Stargazey Nights (10 page)

“Afraid so,” Cab said. “I'll be leaving in the morning if you would prepare my bill. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get upstairs and change.” Cab trotted up the stairs. Were these ­people so desperate they thought he would actually reopen the old carousel? Put in the money it would take to refurbish the existing equipment, sink a bundle into a new engine, music box, and the building—­though he wouldn't mind getting his hands on the building. It was a classic example of early-­twentieth-­century pavilion-­style architecture. But he wouldn't have time to do any restoration work with his current schedule. He wished he did. He'd always loved working with his hands; it was something he missed.

But he wouldn't have the time, and he'd have to trust some local contractor to do it correctly. And hire ­people to maintain it. And to dismantle it in case of another hurricane. And who the hell could he trust to operate it day after day and give it the same kind of attention and love as his uncle Ned?

Maybe he would leave tonight. Get back to Atlanta, where things were normal—­career, wedding, friends. Where his mind didn't question everything he thought or did. Atlanta, where his future was mapped out, solid, safe.

Chapter 10

C
AB DELIBERAT
ED ABOUT DRIVING TO
Crispin House. It wasn't that far, but the fall had been dry, and if he walked, he risked arriving with dust-­covered shoes, which he didn't think Miss Millie, whom he remembered as slightly eccentric, would appreciate.

But he had a lot to think about, and the walk would help clear his head. He dressed in slacks and shirtsleeves, added a tie at the last minute, and hoped to hell they hadn't expected him to were a jacket for lunch. He'd only brought his funeral suit, and he had no desire to put it back on anytime soon. He wore his good shoes. He set out at a quarter to one, with the shoe buff cloth from his room's amenities basket in his pocket.

Cab walked down the road and onto the drive that ran beneath a canopy of moss-­dripping trees. It was like stepping back into a time tunnel, he thought, as the sun was blocked out and the air grew chill. Minutes later, it spit him out at the other end of the drive and Crispin House.

Crispin House was a huge, neo-­Italianate mansion on the point of land that gave the small town its name. At one time, the Crispin family had owned pretty much all the waterfront property on both sides of the point.

It must have been glorious back in its heyday, but now it would barely pass as shabby-­genteel. It was desperately in need of a coat of paint. The porch was dotted with buckets, which, considering they were upended, must denote rotten floorboards. It needed help, and Cab's hands itched to begin repairs.

But it would be totally rude to even mention the sorry state the house had fallen into. Better just to pretend not to notice.

He went up the steps rather cautiously. Rang the ancient bell, listened to it echo hollowly from inside the house. He could almost imagine a black house slave answering the door and was relieved that it turned out to be Beau.

“Come on in, the girls are in the parlor.”

The girls? For a second, Cab was at a loss, then realized Beau must be talking about his sisters, Millie and the other one, the one who'd left Stargazey as a teenager. Had Beau mentioned her name?

Beau ushered him through a wide archway into a huge parlor, filled with antiques.

A sofa and love seat faced each other in the middle of the room, with two chairs completing the square. Two women sat facing each other.

“Here's Cabot,” Beau announced.

Both women turned toward the door.

Cab recognized Miss Millie immediately. Older, yes, but with that same not-­quite-­here aura about her, as if she were channeling a Southern belle, or a character from a Tennessee Williams play. She was dainty, with fine white hair pulled back from her face.

But it was the other one that grabbed Cab's attention. She was more like Beau, lanky and tall, slightly rawboned, with a head of wild gray-­white curls.

“Why, how you've grown,” Millie said, interrupting Cab's inspection of her sister.

“Good to see you again, Miz Millie.”

“Oh for crying out loud, Millie, of course he's grown.” The other sister stood. “Marnie Crispin.” She stuck out a large, callused but somehow feminine hand, and they shook. “Call me Marnie, drop the Miz if you don't mind.”

“Sister,” Millie admonished.

Marnie smiled at Cab.

“Cab Reynolds.”

“Nice to meet you, Cab. I remember your uncle. Nice man as I recall.”

“He was,” Cab agreed.

