Folly Cove (16 page)

“You got this,” Dad kept repeating. “You're built for speed, Elizabeth. Let's put the pedal to the metal!”

She'd pedaled her heart out for him, so fast that she'd forgotten to brake. She had crashed into the front steps of the inn as her mother was serving drinks to a pair of elderly couples. Elly wasn't hurt, but she was scared when her mother's face darkened with disapproval.

She could tell her mother was gearing up to yell at her about taking better care of the bike and the importance of not disturbing the guests. Then Dad had rushed up the steps and swept Sarah off her feet, dipping her like they were dancing and making her giggle. The old people on the porch had clapped.

He'd kissed her mother, then dashed down the steps again, picked up Elly, and tossed her over his shoulder, cantering like a horse across the lawn to take her into the apartment through their back door.

“Close one, but we dodged that bullet,” he'd said as he cleaned up Elly's bloody knee and tenderly bandaged the scrape. “There's nothing like the element of surprise when you're sweet-talking your way out of a bad situation.”

Elly wondered when, exactly, her father had run out of surprises and sweet talk.

After hitting up the Gloucester shops, she and Kennedy wound along Route 133 into Essex, passing antique Colonials and Capes shouldering up to the road. So funny how in Los Angeles everyone was all about big front yards, while here the houses were built practically on the street to eliminate the need to shovel snow great distances to the front door.

The river gleamed silvery blue behind the cattails and tall marsh grass, and the white churches had classic lines and narrow steeples. Churches and antique stores everywhere: it was like some quaint-to-death New England movie set. She wished Ryder could see this place. It would blow his mind.

Elly had first discovered consignment shops when she was a teenager; she and her theater friends relied on them to find clothes as different as possible from the boring mall rags the other kids bought. Even her dress for senior prom was a consignment-store find: a vintage cocktail dress in emerald green with a net skirt. She still had that dress and had worn it once to dinner with Ryder.

“I can't get this dress off you fast enough,” he'd murmured against her neck as they'd ordered appetizers.

She missed him, Elly realized. She blamed this on reverse culture shock: it was freaky being back in New England.

On impulse, she texted Ryder a picture of the little Mexican place where she and Kennedy stopped for tacos with one word:
Picante!
Even Mexican food made her miss him. So stupid.

Elly dropped her phone back into her purse. She didn't let herself look to see if he replied. If Ryder didn't text back, it would serve her right, after the way she'd shut him down cold before leaving.

“Mom's favorite consignment store is in Ipswich,” Kennedy was saying. “We could go there.”

So far they'd scored bunches of silk flowers, checked tablecloths, and a white sweater—Elly had snagged these items thinking of the “I Got Rhythm” scene in the movie with Gene Kelly dancing on the Parisian street. When she explained this to Kennedy and her niece looked confused, Elly realized she'd never seen the movie.

They were still parked in front of the restaurant. Elly took Kennedy's phone and downloaded a YouTube clip of Gene Kelly's “I Got Rhythm” scene.

Kennedy's eyes bugged out. “Wish I could dance like that.”

“You totally could!” Elly said. “I know what: let's dress you up like Gene Kelly for the party. That sweater we bought should fit you. You
can dance and sing this song for your grandmother. She'd love that. Best present you could give her!”

“No way!” Kennedy looked panicked.

“Why not?” Elly said. “I can show you how.”

She loved this idea. Her mind raced, imagining other scenes from the movie they could act out for their mother and her guests. “Or we'll ask Anne to do the Gene Kelly part and you can back her up. She's an even better dancer than I am. She and I used to sing with your mom and grandmother at the inn. We performed every weekend for years.”

“Wait. What? Mom doesn't sing.”

“Sure she does. She has a great voice.”

“Well, I've never heard her,” Kennedy said.

Elly stared at her. “Your mom hasn't ever sung to you? Not even a lullaby?”

“Are you kidding?” Kennedy rolled her eyes. “Mom's
way
too serious. I've never even heard her sing in the car.”

How was it possible that her sister had succeeded in hiding this part of herself from her daughter? “Well, we'll have to change that,” Elly said. “We'll get your mom to sing. Now let's go to Ipswich and see this store you keep talking about.”

