The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (243 page)

On the other hand, she’d promised Sophie that she wouldn’t say a word. Oh, of course, the idea was that she not mention anything to Jesse, but Violet felt
pretty sure that Sophie’s “or anyone” was a direct reference to her grandfather.

Violet had known, of course, where Sophie had gone earlier that morning. She’d taken the mail into Jesse’s office and had started to place it in the center of his desk where she always did—lest he later claim to not have seen something—and seen the note Sophie had left there. Violet hadn’t meant to pry, but she knew every piece of paper on Jesse’s desk and hadn’t recognized that one, so she had to investigate, didn’t she? Her heart had skipped a beat when she read it—Curtis and Jesse would both be over the moon when they found out that Sophie was planning on moving to St. Dennis and would be joining the firm after all—but she’d also noticed that the key to Walsh’s restaurant was no longer on the desk. She’d deliberately positioned that string to hang off the side of the pile that Jesse had left there the day before, lest the key be misplaced. If she’d had time to search for the Walsh file, she’d have returned the key herself. God only knew where he’d put it—it wasn’t in the drawer where it belonged.

Of course, with his sister joining the firm, Violet suspected that Jesse would have more time to deal with those little details he so often overlooked these days. Then again, there was always the possibility that Jesse Enright was just not as detail-oriented as some.

Violet turned away from the window and went into the small office that Sophie had selected as her own. There were others upstairs, all unused at this point, but apparently there was something about this room that she liked. It had two nice windows that looked across Old St. Mary’s Church Road, so it did have a
view, but that was about all. Violet made a mental note to check upstairs for a few paintings to bring down and hang in what she already thought of as Sophie’s room. Something told her that the young woman would appreciate a few of the older prints that had once hung in her grandfather’s office. She seemed like someone who’d appreciate her roots, even if she was just discovering them.

A sigh escaped Violet’s lips. If in fact Sophie was going to do something that was going to upset her family, she should be permitted to do so on her own terms and in her own time, and it wasn’t Violet’s place to interfere. And she of all people knew Curtis, knew how he could be when he wanted someone to do something—the word
manipulative
sprang to mind—whether or not others were inclined to go along with him. Lord knew she hated to judge, but it wasn’t easy for Curtis to back off when he wanted something—and right now, what he wanted was for Sophie to be one of the Enrights in Enright & Enright. How badly he wanted that to happen, Violet couldn’t know for certain, but perhaps it would be best not to get into the middle of all that.

Best to let things take their natural course.

Besides, there was always the chance that Enid would decide not to sell the property after all, and everyone would have gotten into a snit for no reason at all.

Satisfied that her chosen course was the correct one, Violet answered the ringing phone with a clear conscience and a cheery voice.

Jason picked up his set of documents from the settlement table and tucked them under his arm. He’d already said his goodbyes to the representative from the mortgage company and Paul, who’d handled the sale on behalf of both parties. Once outside, though, the new property owner broke into a huge grin, and mentally, he was jumping into the air, clicking his heels. Everything had gone smoothly, and he was in and out in less than an hour. He hopped into his truck and headed straight for River Road.

He stopped the pickup at the gate, and leaving the engine idling, he got out and unlocked the gate with the key he’d been given. He swung the gate wide open, then drove his truck through and across the cracked and broken macadam to the back of the lot where the tree line began. There he parked and got out again.

The wind had picked up, enough that he had to zip up his leather jacket almost to the neck, but he barely noticed. This was his place now.
His
. He walked every inch of it, clear down to the river, which effectively acted as the back property line. Once at the water’s edge, he raised a hand to his forehead, using it as a visor to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun, and looked downriver as far as he could. About a half mile away were the old warehouses that Dallas MacGregor had renovated and were now housing her start-up film company. A mile or so farther down was the start of the residential area, where several of the biggest and grandest homes in town were built in the nineteenth century. Dallas’s great-aunt Berry lived in one of those. He’d been at a holiday party Dallas and her husband, Grant, had hosted there in December.
It was the fanciest house he’d ever been in. If his property had come with a dock, he’d probably be able to see the back of Berry’s property from here. He thought about the feasibility of putting a dock in, then dismissed the thought. It would serve no purpose but to amuse him if he ever decided to take up kayaking.

From here the river looked endless, but he knew that around a curve or two it met the Bay. He liked that his property had a connection to the Chesapeake, albeit a peripheral one. He’d been in town long enough to understand that here, on the Eastern Shore, the Chesapeake was everything. Waterfront property was highly desirable. That he’d been able to purchase an acre of it delighted him. The only thing that would have made this day better was if Eric had been here to share it.

Of course, if Eric were still alive, Jason most likely would never have come to St. Dennis. The plan was to continue to build the business in Florida once Eric left the military. There’d never been any thought of moving Bowers for Landscape north. It never occurred to him to wonder if he’d have been better off in Florida. He’d done what he’d needed to do, and there’d been no point in questioning the wisdom of selling the one business and starting up the next—though he knew all along he’d be rebuilding, he hadn’t thought of staying in St. Dennis. But once he’d made the decision, he’d moved right ahead with it, buying his equipment one piece at a time and hustling for customers. Landing those two big jobs—the Inn at Sinclair’s Point and the Enright property—had pretty much set him up.