“Cabot, you just come sit down by me and tell me all about what you've been doin'. And about that fiancée of yours.”

“The third degree,” Marnie said under her breath, and sat down again. Cab took a place on the love seat next to Miss Millie.

He told her about his college and his position at Bloomquist and Ryan.

“Ned said you designed big malls and things.”

“Yes, as well as other things.”

“Like?” asked Marnie.

“Like . . . We'll soon be breaking ground on a huge, self-­sustaining community in Myrtle Beach.”

“How nice,” Millie said.

“One of those places where you never have to leave the compound and mix with the hoi polloi?” Marnie asked.

Cab glanced at Beau, who had sat down in the chair between the sisters and was slowly carving a new, unformed block of wood.

“Pretty much,” Cab said. “An efficient, convenient way to live.”

“Sounds just god-­awful to me,” Marnie said, then tempered it with a smile. “But then, I've always been one for freedom.”

“Hmmph,” Millie said.

Beau continued to carve.

“Now tell me all about your fiancée, what's her name? Ned must have told me a hundred times. I just don't remember things like I used to.”

“Bailey,” Cab said.

“That's right, Bailey,” Millie said. “Well, I'm sure she's a lovely girl. Do you have a date set for the weddin'?”

“Yes, sometimes in the spring, not this coming spring but the next. I'm leaving all the details to her family.”

“Isn't that just like a man? You better write the date down; we wouldn't want you to miss the ceremony, now would we?”

Cab realized that Millie was flirting with him.

Marnie stood. “Never understood these long engagements. I'll just get lunch ready.”

“We let the staff have Sundays off,” Millie explained.

Beau looked up from his carving, exchanged looks with Cab. It was unnecessary. They didn't have house staff. From what Cab had heard in town, the Crispins were lucky to even be living in the house. They were always behind on their taxes, and the developers were constantly at the door with offers to buy them out.

So far, they hadn't sold outright, and the property hadn't been seized. They'd managed to stay one step ahead of the tax collector by selling off smaller parcels. But according to Hadley, it was just a matter of time.

The house would be a tear-­down; that would make the most sense financially. Cab bet it would cost a fortune to bring the old house up to code. But it would be a shame. He could imagine it in its former grandeur. It just needed lots of money and love and time.

Like Ned's carousel.

A few minutes later, Marnie called them into the dining room. Even with the leaves taken out, the table was huge, and the four place settings were clustered around one end. Mille sat at the head, which Cab thought odd since it was usually the head of the house who had that honor.

Lunch was roast chicken with greens, buttermilk biscuits with chicken gravy, and boiled potatoes. Simple Southern fare. Something Cab hadn't eaten in years, he realized. His diet these days consisted of sandwiches at his desk, business lunches of drinks and steaks, or rabbit-­food dinners with Bailey.

He had seconds of every dish, which seemed to please Millie and amuse Marnie. Beau was as unruffled as ever.

After a dessert of peach cobbler—­“We canned them ourselves,” Mille told him—­they returned to the parlor.

Cab was beginning to imagine a long, boring afternoon ahead of them, when Beau said. “Thought I might take a look at that railing on the porch roof if Cab wouldn't mind holding the ladder.”

“I'd be glad—­”

“Don't be absurd, Beau. We just finished lunch,” Millie scolded. “And you have no business climbing up that ladder. A man your age. And on a Sunday.”

“You gonna do it, Millie?”

“Hush up. You can call over to the center tomorrah and ask Jerome to help you.”

“I could, but I got Cab here today. Once we figure out how bad it is, I'll know what to tell Jerome to do.”

“I'd love to help, but I'll do the climbing.” Cab smiled at Millie, patted his stomach. “I need to keep my figure after that delicious meal.”

Millie beamed. Marnie rolled her eyes. Beau said, “It's right out here.” And Cab followed him outside.

There was a quick tussle over who was going to climb the ladder, which Cab won. The ladder was old and none too stable, and the second floor was a long way away.

He slung Beau's tool sack over his shoulder and climbed up to the porch roof. He tested the old rail, which wobbled in his hand. It was wooden and made up of posts and panels of geometric pieces that formed a bull's-­eye pattern. Half the wood was completely rotten.

