The Chesapeake Bride Page 4

  “Because in the construction phase, we need to transport material to the island by boat, remember? The one bridge onto the island wasn’t built to carry heavy loads.”

  “Why don’t we just build a bigger damned bridge?”

  “It’s a historic site, Dad. Back in 1814—”

  “Eighteen fourteen,” he grumbled. “It’s 2017. So how long’s this gonna take, Cassie? I got contractors lined up, I got supplies on order, equipment on hold. I can’t expect everyone to wait around until I get the all clear.”

  “I spoke with one of the divers who’s going to explore the site and determine if in fact it’s going to merit historic designation. He said he’s determined to get this under way as soon as possible, and he’ll let me know as soon as he knows what’s down there.” Owen hadn’t exactly said all that, but it sounded good, and if it placated her father for now, she’d go with it. “We’re just going to have to be patient and hope for the best, but in the meantime, you might want to think about moving some of the subs to the Carmen Hills project.”

  “I hate to . . .” Her father sighed deeply. “But you’re right. As soon as you hear, though . . .”

  “You will know as soon as I know.”

  “I want to put up a spec house as soon as possible.” Cass could hear in his voice that he was starting to calm down. “I’ve been thinking maybe one of those lots that face the bay.”

  “We might be able to start clearing the lots. I don’t see the harm in that, but I’ll talk to Alec and see what he thinks. Without the materials, though, we have nothing to build with. I can ask if he thinks there’s another option for the dock. I think we need to be proactive and get ahead of this thing. If we could move the dock to, say, the bay side, that’s where you’d offer the houses to the buyers who have boats.”

  “Just what I was thinking, Cassie. You took the words right out of my mouth. Talk to whoever you have to. Tell him we’re ready to put up a spec, one of those really great designs of yours. Keep this project on track. I hate delays. Time is money. And you know if this thing drags on too long, I’m going to have to bail on the entire thing.” He sighed deeply. “So you coming back to Baltimore while this is being hashed out or what?”

  “I think I’m going to hang around St. Dennis for a while. I haven’t had a vacation in forever and I’m overdue.” Cass paused. “I like it here. I have a lovely suite of rooms at that beautiful old inn where they treat me like a princess and feed me very well three times a day—sometimes four, if you count afternoon tea, which I’ve come to adore. Why would I come back to Baltimore?”

  “Well, your mother worries, you know, that maybe you’re spending too much time by yourself. Like, maybe you’re depressed since the divorce, and—”

  “Tell Mom I am happier now than I have been in a long time. As for being alone, I’ve met some interesting people here and I’m busy every day. I’ve been playing tennis in the morning and I joined a group to bike with sometimes in the afternoon. I’ve gone on walking tours and garden tours and to an art exhibit.”

  “Really? All that?” Cass could hear the frown in her father’s voice. No one in his experience had been happy about being divorced. She knew both he and her mother had been harboring this image of her being crushed after hers became final. They were having a hard time believing she was actually happy on her own.

  “Really. Besides, I’ve been finishing up the designs for the houses we’ll build once we get the green light. We have twenty-two lots to sell, and I want every house to be different yet still reflect the island’s heritage. That’s the promise we made to Alec and to Ruby Carter, and I very much want to honor that. I can’t think of any project I’ve worked on I’ve enjoyed more.”

  “Well, you’re the architect. Make me proud I gave you free rein for this project.”

  “I always make you proud, and you know it.” Cass knew it was true. Her father had been delighted with every home and every commercial building she’d designed for his clients. “We will keep this on schedule, and when these houses are completed, visitors to the island will be hard-pressed to know which of the houses are two hundred years old, and which are brand-new. At least, from the exterior.”

  “That was the plan and that’s what’s going to sell out this project. So, call your mother once in a while. And keep me in the loop. Let me know what you hear.”

  “Will do, Dad.”

