On Sunset Beach (10 page)

“I guess the scandal broke while you were away. He was an investment broker who defrauded his clients of billions of dollars. He was arrested, pled guilty, and is serving a life sentence.” Grace leaned forward to add softly, “Along with Ellie’s former fiancé, can you imagine? Lucky for her that she had to move here and in the process met Cameron.”

“Why did she
have
to move here?”

“The poor thing had nowhere else to go. The government confiscated everything she owned because she worked for her father, and therefore everything she purchased with money she earned was considered ‘fruit of the poisoned tree,’ as they say.”

“If she worked for her father, why wasn’t she arrested, too?”

“She wasn’t involved in investing. She handled their PR.”

“That doesn’t explain why she had to come here.”

“She inherited a house in St. Dennis from her mother. Do you remember Lilly Cavanaugh?”

“Sure. She lived down at the end of Bay View. Mr. Cavanaugh carved duck decoys and they always had the best Halloween candy.” Ford’s eyebrows knitted together. “Wait, how could Lilly have been her mother? Lilly was ancient.”

“Not Lilly, dear. Lilly’s grandniece, Lynley Sebastian.” Grace tapped him on the arm. “And be careful when throwing around words like ‘ancient.’ ”

“I definitely remember Lynley.” Ford grinned. “Every guy in town was madly in love with Lynley.”

Grace sipped her coffee, then, as if an afterthought, added, “Oh, did you happen to meet Ellie’s friend Carly?”

Ford frowned. “Whose friend?”

“Ellie’s. Carly Summit.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t think so. The name isn’t ringing a bell, but I met a lot of people last night.” He hesitated, then asked, “Should I have?”

“I was just wondering because she came with Cam and Ellie. I invited her because she was staying with them this weekend, and I didn’t want them to decide not to come because she was a houseguest.”

“Here’s breakfast.” Ford dismissed all thoughts of the party and whom he met or didn’t meet. None of that mattered. The party was behind them, he
had
survived it, and there was no point in rehashing it any further, as far as he was concerned. He was just happy that it was over and that with any luck he wouldn’t have to deal with a crowd like that again. Ever.

He’d been right all along, of course. His mother
had
invited half the town. Everyone from his graduating class who still lived in or around St. Dennis, and
everyone he’d known while growing up. At least when there were that many people to greet, there wasn’t time to get into any real discussion with any one person, so every conversation was pretty much superficial. He’d spent most of the night saying things like “It’s good to see you again, too” and “Yes, my mom is still going strong. Yeah, she looks great for her age” and “Yes, peacekeeping
is
a tough business, that’s for sure.”

So all in all, he did okay. The evening passed by pretty quickly, and the only time he felt the need to duck out was when Ed what’s-his-name started asking him where in Africa he’d been and had he been close to any of those villages that they were always talking about on TV—“You know, the ones where they took all the little boys to make them into soldiers and then raped and killed everyone else.”

Ford had made some lame response and excused himself, making his way through the lobby for the side door and some fresh air. It was on his way back that he’d seen the petite woman standing near the desk, her body at a near forty-five degree angle to the floor. His curiosity had drawn him to her, but when she’d turned around and looked up at him, he’d felt as if he’d been sucker punched. She was pretty—very pretty—and he’d liked the way her blond hair fell around her face. But there was something else about her that had pulled him closer—something he couldn’t put his finger on. Whatever the attraction, she held much more appeal than going back to the party, so he’d been happy to fetch and hold the painting she’d been trying to study from ten feet away. He’d convinced her to take a look at the front of the building, and had been thinking how nice it might be to share
the history of the inn with her. Maybe they’d grab another glass of wine on their way out and they could spend some time having a conversation that wasn’t about him and his life. But two things had happened on their way toward the front door. The first was when some of his old buddies spied him passing the room where the party was being held and had made a big deal of how he needed to go back inside.

