The Inn at Angel Island

Chapter Six

LIZA woke up very early the next day. She showered and dressed, then crept downstairs, trying not to disturb Peter and Will. The coffeemaker had been set up the night before-by Claire no doubt. With silent thanks, Liza took a cup and wandered into the front parlor, looking for her laptop. She still felt stung from being beaten out by Charlie on the shoe account and thought she might work on a few pitch ideas for new clients. She needed a few more sharp arrows in her quiver when she got back to the city. Liza settled herself at the antique secretary and opened the computer.

Then she stared out the big bay windows to gather her thoughts. It was a damp morning, with a foggy mist rising like smoke off the ground. She couldn’t even see the ocean, just the blurry outlines of trees on top of the bluff. The mist made the landscape look magical, and even more fantastic when a strange sight came into view.

Liza blinked twice, then stood up from her chair and walked quickly to the window.

Was that a goat tiptoeing through the fog, munching the sparse weeds on the front lawn? Liza’s eyes widened. Yes, it was. Most definitely. Not just one but two… no, three. Three little goats were having breakfast in the ethereal morning mist, right in front of the inn. One was silver gray, the other black with a white chest, and the third, which actually skipped across her field of vision, a creamy buff color.

Liza could not recall ever seeing goats this close. But she was pretty sure as to where they had come from. What to do about them was the question.

She grabbed her jacket and scarf off the coat tree, and stepped outside. She moved slowly, hoping she wouldn’t startle them. She quietly shut the front door and noticed that they barely lifted their heads.

They were very cute, she thought. She had even heard that goats made good pets, though given the chance, she would prefer a dog.

She walked down the steps and held out her hand. “Hi, little goat. What are you up to?”

The buff-colored goat lifted its head and walked over to her. Its horns looked very sharp close-up. Liza stood still as a statue as it bumped its head on her leg and nuzzled her hand. Looking for food, she guessed. She pulled her hand back quickly, but that didn’t seem to insult the goat.

The edge of her scarf was dangling, and the goat nipped on the wool fringe with big white teeth.

“Hey… give that back. You can’t eat my scarf!”

Liza tugged on one end of her scarf while the little goat tugged on the other.

I’m losing, she realized, feeling ridiculous-and desperate.

“Bette, bad girl!” Liza heard someone shout.

She looked up to see a woman dressed in baggy khaki pants and a red barn jacket hop over the stone fence that bordered the inn’s property.

Her long dark red hair was tied low at the back of her head and streamed out behind her like a flag. Her cheeks were full and ruddy, practically matching her coat, and her feet were covered by dark green rubber boots. Suitable for wading through mud or a barnyard, Liza realized.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get them. They won’t hurt you,” she shouted at Liza.

Liza was so startled, she didn’t answer. The goats were startled, too, Liza realized as the naughty Bette finally released the tasty scarf.

Then the goat stepped back and complained with a loud sound.

Ba-a-a-h!

“That’s right. You let that go. I have something for you, don’t worry.”

The woman pulled a handful of brown feed from her pocket and let the little mischief-maker eat from her hand. As the goat gobbled, the woman grabbed the animal’s collar and held it fast in her hand. Then she took a length of thin nylon rope from her pocket and tied it to the goat’s collar.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how they got away,” she said with a laugh as she looked up at Liza. “I hope she didn’t tear your scarf. I’d be happy to replace it.”

“Oh, I think it’s fine.” Liza lifted the end of the scarf and took a look. It was a little stretched out and had a few teeth marks, but she was sure she could wash it out and pat it flat again. “Please don’t worry about it.”

“That’s very nice of you… I’m Audrey Gilroy, by the way. My husband and I run the farm next door.” She nodded her head toward her property.

“So I gathered,” Liza said with a small laugh. “I’m Liza Martin. My aunt Elizabeth owned the inn.”