  That hadn’t gone so badly, Cass mused after she disconnected the call. Other than his initial blowup, he’d been rational. That was a plus. Now she was going to have to do what she could to keep things moving forward.

  She put in a call to Alec and left a voice mail outlining her father’s concerns and asking for Alec’s advice. She walked around to the back of the house, where she’d envisioned a patio made from the brick they’d remove from the crumbling fireplace. She wondered if she could find someone local who made bricks by hand so they could rebuild the chimney. There was no way she would ever give up on this project. She was just going to have to make certain things moved quickly here. If her father started losing money due to the delay, he might decide to cut his losses and sell what he’d already bought here. She could not allow that to happen.

  A ping on her phone alerted her to an incoming text from Alec.

  Looking into it. Will get back to you.

  Asked and answered. She called her father and let him know the situation was being addressed.

  She’d just gotten back onto her bike and was about to put on her helmet when Owen made his second pass.

  “Aren’t you dying from the heat?” she asked when he slowed down.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking I was done for the day, but I’m too stubborn to quit. Thanks for giving me a reason to stop.”

  “Don’t let me hold you.”

  “I’ll take any excuse I can get.” He wiped his forehead with his forearm.

  She wondered what happened to his shirt but didn’t ask because she didn’t want him to know she’d noticed and remembered. “Tell me a little more about this ship that you’re diving on.”

  “All I know is what Ruby told me. She thinks it’s a ship that was carrying tea when the colonists had decided they didn’t want English tea. She said she’d heard a story about a shipowner from Virginia trying to hide one of his vessels that had been refused at Annapolis, but a storm had come up and the ship went down where it anchored, which, according to her story, was in or near the mouth of the river. She also thought there could be one of the bay’s sunken islands down there, but that will require a lot more research, depending on what we find and where we find it.”

  “A sunken island?” Cass raised an eyebrow.

  Owen explained how the winds and waters of the bay had eroded so many islands over the years and had relocated some of the sunken ships from where they’d landed when they first went down, to where they now lay.

  “You mean islands were here one day and gone the next?” She pondered how that might happen.

  “In most cases, it took a little longer than that.”

  “But you mean small islands where no one lives, like Goat Island, right?”

  “No. A lot of the islands that disappeared had whole communities, a lot like here. Houses, businesses, farms—all gone.”

  “What did people do?” Cass wondered aloud, fascinated by the idea of towns, of farms, just, poof! Gone! “How could that happen?”

  “That’s a story in itself.” He smiled. “I could tell you all about it over dinner. What are you doing on Saturday night?”

  She shouldn’t. Really, she shouldn’t. But she was drawn to the story. Not, she told herself, to the man who was telling it. But it would be better to keep him in her corner, wouldn’t it?

  “Just dinner?” she debated.

  “That’s the offer.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “What else would there be?” he asked, all innocent charm.

  “You make it really hard for me to say no.”

  “Why would
you want to say no?” He flashed a disarming smile.

  “All right. Just dinner.” And information, she thought. Maybe by then he’d have an update on the ship. If they were going to have to move the dock, maybe he’d have some thoughts on that as well.

  “You still at the inn?”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven, if that’s a good time?”

  “Perfect.”

  “See you then.” He turned to jog away.

  “Hey, Parker,” she called after him.

  He turned and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Bring your stories.”

  Without breaking stride, Owen waved to acknowledge he’d heard.

  That was dumb, her little voice scolded. You should have said no. He’s a player.

  Yes, Cass admitted. But he’s a player with some really great stories, stories I can build on when we begin to advertise and market this project. And he’s a direct hotline to the ship that’s mucking up my plans.

  Besides, it took two to play, and she had no interest in playing.

