The Scarlet Letter Scandal (28 page)

She had never felt so alone. She couldn’t believe that seemingly moments before she had been feeling bored. She wondered if she’d get arrested or thrown in jail. She didn’t have any money for an attorney, so that was out. After what seemed like an hour, though she had no sense of time, the police chief entered the room.

He sat down across from Kellie.

“Though you haven’t been arrested, you do have a right to contact an attorney if you’d like,” said the chief. “I’m just asking for five minutes of your time first, if it’s okay with you.” He looked at her sympathetically.

She was in a daze. “I don’t have money for an attorney,” she said. “And my life seems to have fallen apart, so I don’t really have any place else to be at the moment.”

“Just to fill you in, your fiancé, Brandon, has contacted both an attorney and his parents in New York,” said Chief Christopher Linden. “They posted bail and are coming to pick him up. His trial will be scheduled at a later time.”

“Ex-fiancé. How wonderful for him,” Kellie said absently. “And I don’t give a shit what happens to Rachel.”

“Her charges are pending,” said the chief. “And another one of your neighbors is here too, by the way. Your fearless leader, the homeowners association president, Chaz Appleton, has been arrested on charges of embezzlement. He didn’t quite make it to the party on time tonight. He’s in the room next door, wearing a toga and asking for a lawyer.”

“Not shocking,” said Kellie. Nothing could surprise her at this point.

He looked at Kellie. She returned his glance because he had fallen silent. Those piercing green eyes. Had she seen them before? And ever since they’d been in the car together she thought his smell was somehow familiar…that cologne…

He blinked, smiling at her.

“And what is to become of me?” asked Kellie.
There was no way…

“That depends,” said the gorgeous police chief. He stood up, reaching behind him and removing something that had been tucked into his waistline, under his shirt and beneath his leather gun holster. “On what you want to happen to you.”

He tossed the Phantom of the Opera mask onto the wooden table.

She gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth, and stood, walking around toward him, smiling at her mystery man.

“There’s only one answer to that,” said Kellie. She removed his police hat, placed it on the table, and kissed him, not caring if the mirror was two-way.

After a chilly walk on the beach, sea glass hunting with her friend Jo Bird, Eva walked toward the small cottage by the water, her pocket full of treasures from the bay. There was ice along the shoreline but they’d crunched through it, laughing at the treasure hunt of trying to spot pieces underneath the collapsing sheets of ice.

She looked up at the house that had belonged to her mother, willing herself once again to think of it as her own. It had been a perfect place of refuge. She’d enjoyed her sons’ visit when they came over at the holidays. Though they complained about the lack of cell signal, the boys seemed more at ease here on the island than they had back in Keytown, and she looked forward to their return in spring. On the porch, the tiny peach-colored lights of the small nautical-themed tree shone brightly, creating a blush of color on the white starfish ornaments.

She walked into the screened porch and sat down in a wicker rocking chair for a moment, spreading her sea glass finds in her hand to examine them. A worn turquoise piece she knew once was a Coke bottle, a purple patterned piece Jo had been jealous of, a worn green oval. What was once discarded as trash had been recycled, rejuvenated by the waves, transformed by time to become nature’s beautiful jewels. She added them to the huge half-filled jar on the porch.

Before walking inside, Eva took one more gulp of the fresh, cold winter air. There was something different about the air here on the island. It was cleaner air and slower, if air could be slow. Somehow just
breathing
here was more refreshing, more nurturing. Living by the water was simply good for the soul.

Eva walked inside the house, fixing herself a cup of herbal tea. She sat down at the kitchen table, opening her laptop to send a few emails to the office. The legal case against the state on behalf of the local watermen had been her idea. She’d convinced Nathan to let her proceed with a class action lawsuit so that the watermen could stop being bullied by the regulations and licensing designed to harm their way of life and cost them money they could ill afford. The upcoming trial was being heavily covered by the media and could mean a change for the better for the endangered lifestyle of the hardworking watermen—at least she hoped so.

These people worked sixteen-hour days or longer in blistering heat and freezing cold to bring the Chesapeake Bay’s bounty of crabs and oysters to the tables of Marylanders and beyond. The last thing they needed when they got home was to fear for their livelihoods while the state took away more and more of their rights and legal hunting grounds. Eva’s lawsuit would hold the state accountable for the financial harm it had brought upon the watermen lifestyle; one that was already threatened in so many ways, most of all by dwindling numbers.

She sat back, sipping her tea, and thought of Nathan and their time together on Christmas Eve. He had brought her a necklace made from a single pearl. He’d found it while oystering and asked his sister’s friend, a jeweler on nearby Hooper’s Island, to add the pendant and chain. It was a simple, beautiful gift she’d always treasure. She’d given Nathan a new insulated pair of work boots. She knew he needed them, but hadn’t wanted to splurge on them himself. Their gift exchange had been so humble, but so sweet. He’d prepared baked oysters and they had sat by the tiny fireplace watching the moon’s reflection on the water together.