“Yes, of course. Elizabeth Dunne, a wonderful woman. She was such a great help when we first came here. I don’t know that we would have lasted without her. So lighthearted and encouraging.”

“Yes, she was all of that,” Liza agreed. It was gratifying to hear perfect strangers praise her aunt so lavishly. But it still made her sad, poignantly conscious of her loss.

“I was so sorry to hear that she’d passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss,” Audrey said sincerely.

Liza quietly thanked her.

“What will happen to the inn? If you don’t mind me asking,” Audrey added.

“My brother and I put it up for sale,” Liza told her. “We both have our own careers, and it seems too much to take on.”

Why did she feel guilty admitting their plans? Liza wondered. Why did she even bother making up some flimsy excuse? She and Peter had never considered keeping the inn and trying to run it at a distance. But for some reason, Liza felt she had to explain herself. Even to the goat lady, Audrey Gilroy.

“I see. That’s too bad. It’s such a lovely place. But maybe someone will buy it and take it over,” Audrey said optimistically.

“I hope so,” Liza answered. “It would be great if someone saw the potential in it. I’m afraid it’s going to need a lot of loving care to restore it to its former glory.”

The silver gray goat strolled over and butted Audrey’s hip, trying to work its muzzle into her jacket pocket.

“This is Meryl. She’s a little pickpocket,” Audrey said.

She slipped another tether on Meryl’s collar and gave her a little feed.

“What’s the other goat’s name?” Liza asked.

“That’s George. He’s the smart guy. The gang leader,” Audrey explained.

“Interesting names.”

“My husband and I are film buffs. We take turns naming the goats after our favorite movie stars-Bette Davis, Meryl Streep, George Clooney…”

Audrey suddenly handed Liza the leads for Bette and Meryl. “Here, hold these a minute for me.”

Before Liza could reply, she was in charge of the two goats, while Audrey stalked George. The black-and-white goat was staring at them and looked a little tense as Audrey approached. She held out a hand full of feed, and he sniffed the air.

Then he suddenly leaped across the yard, trying to escape capture. Luckily, he was headed back toward the farm. Audrey pursued him, waving her hands. “That’s right, go along. Go back home, now.”

With a graceful bound, he cleared the low fieldstone wall.

Audrey looked back and laughed. “He thinks he’s so smart.”

Meryl and Bette started wailing, suddenly tugging their leads. They wanted to follow George, and Liza was tugged along.

“I guess they’re ready to go home, too.”

“I guess so.” Audrey ran back to help her. “Here, let me get Bette from you. I’ll just tie her to a tree and take Meryl back first.”

“Oh, I can help you,” Liza said. “I’ll take one, and you take the other.”

“Are you sure?” Audrey sounded doubtful. “I think we’ve been enough bother.”

“It’s no trouble. Lead the way. A little goat herding in the morning is good exercise. It’s either that or a jog around the island.”

Audrey laughed, looking pleased by Liza’s answer. Liza could tell she really didn’t want to leave her goat. As much as she scolded them, she talked to the ornery creatures like babies.

From what Liza had seen so far, a goat tied to a tree would be pretty likely to chew through its tether before Audrey had a chance to come back.

Liza followed Audrey across the property and to a low spot on the wall. Liza’s charge jumped over automatically, and Liza quickly followed, careful not to get her feet tangled up in the lead.

They brought the goats to a large pen, where there were quite a few others. The penned goats brayed up a storm as they saw Audrey and the escapees return.

“Oh, hush up now, all of you. We have a guest,” Audrey told them. She glanced over her shoulder at Liza and smiled. “You’ve been such a good sport, I can’t send you home without some goodies. Do you like goat cheese?”

“Love it,” Liza admitted.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Audrey said. They passed the barn with milking stalls. In the distance Liza saw a farmhouse, a beautiful old building that must have been there since the early 1800s. It had always been stark white with black shutters when she was growing up but had since been painted a charming shade of periwinkle blue, with dark purple shutters and a yellow door. The colors seemed to suit Audrey’s personality, Liza thought.

