The Chesapeake Diaries: Coming Home Read online

  “Not exactly. Her great-aunt is a local, lived here all her life. Still does, even though she’s like a million years old by now. Dallas used to visit a lot when she was a kid. Believe it or not, she and my brother had a thing going once upon a time. When their dad died, her mother and brother moved in with the great-aunt for a while so that Wade could go to school here. Dallas was older than Wade and she was already in college by then. She did come back in the summers, at least, until Wade finished high school and their mom moved away. You always see stuff in the magazines and newspapers about Dallas, but I never hear much of anything about Wade. I imagine someone in town knows what he’s been up to. Beck must hear from him.”

  “I’m sure Beck knows. Want me to pump him?”

  “No, thanks. He’ll know why you’re asking and he’ll tell Wade. I’d rather ambush him.” Steffie grinned.

  “Well, then, have you gotten a dress yet?” Vanessa walked to the front of the shop. “Because if you haven’t …” She pulled a silk sheath in pastel water-colors from the rack. “This little number just happens to be your size.”

  “Ohhh. Gorgeous! The colors …” Steffie reached out with both hands. “Gimme …”

  Vanessa laughed and handed over the dress. “You know where the dressing room is.”

  Minutes later, Steffie stepped out wearing the dress and pronounced, “I am an absolute goddess in this dress.”

  “Oh, my. You certainly are.” Vanessa nodded. “It’s perfect on you.”

  Stef looked at the tag and gulped. “Think I could get the same twenty percent off that you offered the woman who just left?”

  “I can do better than that. Since it’s so perfect for you—and I admit I did think of you when I ordered it in—I’ll give it to you at cost.”

  “Gasp.” Steffie held a hand to her heart.

  “The offer comes with strings.”

  “Anything. You name it. Lifetime unlimited ice cream—delivered to your door. A flavor named after you …”

  “Loan me one of your girls to cover the shop for Saturday afternoon until closing. Nan is working for me on Thursday and most of Saturday, but her grandson is being christened on Sunday in Virginia and she needs to leave on Saturday by four. I’ve asked everyone I can think of. I just need someone until seven. All she’ll have to do is turn off the lights and lock the front door.”

  “What about your cash receipts?”

  “They can wait until Sunday morning.”

  “Don’t you think that might be tempting fate? Oh, I know, there hasn’t been a robbery on Charles Street in years, but still.” Steffie went into the dressing room to change.

  “Maybe I’ll stop in after the reception.”

  “I’ll talk to Cathy about it. She’s my best counter girl. I’ve had her close for me several times.”

  “That would be worthy of a deep discount,” Vanessa said. “But that raises the question of what you’ll do.”

  “I’ve had several of the others close for me from time to time.” Steffie emerged from behind the curtain with the dress. “But even if I have to leave the reception for a bit to close up both our shops, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She opened her bag and withdrew her wallet. “And I’d say we have a deal …”

  It was almost dark when Vanessa locked up and walked the three blocks to her house on Cherry Street. There had been a brief shower earlier in the afternoon, and the rain had washed some of the tree pollen from the sidewalks, leaving the air clean and fresh. She inhaled deeply as she strolled along, admiring the spring flowers her neighbors had planted. The entire front yard of the small brick Colonial on the corner of Cherry and Mavis was planted in yellow and red tulips that brightened the entire block. Three houses up, the owners had planted hundreds of mixed daffodils. And farther up, one house in from the next corner, sat Vanessa’s pride and joy. She never minded the walk, because she never grew tired of catching that first glimpse of her house as it came into view.

  Off-white clapboard with a high slate roof, gables on each side of the second floor, and two deep porches—one front, one back—the house was a hodgepodge architecturally, but she’d fallen in love with it the minute she saw it.

