take over until she’s recovered enough to do her thing.”

“That’s nice of you. You’ve done this before?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “But she did tell me what she wanted and she gave me the questions she’d planned on asking …”

Carly nodded. “I see. Well, then, where would you like to begin?”

Ford took the notebook out of his back pocket and opened it.

“She thought we should start with introducing the community to you. You know, where you’re from, where you went to school, that sort of thing.”

“I’m from Connecticut—I still live there—and I went to Rushton-Graves Prep in Massachusetts from sixth grade on. Grad school at Penn, some art-history courses at the Sorbonne, art conservation internship at Winterthur, that sort of thing.”

“So you’d categorize yourself as an art historian … conservationist … dealer? What?”

“All of those things, actually, and I own galleries in New York, Boston, and Chicago. I also have invested in one in London and another in Istanbul …”

“You have art galleries in all those places?”

Carly nodded.

“You get around.”

She shrugged. “It’s business.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“My favorite gallery? After New York, the one in Istanbul, I suppose, although I’m thinking of selling my interest in it. I don’t really get there often enough to justify holding on to it, and the woman who runs it really wants to buy me out.” She grinned. “She promised me visitation rights, though.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I love the city. The architecture. The views from the rooftop restaurants. The history. The artists. And of course, the food.”

“The doner kebab.” He nodded knowingly. “The manti.”

She shook her head. “I don’t eat lamb.”

“How do you eat in Turkey if you don’t eat lamb?” He frowned.

“Oh, please.” She laughed. “Patlican dolmasi. Biber dolmasi. Hamsili pilav.”

“Let’s see, that would be stuffed eggplant, stuffed peppers, and you’re going to have to help me with that last one.”

“It’s a rice dish with small fish.” She was grinning.

“You’re a vegetarian?”

“No. I just don’t eat baby animals.” Before he could comment, she said, “So you’ve been to Turkey. Vacation?”

He shook his head. “It was just a stopover from one place to another.”

“You should go back when you can spend some time there. The city—Istanbul—is one of the most remarkable places in the world. A friend of mine described it once as being the perfect convergence of the old and the new. That’s certainly true of the art scene there. The museums and the galleries are packed with vibrant contemporary works. They’re world class, really.”

“Including your own, of course.”

“Of course. But I can’t take credit for its success. My associate there, Elvan Kazma, is responsible for the exhibits. She has an amazing eye for talent.” Carly pointed to the paper squares and rectangles that hung on the wall and on the partition. “But it’s this exhibit you’re here to talk about, right?”

“Right. I think the residents of St. Dennis might want to know how you came to be interested in working here. You know, why someone who owns galleries in all those places would want to spend time working—unpaid, if I understand correctly—in a little place like St. Dennis.”

“I’ve been friends with Ellie since sixth grade, so when she moved here, of course I came to visit. I am falling in love with the town, I don’t mind saying it. It certainly has its charm, and it’s a place where people seem to care about each other. I’ve met some terrific people here.” She hesitated. “What exactly did your mother tell you? About the artwork, I mean.”

“She didn’t really have much time to tell me much,” he admitted.

Carly seemed to be debating with herself. “There are some things you should probably know that you can’t put into the article. At least, not this article. Not yet.”

“O-kay,” he said.

“Let me tell you about a St. Dennis artist named Carolina Ellis.” Carly told him everything, about how Carolina was Ellie’s great-great-grandmother, how her husband had tried to stifle her talent, how she’d painted so many works that had been stored in Ellie’s house and had even given some away to friends and family members. How a few of Carolina’s works had made their way into regional museums before Carolina had been recognized as a great talent, and how, eventually, a few of her paintings had gone to auction and fetched some hefty dollars, enough that the art world began to take serious notice.

“So few of her works were available, and so little was known about her,” Carly told him, “but her paintings were so strong, and her talent so incredible, that the few pieces that were available were prized.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her. Then again, I don’t know a lot about art.”

“There are a lot of people who haven’t heard of her, but that is going to change, once this exhibit opens. The paintings we found in Ellie’s house …” She shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe what they’d found. “You have to see them to believe it. Once this exhibit opens and the art world sees what we have here, Carolina Ellis will be recognized for the great artist she was.” Carly smiled, somewhat ruefully, and added, “I had hoped to be able to introduce her—and her work—at my gallery in New York. Manhattan’s the hub of the art world—well, one of the hubs, anyway—and the thought of being the one to bring this woman’s work out of the shadows—or more accurately, the attic—was the sort of thing everyone dreams of doing. You know, like an athlete hopes to play that game that people will talk about forever, or a writer hopes to write that one book that shakes the literary world. That’s how I felt when I thought about being the one who would …” She shook her head again.