Just past the barn they came to another wooden building, painted white, where Liza guessed the cheese was made. Audrey slipped through the red door, and Liza followed. The room inside was cool, as cool as outdoors. The cement floor was painted gray, and there was a drain in the middle. There was a huge stainless-steel tank, studded with dials, pipes, and faucet handles, in the middle of the room.

Both walls were covered by large stainless-steel refrigerators. Audrey pulled open a metal door and took out a large roll of cheese covered in herbs and wrapped in plastic. Then a chunk of what looked like fudge, also wrapped in plastic. She left the delicacies on a metal table that stood to one side of the front door, which also held a metal scale.

Then she walked over to a metal shelf on the far side of the room and returned with some bars of soap wrapped in floral paper and two small glass jars containing skin creams. She pulled down one of the baskets that were hanging from the ceiling and packed all the goat-milk-based goodies inside.

“We just started making skin products. Let me know what you think of them.”

“That’s too much,” Liza protested. “You’re being far too generous.”

“Nonsense. You have a party with it or something. Need some recipes?” Audrey asked.

“No, thanks. I have a feeling Claire will know what to do with the cheese.”

Audrey quickly wrapped the basket in a sheet of brown paper, then stepped away from the metal table. “One more thing… wait right here.”

She left the room through another door and quickly returned, carrying a large bunch of dried lavender. “Here you go. The cheese is from the goats; that’s from me.”

Liza laughed, overwhelmed by the generosity. She’d been thinking about coming here for lavender. Now she had an armful. “Honestly, this isn’t necessary…”

“Just trying to thank a neighbor. I appreciate your help. Someone else would have been calling animal control.”

Maybe that was true, but Liza didn’t think of herself as a real neighbor. She was just… passing through. Still, she loved the lavender and couldn’t wait to try the cheese.

“Thank you, Audrey. I’m going to enjoy all these gifts. And I really liked meeting your goats.”

“The feeling was mutual, believe me.” Audrey smiled, and Liza had the uncanny feeling that, given the right circumstances, they could be friends. The goat-wrangling redhead was only a few years older than Liza was, she realized, and had a down-to-earth manner that Liza found refreshing.

She wondered about Audrey’s story, what had brought her and her husband out here to start this unique enterprise. “How long have you been raising goats?” Liza asked curiously.

“Oh, about five years now. We started with ten goats, and now we’re up to seventy. That’s a good number for a farm like this one. We’ll have to sell some off next year after the kids come. The mothers give birth from January to April, then they give milk until the fall,” Audrey explained. “I was a nurse in my former life, so it helps with the vet bills-all those deliveries.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Liza said honestly. “Did you always live on the island?” she asked, balancing the heavy basket on one hip.

Audrey shook her head. “We found this island by accident one summer. We came up to the area to go camping, and all the camp-grounds we knew were filled. Someone told us to come out here to the beach. My husband and I just fell in love with the place. We kept coming back on vacation, and then when this farm came up for sale, we decided to make the big move. It was hard at first,” she admitted. “But we’ve gotten used to it. I could never go back now. But I still do some nursing at the emergency medical clinic in the center.”

“I noticed that place. Is it staffed by volunteers?”

“Completely. It’s all islanders with medical experience. You must know Daniel Merritt. I saw his truck at your place the last few days. He drives an ambulance and is trained as a first responder.”

“Somehow I can picture that,” Liza said. Daniel seemed the type who would be calm under pressure, even in an emergency.

She could have talked longer with Audrey, but it was getting late. She had to get back to the inn. “Thanks again. I’d better go,” she said.

“Need any help? I can give you a lift.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just go back the way I came,” Liza said.

She stepped out of the small building, and Audrey followed. The sun had risen higher in the sky and burned off the mist, leaving a layer of frosty dew. Liza heard her shoes crunch on the brown grass as she headed for the field and stone wall.