And they had made love. Their union had a harmonious quality to it that Eva hadn’t felt before; a rhythm that just naturally played without any effort. So much of her sex life in the past had seemed to be frenzied, hurried. But just as life on the island was slower, so too was the lovemaking; there was never a hurry to go anywhere, to be anywhere
next
. His worn hands explored her body and found ways to pleasure her; they would spend an hour just touching each other before becoming one. There was a sanctuary about their relationship she had never experienced, and with so few words shared between them. Her life had been so full of noise, and now it was quiet.

She closed her laptop and the long, white plastic object on the table caught her eye. She smiled, but once again felt the shock of what she’d discovered only a few hours before. She’d already done the math, thinking back to her visit in New York and her time with Charles, and thinking of the past weeks and her time with Nathan. She thought it was funny to call what was happening with them an affair. And she would never call Nathan a boyfriend—such a juvenile term. Really, the personal relationship she shared with Nathan was so much more than that. There was a companionship, a peace she hadn’t known before. No expectations, no drama, no ongoing exclamations of love. Just two people on a small island who enjoyed each other’s company and genuinely cared for one another. It was a humble beginning to what Eva hoped would be a long journey.

As she heard Nathan’s truck pull into the gravel driveway after a long day on the water, Eva picked up the pregnancy test, thinking again of her age, how her sons were ready to graduate from high school. She’d remembered calculating once upon a time that she’d be under forty-five years old when they went off to college. Her thoughts returned again to the tiny cottage bedroom upstairs that her mother once used for sewing. She placed a hand on her belly. It was far too early to feel anything but she smiled anyway. So much hope and promise in this tiny secret. Was she ready to share it with anyone? The test had been the third one that morning with a “positive” sign, and Eva wondered if the identity of the father even mattered, really.

Thanks to my energetic, entertaining, enthusiastic publisher, Jason Pinter at Polis Books, for all those e’s. (Sorry for all the exclamation marks!!)

Thanks to my literary agent, Myrsini Stephanides, of Carol Mann Agency.

Thanks to Christine LePorte for your excellent copyediting skills on the manuscript. Your razor-sharp attention to detail made this novel better and for that you have my sincere thanks.

Special thanks to Russ Smith, publisher of SpliceToday.com, writing mentor and champion cusser/emoji user.

I’m not sure how I could produce this novel series without a bucolic waterfront Chesapeake Bay setting. Endless thanks to my Tilghman family. Patricia and John at the Tilghman Island Country Store, who feed me with food and friendship (to often include homecooked meals and/or Moonshine Cherries). Thanks to the lovely ladies at the Tilghman Island Book Club, who provide fun, support, and delicious food and often patience and understanding if I can’t always be there or haven’t read the book. Special thanks to Sue and Jay Shotel for all the extra TLC including food, lodging, and the fab author photo. Thanks to Nadine and Stewart, who provided a lovely waterfront cottage setting to work on edits for this book, the manuscript for the third book in the trilogy, a home for my kayak and creativity, and for your kindness and friendship. Also a thank-you to Rondy, Janice, and Len and Mary Pat for lodging rentals as I worked on this novel.

Thanks to my former political archnemesis, the brilliant director and worldly sea captain Michael Whitehill, for your invaluable theatrical perspective, feedback, and encouragement.
Stella
-r thanks.

Special thanks to Kara for being, like seriously, dude, the
Truck Stop Muse
, which seems like it might be an oxymoron, but isn’t, because where there is Creamed Chipped Beef and Circus Specials and Kathy Jo, there is always a way. Also, “The Truck Stop Muse” would be a great name for a rock band or something, wouldn’t it? Love you, Hermey.

To my therapist Dr. Teresa Schaefer, my chiropractor Dr. Adam Cohen and my migraine guru Dr. Jason Rosenberg at the Johns Hopkins Headache Center – the team that literally keeps my head on straight. I couldn’t do much without you. Many thanks.

A very special thank-you to Lisa and Doug, whose peaceful property is the setting for most of my ideas and much of my joy. Thanks for sharing what is literally my “happy place.”

Special thanks to the Knapps Narrows Marina for their unofficial kayaking membership and helpful nautical advice: “don’t die.”

To friends who have been supportive of my first book and of my life in general: Liz, Susan, Tracy, Stefanie, Beth, Jennifer (
those cupcakes!
), Julie, Lori, Katie, Lauren, Heather, Kerry, Lynne, Alex, Kellen, Laura, Kim, Donna, Peggy, thank you for being there.