The Chesapeake Diaries Series (198 page)

“Nita Perry.” Cameron indicated the woman in her late fifties who sat closest to the window. She had shiny black hair pulled back into a severe bun and wore large tortoiseshell glasses. “Nita has an antiques business here in town. I think I mentioned her to you.”

“You did.” To Nita, she said, “I’ll be calling on you when I get around to inventorying the contents of the house. I’m going to want to sell some things.”

“Oh, please do!” Nita’s face lit up. “I know that house is filled with some wonderful pieces. Lilly never did get rid of a thing, you know.”

“You’ll be the first person I call when I get to that point,” Ellie promised.

“I can’t wait.” Nita’s shoulders shivered slightly with anticipation.

“And this is Clay Madison, Brooke’s brother.” Cameron pointed to the lone male seated at the table. “He has that big farm on the left side of the road when you turn off the highway. Clay grows organic produce and is just starting up an organic brewery with another guy in town.”

“Organic beer?” Ellie raised an eyebrow.

Clay nodded. “Why not?”

“No reason, I guess.” Ellie smiled. “Sounds good to me, anyway.”

“We’ll put you on the list for the tasting when we’re ready for the big reveal,” Clay told her.

“Clay’s engaged to Miss Grace’s daughter, Lucy,” Cameron added.

“Congratulations.” Ellie felt like her face was frozen in the smile she was still wearing. She needed to get out of here before it became permanent.

“Ellie, can you join us?” Grace asked.

“Oh, no, I have some errands to run.” Ellie was grateful for an excuse to let the smile slide. “But thank you for offering.”

“Another morning, perhaps,” Grace replied.

“We’re here almost every day by eight,” Nita told her. “Please feel free to come in anytime and sit and chat with us for a while.”

“That sounds great, thanks.” Ellie turned to Cameron. “Good seeing you again, Cameron.” She turned back to the table. “It was nice to meet all of you.”

“We’re happy to welcome you to town, Ellie.” Nita turned in her chair.

“I’m happy to be here, thank you.” Ellie glanced around the table one more time, committing faces
and names to memory in the event she’d run into any of them again, which was likely, given the size of the town and the length of her intended stay. “I’ll see you all again, I’m sure.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” Grace said.

Ellie forced her feet not to flee to the door. Once outside, she exhaled a long deep breath. She got into her car, which was parked three storefronts down from Cuppachino, and sighed. She put the key in the ignition and started the engine, her heart beating a little faster than normal.

“Fight or flight,” she muttered.

She stopped at the light and watched a pretty dark-haired woman push a baby stroller across the street, where she stopped at the door of a shop and unlocked the door. The shop’s windows were decorated for fall and held beautifully displayed clothing. The name of the shop—
BLING
—was painted across the front and side windows.

In another life, I shopped at places just like that
, Ellie recalled.

These days, if Ellie shopped at all, it was for the things on her must-have list like cleaning products and sponges. She reminded herself that she needed to do exactly that. She made a left turn onto Cherry Street and drove around the block to reverse her direction on Charles. She headed toward the highway and the hardware store she’d passed on her way to St. Dennis, where she hoped to find that inexpensive coffeemaker.

Laden with a two-inch stack of paint-color brochures but no coffeemaker, Ellie returned to Bay View
Road and parked all the way up in the driveway. When she got out of the car, she tried to peer through the carriage house windows to see what was behind the glass, but every pane had been painted black. She was just going to have to keep looking for the key, she supposed, so that she could satisfy her curiosity.

She went into the house through the back door and dropped her bag and the paint brochures on the kitchen table. Her planned project for the day was the cupboards. She’d started emptying them a few days ago, but got distracted by the cache of duck decoys and hadn’t been able to resist taking them all out and placing them around the living room. Today she’d finish what she’d started.

The upper cupboards contained dishes that were stacked haphazardly, so she had a hard time knowing what was there. For two hours she emptied the shelves, then washed her findings. As she dried each piece, she sorted by pattern, and soon she realized that she had a complete set of Fiestaware, original, she was certain.

Nice
.

