The Chesapeake Diaries Series (138 page)

“I wish you could have seen your face.” She sat on the closest chair. “You looked … stunned.”

“I was stunned,” he told her. “I’m still stunned.”

“Look, if you load the apples in the van and give me a list of who gets how much, I’ll deliver them this week when I take my cupcakes into town.”

“Seriously, Brooke, whatever possessed you to do that?” Clay laughed in spite of himself.

“I wanted something that would make a statement.”

“No problem there.”

The back door opened and Hannah came in, her arms filled with grocery bags.

“I just saw the van in the driveway,” she said. “Brooke, it’s darling.”

“Clay thinks so, too,” Brooke deadpanned. “He can’t wait to drive it into town. He’s not afraid to show off his feminine side.”

“I’ll get that list for you.” Clay shook his head and left the room. “You can make the first delivery this afternoon.”

Hannah looked from Brooke to the fleeing image of her son. “Was it something I said?”

“Clay thinks the van is going to hurt his image.” Brooke got up and checked the timer on her cupcakes. “I told him I’d deliver the apples for him.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “He can borrow my van for his deliveries if it really bothers him. He can take out that last row of seats.”

“He’ll get over it,” Brooke said confidently. “When he sees what a chick magnet that big pink cupcake is, he’ll be thanking me.”

Chapter 11

Jesse turned up his collar and walked into the wind that blew up the street, scattering leaves in its wake. It was six forty-five in the morning and facing down the wind was his current best reason for investing in a new coffeemaker to replace the one in his kitchen that had rolled over and died a few weeks back. For now, and at least until winter set in and it turned really cold, there was Cuppachino, his first stop every morning.

It was warm and fragrant inside the coffee shop and he went right to the counter, where the pretty young girl who worked the early shift took down his mug, the one Carlo’s wife, Elisa, had made for him. She was a potter, and from their earliest days in the shop, Elisa made personal mugs for every one of the morning regulars. Grace’s said
EDITOR, ST. DENNIS GAZETTE
. Steffie’s said
SCOOP;
Vanessa’s,
BLING
. Jesse’s said
ENRIGHT, ESQ
. But to Jesse, it said that someone recognized him as one of them, that he belonged. He was inordinately proud of it.

He was early, so he took a seat near the front window where he could watch St. Dennis come to life on
Charles Street. Observing life in a small town never failed to fascinate him, now that he was living in one. He turned at the sound of the door being opened and closed, and he waved to Clay, who waved back on his way to the counter, where he placed his order. When his mug was filled, he added cream and sugar—raw—and made his way around the tables to Jesse. He plunked down his mug—
MADISON’S ORGANICS
—and pulled up a chair.

“You ever play soccer, Enright?” Clay asked as he sat.

Jesse nodded. “High school, then club ball in college.”

“Got a few hours each week you wouldn’t mind sparing?”

“Maybe. Why?”

Clay came right to the point. “I just started coaching my nephew’s Boys Club team. The assistant quit and I need a replacement fast.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You interested?”

“How fast?”

“Now.”

“What’s the schedule?”

“Thursday afternoons from about three fifteen till four forty-five. Saturday mornings from nine till eleven. Pizza night once a month on Fridays. Party at the end of the season, win or lose.” He took another sip. “You in?”

“Sure. I’ll have to leave a little early this Thursday, though.” Jesse didn’t want anything to cut into his time with Brooke.

“That’s okay. I’m grateful that you said you’d do it. By the way, we practice and play on the same field,
the one in the park off Charles Street. One light down from Kelly’s Point Drive.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Great. Thanks. I …”

The door opened and Grace entered with a woman whose red hair was twisted at the back of her neck. She wore a black pencil skirt with a matching jacket and four-inch black leather heels. Clay’s jaw dropped and Jesse was tempted to reach across the table and shut his friend’s mouth for him. Fortunately, Clay came to his senses and closed it on his own.

“Good morning, boys,” Grace called to them.

“Morning, Miss Grace,” they both replied.

The woman in the black suit turned and gave them both the once-over, said something to Grace, then walked to their table.

“Hello, Clay.” Her voice was just a little on the raspy side. “Nice to see you.”

