A Shore Thing (23 page)

Didn’t he understand, though, that I was not the type of woman to give up a cause over a guy? He could never change me, so why would he try?

The thought lingered along with a thousand others as I curled on my couch with Moondoggy in the crook of my lap. It would take strength of will to push me forward this morning. My eyes caught again on the picture in the paper, but no matter how I tried to snarl the image away, it stayed static, its ridicule aimed straight at me. If I hadn’t forced myself to glance away, I might not have noticed the envelope that had fluttered to the floor when I had first opened the paper.

I snatched it up, the turn in my abdomen oddly familiar. When I unfolded the paper within, I became aware that my secret admirer had, unbeknownst to me, struck again:

You can hide, but you can’t win, lady.

GAGE

“SO YOU DECIDED TO give us the ol’ heave-ho last night, Mr. Mitchell?” Rick Knutson’s voice on the other end of Gage’s phone was almost too much to take so early in the morning. “That’s all right, I know how it is. Probably got yourself a curvy little number to get home to. Don’t sweat it.”

He knew it was immature for an educated man in his late thirties to roll his eyes, but Gage couldn’t help himself. “I had intended to be there, Rick, but had a last-minute change of plans. Couldn’t be helped.” That was stretching it, but whenever he thought back on the two choices he had last evening once he spotted Callie in those trees, well? He doubted he could have forced himself to make any other choice.

And what a choice it turned out to be.

“No matter. Word on the street is that the press scared away most of the council members anyway. Only Jamison was there, so Redmond had to put all his eggs in one basket with him. Know what I mean?”

“I’ll give Redmond a call with my regrets.” Gage jabbed the eraser end of his pencil into his desk. “Wait. Are you telling me this party was actually a front for a meeting with the town council? Behind closed doors?”

Rick’s laughter soared through the phone. “As if you didn’t know? Right. Good one!” His laughter reduced to a silly whine. “Keep up that holier than thou front—that’s solid PR.”

Steam rose within him, heat passing through his veins. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the penalty for violating an open meeting law. Especially in light of the project’s current opposition.”

Rick spewed contempt. “Don’t get me started on the so-called SOS group. Those people are laughable Ineffectual—”

“And receiving lots of press—” As soon as the words flew from his mouth, Gage wished he could retract them. Despite the whuppin’ he hoped to inflict on the cocky realtor, he had no intention of exposing Callie in the process. He held his breath, hoping Rick hadn’t seen the paper. Then again, if he had, wouldn’t he have mentioned that news by now?

“That is exactly why we’re able to fly under the radar so easily. Don’t you see? SOS is so busy calling attention to their merry band of nitwits that nobody notices the swift plans we are making on this deal. Could not have planned this better myself.”

Gage squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the burn from them. He tapped the tip of his pencil on his desk like it was sending out an SOS of its own. “Was there another reason for this call?”

“The plans. Where are you on the plans for the prop?”

Gage held his breath for fear of the barrage of sentiments that threatened to erupt. He’d been cordial to Rick to this point, but the guy was a realtor for crying out loud. He had no business sticking his nose into the design end of this business. “You’ll have to take that up with Redmond. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got a deadline to meet.”

“Okay. All right. We can play that game, if you want. I don’t have to tell you, though, Mr. Mitchell, that time is money. The longer you take to handle your end of this deal, the more money it’s going to cost your client. That could affect you.”

Did he really want to get into this with Rick Knutson, annoying real estate broker? Besides, he didn’t see how this project would cost any more money if he got the plans to Redmond this week or next. Once his client approved them, he would have to meet with his engineering consultants to bring the drawings to the final level. Might set him back another week or so, but even though construction costs continued to climb, they would not do so
that
quickly. He wanted to call the realtor on his claims, but that would only prolong this conversation. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Good. Glad you see it my way. Talk soon.”