She knew she’d need to paint the shelves at some point—
What do you think, Mom? A nice cream would show off the dishes quite nicely
—but for now, she merely wiped them, permitting them time to dry before replacing the turquoise, green, yellow, and pink dishes. There were several pieces of mismatched china, and these she wrapped in the newspaper she’d found the decoys in, and put them in a box she’d found in one of the bedroom closets. Perhaps Nita, the antiques dealer she’d met that morning, might
have some thoughts on the age and quality of those pieces.

Next, to vary the view, Ellie tackled the cupboards below the counter. There were several old pots and pans, none of which matched the others, but she supposed that the concept of matching sets of pots might have come at a date later than the one on which Miss Lilly’s housekeeping commenced. She set them all out on the counter to see what she had and what she might actually use. There was a large stockpot; maybe she’d make soup one of these days, so that was a keeper. She found several black cast-iron pans at the back of the top shelf, and while she wasn’t sure what she’d use them for, she knew that reproductions were very popular right now and sold in some of the better housewares stores, so they—along with a griddle—made the cut. Besides, she thought as she washed the smaller of the two cast-iron frying pans, they just looked cool and old-timey, as if they belonged in the old house.

Had her mother cooked when she was here? Ellie had vague recollections of Lynley making breakfast or dinner but only when her father was away. He liked having a professional cook live in, and once he’d hired someone, Lynley practically never made so much as a cup of tea when he was around. But when Clifford was away—that was a different story. Even now, if she closed her eyes she could taste—smell—grilled cheese sandwiches and homemade tomato soup.

Where had that memory come from?

There’d been a time when she was home on a school
holiday—Christmas, maybe?—when Lynley arrived from her latest photo shoot two full days before Clifford returned from a business trip. Lynley had given the surprised cook those two extra days off and had spent what to Ellie’s mind had been forty-eight glorious hours at home, just the two of them. They’d baked Christmas cookies and drunk hot chocolate while watching a marathon of holiday movies together:
The Muppets Christmas
and
The Christmas Toy
, and
Miracle on 34th Street. A Claymation Christmas
and
A Christmas Story
and
It’s a Wonderful Life
. Having two whole days with her mother had been the best present Ellie could have received, and she’d cherished the memory of Lynley singing along with Burl Ives while
Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer
played on the TV that was built into the kitchen wall so the cook could watch her soaps in the afternoon.

Dear God, that seemed so long ago.
Was
so long ago.

She wondered if her mother had baked cookies here, made hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches to share with Lilly.

She pushed the past aside and forced herself to focus on the pots and pans that were in the cabinets.

There was a large pot that had a wire contraption that fit inside it and a lid. She had absolutely no idea what it could be used for. She added it to the closet where she’d stacked things to ask Nita about.

The doorbell rang, so she dried her hands and went tentatively to the front door. From the living room window she could see her visitor. Jesse Enright’s
fiancée—Brooke?—stood on the step with something in her hands.

Damn
.

Ellie debated whether or not to answer the door. Finally, she opened it, feigning surprise to see Brooke.

“Hey, Brooke,” she said as pleasantly as she could.

“Ellie, I’m embarrassed that it took meeting you this morning to remind me that I hadn’t stopped over to welcome you to St. Dennis.” Brooke handed her a plate that was covered with aluminum foil.

“Oh, Brooke, you didn’t have to.…” Ellie protested even as she held the plate which could only contain cupcakes.

“I wanted to.”

Convention and manners dictated that Ellie invite Brooke in. It also occurred to her that she’d have an opportunity to perhaps determine just what Jesse had told Brooke about her and how she’d obtained the property.

“Do you have a minute to come in?” Ellie heard herself asking. She lifted one corner of the foil and glanced at the cupcakes. “Wow, these are gorgeous. You’re going to have to eat one of these. I don’t dare eat them all myself.”

She stood back so that Brooke could enter, then closed the door behind her.

“This was so nice of you,” Ellie said.

Brooke glanced past her into the living room.

“Wow, not much has changed.” She pointed into the room. “Except Mrs. Cavanaugh always had plants on that table near the window. She had tons of house-plants.”

“She did? Wait, you knew her, too?”