She'd forgotten how intense a New England autumn could be, like traveling inside a kaleidoscope. The landscape was starting to fire up for fall, the marshes already a dark red and brightened by bushes heavy with orange berries. The fields and oak trees blazed gold and yellow. Occasional birch trees glimmered white against a sky so blue and free of smog, it looked artificial.

“So is this your favorite shop?” Elly asked as Kennedy directed her to park in front of a small storefront with classic clothing displayed in the front window: a tweed blazer, a red cable-knit sweater, a stack of jeans.

“Not mine. Mom's,” Kennedy said. “She buys most of our clothes here.”

Elly was surprised. She'd pegged her sister as a total catalog shopper. “That's cool.”

“Not really. She does it to save money. Mom says we can't afford the mall.”

Another shock, given the size of Laura's house, the stables, the new Lexus. “Why are you guys so broke?” Elly knew it was wrong to ask, so she acted nonchalant, examining a canary yellow cardigan on one of the racks.

Kennedy shrugged. “Life's expensive. And money doesn't grow on trees, you know.”

Her niece sounded like she was fifty years old. She must have absorbed that classic line at the dinner table, Elly decided, fingering a gold shirtwaist evening dress that looked like one of the dresses Leslie Caron had worn in the movie. It was too small for her, a size six. Maybe it would fit Anne.

She plucked it off the rack. “Good prices. Your mom's smart to shop here,” Elly said, wondering what in hell Laura and Jake were doing with all their money.

“I
put yesterday's mail on your desk,” Rhonda said as Sarah came in from the dining room after her morning coffee and toast. “Oh, and I had two e-mails asking about winter weekend specials for couples. Are we running another promotion this year?”

“Yes,” Sarah said. “I haven't written it up yet, but I was thinking of offering a ten percent discount on a two-night stay, plus a pass to the Cape Ann Museum.”

“Not very romantic,” Rhonda said. “But of course it's up to you.”

Something was off. Rhonda's voice wasn't as warm as it usually was, and she had an unusually severe expression. Even her hair looked severe, pinned up like that instead of falling in its usual glossy curls. Sarah wondered if she should ask the girl what was wrong. Something was clearly bothering her.

We aren't friends,
she reminded herself. It was always iffy to be friends with your employees. It was a fine line between professional and personal when you ran an inn, especially with employees who'd been with her as long as Rhonda had, but Sarah had always been careful not to overstep it.

She removed her wool coat, studying Rhonda as she moved with her usual efficiency behind the desk, checking out a middle-aged couple with enough bags for a European tour. Rhonda was all smiles with them.

Maybe Rhonda was sulky with Sarah because things hadn't worked
out with that uncle of hers. She'd been so hopeful when she'd fixed them up.

“Tell you what,” Sarah said after the couple had left the reception area, Tommy burdened with suitcases and hobbling behind them. “Why don't you write up the copy for the winter special, Rhonda. You always have such wonderful ideas. Yours put mine to shame.”

This, at least, earned a small smile. “As you like,” Rhonda said. “I'll have it to you after I've checked everyone out.”

“Wonderful. Well, I'd better get to my desk, then, and see what mysteries await me in yesterday's mail.” Sarah slipped into her office. Rhonda was a hard worker. And, in Sarah's experience, nothing could lift your mood like a job well done.

She turned on her computer and flipped idly through the pile of letters and circulars stacked on her desk. A thick manila envelope caught her eye. It was from an attorney's office in Venice, Florida. Sarah set the other mail aside and slit the envelope open.

At first she couldn't make sense of it. Phrases jumped out at her, but the sentences ran together, then seemed to fragment into pieces, as her brain struggled to process what her eyes were seeing.

Dear Mrs. Bradford . . . I regret to inform you about the death . . . I have been asked . . . your husband, Neil Bradford, being of sound mind and body . . .

He was dead. The lawyer had sent her a will, saying Folly Cove was hers. Neil was gone.

Her Neil.

“Rhonda,” Sarah called. “Could you come in here, please?”

“Can you give me five more minutes, Mrs. Bradford? I'm just finishing up with that copy.”

“No,” Sarah said. She cleared her throat, then added, “I need you now, Rhonda. Please.”