Back at the inn, Liza walked around to the back door and came in through the kitchen. Claire stood at the stove, and Peter sat at the long table, a pile of pancakes on his plate. Thin and golden brown, the pancakes were covered with a layer of sautéed apples. Liza’s mouth watered at the sight.

Peter’s eyebrows rose as he saw the overloaded basket on her arm. “What is this? Little Red Riding Hood? I thought you were upstairs, sleeping late.”

“Sleeping? I was herding goats while you were still in dreamland, pal.” Liza stuck the cheese in the fridge and placed the lavender in a white vase she found on the sideboard.

Peter gave her a quizzical look. Claire laughed. “Did they get loose again? That George is a terror. He could chew his way through a cement wall.”

“He’s definitely the smartest. Bette is sweet. But she tried to eat my scarf,” Liza added, checking the scarf again.

Claire brought her a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes as Liza related her adventure. “Their farm is really lovely. You ought to walk over and see it sometime.”

“Maybe I will. If I have time,” Peter said, looking unconvinced that a goat farm could be so interesting.

In fact, he was staring at Liza as if she had imagined the entire thing. In a way, it felt as if she had, she realized. It was definitely a strange, almost dreamlike experience. And it had cast a certain spell.

“Maybe I’ll get a goat as a pet,” Liza teased him. “I hear they can be very affectionate.”

“I’m sure your condo board will be interested to hear that.” Peter wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You can try to win them over with some of that cheese.”

“I probably could,” Liza agreed. She was going to ask if he wanted some of the cheese to bring back to Tucson but was interrupted by a buzz from her BlackBerry.

The caller ID flashed, and Liza saw that it was Fran Tulley.

“Hi, Liza. Good news,” Fran greeted her. “I have a couple in my office right now who are interested in seeing the inn. They drove out from Boston this morning to see some properties in the village, but when I told them about the island, they really wanted to see your place first.”

“Oh… that’s great.” Liza knew there would be prospective buyers on the way, but she hadn’t expected anyone to come this morning. Not this early anyway.

“Can I bring them over?” Fran asked.

“Sure, come right over. I’ll try to straighten up a little if I can.”

“Don’t worry. They know the deal. We should be there in about twenty minutes or so. See you then.”

Liza clicked off the call. Logically, she knew that many, many people might have to march through the inn before anyone wanted to buy it. But the idea of these first lookers seemed alarming.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and looked up at her brother.

“Fran Tulley?” he guessed.

“That’s right. And she’s on her way over with hot prospects.”

His mouth was full of food, and he quickly swallowed. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know. All she said was, ‘Don’t worry, they know the deal.’ I guess that means they know it’s in need of improvements.”

“I hope they don’t think they’re going to offer some ridiculously low price and whittle us down.”

“Peter, they didn’t even get here yet. Let’s just let Fran do her job. We probably shouldn’t even be here. We’ll only get in her way.”

Peter seemed alarmed at that suggestion. “I want to be here. I want to see how she handles herself, answers questions. We really don’t know what kind of salesperson she is, Liza. She might be awful.”

“I don’t think she’s going to be awful. She seems very experienced and competent. Besides, we signed a contract with her, remember? It’s a little late to worry about all this now.”

He frowned at her, and Liza sighed. Her brother was getting anxious. Not a good sign.

Liza heard a vehicle pull up and park at the back of the house, near the kitchen door. Was it Fran already? Did she take her clients around in a private jet?

She lifted the curtain on the window and saw Daniel’s truck. He had arrived along with several helpers. He had told her he would need to hire a crew to keep the job moving along. She hoped the painters didn’t distract the lookers. Then again, it might be a plus to see that improvements were going on.

Daniel was unloading a long ladder with the help of another man. He had on a gray hooded sweatshirt today, paint-spattered jeans, and worn running shoes. She wasn’t sure how he managed to look as good as a guy in a five-hundred-dollar suit in that outfit, but somehow he did.