Gage listened to the dial tone buzzing in his ear.
That guy’s got to be kidding
. Disruptions like that made it much more difficult for him to go back to the drawing board, so to speak. He shook his head. Actually, much more than an unwelcome phone call distracted Gage this morning. This thing with Callie wasn’t going away; rather, it was growing bigger and faster than the project he so diligently worked on for the Kitteridge property each day.

He glanced at his computer screen, which lay open, ready for more inputs. Soon he’d be meeting with Redmond for his sign-off, then plotting out the construction documents, then presenting the whole exhaustive design to the city. Although he respected Callie’s drive to thwart something she felt so strongly about, like Rick and the others, he doubted that this community effort would win out over Redmond’s longtime plans and seemingly endless supply of cash.

So what was he going to do about Callie Duflay?

His office line rang again, keeping him from coming up with the answer to his question. Did he dare answer the phone again? It could be that reporter snooping around, digging for more manure to spread across the paper.

“Gage here.”

“Gage. It’s Redmond.” He didn’t have to identify himself. His gravel-laced voice did that for him. “You didn’t answer my e-mail.”

Gage squinted. E-mail? He clicked over to his account but even before he did, he remembered. Rick had phoned him last night with an invitation to the “party” at Jamison’s house, but Redmond had e-mailed him too. Thankfully he hadn’t answered that. “Sorry, Redmond. Had a long night last night.”

“As well you should have. Those designs ready?”

He breathed easier. “As a matter of fact, I was going to give you a call myself. If all goes well, I should have them ready for you to take a look at by Friday morning. If you like what you see, I will be able to move onto the next phase, which will ultimately mean bringing the finished designs to the planning department.”

“Good. Let’s meet at your office Friday, 9:00 a.m. sharp.”

“Great. You’re on my calendar.”

A thick pause filled the air between them. “Want to talk to you about something that’s come up.”

Gage’s chest stilled, like his lungs had quit functioning. Had Redmond gotten wind of Gage’s romance with Callie outside the alleged party on the hill last night? “All right, Redmond. Shoot.”

“Know anything about this Callie Duflay?” Redmond’s garbled voice spat out Callie’s name in a way that turned his stomach.

“I’ve seen her around town.”

He huffed and it sounded like a seal’s bark. “She’s a piece of work. Seen the paper this morning?”

Gage swallowed. “Skimmed it over my morning coffee.” He decided to take the proverbial bull by its pointy horns. “Wasn’t impressed with the rag-like quality of the reporting, however. That picture of Ms. Duflay looked like something out of a tabloid. Quite a bit of speculation on the part of that reporter, in my opinion.”

“Really. So you think the allegations are suspect, then?”

“If I remember correctly, Cal . . . Ms. Duflay did not confirm the reporter’s accusation. And by the look on her face, I suspect she didn’t pose for that picture either.”

His laughter came through like a shout. “A hideous depiction, all right.”

“Yes. Well.” The only picture in Gage’s mind was of the beauty who received his kiss in the dark of night. He shook it away. “I wouldn’t let it bother you.”

“Me? I’m not bothered. Jamison and I already had a discussion about the trollop and have decided to make her day and not investigate. Because if it were proven that the little minx was hiding in those bushes, trespassing charges could be made.” He lowered his heavy voice until he resembled a stalker. “Let’s just say that we would rather not draw attention to our soiree last evening. You with me?”

Yeah, he was with him all right, wishing he wasn’t so privy to the obviously questionable aspects of this project. It wasn’t lost on him that Redmond’s admission to his and Jamison’s discussion over why they weren’t inclined to investigate the allegation against Callie made him both disturbed and relieved at the same time, the mixture unsettling.

Chapter Twenty-five

Never had I been happier about the prospect of going to work. I slipped into the RAG early this morning, hungry for one of Holly’s creations but hoping not to be noticed by those who read the paper. It was Friday, though, and shouldn’t folks who read Tuesday’s edition have moved on by now?

Here was hoping.