  “It’s a bit of a bastard child, architecturally,” Hamilton Forbes, the Realtor, had told her while he unlocked the front door that Saturday afternoon back in September. “I’d be hard-pressed to put a name tag on it. It’s not quite Colonial, not quite Victorian, though it does have features of each. The layout suggests a bungalow, but it was built before that style became popular. It’s in desperate need of updating and hasn’t been painted in God knows how many years, but it’s sturdy and the mechanicals are decent. The estate is leaving the contents, so you’ll have furniture. Some of it is pretty good, actually, and God only knows what’s in that attic. Everything has been covered since Miss Ridgeway’s death.”

  Vanessa had barely heard a word once she’d stepped inside. There were hardwood floors and an oddly placed mantel on one of the dining room walls. White sheets covered every piece of furniture in the place. There were several bay windows and a kitchen with a real nook that overlooked the backyard. She’d all but sprinted past the Realtor to get to the second floor, where there were three good-size bedrooms and one tiny one, and one and a half baths. A door led to an attic that had thick wooden rafters and lots of dark corners in which boxes holding who knew what were stacked. She’d run back downstairs to the kitchen, and unlocked the back door. She stepped out onto the porch, her eyes sweeping across the backyard hungrily. She knew next to nothing about plants, but her mind’s eye filled in the empty beds with color and the dry fishpond with water, koi, and water lilies.

  She wanted the house so much she could barely breathe.

  “… been on the market for quite some time …” Ham had droned on, but she hardly heard him. “… right before her one-hundredth birthday and she—”

  “What?” Vanessa had been in the kitchen again, wondering how much a new stove and refrigerator would cost.

  “I said, the woman who lived here died right before her birthday. She’d have been one hundred years old, if she’d made it another three weeks.”

  “Was she the oldest inhabitant of St. Dennis?”

  “Not by a long shot. Penny Grassi’s one-hundred-and-two-year-old great-grandmother lives in the Oakes Retirement Home, and old Mr. Ivens Sr. is almost one hundred and three. I’m sure there are others I don’t know about.” He grinned. “We grow ’em old down here on the Bay.”

  “You said the house has been on the market for a long time?”

  “Close to a year now.”

  “Why’s that, do you suppose?” Before he could respond, she walked back into the dining room and asked, “Do you suppose there’s a fireplace behind that wall where the mantel is?”

  “I’d certainly look into that.” He followed her into the room. “It sure does look like it might have been a working fireplace. Let’s take a look outside, see where the chimney is.”

  He went out the front door, and Vanessa followed him.

  “Yes, see? There’s your chimney.” He pointed to the side of the house where the chimney rose past the roof. “You could look into opening that up. I’d call Stan Westcott and have him take a look.”

  Vanessa had nodded and gone back inside to take another walk from room to room, her head spinning.

  “Why did you say the house had been on the market for so long?” Before she arrived, Hal had primed her to focus on anything negative as a bargaining chip. The only negative she could think of was maybe there was a problem with the deed, or the structure, something that wasn’t readily visible, because to her eye, the place was perfect.

  “I started to tell you about the previous owner. Alice Ridgeway was a little … eccentric. She never left her house except to water her plants, maybe toss some fish food into that pond, putter around in her backyard. Never came out the front, had one of the neighbor boys mow the lawn. Of course, the pond is dry now, but at one time, she had an impr
essive number of koi out there.”

  “But what does that have to do with the house not selling?”

  Ham cleared his throat. “There are some who think Miss Ridgeway never did leave.”

  The silence hung in the air between them for a very long moment.

  “Oh.” Vanessa paused. “You mean, she might still be here?”

  “In spirit only.”

  “I see.” Vanessa wandered from room to room and tried to decide if she felt something otherworldly accompanying her. “Has anyone actually seen her?”

  “A few of the neighbors claim to have, but who knows?” He shrugged. “Maybe we see what we want to see.”

  Vanessa thought that he might be sorry to have brought it up. Still, there was that full-disclosure thing.

  “What was she like?” Vanessa asked. “When she was alive, that is.”