Brooke nodded. “Sure. Everyone knew her. She was a real sweetheart. No kid ever missed Cavanaughs’ on Halloween. She always had the best homemade caramel apples to give out. Sometimes she even dipped them in chocolate and rolled them in peanuts. I swear, she knew every kid in this town by name.” Brooke walked into the living room uninvited and gazed around. “She didn’t used to keep the decoys there, though. I think those were always on the bookcase.” She pointed to the wall of shelves.

“And by now, I’m sure you heard that her … niece? second cousin?—whatever—was Lynley Sebastian.”

Ellie nodded. “I did know that.”

“Oh, of course you would, since you bought the house from her estate. Crazy about her husband, though, right?”

“Did you ever meet her? Lynley?”

“No. Wish I had, though.” Brooke pointed to a chair that stood near the front window. “Supermodel, actress. I used to watch her in that TV show … I can’t remember the name of it now but I’m sure you know the one I mean …”

Ellie did but she didn’t volunteer the information.

“… and I’d daydream that she’d be in St. Dennis one day and we’d meet her and she’d be real friendly and she’d become friends with my mother.” Brooke laughed self-consciously. “Silly, huh?”

“You’re probably not the only person in town who wanted to meet her.”

“That’s for sure.” Brooke pointed to a chair near the front wall. “Mr. Cavanaugh used to sit in this
chair and look out the window, the year he fell ill. He’d wave to all us kids when we went past to go crabbing off the old dock that used to be out there. It fell into the Bay after a big winter storm one year.” She smiled at the memory. “He was such a nice man. They never had kids of their own—I mean, I know they pretty much raised Lynley—but they were really nice to all the kids in town.”

Ellie’s ears perked up. “Wait, did you say they raised Lynley? Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

Brooke nodded. “That’s my understanding.”

“Really.” Ellie was stunned. She’d never heard such a thing. She’d never met her maternal grandparents, who’d died in a boating accident before she was born. Her father had told her they had lived in California but she assumed that Lynley had lived with them.

“So Lynley lived here …? She went to school here?”

“At some point, but I don’t know how old she was when she arrived and I don’t know how old she was when she left. If you’re interested, you could ask someone like Grace Sinclair—you met her at Cuppachino this morning. She’s lived here forever, and her family’s owned that newspaper for longer than that. It’s the only newspaper St. Dennis ever had. If anyone knows the story, I’d expect it would be Grace.”

The two women had gravitated back toward the entry, and Ellie’s mind was racing a mile a minute.

“Can I offer you some tea?” she asked.

“Sure. That would be great. I have to watch my time, though. I left my mother in charge of the bakery
and told her I’d be back in an hour.” Brooke glanced at her watch. “Which gives me about twenty-five minutes, so sure. Tea would be nice.”

Ellie led the way to the kitchen, and once there, apologized for the mess.

“I started cleaning out the cupboards this morning. I don’t know what I was hoping to find. Except maybe a coffeemaker,” she added drily.

She ran water from the faucet into the ancient stainless-steel kettle and placed it on the stove.

“Why do you need a coffeemaker when you have the pot?” Brooke asked.

“What pot?”

“This one.” Brooke picked up the old coffeepot and waved it.

“I thought that was a pitcher.” Ellie frowned.

Brooke popped off the lid and removed the basket and stem from inside.

“Coffee goes into this little basket with the holes in the bottom, basket sits upon stem. Water goes into the pot. Put it on the stove, boil the water, and let the coffee percolate.” Brooke demonstrated as she spoke. “When it stops perking—bubbling—it’s done.”

“I feel like an idiot. We always had those drip coffeemakers at home.…” Ellie could feel her cheeks start to burn. She could have added that she’d rarely had to make her own coffee at home but she let that pass.

“Do you have any ground coffee?” Brooke asked.

Ellie shook her head.

“Pick some up next time you’re out. These things
make great coffee. My dad always made his in one just like this.”

“Thanks. I’ll be off to the market later this afternoon and I’ll try it first thing in the morning.”

“So if we never see you at Cuppachino again, I guess it will be my fault for telling you how to make your own morning joe.”