“So what happened?” he asked. “How did it go from you showing the paintings in your place in New York, to setting up this place here?” His gesture encompassed the carriage house.

Carly explained how the vision of the gallery had grown, and how the town council wanted to use Curtis Enright’s gift. “And then someone—your mom, I think—remembered that Carolina was a St. Dennis girl, and that some of her paintings had been auctioned in New York. It was no secret that Ellie had inherited the house Carolina had lived in with her family, and that some of her paintings were hanging on the walls.”

“So they asked Ellie if they could borrow them.”

Carly nodded.

“And they wanted all of Carolina’s paintings, the ones from the attic as well, I’m guessing.”

“They don’t know about those. Actually, no one except Ellie and Cam—and your mother—knows about those. That’s the part I’d like you to leave out of your article, if you don’t mind.” That rueful smile again. “They know that Ellie has a number of paintings hanging throughout her house, and they believe that’s what they’re getting.

“I’d wanted to make such a splash at my gallery with these paintings,” she explained. “Something the entire art world would sit up and notice.”

He nodded. He got it. “So if you can’t do that there, you want to do that here.”

“Exactly. But we don’t want anyone to know just yet what we’re planning.”

“Doesn’t that piss you off? That you had something spectacular planned that would draw big-time attention to your gallery, and it was snatched away from you?”

“Oh, I don’t look at it that way. I’m still getting to introduce the world to Carolina’s work, and that’s the important thing.”

“That sounds like rationalization, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I don’t mind. I admit that at first I was really disappointed when I had to cancel my plans.” She looked momentarily wistful, then her face brightened. “But I still have the pleasure of setting up this new gallery, and bringing the attention of the art world to this lovely town, and that’s a good thing, so what’s to be angry about? I mean, Carolina’s paintings being shown are what’s important here, and the exhibit’s going to be great, no matter where we hold it.”

“Are you going to tell me there’s no resentment at all?”

She shook her head. “None whatsoever.”

“Okay, then.” He pretended to jot something in the notebook, but what he really was doing was trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was cool with the fact that her gallery wasn’t going to get to do the exhibit. He was pretty sure if he’d been in her shoes, he wouldn’t have been as easygoing.

She glanced at her watch. “Do you think you have enough for the first article? I promised Ellie’s sister I’d drive her to her field-hockey tryout this afternoon, since Ellie’s working.”

“Oh. Sure.” He tried to tuck the notebook into his back pocket but it was just slightly too big to fit. He tried to fold it, but the cover was too hard. The effort left him feeling just a little foolish and he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“Do you want to schedule next week’s interview now?” she asked as she gathered her purse and her iPad and her phone, which she’d left on a nearby stool.

“What’s a good day for you?”

“I’m here every day, so whenever you need to write next the article …”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know the schedule for the paper.” He hesitated. “How ’bout early in the week … say maybe Tuesday? That way, we can be sure to meet the deadline.”

“Sounds great. I’ll be here.”

She was obviously leaving, having turned off the air-conditioning and the lights, so Ford had no choice but to follow her out the door.

“So I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday. Same time?” he asked.

“Great.” She stopped next to the big SUV and opened the driver’s-side door and slid in behind the wheel. “I’ll see you then.”

He would have liked to have just stood there until she’d gone, just to look at her, but he was parked behind her. He walked back to the car and got in and backed out of the driveway far enough to let her pull out in front of him. She waved as she drove off.

The last thing Ford had expected was what—who—he’d found when he stepped inside the carriage house. Carly Summit had all but knocked him off his feet. She was not only very easy to look at, but she was interesting in a way a lot of women in his experience had not been, and he was drawn to her in a way he hadn’t been attracted to anyone since Anna. Anna of the golden hair and the brilliant blue eyes and the heart and soul of a pacifist, a woman who was totally devoted to the job that she did, a woman who truly believed in the good of everyone she met. Apparently, the rebel soldiers she and the others had met up with hadn’t gotten the memo on that last part.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but a glance at his watch told him he’d been there for almost two hours.

So it was true, he thought as he made the turn onto Hudson Street. Time really did fly when you were having a good time—and the two hours he’d spent in Carly Summit’s company had been the best two hours he’d had in a very long time.