  “She was … well, as I said, a bit eccentric. Kept to herself, always did, as I recall. She read a great deal, I remember that about her. My sister worked for the library many years ago, and would bring books to her and pick them up when she was finished with them and take them back. Brought her a new stack twice a week.”

  “I’m not seeing where she was so eccentric. Lots of people don’t like to leave their homes.” Vanessa defended the home’s departed—or not—owner.

  “True enough. But to the best of my knowledge, Miss Ridgeway was the only true agoraphobic in St. Dennis.”

  “Well, then, that gave her some distinction, didn’t it?” She gazed out the kitchen window. “I wonder what she had planted in those beds.”

  “Well, she did have a big herb garden, and they say she liked those bug-catching plants.”

  “What?” Vanessa turned to face him.

  “Venus flytraps, that sort of thing.” He hastened to add, “But I hear she liked mint, too. Had several varieties. And as I said, she had her herbs. Those who know say she had bunches hung over the doors and some of the windows. I noticed there’s some still around, here and there.”

  “Her version of room freshener, I suppose.”

  “Miss Grace could probably tell you more about it. She grew up right around the block there.” He pointed out the back door toward the rear of the property. “That’s the old Abernathy place right through there. You can see the back of the carriage house right beyond those trees. I believe Miss Grace’s mother may have known Miss Ridgeway.”

  They’d already been in the house for over an hour, and there was no mistaking the fact that Ham was more than ready to leave. With great reluctance, Vanessa followed him out the door and watched him place the key back into the lockbox. She’d wanted to grab it from him so that she could stay awhile longer, but she was supposed to meet Hal and Beck at Lola’s for dinner and she was already late.

  She’d been almost hyperventilating by the time she reached Lola’s.

  “So what did you think of the old Ridgeway place, Ness?” Hal had asked after Vanessa had taken a seat at the table.

  “It’s so … perfect. Just … perfect.” The words came out in a rush. “There’s a fireplace in the living room and maybe another one in the dining room but that one’s boarded up so it’s tough to know for sure if there’s a fireplace there or not, but there’s a chimney outside so it could be.” She turned to Beck and grabbed him by the arm. “It has bay windows … I always wanted to live in a house with bay windows. And this funky kitchen with old cabinets but I could paint them and maybe do something with the floor in there because it’s—”

  “Ness.” Beck waved a hand in front of her face. “Take a breath.”

  She did.

  “So I guess you liked it, then,” Hal said.

  “Oh, I loved it.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “Fat lot of good it does, but yes”—she sighed—“I love it. If I were in a position to buy a house, I’d be back in Ham Forbes’s office signing the papers right now.”

  “Well, now, maybe we could give you a little help with that,” Hal said gently.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ham probably mentioned that the house is held by an estate. It passed to a niece of Miss Ridgeway’s who came down here once, for the funeral, and hasn’t been back since. I heard she isn’t hurting for money, but still, she has to keep up the taxes, keep the house heated so that the pipes don’t freeze, and she pays one of the Morton boys to keep the lawn mowed.” Hal rested both arms on the table in front of him. “Add to that the fact that the market’s slow and we’re headed toward winter, and I’m thinking we could make a low offer and see what happens.”

  Vanessa stared at him as if he were mad.

  “Hal, we can’t get the price down low enough for me to cough up a down payment. I have savings but not that much.”

  “I doubt the mortgage payments would be more than what you’re paying in rent for that apartment you’re in now,” Beck noted.

  “That may be, but like I said, I don’t have …”

  Hal and Beck exchanged a conspiratorial look.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Beck and I have been real proud of the way you put that business of yours together,” Hal told her. “You have a real fine work ethic, Ness, and a real head for business. You pay your bills on time, and from what I hear from the ladies in St. Dennis, you carry real nice stuff there in the shop. Classy, they tell me. You contribute to the community in a lot of ways, and you’ve made a place for yourself here in St. Dennis.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes welled. “It’s the only place where I ever felt I belonged.”

  “Of course you belong here.” Beck patted her on the back. “You’ve earned your place.”