He suddenly turned to the window and smiled, but Liza acted as if she hadn’t seen him and quickly let the curtain drop again. She was sure she looked a frizzy, frazzled mess after her goat-herding experience.

“I guess we ought to at least clean up the kitchen.” Peter was standing at the sink, scrubbing the griddle. “Where did Claire go?” he asked in a cranky tone. “Isn’t this her job?”

“She must be around somewhere. I don’t keep her on a leash, Peter.”

Liza never really asked Claire questions about her work or told her what to do. Claire seemed to know automatically what needed to be done and when to do it.

“Maybe she’s upstairs, making the beds,” Liza offered as she loaded the dishwasher.

“Yeah, she is,” Will reported, stomping into the kitchen. “There’s some painter dude staring through my window. Then she comes in and wants to make the bed…”

Will sat at the table, holding his head. His thick dark hair was sticking up on end, as if someone had been working on it with an eggbeater. He wore a huge baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, his feet bare. He hadn’t reached his full height yet but had very large feet. Like a puppy with big paws.

“Want some breakfast?” Liza asked her nephew.

“Something simple. Don’t let him make a big mess again,” Peter said quickly. He wiped down the countertop with a large sponge and gave Liza a look. “Give him some yogurt or toast. Scratch that. No toast. Too many crumbs.”

Liza knew that Claire had squirreled away a few pancakes for the boy but then decided not to make Peter crazy by warming them up now. Will would have to have the treat some other time-or figure out how to get up earlier and eat with everyone else.

“What is he all freaked out about?” Will strolled over to the refrigerator and took out a container of yogurt, then found a spoon on the table and began to eat it, standing up.

“The real estate agent is bringing a couple over to see the inn,” Liza explained.

Will scratched his neck. “Like, they might buy it?”

Liza nodded. “Like, we hope so.”

He grinned. “Me, too. Then we can get the heck out of here.”

“Will,” his father grumbled, “just eat something and go back upstairs and stay out of the way until these people are gone, okay?”

“It’s no big deal,” Liza said quickly. “You don’t have to stay in your room all day, Will. It’s really gorgeous out. You ought to go down to the beach or something.”

“I’ll take him to the beach,” Peter cut in. “Later, when we’re finished here with the realty agent.”

“I don’t care. I want to stay in my room.” Will dumped his yogurt container in the trash, left the spoon in the sink, then headed for the hallway. “This place sucks. You’d have to be crazy to want to buy it.”

Peter looked at Liza as if to say, “See what I mean?”

Liza sighed inwardly. Peter was convinced that Will was the problem, but from what Liza could see, Peter was at least half to blame; he kept pushing Will’s buttons. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t have to be the one to explain this to her brother.

Saved by the knocker, she thought, as the brass knocker sounded on the front door. “I guess they’re here.”

Peter quickly wiped his hands on a towel. “I’ll get it,” he volunteered.

“That’s all right. I can go.” Liza smoothed down her sweater and pushed her hair behind her ears. She hadn’t put on a drop of makeup this morning, but it was too late now to worry about her appearance. The visitors weren’t coming to see her, anyway. They were coming to look over the inn.

She wasn’t sure why, but the realization gave her a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She pulled open the door, fixing her face in a wide smile. “Hello, Fran. Come right in.”

Fran quickly introduced the Nelsons, Alice and Ben. They were in their midthirties, Liza guessed, just a few years older than she was. She noticed Alice Nelson’s designer handbag and leather boots, and Ben’s supple suede jacket and the little polo-player logo on his baseball cap. Universal sign language that they had an impressive income. That was heartening, Liza thought.

Peter had run into the foyer right behind her and was now vigorously shaking Ben Nelson’s hand.

“Why don’t we start down here?” Fran said brightly. She had a sheaf of notes in hand, Liza noticed, that must have listed the specifics for the property.

