The Body in the Birches (21 page)

Sophie looked longingly at the cast-iron frying pan drying on the stove top. “Felicity! That's two more people to feed here and two empty rooms at the inn when they count on keeping it full during the summer season.”

“Oh pooh, Sophie. I'll help cook. I make great popovers if you have the pan. And Barks can have my food anyway. I've been eating way too much. The inn people didn't care. Ian paid for them both for all the nights. They'll fill the rooms and get twice as much. I would think you'd want your honey here under the same roof, too.”

“He is
not
my ‘honey' or my anything else!” Sophie said.

“Really?” Ian Kendall walked in, took the muffin Sophie had been about to put on the plate with the rest, and took a bite, slowly licking his lips.

Everything was still. The water at the turn of the tide was like a mirror and even the aspens—the leaves said to continuously quiver in sorrow—weren't stirring. The sky had turned from yellow to slate gray, and even those who had dismissed the warnings were stocking up now. Too late for essentials, and there had also been a run on pork rinds and Slim Jims.

Faith had had enough. She wanted Ben with her and wanted him now. She called the Lodge and left a message that she would be picking him up just after the lunch shift.

Pix, Sam, and Samantha, who were moving to The Pines on higher ground, hadn't arrived yet. They had offered to check the Fairchilds' cottage to make sure everything was protected there, although Seth Marshall had called to tell Faith he'd been by.

Ursula was teaching Amy, Daisy, and Dana the names of island birds; field guides and books of photos were spread out on the big round table.

Faith had nothing to do. When the phone rang, she lurched for it in relief, even as she feared what news it might bring. It was that kind of day.

“Faith? Hi. It's Ed Ricks. All set over there for the storm?”

“You know what Ursula and her family are like. They could give a course in hurricane preparedness.”

He laughed. “That's what I assumed, but just checking.”

“Have you heard any more about Dwayne Hitchcock's autopsy?” Faith said.

“That's the other reason I'm calling. After our conversation yesterday, I thought I'd let you know that Dwayne
was
knocked out before the overdose was administered. He had enough chloral hydrate in his bloodstream to put him to sleep for weeks.”

“What about Mandy? Has she come home?”

“No, and once the storm blows over, Earl will be picking up that thread. Right now we're all concentrating on making sure people come through it safe, especially some of our elderly residents. The nursing home has some respite care beds free, and we've moved a few folks there.”

So many things to consider, Faith thought. “Is there anything I can do? I could go over there and help out in the kitchen.”

“That's kind of you and I'll let them know. I think they're all set. But about Mandy, Faith. Leilah found a note from the girl saying not to worry and that she would be back in time for the start of school, which suggests she's left the island. But no one has a clue where she'd go. Earl seems to think your son knows more than he's saying. Maybe he'll open up to you.”

“I'll try, but Ben isn't exactly Mr. Chatty with me these days.”

“Don't worry about it. Just thought he might let something drop. I've got to run. You've got my cell, right?”

“Yes, but only the landline works here.”

“Take care, Faith.”

“You too,” she said. Faith hung up and headed straight for the
car. Job or no job, Benjamin Fairchild was coming home with her right now.

What kind of people go out for lunch with a major hurricane on the way? Ben thought darkly. The dining room at the Lodge was almost empty. Only a few guests had decided to stay on and brave the storm, eating quickly before leaving for their cottages to pack for a hasty escape if need be.

With a severe staff shortage, the chef had assigned Ben to wait tables despite his inexperience.

“Just don't dump food on anyone or break anything.”

But that was exactly what Ben wanted to do. Specifically on Rory Proctor, who had arrived with three men and a woman. Ben recognized Forbes and Felicity Proctor, but not the others. When he went to take their orders, Ben noticed one of the guys had an English accent. He sounded like that movie star his mother thought was so great. Colin something.