  CASS HAD JUST enough time to return to the inn, check in her bike, and take a quick shower before joining Grace Sinclair, the inn’s owner, on the terrace for tea at four. From the doorway, she could see Grace at the large round table under the pergola where they met every afternoon. Dressed in a simple pale yellow sundress, her white hair pinned loosely at the top of her head, Grace appeared to be holding court. Cass was a little disappointed to find most of the seats already taken. She’d enjoyed the conversations she and Grace had had. Of course, some of the others at the table might be thinking the same thing when they saw her approach the table. Touché, Cass told herself as she slipped into an empty seat.

  “Cass, I was hoping you’d join us today.” Grace briefly introduced the newcomers at the table.

  Cass wasn’t sure she’d remember anyone’s name. “Nice to meet you all. And for the record, I wouldn’t miss afternoon tea. I’m becoming addicted.” Cass nodded when the server offered her a cup and waited for Cass to make her choice of several teas. She’d had Earl Grey three times in the past week and wanted something a little different—but not too different. She didn’t care for green tea and, at this time of the day, needed a little more caffeine than some of the herbal teas offered. “I’ll try Prince of Wales, thank you.”

  Her tea was served and a plate of sandwiches passed her way. She helped herself to a ham and mustard, a salmon and cream cheese, and a watercress, her new favorite.

  “Before you arrived, we were talking about the rumor going around town that there may be a sunken ship at the bottom of the river over near Cannonball Island, and word is that it may have been a merchant ship carrying tea during Revolutionary times,” Grace said.

  “We thought it apropos to discuss while having tea.” A woman with blond hair that resembled straw and who apparently thought herself quite clever added, “Get it? Because we’re drinking tea?”

  “Yes, I get it.” Cass took a nibble of salmon and ignored an urge to roll her eyes.

  “The owner of the company that’s been hired to locate the ship will be staying here at the inn while the diving is going on. I can’t wait to talk to him. I think it’s all very exciting.” Grace sipped her tea from a pretty china cup that she’d once told Cass had belonged to her grandmother. All the cups they used for tea had belonged to someone in Grace’s family, and why, Grace had asked rhetorically, should they remain unused in the cupboard?

  “Actually, I spoke with one of the divers a little while ago,” Cass said. “Apparently the diving will start soon. He did say something about ships having gone down somewhere else but drifting into the river.” At least, she thought that was what Owen had meant.

  “Oh, yes. We have wicked storms here on the Chesapeake,” Grace explained. “Winds blow the waters about, currents change and shift. It’s no secret things underwater and above get moved from time to time. Why, whole islands have disappeared.”

  Cass had her cup raised to her lips, but it remained there when she heard Grace’s comment. It was almost as if she’d known the lost islands had been a topic of conversation barely an hour ago. Cass knew Grace and Ruby were close friends. Had Ruby mentioned to Grace her theory that there could be a lost island at the bottom of the bay near where it met the river?

  “Whole islands disappeared?” one of the women at the table asked. “You mean, real landmasses, gone?”

  “Oh, yes,” Grace assured her. “It’s happened many times. The storms flood the land and eat away at the sand. Why, some years back, Hurricane Isabel caused a number of islands to completely flood. Tangier and Smith Islands were totally underwater. The damage was in the millions of dollars.”

  “Smith Island?” Another women perked up. “Where those fabulous cakes are baked? That Smith Island?”

  Grace nodded. “The point being, it isn’t unusual a ship on the bottom might drift or be pushed by currents to someplace other than where it sank.” She turned to Cass. “I hope this development won’t hold up your project, with the state being involved.”

  “Actually, we are experiencing a delay right now because of the possibility that we might have to look for another place to build the dock to bring in equipment and building supplies. Lumber and such. Plus, eventually, the dock will be offered to buyers for their own use. It’s getting complicated.”

  “What kind of project are you working on, Cass?” asked the blond with the strawlike hair. Julie? Joanna? Cass wasn’t sure.

  “We’re going to be building a few—a very few—small houses on Cannonball Island.”

  When the woman looked at her blankly, Cass told her, “It’s at the end of Charles Street, right over the bridge.”