Fran began her tour, and the Nelsons peered around.

“And in this room, there’s stunning crown molding around the ceiling and bookcases. And these beautiful pocket doors.” Fran demonstrated, pulling the doors in and out. “That’s the original molding, and it is in excellent condition, as are these wide plank floors…”

The couple looked up at the molding, then down at the floors.

Fran seemed to have the situation totally under control, and Liza slipped away, planning to retreat to the kitchen. She paused in the foyer, glaring at her brother, sending him a silent message to do the same and leave the Nelsons alone with Fran.

He pursed his mouth and shook his head. Liza’s heart sank.

No telling what he might say or do. She didn’t want to see it.

She grabbed her down vest from the coat tree and headed out the kitchen door into the backyard. The irony of it all was that Peter was the one most eager for the sale, and now he was bound to interfere and possibly spoil it. There was nothing she could do about it, Liza reasoned. She decided to get a little work done outside while the house tour was going on.

Liza tramped through the backyard, realizing it was badly in need of attention. Now that the snow had melted, she could see that there were lots of old leaves and frost-damaged branches that needed cleaning up. Her aunt had taught her a bit about gardening, and Liza had always liked working with plants, but she had never had a chance to do much of it. None of her Boston apartments had had a yard, much less room for a garden.

She decided to grab a rake and at least get a start out here. Maybe Will would even help her later-if she asked him really nicely.

She went into the big shed to look for a rake but soon got distracted. The outbuilding had once been a horse stable and still had big swinging barnlike doors, a dirt floor, and two stalls inside.

Her uncle’s workbench stood to one side near a large window. Practically all of his tools were still in place: the long band saws hanging on the wall, the rows of wrenches in graduated size, the screwdrivers and hammers, the big metal vise on the worktable that held wood steady while Clive shaped it or made a repair.

It looked just the same as when she was a child, Liza thought. As if Uncle Clive might step back to do some work at any minute.

A shadow crossed her line of sight, and Liza turned to see Daniel standing in the doorway.

“It’s a regular tool museum in here,” he said lightly. “I’d be careful, though. There are some Harry Potter-sized spiders.”

The thought made Liza’s skin crawl, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. “I’m looking for a rake,” she said. “Have you seen one around?”

“Over in the corner.” Daniel pointed to the far left side of the barn. “I think there are a few propped next to the wall behind the bicycles.”

“Bicycles?” Liza stared around. “I don’t see any bicycles.”

“Covered with that blue tarp. There are two or three. Your aunt kept them around for guests. She liked me to keep them in some sort of riding condition-though they’re so ancient, it’s a challenge, even with air in the tires.”

Liza had loved biking when she was young but hadn’t ridden in years. She walked over to the bikes and pulled off the tarp.

There were three of them, old-fashioned ten-speeds with curled handlebars and very hard-looking seats. They were stored upside down, so that the tires wouldn’t get warped or deflated.

She reached out and spun a pedal, watching the rear wheel of the closest bike spin with a familiar clicking sound.

“Do you like to ride?” Daniel had sneaked up on her, his voice so close, she suddenly jumped.

“Oh… you scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course not,” she said quickly. She turned and looked up at him. He was so tall. She could hardly make out his expression in the dim light.

“I used to like to ride when I was younger,” she admitted, “but I haven’t been out on a bike in years. Maybe I’ll take one of these for a spin sometime. Are they rideable?”

“They are. Unless you’re training for the Tour de France.”

“I decided to skip it this year. Too much going on around here,” she answered, matching his dry tone.

“That makes sense. Well, if you do go for a spin, there are a few bike tools and an air pump in that box.” He pointed to a wooden box near the bikes. “And some helmets, too.”

“Okay, thanks.” She turned to him and smiled.

“Are we still looking for the rake? Or going for a ride instead?”

Who is this “we” you’re referring to? she wanted to ask.

