No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 (16 page)

“Lovely,” I decided. Already
I was imagining myself sitting on the sand with my beach towel and
a good book. “How’s the water?”

“You have to watch out for
the currents. They can be quite strong. The riptides can pull you
out. If you do get caught, just swim parallel to the beach until
they let up. Otherwise, you’ll exhaust yourself.”

“I’m more of a dipper than a
swimmer,” I confessed. “I was voted most unlikely to ever be a
lifeguard.”

Mac laughed at that, tilting
his head back slightly, casually. In all the years I had known him,
I had never really looked at him as a man, the way I was doing now.
I was surprised to discover just how attractive he really
was.

“Here we are,” he told me as
we pulled into a crushed shell driveway flanked on either side by
an old stone wall. The house was situated at the top of a rise,
surrounded by mature pine, spruce, and oak trees. There was plenty
of shade from the hot sun and I felt a decent breeze come off the
bay. As Mac parked the car, I gazed down at the private little cove
below. I could see a boathouse and its attached pier, with a
motorized boat lift. There was even a small spit of rocky shore,
where a pair of chaise lounges sat, offering a peaceful sanctuary
during the heat of the day.

“Ready?” Mac was watching me
take in all the details of Bonnie Oaks. I could tell he was proud
of his accomplishment in restoring the property. It really was full
of vintage charm. “We kept as true to the original details as
possible, but we did it using modern materials. The shingles are
actually made of cement, not cedar. Low maintenance.”

I looked up at the dove gray
cottage, dressed up with white trim. What had I been expecting?
Something grand, befitting an insurance executive turned
Prohibition smuggler? This was hardly a bayfront mansion. The style
was Dutch Colonial Revival, with a stone foundation befitting a
cottage in a woodsy setting. I could see there were plenty of nooks
and crannies to the home. A second-floor sunroom rose up from the
entry porch, supported by its large stone pillars. The gambrel roof
had a wide dormer with an arched window on the third floor. Here
and there, smaller dormers popped up along the second-floor roof
line. The cottage was not overly large, but I could see what a
charming retreat it had made for the Frankle family. We climbed the
six steps up to the open porch. A paneled front door, painted in
crisp blue, was framed by small sidelights. As Mac unlocked the
door, I stood taking in the peace and quiet of the
woods.

“Here we go,” he said,
stepping aside to let me pass.

The entry hall opened up to
a vestibule with a staircase, two doors, and two arched doorways,
one leading to a dining room, the other to a long hallway that
offered a view to the back of the house. I could see a sofa and
chairs there, and beyond those, a set of french doors that
overlooked the bay.

“Let’s start at the top and
work our way down,” Mac suggested. He opened one of the doors,
revealing a small elevator, just barely big enough for the two of
us. The push of a button on the electrical panel took us up to the
third floor in a smooth, effortless ride. “Here’s the in-law
apartment I told you about. This floor used to contain three
bedrooms for the Frankle children.”

The door opened to a wide
open attic garret that contained enough charm to melt the doubts of
any disbeliever. While the ceilings were low, they were lovely,
with lots of angles. Light flowed in from a pair of discreetly
placed skylights. A large arched window overlooked the bay at the
back of the house. I could imagine the sunsets from this vantage
point. They must be spectacular.

The second thing I noticed
was that there was no furniture in the place. It was an empty shell
of warm ivory walls and plush wall-to-wall carpeting.

“I haven’t had a chance to
furnish it yet,” Mac confessed. “Maybe you would like to help me
shop.”

“Actually,” I sighed, “if I
did decide to do this, I would like to use my own furniture. It’s
been in storage for the last few years and I miss it.”

“Great. That would save me
some money. Let me show you the bedroom and the bathroom. This way,
Kimmy.” He led me to a narrow room at the front of the house, with
another arched window. It was simple, but attractive. A walk-in
closet in the hallway provided ample storage space. The charming
bathroom contained a claw-foot soaking tub with shower head and
curtain, pedestal sink, and toilet. It was more than adequate for
my needs.