It wasn't long before Derek Otis came in and joined them. He'd been helping the maintenance crew put outdoor stuff away, and Ben was sure he was supposed to be in the kitchen further preparing for the storm with Chef Zach. The Lodge had a generator, but the chef had been worried all morning that it wouldn't provide enough power to keep the food on hand from spoiling. Well, Ben had done his part, he thought to himself, picturing the knapsack he'd stashed behind the kitchen's back door.

Addressing the table, he told them that because of the storm they were stopping lunch service early and some things on the menu weren't available. They ordered haddock burgers and fries—the English guy, “Ian” Rory had called him—said it sounded like a fish and chips bunty, whatever that was. Ben just wanted them to eat and leave. The sooner the better.

They all ordered beers, but Ben explained he couldn't serve them, since he was underage and they'd have to wait while he got
the chef. It was at this point that Derek had arrived, overhearing Ben's statement.

“The guest is always right, Ben. Go get the drinks. I know your dad is a sky pilot, but that doesn't mean you have to be a wuss.”

This produced a general laugh, and Ben left for the cooler in the kitchen, but not before he heard Rory say, “Where's that cute little thing from the last time we were here, Derek? The kind that keeps you coming back to the table for more!”

That was when Ben seriously started thinking about spilling things.

He went to the cooler and began to reach for the beers. Directly behind him, Zach yelled, “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Derek, I mean the boss, said I should serve them. I told them I was underage and would get you, but he told me to do it anyway.” Ben felt close to tears and that made him even angrier.

“Asshole,” the chef muttered. “I'm out of here for sure. We could lose our liquor license if he lets minors serve drinks!”

Ben backed away, and the chef grabbed a tray, putting the drinks on it. He pushed the half shutters into the dining room open and said over his shoulder, “Watch the fryer.”

He was back in a few seconds, even angrier, if that was possible. “‘Oh, Chef, we were so looking forward to your fabulous lobster ravioli, couldn't you make a few for us to taste?'” he said, imitating a high, squeaky female voice. Ben and Jim, the only other member of the kitchen crew still there, stood still. This was getting scary. Zach Hale looked at them and smiled. “Don't worry, children. I'm not pulling a nutty on you. Take the food out and let's close this place down before Cary gets here and pulls it down.” Seeing their eyes widen, he added, “Again, calm down. I've been in way worse weather, and this place will be fine. If anyone wants dessert we have pie and that's all.”

The group lingered. Derek was seeing to the drinks now, and
Ben was kept busy removing empty bottles. The Englishman had ordered blueberry pie and pronounced it “inedible.” He'd announced that no one, not even the French, could beat his country for “pudding” and told Ben he'd give the chef a recipe for “Spotted Dick.” The table erupted in raucous glee. Ben had no idea what he was talking about and decided to hate him, too. Hate them all. He stood well away where he could see what he might need to do but not be seen. Derek was offering them a place to stay for the night, but they were refusing. Ben heard Sophie's name—Felicity was saying something about her—and tuned back into their conversation. He had liked his old babysitter, and it had been great to see her again.

“Ah yes. Sophie. Not that I need a reminder.” Ian was smiling broadly. “Got a job to do, Derek old man. And nice work if you can get it. Forbes and Barks lured me to this godforsaken island, sorry that's what it is. Nothing going on and nothing much to eat. Big contract at stake and all I have to do to increase my cut is train my charms on little Sophie once again. Tonight is the night. Has to be. Have to get back, but she's easy, if you know what I mean.”

So this Ian had been a boyfriend of Sophie's, Ben gathered, and now because of some deal with those two he was going to “charm” her again. How could her cousin Rory sit there and let them talk about her that way? Forbes and Felicity were her cousins, too. Some family. He had to figure out a way to warn Sophie, even with everything else on his mind now.

The chef strode into the room. “Mr. Otis, the kitchen is closed. I've sent most of the staff home. We need to clear this table.”

“Theeze are my frens,” Derek said. He was clearly drunk. “Good frens.”

Forbes stood up. “We were just leaving, Chef. Thank you for an unmemorable meal.”