Jesse couldn’t decide whether or not she really thought it was nice to see Clay, but Clay didn’t seem to care.

“Lucy.” Clay stood. “I heard you might be around this week.”

“Big doings at the inn.” She nodded in Grace’s direction. “Celebrity wedding, St. Dennis style.”

Grace started toward the table.

“I see you called in the big guns for Dallas and Steffie,” Clay called to her.

“We’re doing our best to talk her into it,” Grace replied. She handed a to-go cup to the redhead and turned to Jesse. “Jesse, this is my daughter, Lucy Sinclair. Lucy, Jesse Enright. Mike’s nephew. He’s taking over the practice.”

“Mom told me about Andrea’s illness,” Lucy told him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Jesse said. No reason to tell a stranger that he’d yet to meet his aunt.

“Please give Mike and Andrea my best when you see them,” she continued.

“I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks.”

Lucy took a quick look at her watch. “I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. Thanks for the coffee, Mom.” She leaned over and kissed Grace on the cheek.

“I’m leaving with you, dear. I have about three hundred photos from the Halloween Parade to go through before the paper goes to press and I want to get an early start.” Grace patted Jesse on the shoulder. “You’re in quite a few of them, by the way.”

“Lucy, it was nice to meet you,” Jesse told her.

“You as well.” She nodded.

“Lulu.” Clay touched her arm.

Her smile was faint, and to Jesse’s eye, a bit sad. “No one ever got away with calling me that but you,” she said softly.

“How long are you …?”

Before he could finish, she told him, “I’m leaving in the morning. I just flew in to speak with Dallas and Steffie because Dallas wanted me to.” She shrugged and forced a smile. “How do you say no to Dallas MacGregor?”

“I guess if you’re a wedding planner, and she’s getting married, you don’t.”

“Right. Well, it was good seeing you, Clay.”

“Come back when you can stay a little longer,” he said as she walked away.

“If I take this job, I’ll be doing just that.” She waved and went to the door, opened it, held it for her mother, then closed it behind them.

“So that’s Lucy Sinclair,” Jesse said.

Clay nodded and sat back down.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Jesse asked him.

Clay shook his head from side to side.

“She just smoked every last one of your brain cells, didn’t she,” an amused Jesse said.

“She grew up real good,” was all Clay said. He took a few sips of his coffee. “Sorry. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“How long?”

“Since we graduated from high school.”

“Where’s she been?”

“College, then she went straight out to California.”

“Doesn’t she ever come back to see her family?” Jesse asked.

“She does. Holidays and such, but she mostly stays at the inn. She’s always gone before anyone even knows she’s been here.”

“That’s odd, don’t you think? Kind of slipping in and out of town as if she didn’t want anyone to notice?” Jesse frowned. “Considering that she grew up here and all?”

“She didn’t used to be that way.” Clay picked up a wooden stirrer and tapped it on the side of his mug. “We used to be best friends, like, the very best of friends. From kindergarten right on through till about sophomore year in high school.”

“What happened?” Jesse asked.

“Damned if I know,” Clay replied. “One day we
were crabbing out near Culver’s Cove, the next, she wouldn’t even come to the phone when I called her. We never did anything together after that, hardly even spoke. It was like she had some switch in her head, and she’d turned it off.”

“No explanation, no ‘Clay you just piss me off and I don’t want to be your friend anymore’ …?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure she hadn’t found a new best friend to hang out with and—”

“No. That’s the thing. Like I told you before, she didn’t hang around with anyone. None of the girls, none of the guys. She wasn’t dating anyone, didn’t go to any of the proms. Dropped off the field-hockey team. I mean, she just …” Clay shrugged as if he had no more words for whatever it was that Lucy had done.

“It still bothers you,” Jesse said.

“Nah. It was a long time ago.” Clay finished his coffee and stood. “I was just sayin’.”

Jesse nodded as if he understood, and he did. Twenty years later, Clay was still bothered at having been dumped by a friend in high school—not a
girl
friend, but his
best
friend. Jesse knew that sometimes friendship went deeper than high school lust, and apparently it had for Clay. Despite his denial, he was still bothered by the unexplained loss of a friendship that obviously had meant a great deal to him.