  “Oh, and the island has a wonderful history,” Grace exclaimed, then told how the British loyalists were forced to leave St. Dennis during the War of 1812 and were banished to the island. “There’s no place like it, Joanna. It’s one of the Chesapeake’s true unspoiled treasures.”

  “And you’re building there? Are you a builder?” Joanna pressed.

  “I’m an architect. My father is a builder. His company has developed up and down the Chesapeake over the past twenty years.”

  “I have it on good authority the homes you’re designing for the island will be unlike anything else . . . well, anything anywhere.” Grace turned to the others. “Cass is basing her designs on the original architecture of the island, some very unique places, I assure you. She’s using the actual materials used to build the original structures wherever possible in her new homes.” Grace beamed at Cass. “I love the idea of using the same hardwood from the original floors in the new houses. The old window glass, the old brick . . . every house will be unique and will carry the spirit of the one that once stood on that same land. Imagine—walking on the same floors as the first inhabitants of the island. I think it’s so romantic and quite clever of you.”

  “I’d be interested in seeing your designs,” the man sitting across from Joanna said. “I’ve been thinking about buying a small place on the bay for weekend getaways.”

  “I’m afraid none of the houses will be grand, and most of them will be modest in size. Some will even be quite small,” Cass told him. Might as well get that out there. “We’re trying to have as little impact on the environment as possible.”

  “So much the better. I don’t need much space, and it would be nice to have some time to myself, maybe one guest once in a while.” The man smiled broadly. “There’s something to be said about a vacation place that no one expects to be invited to, and I applaud your efforts to respect the history. In my spare time, I write poetry. Not very good poetry, but I enjoy it nonetheless. I’d love to have a getaway to sit and write whenever I please.” He smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, took out a business card, and passed it to Cass. “Who knows? Maybe such a place could inspire me to write something that’s less than dreadful. Give me a call when you’re ready to start selling. I’d l
ike to take a look.”

  “Me, too.” Joanna dug into her bag, came out with a small pad upon which she wrote her name and phone number. She passed it to Cass. “I’d love to have a place of my own. Well, our own. It’s just my husband and me, since our kids have grown up and taken off. We don’t need a lot of space, and we’re both interested in the environment and in history, so it sounds like the type of thing we’d like.”

  “I’ll be happy to get back to you”—Cass glanced at the names—“Todd . . . and Joanna. As long as you’re not looking for a splashy luxury home with an excess of space, you might find something you like among our designs.”

  “Scones, dear?” Grace held up a plate. “Or would you rather have one of these lovely little cakes today?”

  Cass went for a lemon scone, a small smile turning up one corner of her mouth. Grace had fully intended to bring the development of the island into the conversation all along. She must have known both Todd and Joanna were looking for something to buy or build on the bay. How nice of her to bring up Cass’s project.

  She bit into her scone, her eyes meeting Grace’s, and Grace winked. At that moment, Cass knew if she hadn’t learned one other thing since she arrived in St. Dennis, she’d learned to never underestimate Grace Sinclair.

  Chapter Three

  Cass opened the door of her hotel closet and went through the contents. The week of scheduled casual business activities had morphed into what she was now considering a working vacation. She’d brought one business-suitable dress, a dark blue navy sheath she could wear in the event her father called her to a meeting at the last minute, but other than that, the closet held mostly sundresses, two pairs of linen pants, and a denim skirt.

  What to wear for dinner with Owen Parker?

  She rejected every one of the sundresses as being either too low, too short, or both. She was sure Owen would like nothing more than to see as much skin as possible. Well, she wasn’t interested in giving him anything to look at. She’d agreed to go to dinner because he’d enticed her with stories about the island that she might somehow use in marketing her project, and as an added bonus, she might get clued in to any updates regarding the proposed dock. That she’d agreed to go didn’t mean that she distrusted him any less or that she’d forgotten that, in her world, his middle name was Player.