Ben stepped from the shadows and started to pile the plates, ignoring the rules for proper table service. He looked at Zach
Hale, expecting an explosion. Instead Zach said with exaggerated politeness, “Exactly the same for me.” And left the room.

Ben and Jim quickly filled the dishwasher and ran it. “Jimmy, you get going,” Chef Zach said. Jim lived a short way down the road from the Lodge and biked to work. “Ben, your mother is picking you up, right? Better call her—then I need to talk to you, but first we have to put that miserable excuse for an innkeeper to bed.”

Derek had a room on the second floor of the Lodge and the maids were always complaining what a chore it was to clean. Derek could walk—barely—and they guided him up the stairs. Ben opened the door, and they managed to get him into bed, rolling him on his stomach so, Zach said, “He doesn't choke on his own puke, tempted as I might be to let him.”

The maids hadn't been to the Lodge today and the room was a pigsty. Ben was tempted to take a picture with his phone to show his mother the next time she complained about
his
mess. The outside shutters had been nailed shut by the maintenance crew, and Ben could hear them hammering the large plywood covers over the picture windows on the main floor now that the dining room was empty.

“Come on, Ben,” Zach said. When they reached the kitchen, the chef pulled Ben's knapsack from behind the door. “I should fire you for this, but if—and that's a big if—we stay open, it would be hard to find someone to replace you. As usual every restaurant from here to Camden is looking for workers.”

Ben dropped his head.

“How long has this been going on?” Zach asked.

“I—I . . .” Ben stammered.

“Hi, honey. Hi, Chef. Ready to go? I'm sure you don't have any guests left. The whole island is closing down.”

Great. It was his mother.

The chef looked as if he was considering a few options. He chose one.

“What would you do in your business, Mrs. Fairchild, if you discovered an employee was stealing food?”

“Get rid of the person immediately, of course,” she said. “If you can't trust the people who work for you, your business will fail before you can say bon appétit!”

Zach nodded. “Ben needs to learn this. I'm giving him one more chance, but only one. If it happens again, he's out the door and no
bon
at all.”

“Wait a minute! Ben has been stealing from you, from the Lodge?”

The chef opened Ben's knapsack wide and revealed an entire roasted chicken that Ben had carefully wrapped, a Baggie with rolls, another with the chef's double chocolate brownies, several small containers of other food, and a cold pack.

“I imagine you have your own utensils.”

Ben looked from the chef to his mother and back again.

“I thought with the electricity probably going out this would go to waste and . . .”

His mother gave him the look. The look he had known well since early childhood. The “can you look me straight in the eye and say that” look. He couldn't, and his voice faltered.

The chef handed him the knapsack, still full. “I'm going to assume this is the first and last time. Get going now and stay safe.”

When they were in the car, Ben pleaded, “Don't say anything, Mom. Just don't.”

She didn't.

Sophie was relieved that her cousins, Barks—such a stupid name—and Ian were not at The Birches when she got back from Granville with her slim pickings—no batteries; a large bag of brown rice, not an island staple; and several cans of condensed milk that must have been overlooked, as it
was
an island staple. She continued with storm preparations and the more difficult job of avoiding
Will, who was in and out of the house, using the back door. Each time his eyes seemed to bore into her head, accusing her of she knew not what. No, she had to admit to herself; she knew exactly what he was thinking. What she didn't know was what
she
was thinking—or doing.

Ian Kendall was the one man, one person, she had hoped never to run into again for the rest of her life, and by putting an entire ocean between them, this had seemed a reasonable belief. But the old Kevin Bacon thing had smacked her right in the face, truly knocking her senseless. And senseless was how she was behaving. Ian was a total shit. She
knew
this. She could still hear Gillian's parting words about the family “heirloom” ring: “He's got a drawer full of them.”

Where was her self-respect? How could she ever trust him? Yet, remembering the way he looked at her last night—and his words—produced the same effect they had when she'd first met him. Other memories flooded back. His touch, his smile, the way they had seemed to be one person in thought, word, and deed. Except, she reminded herself, she would never do what he had done to her.