The Inn at Angel Island (15 page)

Audrey quickly wrapped the basket in a sheet of brown paper, then stepped away from the metal table. “One more thing . . . wait right here.”

She left the room through another door and quickly returned, carrying a large bunch of dried lavender. “Here you go. The cheese is from the goats; that’s from me.”

Liza laughed, overwhelmed by the generosity. She’d been thinking about coming here for lavender. Now she had an armful. “Honestly, this isn’t necessary . . .”

“Just trying to thank a neighbor. I appreciate your help. Someone else would have been calling animal control.”

Maybe that was true, but Liza didn’t think of herself as a real neighbor. She was just . . . passing through. Still, she loved the lavender and couldn’t wait to try the cheese.

“Thank you, Audrey. I’m going to enjoy all these gifts. And I really liked meeting your goats.”

“The feeling was mutual, believe me.” Audrey smiled, and Liza had the uncanny feeling that, given the right circumstances, they could be friends. The goat-wrangling redhead was only a few years older than Liza was, she realized, and had a down-to-earth manner that Liza found refreshing.

She wondered about Audrey’s story, what had brought her and her husband out here to start this unique enterprise. “How long have you been raising goats?” Liza asked curiously.

“Oh, about five years now. We started with ten goats, and now we’re up to seventy. That’s a good number for a farm like this one. We’ll have to sell some off next year after the kids come. The mothers give birth from January to April, then they give milk until the fall,” Audrey explained. “I was a nurse in my former life, so it helps with the vet bills—all those deliveries.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Liza said honestly. “Did you always live on the island?” she asked, balancing the heavy basket on one hip.

Audrey shook her head. “We found this island by accident one summer. We came up to the area to go camping, and all the camp-grounds we knew were filled. Someone told us to come out here to the beach. My husband and I just fell in love with the place. We kept coming back on vacation, and then when this farm came up for sale, we decided to make the big move. It was hard at first,” she admitted. “But we’ve gotten used to it. I could never go back now. But I still do some nursing at the emergency medical clinic in the center.”

“I noticed that place. Is it staffed by volunteers?”

“Completely. It’s all islanders with medical experience. You must know Daniel Merritt. I saw his truck at your place the last few days. He drives an ambulance and is trained as a first responder.”

“Somehow I can picture that,” Liza said. Daniel seemed the type who would be calm under pressure, even in an emergency.

She could have talked longer with Audrey, but it was getting late. She had to get back to the inn. “Thanks again. I’d better go,” she said.

“Need any help? I can give you a lift.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just go back the way I came,” Liza said.

She stepped out of the small building, and Audrey followed. The sun had risen higher in the sky and burned off the mist, leaving a layer of frosty dew. Liza heard her shoes crunch on the brown grass as she headed for the field and stone wall.

Back at the inn, Liza walked around to the back door and came in through the kitchen. Claire stood at the stove, and Peter sat at the long table, a pile of pancakes on his plate. Thin and golden brown, the pancakes were covered with a layer of sautéed apples. Liza’s mouth watered at the sight.

Peter’s eyebrows rose as he saw the overloaded basket on her arm. “What is this? Little Red Riding Hood? I thought you were upstairs, sleeping late.”

“Sleeping? I was herding goats while you were still in dreamland, pal.” Liza stuck the cheese in the fridge and placed the lavender in a white vase she found on the sideboard.

Peter gave her a quizzical look. Claire laughed. “Did they get loose again? That George is a terror. He could chew his way through a cement wall.”

“He’s definitely the smartest. Bette is sweet. But she tried to eat my scarf,” Liza added, checking the scarf again.

Claire brought her a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes as Liza related her adventure. “Their farm is really lovely. You ought to walk over and see it sometime.”

“Maybe I will. If I have time,” Peter said, looking unconvinced that a goat farm could be so interesting.

In fact, he was staring at Liza as if she had imagined the entire thing. In a way, it felt as if she had, she realized. It was definitely a strange, almost dreamlike experience. And it had cast a certain spell.