Her own voice, though it seemed disembodied, sounded coolly normal. No sign of the disintegration taking place in her vision, the buzzing in her brain, or the escalation of her heartbeat knocking against her ribs as Rhonda appeared at her door, knuckles to the wood, her mouth open and making sounds Sarah couldn't hear.

Rhonda's quizzical look quickly altered into something else, something Sarah couldn't recognize or interpret because her own vision was going completely dark now, her brain shutting down, her heart the only part of her still working.

But even that trusty heart of hers was about to stop, to crack into a thousand smaller beating pieces that would never be put together again.

•   •   •

Anne opened her eyes. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious.

She was shivering from lying on the damp ground but was afraid to sit up. Every time she tried, there was a sharp stab of pain between her ribs.

She fiercely blinked away tears and tried to take progressively deeper breaths as she lay flat on her back and stared up at the mockingly cheerful sky. Finally she tried to sit up again. The pain in her left side was still too intense to bear. At least it wasn't her spine.

Anne gently lowered herself down to the ground with a gasp. She hoped General had made it back to the barn. Surely someone would see the horse and her note, then come looking for her.

Or maybe she could limp back on her own? Obviously nothing was broken. She could move her arms and legs and neck just fine.

She'd feel like a total idiot dialing 911. But who else could she call for help?

No sense in phoning Flossie. Her aunt was fit, but she'd have to carry the baby over to the cottage to get the car seat. And even then, how would she find Anne? Anne had no idea where she was, much less the closest access point to this trail from the road.

Who else?

Definitely not Laura. Calling her would only give her sister more reason to be pissed off, since Laura hated to be interrupted when she was busy. And Laura was always busy. Her sister was
born
busy.

Anne didn't dare call Sarah, either. Her mother would be useless. She would never consent to driving her car on dirt roads.

That left Elly. Elly didn't have a car, but maybe she could borrow Laura's or Jake's. Anne hoped her phone's GPS could get Elly to her. She wriggled the phone out of her jeans pocket, breathing through the pain, and pressed Elly's number.

No answer. Damn it. Anne left a message, then clicked on Google maps to see if the app could find her location.

It did: she was about three miles from the inn. Two from the stables. A long walk in this kind of pain. But the thought of Lucy made Anne push herself upright with her hands, an inch at a time, wincing.

“Ow,” she moaned as the pain knifed between her ribs.

At least she'd had the sense to wear a riding helmet. She pulled the helmet off and felt along the base of her skull. Good news: no blood. A slight concussion, probably, given her nausea, and maybe a fractured or broken rib, but she'd live.

Maybe she should call 911 after all. The thought of a stretcher carrying her to Lucy made her decide to reach for the phone again.

Then she heard something crashing through the bushes. A very large something: a person, it must be. A deer or a coyote would probably be quieter.

Anne was about to call out, then clamped her lips shut. She'd read in one of the local newspapers about teenagers with paintball guns making trouble in Dogtown. Did she really want to deal with that?

She waited as the footsteps approached, her pulse so loud in her ears that she imagined whoever it was could follow the sound straight to her.

A dog broke noisily through the underbrush next to her, nose to the ground. It lifted its head when it saw her and started barking like a maniac. The dog was brown, shaggy, of no identifiable breed. Definitely the same animal that had spooked the horse.

“You dumb dog,” Anne said. “Be quiet! You're the reason I'm in this fix!”

“Mack! Here, boy! Mack, where are you?”

Anne recognized the voice as Sebastian's before he pushed aside low branches near the dog and ducked beneath them. He bent to pat the mutt on the head, quieting the animal, then peered at Anne from beneath the brim of a cap in a vibrant shade of orange.

Hunters, Anne remembered, seeing the hat. God, had she been riding during deer-hunting season without realizing it? Another classic idiot move!

No, wait. Deer season was later. This was pheasant season, right up until November. Still, she should have been wearing bright colors, not her forest-colored green jacket.

“Oh,” Sebastian said, looking confused at the sight of her on the ground. “You're why my dog is barking. Sorry.”

“He spooked my horse,” Anne said, pointing an accusing finger at Mack.

This gesture only caused the dog to trot in her direction—bravely, now that Sebastian was here—and start lapping at her face, making her laugh and then wince when pain shot up her side again. “Ow!”