Cab looked down at Beau. “I can stabilize the posts for now, but I think you'll have to replace this entire panel, and if there are others this bad, you may have to replace all of them.”

He could tell by Beau's expression that it wasn't what he wanted to hear. “I was afraid of that.”

Cab pulled out the hammer and a handful of nails and set to work stabilizing the posts. It was a temporary fix. The whole railing needed to be replaced. He had to search for a sturdy section of wood to drive the nails through. He made the railing as safe as possible with his limited tools, then looked down at Beau.

“I think it'll hold for a bit, but don't let anybody go leaning on it. Your best bet is to replace it with wrought iron or even PVC.” Cab cringed as he said the latter; the old house deserved better than that. It deserved a meticulous restoration, but plastic would be cheaper and easier to maintain in the long run.”

“Thank you, you come on down now.”

Cab climbed down and brushed the flakes of paint off his hands. “You've also got some missing shingles on the porch roof.”

“I been meaning to get to those.”

“I could . . . I can't promise, but I will probably have to come back to finish settling up Ned's estate. I might be able to help you then.”

The old man's eyes lit for an instant, with anticipation or hope? And for that split second, Cab remembered him younger, athletic, with blue eyes that twinkled just like Cab imagined Santa's would do.

“ 'Spect you'll be needing to get back to Atlanta soon,” Beau said, as they carried the ladder to the back of the house.

“I'll probably leave this afternoon. Big project ahead of me.”

“Your private town in Myrtle Beach?”

“Yes.”

“Don't pay Marnie no mind. She speaks hers as she sees fit.”

“Oh, I don't. I appreciate her, um, forthrightness.”

“That's one way to describe it.” Beau smiled fondly. “She's something else.”

“Actually Beau, I could use your advice on something.”

“Don't know as I can help, but I'll try.”

“I saw the animals.”

Beau nodded. He didn't have to ask. He knew what animals Cab was talking about.

“Ervina's known all along. She finally sent me to this old man named Abraham.”

Beau nodded again.

“Did you know where they were?”

“No, I didn't. Ned thought somebody besides Ervina should know, in case . . .” Beau hesitated. “If anything happened to her . . . But we both decided that they would be safer if nobody knew. Word gets around here, seems like whether you tell it or not.”

“I know what you mean. Bethanne already heard I was reopening the carousel.”

Beau chuckled. ­“People still got hope.”

“I have a career, work back in Atlanta. I'm about to get married. Even if I found someone reputable to run the carousel, it would cost a fortune just to restore, and I haven't even looked to see what shape the animals are in.”

Beau nodded. “I 'spect it would.”

“But I can't see selling them. Not for a while, anyway. That just doesn't seem right, somehow. But I also can't expect Abraham to sit there for God knows how much longer while I decide what to do with them.”

They'd come back to the house and climbed the steps to the porch.

“Guess I'll say good-­bye to Marnie and Millie and hit the road. Thanks for everything, and especially for calling me. I had no idea Ned had died.”

“Didn't think you did. That's why we decided to make sure for ourselves.”

“You and Hadley?”

“Me and Hadley and Ervina.”

“Ervina?”

“She promised Ned she would take care of things.”

“That sounds kind of ominous.”

“It can be. But she won't harm you . . . unless you need harmin'.”

Cab shuddered even though he knew it was just more of the local mumbo jumbo.

“Now you don't keep worrying. I 'spect you'll figure out what to do.”

Cab said good-­bye and walked back to town, feeling as unsettled as he had before talking to Beau. He paid for one night since Bethanne refused to let him pay for both, and carried his bags out to the Range Rover.

Bethanne followed him to the sidewalk. “You come back now. You're welcome anytime.”

He nodded, but he couldn't speak. He suddenly wanted to see the inside of the carousel and Ned's cottage just one more time. To touch Midnight Lady. But that would be dangerous. Something was shifting inside him. An attachment that had weakened over the years had come back full force this weekend. He didn't trust it. He had to leave it behind, once and for all. A clean break.