“Maybe I’ll get a goat as a pet,” Liza teased him. “I hear they can be very affectionate.”

“I’m sure your condo board will be interested to hear that.” Peter wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You can try to win them over with some of that cheese.”

“I probably could,” Liza agreed. She was going to ask if he wanted some of the cheese to bring back to Tucson but was interrupted by a buzz from her BlackBerry.

The caller ID flashed, and Liza saw that it was Fran Tulley.

“Hi, Liza. Good news,” Fran greeted her. “I have a couple in my office right now who are interested in seeing the inn. They drove out from Boston this morning to see some properties in the village, but when I told them about the island, they really wanted to see your place first.”

“Oh . . . that’s great.” Liza knew there would be prospective buyers on the way, but she hadn’t expected anyone to come this morning. Not this early anyway.

“Can I bring them over?” Fran asked.

“Sure, come right over. I’ll try to straighten up a little if I can.”

“Don’t worry. They know the deal. We should be there in about twenty minutes or so. See you then.”

Liza clicked off the call. Logically, she knew that many, many people might have to march through the inn before anyone wanted to buy it. But the idea of these first lookers seemed alarming.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and looked up at her brother.

“Fran Tulley?” he guessed.

“That’s right. And she’s on her way over with hot prospects.”

His mouth was full of food, and he quickly swallowed. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know. All she said was, ‘Don’t worry, they know the deal.’ I guess that means they know it’s in need of improvements.”

“I hope they don’t think they’re going to offer some ridiculously low price and whittle us down.”

“Peter, they didn’t even get here yet. Let’s just let Fran do her job. We probably shouldn’t even be here. We’ll only get in her way.”

Peter seemed alarmed at that suggestion. “I want to be here. I want to see how she handles herself, answers questions. We really don’t know what kind of salesperson she is, Liza. She might be awful.”

“I don’t think she’s going to be awful. She seems very experienced and competent. Besides, we signed a contract with her, remember? It’s a little late to worry about all this now.”

He frowned at her, and Liza sighed. Her brother was getting anxious. Not a good sign.

Liza heard a vehicle pull up and park at the back of the house, near the kitchen door. Was it Fran already? Did she take her clients around in a private jet?

She lifted the curtain on the window and saw Daniel’s truck. He had arrived along with several helpers. He had told her he would need to hire a crew to keep the job moving along. She hoped the painters didn’t distract the lookers. Then again, it might be a plus to see that improvements were going on.

Daniel was unloading a long ladder with the help of another man. He had on a gray hooded sweatshirt today, paint-spattered jeans, and worn running shoes. She wasn’t sure how he managed to look as good as a guy in a five-hundred-dollar suit in that outfit, but somehow he did.

He suddenly turned to the window and smiled, but Liza acted as if she hadn’t seen him and quickly let the curtain drop again. She was sure she looked a frizzy, frazzled mess after her goat-herding experience.

“I guess we ought to at least clean up the kitchen.” Peter was standing at the sink, scrubbing the griddle. “Where did Claire go?” he asked in a cranky tone. “Isn’t this her job?”

“She must be around somewhere. I don’t keep her on a leash, Peter.”

Liza never really asked Claire questions about her work or told her what to do. Claire seemed to know automatically what needed to be done and when to do it.

“Maybe she’s upstairs, making the beds,” Liza offered as she loaded the dishwasher.

“Yeah, she is,” Will reported, stomping into the kitchen. “There’s some painter dude staring through my window. Then she comes in and wants to make the bed . . .”

Will sat at the table, holding his head. His thick dark hair was sticking up on end, as if someone had been working on it with an eggbeater. He wore a huge baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, his feet bare. He hadn’t reached his full height yet but had very large feet. Like a puppy with big paws.

“Want some breakfast?” Liza asked her nephew.

“Something simple. Don’t let him make a big mess again,” Peter said quickly. He wiped down the countertop with a large sponge and gave Liza a look. “Give him some yogurt or toast. Scratch that. No toast. Too many crumbs.”