The second was when he’d touched her arm, and a jolt of something had traveled from his fingertip straight up his arm. Static electricity, he’d told himself at the time, even though he knew that made no sense at all under the circumstances. Whatever it had been, it had startled him and caused him to back off. He’d dropped her like a hot potato, and had immediately regretted it. He’d watched as she continued toward the front door as if she’d taken no notice that he was no longer with her—and that she couldn’t have cared less.

He knew that last part didn’t feel right.

He should have gone outside, but the party had already started to break up, and by the time he was able to get free of the crowd again, she was gone. The thought that she might be a guest at the inn was the only thing that had brought him to the dining room for breakfast. He’d been there for twenty minutes before his mother showed up, and the blonde was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe she plays tennis, he thought. Maybe she was down there at the tennis courts right at that moment.

But wait, that would mean she had a partner …

“Ford.” His mother was waving a hand in front of his face.

“What?”

“Have you heard anything I said?”

“Sure.” He dug into his omelet to avoid making eye contact.

“What did I say?”

“You said … ah, something about … ah … the party, and, ah …”

Grace laughed. “You never were good at fudging things. If you’re going to drift away when someone is speaking to you, at least nod your head from time to time or toss out an occasional ‘uh-huh.’ ”

“Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”

“I was just bringing you up-to-date on what we’re doing with the newspaper.”

“Ah, the
St. Dennis Gazette
. I can’t believe you’re still—”

“Stop right there, mister.” Grace put down her fork and slapped his arm. “I do not want to hear one disparaging word about my newspaper.” She shook her head. “Don’t even get me started on what that paper means to this community. And to me.”

“I’m sorry. I was only going to say that I was surprised to hear you were still running it.”

“Why? Because I’m old?” Grace did not look pleased.

“Ma, you’re not that old. What I meant was …” He cleared his throat, not certain what he’d meant. “I guess because the inn is doing so well, it just hadn’t occurred to me that you’d still need the income from the paper.”

There. That was good, wasn’t it?

She gave him a withering look.

“It has nothing to do with money, Ford. The
Gazette
is as much a family business as the inn. Only difference is that the
Gazette
was my family’s and the
inn was your father’s. St. Dennis wouldn’t be the same without either of them.”

“Okay, I get that. But I’d think you’d have wanted to retire by now, have some time to yourself.”

“And do what with all that time?” No, she clearly wasn’t pleased.

“Mom, people do retire, you know. It’s not so terrible to take things easy for a while. Enjoy life. Do something for yourself.”

“I enjoy every day of my life. The paper
is
what I do for myself. Do you not understand that?”

“Apparently not.” He’d never had a conversation like this with his mother, but he knew this was one of those times when he’d learn something really important if he asked the right questions and listened—really listened—to the answers. “Why do you keep it going?”

“At first, it was for my father after he passed away. I’d taken over for him when he fell ill, temporarily, I thought, but then he died, and I felt obligated to honor his memory by keeping the paper alive. He’d loved it, as his father had loved it, and his grandfather, who’d founded it, had loved it. There was no one else to carry on with it.”

“What about Uncle Pete?” Ford asked.

“My brother had been the heir apparent all along, but as it turned out, he had neither interest nor aptitude for it. He’d have run it into the ground. I felt my father—and my family name—deserved better than that, so I kept it afloat. And, might I say, I’ve done a damn good job of it.”

“No question about that, Mom. But you know, you could have sold it. You had your hands full when the three of us kids were younger.” He remembered having
to sit in the office of the newspaper waiting until his mother finished that week’s edition on days when Lucy and Dan had after-school activities and no one was around to watch him.

“I’d thought about that from time to time,” she surprised him by admitting. “But then Daniel—your father—died so suddenly, and it shook me to the core. Shattered my world completely.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes but did not fall. “Your brother was already out of college, so he stepped into your dad’s shoes, and to give him credit, over the years he’s made the inn more than anyone ever dreamed it could be. I held on to the paper then for my own sake. It gave me something to do, gave meaning to the hours, hours I couldn’t bear to spend at the inn. Watching your brother do all those things your father used to do …” Her gaze was far away, her jaw set squarely, as she remembered painful times. Ford took his mother’s hand and squeezed it, and was surprised by its delicacy. He didn’t recall that his mother’s fingers were so tiny.