Mac led me to the stairs and
we went down to the second floor hallway with its gleaming oak
floors, dressed with attractive Persian carpet runners.

“Laundry room,” he
announced, throwing open a door to a good-sized room. “Ironing
board and steam iron in the cabinet. That door leads to the circuit
breaker panel and the mechanicals for the house. Good to know if
there’s ever an overload or you need to shut down the power.” Mac
showed me a small blue-and-white striped room with a double bed
flanked by a matching pair of small chests. There was a dresser on
one wall and a chaise lounge by the windows.

“I wanted to use it as an
office, but Mae said she’d rather have a guest room, so she can
have visitors.” I gazed around, admiring the tranquil walls, the
brass bed, and the cheerful window treatments. The room had Mae
written all over it. “She wants her sister to be able to visit. Who
am I to say no to my mother?”

I could tell Mae’s bedroom
by the soft lavender walls, the billowing white lace drapes, and
the many touches that added personality to the space. I recognized
the antique bed from her previous home. I had seen it when Adelaide
and I visited her last year when she was recovering from minor
surgery. There was a floral upholstered chair by the window, with
an ottoman. Mae’s spare reading glasses and a mystery novel sat on
a little chest. Obviously Mae was enjoying the new house, with all
its comfort.

The charm continued into the
ensuite bath. Not overly large, it had a walk-in shower that was
tiled in white marble, with a bench for comfort and safety. An
antique dresser, painted a soft green, was topped by an
old-fashioned marble sink. There were decorative sconces with
delicate milk glass shades on either side of an oval mirror. On the
floor were marble hexagonal floor tiles, accented with small black
ones, a nice period touch.

By contrast, Mac’s bedroom
was almost spare in its furnishings and totally lacking color. A
king-size bed with a handsome tufted headboard was masculine,
standing unaccompanied on one wall. The soft brown leather was warm
and inviting, but the bedding was as white as the walls and trim,
making the space feel cold and uninviting.. A dark gentleman’s
chest took up most of one wall, with all its doors and drawers. A
single club chair, upholstered in a tan microfiber, sat beside a
writing table and a floor lamp.

The only artwork in the room
hung opposite the bed. It was a large, unframed canvas of bluefin
tuna breaking the surface of the ocean, no doubt chasing a school
of bluefish.

Looking around, I took in
all the details, from the undressed windows to the unadorned wood
floors. The room felt undone, as if Mac couldn’t quite decide what
to do with it.

“Here’s the master
bathroom,” he said, guiding me into the large room. The first thing
that leapt out at me was the shower. The walls were done in a
handsome mix of sandstone tiles. A shower tower, with knobs and
handles, took up one wall. There was no shower curtain, only a
half-wall, leaving the room feeling expansive. I stepped forward
and peered into the space, thinking how like Mac it was. For a
fleeting moment, I imagined myself with him in that shower,
touching him, feeling him touch me. The idea shocked me and I
quickly cast it aside, hoping to will the thought from my mind with
effort.

There was a large soaking
tub tucked into a simple wood-paneled base by the oval window,
offering a glorious view of the bay. A white concrete trough sink
with two sets of wall faucets sat atop another plain antique
dresser, this time done in a warm golden finish. Here, too, the
painted walls were starkly white.

“Do you like it?” Mac spoke
only inches from my ear, catching me off guard. I hadn’t realized
he was so close.

“Yes,” I said, trying to
recover my equilibrium. “It’s very nice.”

“But?” Those brown eyes were
smiling at me.

“It feels like it needs some
color, some warmth, some personality. The design itself is lovely.
The lines are clean and it has a nice style to it. It’s just
lacking....”

“A woman’s touch?” Mac gave
me a grin. “I’m hoping to rectify that when I come back from
Bahrain. By then, I will have closed the deal.”