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to go and get my daily dose of humility.” Clay pushed in his chair.

Jesse looked at him quizzically.

“My sister didn’t tell you what she did to my van?”

“No,” Jesse replied.

“It’s parked outside.” Clay gestured for Jesse to follow him. “You have to see it to believe it …”

Jesse was still smiling about the pink van with the big hot-pink cupcake painted on the side when he arrived at his office. Liz wasn’t at her desk, so he left her muffin there for her. And because he’d decided that someone had to take the first step, he’d bought one for Violet as well. He saw her coat hanging on the freestanding brass rack in the reception area, but she wasn’t at her desk either. Jesse left the muffin in its bag and went into his own office, the door of which was already open.

Curtis Enright sat at Jesse’s desk, in Jesse’s chair, which had been turned sideways. Violet sat in one of the visitors’ seats, a happy smile on her face. The smile visibly faded when she saw Jesse enter the room.

“Good morning,” Jesse said. “Pop, this is an unexpected pleasure.” He extended his hand and his grandfather began to rise. “No, no, stay there. I can sit here next to Violet.”

He patted Violet on the shoulder as he stepped around her to take the other visitors’ chair. Violet flinched imperceptibly, and Jesse smiled. He still wasn’t sure what her problem was, but he wasn’t about to acknowledge it to his grandfather, who apparently thought enough of the woman to keep her on the payroll.

“I stopped at Cuppachino and got you a muffin,” he told her. “Carlo said you’re partial to the pumpkin walnut.”

“Thank you.” She managed a smile.

“You’re welcome.” Jesse turned to his grandfather. “If I’d known you were stopping in, I’d have brought something for you. As it is …” He placed the small white bag with the Cuppachino logo onto the desk. “I’m more than happy to share.” He met his grandfather’s eyes. “It’s blueberry pecan.”

“No, thanks. I’m watching my …” Curtis paused as Jesse unwrapped the muffin. “Oh, hell, go get a knife.”

“I’ll get it, Curtis.” Violet rose as if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to leave.

“Thank you.” Curtis turned back to Jesse. “I heard you were one to come in early every day. Did the same thing, when I first started.”

“I’ve always been an early riser. Makes sense to get a good start on the day.” Jesse leaned back in his chair and wondered what had brought his grandfather in this morning. Was he checking up on him? Or was he just bored with his newly sedentary life?

“Exactly.” Curtis nodded his agreement.

Violet appeared with a knife, two small plates, several napkins, and a cup of coffee, which she set down in front of her old boss.

“Thank you, Violet. I don’t know how anyone functions without someone like you to run their office.” Curtis smiled. Violet turned as if about to take her seat again when he said, “I’d appreciate a few moments with my grandson, Violet.”

“Oh.” She appeared startled, and almost insulted at having been asked, however gently, to leave. “Of course.”

She closed the door softly as she left, her offended sensibilities trailing behind her.

“Sure you don’t want your seat back?” Curtis asked.

Jesse shook his head and said, “Keep it as long as you like.”

“I ran into Steve Duffy this morning.” Curtis leaned forward on the desk, and for a moment, avoided making eye contact with Jesse, who figured out real fast where this was going and why his grandfather stopped in. “You know that this firm has been representing the Duffys for longer than I’ve been around.”

“I believe Violet may have mentioned that.”

“Then you probably know that after you turned down his son’s case, he called me. Actually, he called from his cell phone as he was walking out the door.” Curtis pushed back from the desk and stood, walked to the windows, and looked out. “Put me in a bit of a bind there, son. I would have appreciated a heads-up.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think he’d call me, or didn’t think I’d care?”

“I figured that sooner or later he’d get around to complaining to you. But did he tell you—?”

Curtis held up a hand to stop Jesse from saying anything further.

“For the record: you should assume that every time you meet with someone who’d once been a client of mine, that person is going to call me. Whether that person is pleased or pissed off.” Curtis sat again, and this time, looked Jesse in the eye. “Mostly I’ve heard from people who have been happy with you. Steve Duffy was pissed off.”

“I imagine he was.” Jesse stifled the urge to add “sir,” as if this were a military interrogation, which is
what it felt like. He wasn’t used to having his judgment second-guessed.