And now here he stood, his hands on his hips, surveying the little bit of the Eastern Shore that he could call his.

He’d need to have a sign made for the gate, he thought as he walked through the wooded section to his truck. Mentally he tagged some hardwoods that he might be able to sell, maybe make a few dollars there—with luck, enough to have the front of the lot repaved.

The stone building next door was the last piece he needed to complete his vision.

He went to the fence and leaned on it. The sign over the door may have said Walsh’s, but he could blink and see Bowers for Landscape in black script, just like on the side of his truck and on his business cards. Paul had assured him that he’d contacted the owner, who wasn’t interested in selling at this time. Jason told him to try again in six weeks, feel her out, see if maybe the right offer would get her attention. In the meantime, Jason had plans for the lot he now owned. Right there, next to the fence, was the perfect spot for the mulch he’d be having delivered in the spring. The ground there was flat and the area was tucked off to the side, so the piles of the various kinds of mulches and soils he’d ordered wouldn’t interfere with parking the equipment he’d bought. He could run truck-loads of the stuff right down to the tree line. Right now, his deliveries were being made to a vacant lot he was renting from Hal Garrity, but once the new blacktop had been put down and cured, there’d be no need to rent space from anyone else.

A truck with a Bobcat on the bed pulled into the lot, and Jason stepped away from the fence to greet
the driver. It gave him great satisfaction to see his equipment parked on his property, no doubt about it. He glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the old stone building and thought how great this was all going to be when his vision was complete.

Chapter 11

Sophie drove straight through to Ohio, but she was still up and out early on Saturday morning. Her first stop was the car dealership on Township Line Road. She’d never been particularly fussy about what she drove, as long as it served its purpose. Her pretty little sedan had been intended only to be pretty and comfortable and reasonably efficient when it came to mileage. The car she was looking for now only had to have decent mpg and cargo space, even if she had to forgo some of the comfort. She was going to need lots of room to transport her belongings to St. Dennis, since hiring a mover was out of the question.

She hit two more dealers before finding what she wanted. She ended up having to give up some of the mileage—and some of the comfort—for more cargo space, but the SUV was new and the dealer was offering great incentives, so with the trade-in on her sedan, her monthly payments were lower than what she’d been paying. She took this as a sign that things were going to fall into place. She’d have to go back on Monday to pick it up, but that was okay. She had one
more trip to make this weekend, and it didn’t matter to her which vehicle she drove to get there.

It was late afternoon when Sophie pulled into the parking lot at Shelby’s Diner, where she’d spent many an early summer morning scrambling eggs and making pancakes, and just as many afternoons flipping burgers on the grill. She left her car around back in the employees’ lot just for old times’ sake and went in through the front door.

The interior hadn’t changed in the eight years since she’d hung up her apron the day after she learned she’d passed the bar exam. The tiles on the floor were still black and white, and the faux leather on the counter stool seats and the benches in the booths were still red and frayed in spots. There was still a lot of chrome and glass, and the smell of cooking burgers still made her mouth water. She stood in front of the reception desk, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It took her back to the first time she walked through that door to apply for the advertised job.

When she opened her eyes, she found the hostess staring at her.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked warily from behind the desk. “Are you all right?”

Shelby herself appeared before Sophie could respond to the hostess. “Sophie! It’s so good to see you!”

Shelby touched a hand to Sophie’s shoulder-length hair. “I remember when your hair grew almost to your waist.” Shelby then reached up to her head, where gray stubble grew. “Mine too.”

Surprised by the woman’s appearance, Sophie wordlessly hugged her old boss. For as long as she’d known her, Shelby’s hair had been long, dark auburn streaked
with gray. Now, except for the stubble, she was completely bald.

“Don’t bother telling me how good I look.” Shelby returned the hug. “They tell me it grows back, but it’s taking its damned sweet time.”

“Shelby, what …?” Sophie sought words.

“Yeah, I probably should have mentioned it when you called, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Why would I be scared off?”

“Some folks have a problem being around sick people and they don’t know what to say. Yes, I have cancer, and yes, I’m having chemotherapy. The doctors all tell me I’m doing real good with the treatments and I’m not as sick as some people get with them, so it’s all good, right?” Shelby ushered Sophie into the last booth.

“I’ll take good, Shelby,” Sophie replied. “As long as the doctor’s are optimistic, I’ll take it.”

Shelby nodded. “It’s only been a few months, but like I said, it’s going well.” She signaled for a waitress. “What can we get you? Coffee? Iced tea? A soda?”

“Water would be fine.”

“That’s it? You drove all this way for a glass of water?”

“I drove all this way to talk to you.”

“Jean-Anne, bring my friend a glass of water. Throw some lemon in it.” Shelby instructed the waitress she’d called to the table. “You can bring me a cup of my tea.”

Shelby turned to Sophie and wrinkled her nose. “Herb tea. That’s what I’ve been reduced to drinking. Herb tea.”