“What deal?” I inquired. Mac
didn’t normally discuss business with me. In fact, he hadn’t even
told me what he did for KLPG Financial. I turned to him,
expectantly.

“I’m getting
married.”

Chapter Four --

Don’t ask me why, but my
heart fell to my feet. Whoever he built this master bedroom suite
for, she was obviously loved. It was as if he was holding back his
own strong personality to let her add her own. A pang of jealousy
went through me as I tried to picture the exotic beauty who would
someday call this home.

“And now for the best of
what the house has to offer-- the first floor.” He led me down the
staircase and into the vestibule. From there, we started in the
large dining room, with its white wainscoting and salmon-colored
walls. Clearly his mother had the upper hand in the decorating
decisions here. Mae’s sparkling crystal chandelier lent an elegant
touch to the space, with just enough bling to pick up the light
streaming through the large windows.

“You’ll recognize Mae’s
dining room furniture. She insisted we use it in here and I didn’t
have the heart to buck her on it,” Mac confessed. I looked at the
Scottish antique oak banquet table that had been in the Ferguson
family for generations, with its carved pedestal legs, and the
dining chairs, now upholstered in a cheerful print. On the long
wall stood the oak breakfront, imposing and yet befitting such a
large room.

“It looks like it belongs in
here,” I told him.

“You think so?” Mac looked
pleased. “I like it, too.”

“Beautiful windows,” I
noted. The large bow window had diamond panes in the top
sashes.

We stopped at a small, but
attractive powder room on our way down the wide hall and peeked in.
There was a Victorian oak washstand with a blue-and-white porcelain
bowl sitting on top. The antique bronze faucet was mounted on the
wall and a matching towel ring was fixed to the wall.

“Charming,” I told
Mac.

“Mae and I have been
scouring the antique shops for the last six months, to find just
the right pieces to transform.”

“She must have enjoyed
herself tremendously,” I smiled.

“When Adelaide died, it
knocked the wind out of her sails. This house gave her something
positive to focus on. Close your eyes,” Mac commanded as we were
about to pass a doorway. He took me by the arm. “I’m saving the
kitchen for last.”

He escorted me to end of the
hallway.

“Okay, you can open
them.”

The long living room was
sun-filled, with three sets french doors opening onto a wrap-around
brick patio. I noticed Mae’s floral sofa, with its overstuffed
pillows, now flanked by a leather club chair and a pair of
upholstered arm chairs upholstered in blue damask. A large oak
buffet stood against a wall, with a large flat screen TV sitting on
top. Colorful drapes on heavy bronze rods stood at attention beside
the french doors. It was a comfortable space, warm and inviting,
casual enough, and yet still elegant. Mac grinned as he watched me
take in all of the details of the room, with its glorious view of
the bay from three sides.

“There’s more,” he told
me.

“There is?”

“Now comes the room I hope
will convince you to take on the role of caregiver for Mae. When
you look at it, think of your cookbooks and the possibilities.” Mac
took my hand in his and led me into the kitchen. Ivory cabinets,
gently antiqued, framed a limestone backsplash. White quartz
counters, delicately flecked with soft tones of beiges and golds,
provided lots of work space. The commercial appliances looked like
they had just stepped out of fine restaurant. I caught my breath,
imagining the photo shoot potential. There were copper pots galore,
some hanging from the pot rack, others atop the cabinets. A
built-in period hutch revealed brightly colored dishes behind the
leaded glass doors. It was the perfect kitchen for a cookbook
author, and for a moment, I almost wondered if Mac had deliberately
built it with me in mind. But that thought passed quickly. After
all, why should I think Mac had any interest in me at all? He had
just told me he planned to marry. We hadn’t seen each other much
over the years, and certainly we had never been romantically
entangled. Maybe his foreign love interest was a gourmet chef.
Maybe Mac was using me as a guinea pig, to make the house more to
her liking. I busied myself opening drawers and cupboards, taking a
closer look at all the kitchen offered.