Me, of course, his dark eyes seemed to answer her with a playful light. As if to say he wouldn’t mind skipping work for a while and going for a ride with her.

Liza hesitated, wondering if she should suggest the idea. Then she quickly caught herself.

Are you out of your mind? Inviting the housepainter to go for a bike ride-in the middle of a workday?

Liza glanced at him and backed away from the bikes. “I can’t go now,” she said abruptly. “I have a lot to do.”

“Right. Work. I almost forgot. I have a house to paint.”

“Yeah, I think you do.”

He walked away smiling, looking pleased that he’d gotten to her.

He did get to her. She wasn’t sure why. He hardly treated her the way a contractor should be treating a customer. Somehow she stood for it-and even encouraged him.

Liza grabbed the old rake and got to work, gathering the dead leaves that littered the lawn. There were more under the bushes in the garden, but she decided to leave the garden for later. She pushed herself hard, deliberately trying to work up a sweat and burn off the ire from the latest in her office drama.

But for some reason, she wasn’t really thinking about Charlie anymore. Her thoughts kept wandering back to Daniel Merritt, who was working nearby, up on a ladder at the back of the house. She raked industriously, never once glancing his way, yet for some reason totally conscious of his every movement.

The way she acted around him was silly, almost embarrassing, as if they were playing some dumb flirtation game. She was pretty rusty at that sport; she’d be the first to admit it.

Daniel Merritt, on the other hand, seemed a pro. He probably charmed lots of women he worked for. Out of sheer boredom, she guessed, from living around here. Liza knew she shouldn’t make too much of it, especially since she would be leaving in just over a week. So what was the point of encouraging anything?

The pile of leaves and branches was growing bigger. Liza took a break to admire her progress and look for a new spot to attack with her rake. The kitchen door opened, and Will came out. Liza waved to him as he walked over, his hands dug deep in the front pockets of his jeans, the hood of his brown sweatshirt pulled up over his head though it was quite a mild day.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Will,” Liza echoed his greeting. “Is the real estate agent still here?”

Will nodded. “She’s, like, popping out of the woodwork, everywhere you turn. It’s like a slasher movie or something. And my dad is, like, stalking them. It’s really bizarre.”

Liza had to laugh at the description. “Sounds about right. Want to help me rake?”

He shrugged. “I guess I could. It’s so flipping boring here, there’s nothing else to do.”

She handed him her rake and started toward the shed to look for another. She turned around and called back to him over her shoulder. “I found some bikes. Maybe we could all go for a ride later. Your dad and I can show you the island.”

He looked up at her, and she noticed a slight sign of interest in the flicker of an eyebrow. “What is there to see around here?”

“Lots of things. The beaches and some farms. There’s a little bunch of shops not too far away. There are these amazing cliffs on the other side of the island that are shaped like wings. There’s a legend about them.”

Peter came out of the house then. He didn’t look happy.

“Are the Nelsons gone?” Liza asked him.

He nodded quickly. “On their way to another appointment. Another big house on the island, though I don’t think it’s quite as large as this one or has a water view. I wish I knew where it was. I’d like to check out our competition.”

He was getting obsessed. Liza let out a long breath, struggling for patience.

“I don’t think we can really worry about that too much, Peter. What did Fran say?”

“She just said she would call us later. Very noncommittal. I couldn’t really tell if she had a feeling about them one way or the other.”

“We can’t expect the first people who look at the inn to buy it,” Liza reminded him.

“Why not? Sometimes ballplayers hit the first pitch out of the park. It happens, you know.”

Will, who had started raking, rolled his eyes so that only Liza could see. She struggled not to grin and give him away.

“Fran made a few mistakes when she was showing the place,” Peter went on. “I had to correct her.”

“What kind of mistakes?” Liza asked warily.

“Oh, little things. She said the house was built in 1895 for a sea captain. It was actually 1890. And she said the banister is oak when it’s maple. We don’t want to be inaccurate.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Liza muttered. She hoped Peter hadn’t driven Fran Tulley crazy. Her brother could be so dense at times.