“Mornin’ Callie.” Holly greeted me with her usual big smile.

I took a seat along the side wall. “I’ll have—”

“A peanut butter smoothie?” Holly finished my order. “And how about a rum muffin to go with that?”

“Sounds lethal.”

“Oh, it is. It’ll light a fire under you for the entire day, mark my words.”

I shrugged. “Okay. Why not?”

A squeal of voices entered the diner and Holly’s face lit up. “There’s my girls.” She glanced at me. “I’ll be right back with your breakfast, hon.”

I watched, awed, as Holly threw herself into the group of three women near the counter. The women were all fairly new in this town, but word was they were Holly’s kin. What would it be like to squeal with abandon every time my family and I got together? The thought made my heart drop a little.

One of the women caught my eye and broke free from the group. I glanced away, believing I’d been mistaken, but sure enough, she approached my table. “Excuse me? Are you Callie Duflay?”

The woman’s blonde waves framed her smiling face. She wouldn’t smile like that if she had a complaint to file with me, now would she? “Yes. What can I do for you?”

She snapped open her bag and retrieved an envelope. “My sisters and I wanted to give you this, for your cause.” She handed it to me. “We admire your tenacity.”

Speechless, I reached for it. This week had started off well with donations pouring in as I made our case on the local television station. But after my mug appeared in the newspaper the next morning with Eliot’s claims attached, the tide began to reverse its course.

While pledges and support continued their steady stream, an upswing of opposition had also begun to surface. Angry letters made the op-ed page, some from people outside of Otter Bay who we’d surmised wanted to purchase a condo in the new development, but missiles from locals also appeared, many of them questioning our treatment of the Kitteridges. And I still wondered about the author of the “love notes” I had received. Rather than draw undue attention to ourselves, the SOS team had gathered by phone conference this week.

She continued. “I’m Tara Sweet, by the way.” A bright diamond on her finger flashed when she pulled her left hand back after I’d taken the donation from her.

“Tara, thank you so much for this.”

She tilted her head to one side, one shoulder slightly raised. “It’s not a huge amount, but we hope it will help. That property’s been open since I was a kid.” She glanced out a far side window, her eyes wistful. “Have a lot of memories to hold onto over there.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

She gave her head a slight shake as Holly approached with my breakfast. “Well. I’ll let you get back to your breakfast . . . hey! Peanut butter smoothie. That’s my favorite.”

Holly laughed. “And I talked her into a rum muffin too.”

Tara smiled and winked at me. “You live dangerously, don’t you?”

No kidding.
I waved at her as she strolled toward her sisters who sat at a window-side table. Maybe I should take this as a sign that the blip in our campaign this week had only a momentary effect and that the generosity of these women with ties to Otter Bay would light a spark beneath the rest of the community.

Trying not to appear overly eager, I slipped a glance down at the envelope, noticing that its seal had been left open. I pulled the check up slightly and bit back a smile. We were another three thousand dollars closer to meeting our goal.

I enjoyed my breakfast more than anticipated and Holly was right—not sure if it was the rum muffin or not, but a fiery charge had lit into me and I couldn’t wait to get to camp. I paid the bill then drove straight to work.

While hikers enjoyed a needle-softened path to get from the sea and back to camp, the drive was longer and windier. I didn’t mind. Emerging from the bending road that tunneled through a canopy of Monterey pine gave an aerial-like view of the vast ocean the horizon muted by light fog. Up here, it seemed, cares were but a memory.

I pulled into a spot next to Squid’s, surprised to see him here so early.
Must be working on some new activities.
To the left of the Adventure Room marked the beginning of a narrow pathway lined by plantings of eucalyptus that led to a circle of stones set around a wood cross. The outdoor chapel was one of Squid’s ideas, a brilliant one, and another reason he was so good at what he did. Getting excited children to march single file could test the patience of Mother Teresa, however, so I created the path only one person wide with the “mysterious” stone circle at the other end.