Liza knew that Claire had squirreled away a few pancakes for the boy but then decided not to make Peter crazy by warming them up now. Will would have to have the treat some other time—or figure out how to get up earlier and eat with everyone else.

“What is he all freaked out about?” Will strolled over to the refrigerator and took out a container of yogurt, then found a spoon on the table and began to eat it, standing up.

“The real estate agent is bringing a couple over to see the inn,” Liza explained.

Will scratched his neck. “Like, they might buy it?”

Liza nodded. “Like, we hope so.”

He grinned. “Me, too. Then we can get the heck out of here.”

“Will,” his father grumbled, “just eat something and go back upstairs and stay out of the way until these people are gone, okay?”

“It’s no big deal,” Liza said quickly. “You don’t have to stay in your room all day, Will. It’s really gorgeous out. You ought to go down to the beach or something.”

“I’ll take him to the beach,” Peter cut in. “Later, when we’re finished here with the realty agent.”

“I don’t care. I want to stay in my room.” Will dumped his yogurt container in the trash, left the spoon in the sink, then headed for the hallway. “This place sucks. You’d have to be crazy to want to buy it.”

Peter looked at Liza as if to say, “See what I mean?”

Liza sighed inwardly. Peter was convinced that Will was the problem, but from what Liza could see, Peter was at least half to blame; he kept pushing Will’s buttons. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t have to be the one to explain this to her brother.

Saved by the knocker, she thought, as the brass knocker sounded on the front door. “I guess they’re here.”

Peter quickly wiped his hands on a towel. “I’ll get it,” he volunteered.

“That’s all right. I can go.” Liza smoothed down her sweater and pushed her hair behind her ears. She hadn’t put on a drop of makeup this morning, but it was too late now to worry about her appearance. The visitors weren’t coming to see her, anyway. They were coming to look over the inn.

She wasn’t sure why, but the realization gave her a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She pulled open the door, fixing her face in a wide smile. “Hello, Fran. Come right in.”

Fran quickly introduced the Nelsons, Alice and Ben. They were in their midthirties, Liza guessed, just a few years older than she was. She noticed Alice Nelson’s designer handbag and leather boots, and Ben’s supple suede jacket and the little polo-player logo on his baseball cap. Universal sign language that they had an impressive income. That was heartening, Liza thought.

Peter had run into the foyer right behind her and was now vigorously shaking Ben Nelson’s hand.

“Why don’t we start down here?” Fran said brightly. She had a sheaf of notes in hand, Liza noticed, that must have listed the specifics for the property.

Fran began her tour, and the Nelsons peered around.

“And in this room, there’s stunning crown molding around the ceiling and bookcases. And these beautiful pocket doors.” Fran demonstrated, pulling the doors in and out. “That’s the original molding, and it is in excellent condition, as are these wide plank floors . . .”

The couple looked up at the molding, then down at the floors.

Fran seemed to have the situation totally under control, and Liza slipped away, planning to retreat to the kitchen. She paused in the foyer, glaring at her brother, sending him a silent message to do the same and leave the Nelsons alone with Fran.

He pursed his mouth and shook his head. Liza’s heart sank.

No telling what he might say or do. She didn’t want to see it.

She grabbed her down vest from the coat tree and headed out the kitchen door into the backyard. The irony of it all was that Peter was the one most eager for the sale, and now he was bound to interfere and possibly spoil it. There was nothing she could do about it, Liza reasoned. She decided to get a little work done outside while the house tour was going on.

Liza tramped through the backyard, realizing it was badly in need of attention. Now that the snow had melted, she could see that there were lots of old leaves and frost-damaged branches that needed cleaning up. Her aunt had taught her a bit about gardening, and Liza had always liked working with plants, but she had never had a chance to do much of it. None of her Boston apartments had had a yard, much less room for a garden.

She decided to grab a rake and at least get a start out here. Maybe Will would even help her later—if she asked him really nicely.

She went into the big shed to look for a rake but soon got distracted. The outbuilding had once been a horse stable and still had big swinging barnlike doors, a dirt floor, and two stalls inside.