Liza’s cell phone went off. She quickly pulled it from her back pocket and recognized Fran Tulley’s number. Was Peter right? Were the Nelsons going to make an offer?

“Hello, Liza. It’s Fran,” the real estate agent began. “I’m out on another appointment, but I had a minute to call you.”

“How did it go? Are they interested? Peter couldn’t really tell.”

“They liked the place, but I think the repairs that are needed scared them off. They’re more the granite-kitchen, marble-bath type. It would be a lot of work to get the inn up to their standards.”

“With those standards, yes, it would,” Liza had to agree.

“I did want to tell you privately-and as diplomatically as I can-that it’s difficult to show a property with the owner hovering and cutting into the conversation. That’s why you hire someone like me. Because we have the knowledge and professional experience.”

“I know exactly what you’re saying, Fran. I was wondering about that myself,” Liza replied quietly.

She noticed Peter walking quickly in her direction. He had obviously figured out that she was talking to Fran. He signaled to her, but she waved him away.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other,” Fran said. “No offense to your brother,” she added. “I know you’re both eager to sell. But his contributions are not helping that effort.”

“I’ll try to communicate that to him,” Liza promised.

“I’d like to bring another couple by this afternoon. Would that be okay?”

“Fine with me. And we’ll all try to stay out of your way,” Liza said.

“Great. See you then.”

Fran clicked off, and Liza turned to her brother, who was now hovering inches away.

“Was that Fran? What did she say?” he asked.

“She said the Nelsons liked the place, but they aren’t interested in taking on significant renovations. They like granite kitchens and marble bathrooms. They don’t want a fixer-upper.”

“What else did she say? You were talking a long time.”

This part was harder. Liza braced herself. “She said it was difficult for a sales agent to show a property if the owner was… hovering. It undermined her efforts.”

“I was just trying to be helpful,” Peter explained. “And I wanted to see how she handled buyers and showed the place…” He looked a little deflated. “I guess she didn’t like that.”

“She knows you were trying to help. But I don’t think you would like it if someone was leaning over your shoulder, peering through the viewfinder, as you tried to do your job, would you?”

Peter didn’t answer. But from his expression, she knew he had gotten her point.

“She’s bringing more people today,” Liza added, hoping that would cheer him up.

“Really? When?”

“This afternoon. But we won’t be here, so you won’t be tempted to butt in again.”

Peter’s face grew a little red. “Where will we be?”

“We’re going to take a bike ride, you, me, and Will. We’re going to show him the island. Right after we rake up all these leaves.”

Will paused and leaned on his rake, waiting for his father’s reaction.

Peter looked at the both of them. “Sounds like you have it all planned. Where do we get the bikes-rent them somewhere?”

“There are three perfectly good ones in the shed, oiled up and ready to go. A bit old,” Liza added, “but I hear they work.”

“What about that endless to-do list of yours?”

“It can wait a few hours. I promised Will a tour of the island,” she answered. “It’s a perfect day for it.”

Peter turned to his son. “Do you want to go bike riding?”

Will shrugged. “I guess. It beats raking leaves.”

“He’s made some good progress,” Liza said, pointing to the large pile Will had gathered. “Why don’t we finish the job together and then go out for a ride? Maybe Claire can make us some lunch, and we’ll eat on the beach.”

“All right,” Peter agreed. “The air is so clear around here; there’s great light. I’ll bring some cameras.”

Liza fetched another rake from the shed and handed it to her brother. “Many hands make light work,” she decided, was one proverb that was very true.

It was good to get this big job done, but she was looking forward to touring the island, too. She had always had such a strong work ethic, sticking to her responsibilities and duties no matter what. Never taking time for herself.

Well, today she was going to do something fun and not worry about it. So she tried not to feel too guilty about abandoning the inn and her long to-do list. It was important to spend time with Will.