  “Now, as you know, I’ve bought up properties here and there in town. Like the building your shop is in, and the ones on either side. I have a lot invested in St. Dennis, so I don’t like to see vacant buildings. It’s bad for the town’s image, especially since we’re trying to establish ourselves as a tourist destination. We’ve come a long way in the past five years, but we have a lot more to clean up before we can compete with some of the other Bay towns. That’s why I bought some of those old warehouses over by the marsh. I’m thinking maybe something like an antique mall would be good in there, once I finish the renovations.” Hal stopped and turned to Beck. “What do you think of that idea?”

  “I think it’s a good one,” Beck replied, “but I also like the idea of a boatbuilding venture.”

  “That’s another thing altogether, and a conversation for another day,” Hal said. He turned back to Vanessa. “So I’m thinking that I’m going to buy Miss Ridgeway’s property from the estate myself, then sell it back to you for whatever I pay for it.” He took a sip of the one beer he limited himself to each evening. “That is, if you want it.”

  Vanessa’s mouth moved, but nothing came out except a squeak.

  “Nod if that was a yes.” Beck elbowed her.

  She nodded, her eyes as big as dinner plates.

  “You’ll make the mortgage payments to me,” Hal continued. “I’m thinking a fifteen-year mortgage at four percent would be about right.”

  Still no intelligible sound from Vanessa.

  “Cat got your tongue, Ness?” Beck teased, and she burst into tears.

  Hal made his offer, and after some brief and halfhearted negotiations on the seller’s part, the offer was accepted. They’d agreed upon a thirty-day settlement, much to the seller’s delight. Vanessa moved in the day of settlement, and as soon as all the paperwork cleared, Hal resold the house to her just as he’d promised.

  That had been last fall, and she hadn’t missed a payment to Hal or an escrow payment for her taxes. Once a month, she took Hal to dinner, and she handed over her mortgage payment right before dessert and coffee. Sometimes Beck joined them, but more often than not, it was just Hal and Vanessa. In him, she’d found the father she’d never known. In her, he’d often said, he’d found the daughter he’d always wanted, the daughter he might have had if Maggie had stayed
with him when she brought Beck those many years ago, instead of turning tail and running away again.

  Even now, six months later, Vanessa’s heart lifted when she drew close enough to see the pink and purple tulips she’d planted along the front walk and around the porch right after she moved in. From inside, a soft light glowed, the timer having turned on a lamp in the living room’s bay window.

  “My house,” she whispered to herself as she unlocked the front door. “Mine.”

  Vanessa never once crossed the threshold of the house on Cherry Street without feeling immensely grateful that Maggie had sent her to meet Beck. It was the one truly good thing her mother had ever done for her. In coming to St. Dennis, Vanessa had found so much more than a half brother. She’d found herself.

  Chapter 6

  AS far as Hal was concerned, any day that started out with him on the deck of the Shady Lady was a fine day indeed. His only wish was that this day had started earlier. When he’d invited Mia’s brothers to spend a few hours on his boat, fishing with him on the Bay, he figured on leaving at his regular time, which was sunrise. There was something about watching the sky wake up and turn on the light that got to him, every time. Unfortunately, he’d made the mistake of asking, “What time’s good for you?” And so he’d been stuck there, the boat still in its slip, till close to eight that morning waiting on the Shields boys, while the fish were running for someone other than him. When Grady showed up—ten minutes early but alone, because Andy had gotten a call on one of his cases and had to send his regrets—Hal was just as happy. If he’d had to wait another twenty minutes for someone else, he’d have fallen asleep.

  “Things should be pretty quiet out here today,” Hal told Grady as he cut across the river channel and out toward the Bay. “The herring run ended about a week ago, and the commercial crabbers won’t be ready to head out for about another week, so we’re sliding in between the two.”

  “Herring’s fished out of these waters?” Grady sat in what Hal referred to as the copilot’s chair, the one that stood opposite the captain’s.