“Mack! Stop that! Come here!” Sebastian stepped forward to collar the dog again and stood looking down at Anne. “Are you badly hurt?”

“No. But I'm in too much pain to walk back to the stables. I don't suppose you have a car?”

He nodded and jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “A Jeep. I came by the fire road.”

“They let you do that in Dogtown?”

“I have a special research permit.” He squatted beside her. Sebastian's eyes were more green than brown beneath the cap, and his russet bangs were flattened along his forehead above his nose. He wore a gold plaid flannel shirt and black jeans, like some Cambridge poet except for the hiking boots, clearly well worn. A canvas mailbag was slung over one shoulder. Branches protruded from the pouch. He must have been collecting specimens.

“Where's the pain?” he asked.

“My side, mostly. It's probably a broken rib. I'm okay as long as I don't take a deep breath.”

“I don't think you should stand up if you're not sure.”

“I'm sure!”

“Look, just take it slowly, all right?” he said.

“How much slower can I take it?” Anne complained. “I've been lying on the ground forever.”

“Do an inventory,” Sebastian suggested. “Let's make sure your back is all right. Lie down again and test your muscles head to foot, a little at a time. Here. I'll lie down with you. We'll do it together.”

“What? That's stupid!” Anne said.

And yet, when Sebastian was lying on the ground next to her, talking her through it—“Wiggle your toes first; okay, good, now let's do our ankles”—she was suddenly less afraid. More relaxed. It was as if they were lying on a bed of pine needles, the sky a warm blue duvet pulled over them.

When they'd finished—he even suggested that they wiggle their ears, making them both laugh—Sebastian seemed assured that her spine was intact and asked if she was ready to stand up.

“Maybe.” Anne was feeling sleepy now, too comfortable to move.

“Try. Let's see if we can get you to the car.” Sebastian held out a hand, which made the dog leap to its feet and start wagging its tail. “No, Mack,” he said, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. “He wants to help,” he said. “Mack is everyone's best friend.”

“Except my horse's.”

“Yeah, look, I really am sorry,” Sebastian said. “I'll pay any medical bills, all right? Yours or the horse's. But for now let's focus on getting you to an ER.”

Anne shook her head. “Thanks, but I need to check on the horse and then go home.”

“You really ought to get an X-ray.”

“After,” she said, breathing through the pain as she folded her legs beneath her and prepared to stand.

She wouldn't have made it upright without Sebastian's help. Then it took all of her willpower not to cry out when she took her first step.

Sebastian put an arm around her shoulders, half carrying her through the trees to the Jeep. Anne had to bite her lip to keep from swearing, she was in such agony.

Finally they were in the car, where she held her breath as Sebastian gently tugged the seat belt into place and buckled it for her because she couldn't twist to the side. The dog, meanwhile, had jumped into the back of the Jeep. She could smell its foul panting breath.

“Your dog stinks like a dying buffalo,” she managed.

“I know. That's what makes him so lovable. Look, please let me take you to the ER. I'll drop you there and go find the horse.”

She shook her head. “Stables first. Then home. I promise to go to the ER if I'm not feeling better in a couple of hours. Really, what would they do for a broken rib? They don't even give you a compression bandage these days. And there's something I have to do at home first.”

The truth: Lucy was the reason she was desperate to get home. Not just to see her baby, but to nurse her. Anne's breasts ached, engorged and hard, adding to her misery.

Plus, what would Flossie do if Lucy was hungry? There wasn't any more frozen breast milk.

As she pictured Lucy wailing and her aunt frantically pacing, it was all Anne could do not to shout at Sebastian to go faster. He was driving like a centurion, no doubt trying to spare her more pain.

Laura was standing outside the barn with a cell phone pressed to one ear when they pulled up in front of the stables. A half dozen horses, tacked up and waiting, were tied to the fence.

Laura was dressed smartly in yellow jodhpurs, tall black boots, and white quilted vest. She narrowed her eyes at them.

“For heaven's sake. There you are,” Laura said after she'd hung up the phone. She marched over to Anne's door and opened it. Her eyes flicked to Sebastian behind the wheel, then dismissed him. “I was just on the phone with Flossie. She's worried sick. Where the hell have you been, Anne? Having a little
date
while Flossie watches your screaming kid?”