“Danny had learned the business well,” she continued. “Things ran so smoothly, it was almost as if your father were still here. Of course he wasn’t, and that was unbearable. So I clung to the newspaper like it was my lifeline, and in many ways, it was.”

“But maybe now—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Now I keep the paper going for the town, for the community.” Her eyes narrowed. “That better not be a smirk, Ford Sinclair.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she said, “I’ll have you know that people depend on the
Gazette
to tell them what’s going on in St. Dennis and
who’s having a sale on what. At the beginning of every month, I give them a general overview of what’s coming up. Then every week, I give them a list of all the events and all the particulars—what, where, when.”

He nodded. “I can see where that would be helpful to the residents.”

“Not just the residents.” She stared at him for a moment. “I suppose I should cut you some slack since you’ve been away for a long time and may not be aware that St. Dennis has become the ‘in’ place on the Eastern Shore.”

“I wasn’t aware of that. When did that happen?”

“It’s been gradual, over the past ten years or so. People from all over the country come here for vacation. Much of the inn is booked a year in advance—we have families who come every year for the same week. Most of the B&Bs are booked ahead as well. The restaurants are written up in magazines and newspapers from all over the East Coast, and the inn has been declared the number one spot on the Eastern Shore for destination weddings.”

“Lucy mentioned that.”

“Oh, that’s Lucy’s doing, make no mistake. Our event business has tripled since she brought her business back from California. But I digress.” She paused to take a sip of water. “People plan their vacations around certain events—First Families’ Day is always big, the regatta, the Waterman Festival, the Christmas Tour, always big draws for tourists. Think of what that means to the community, to the merchants, to have all these people coming into town twelve months of the year, booking rooms and shopping on Charles Street and eating at our restaurants. And every week I
have a feature, something about the history of the town or an upcoming event, or an interview with one of our residents that might be interesting. For example, I did a lovely feature on Dallas MacGregor when she first moved back here and another when she married Grant. As a follow-up, I did an article on Grant’s veterinary clinic and his efforts to rescue dogs from highkill shelters and to find good, loving homes for them. A few months ago, I interviewed Dallas again about the film studio she’s built here and her plans to make movies right here in St. Dennis.”

He nodded. He got it.

“People like those features, Ford. They look forward every week to see who or what is on the front page. Of course, we cover the elections and the police blotter and new businesses, that sort of thing, but it’s the stories about the people and the events that have made the paper relevant again. And for the first time in its hundred and some-odd years in existence, the
Gazette
has paid subscriptions from out-of-towners, summer people and people who want to be summer people. Day-trippers. Friends of friends. We’ve never taken in as much advertising revenue as we do now. Every business in town—and some not in town—advertises with us because they know that this paper is read by the people who are or who will be their customers.”

“So in other words, you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.”

She laughed. “Why, I’d be burned at the stake if I tried. The merchants would never forgive me. I’d never be able to show my face in public again.”

“But you could still sell it, if you ever wanted to retire.”

“I won’t be wanting to retire, but I admit that I do worry about what will happen to the paper when I’m gone.”

“Mom …”

“Oh, don’t give me that face. Everyone dies, son. Every single one of us. It’s the only sure thing in this life. If you were born, you
will
die.”

He’d learned enough about this particular topic to know she spoke the truth. Still, the last thing he wanted to think about was life without his mother.

“I don’t worry about the inn. Danny
is
the Inn at Sinclair’s Point now, so your father’s family business is secured. It’s my family’s legacy I worry about.” She shook her head. “I thought perhaps your cousin Andrew might be interested—for a time, he seemed to be—but apparently that was just a passing fancy.” She blew out a long breath laden with sad thoughts. “But that’s a problem for another day, right? Today I’m happy because you’re home and you’re happy because the party is behind you, so let’s just finish our breakfast and get on with our day, shall we?”