Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll let you know what I find out. Now. Let’s talk about the articles I want to write. I thought this first one would be a sort of here’s-what’s-going-on-at-the-Enright-mansion. There are so many rumors flying around town, don’t you know. So I thought we’d just put it out there, and briefly introduce you. Then next week’s article will be more of a ‘meet Carly’ piece. You know, your background, your work. You can talk about your long-standing friendship with Ellie, your galleries, particularly the one in New York, where you displayed Carolina’s work in the past.”

“That was a very brief showing prior to the auction,” Carly interjected. “We only had two paintings for a couple of days. We put them on a very limited exhibit as a favor to the owner, who was a good client of ours and who wanted to sell them. She wanted them shown in a prominent gallery to drum up more interest. That’s how Carolina first came to my attention.”

“You can certainly go into that, though I did a brief piece that year on the auctioning of those two paintings. I read about the sale in the New York Times, and of course recognized Carolina’s name right away. I didn’t have any information other than what was in the Times, though. I did call the auction house for some details, but they gave me the run-around, so I never did expand on the sale and what it meant for a St. Dennis artist to be recognized.”

“We can go more into that if you’d like.”

“I would. I think people should understand just how important Carolina’s work is.”

“There is a problem, though, in that I was trying to keep a lid on the fact that we’ve found a treasure trove of Carolina’s works.”

“Perhaps you could just mention her name along with several others.”

“You mean, like Hazel Stevens?”

Grace laughed. “Oh, yes. You can even use the interview to declare that you’ll be looking over the works to decide who goes into the mansion and who will be relegated to the old carriage house.”

“I like it.” Carly hoped the ploy would work. The thought of Carolina’s exquisite paintings hanging next to some amateur portrait of the artist’s pet was just not going to happen. “Speaking of Carolina’s work …”

“Oh, yes. Dear me, I almost forgot.” Grace opened her sizable bag and took out a small notebook. She flipped through it until she found what she was looking for. “Here we go. These are the folks who are descended from the friends of Carolina who received paintings from her as gifts.” She handed the notebook to Carly, who skimmed it.

“I don’t know any of these people,” she murmured.

“Of course not, dear, but I do.” Grace leaned over Carly’s shoulder. “Look here. Susan Lane is the wife of the late Reverend Lane. His grandfather lived on Bay View Road, a few houses away from Carolina. And this name—Ariel Peters. She’s the great-granddaughter of Larinda Peters, who was the librarian in St. Dennis for more years than anyone remembers. Now, Lawrence Ash, I doubt he’d let us exhibit whatever painting he might have. He’s pretty much an old sourpuss. Always has been.”

“But the others—they’re still around?”

“Most, I’m afraid, are long gone and I have no idea how to trace their descendants. But I can set up a date to visit with Susan and Ariel. You just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll make the calls.” Grace was all but beaming. “I’m really tickled to be involved in something as big as this, something that could be so good for the town. It does give me a happy lift.”

Carly laughed at the expression. “I’m happy that you’re happy. Let’s hope your enthusiasm rubs off on the rest of the town.”

“Now, how about we plan on getting together on, say, Saturday for the first real interview.”

“Saturday is fine. Whatever works best for you.”

“Let’s try for eleven, shall we?” Grace removed a glass case from her purse and took out a pair of oversize sunglasses. “And I’ll check up on that house for you.”

“Where is it again?” Carly walked Grace to the door.

“It’s on Hudson, right around the corner from Cherry. The house is a small brick two-story, if I remember correctly. Three houses from the corner, if you’re planning a drive-by. It’s a nice neighborhood. Vanessa Keating—I’m sure you’ve met her, she owns Bling—”

“One of my favorite shops.”

“She lives on Cherry Street, around the middle of the block, I think. Anyway, it’s a nice part of St. Dennis.”

“I haven’t seen a part of St. Dennis that isn’t nice, Grace.” Carly opened the door, held it for Grace, then followed her out into the driveway.

“Yes, well, we do our best to keep things up. See you soon.” Grace put on the large glasses that covered a good part of her face and smiled. “I just love the Jackie Kennedy look, don’t you?”

Grace gave a little half wave, then took off for the street where she’d left her car. Carly waited until Grace pulled away before turning back to the carriage house. She knew she needed to make some final decisions about what to hang on that first finished section of the partition, but she kept thinking about the house that Grace described. Finally, she told the guys working inside that she had to step out for a few minutes but she’d be back well before they finished for the day.

The house was exactly where and as Grace had described it: a small two-story brick three from the corner. There was a small bit of lawn out front, a strip of a garden bed between the driveway and the house next door, and a fence around the backyard. There were flowers in colorful swaths on either side of the front walk, and some rosebushes around the small front porch. If the inside was as appealing as the outside, it could be perfect.

Carly tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and tried to recall everything she knew about Sophie Enright. All she could come up with was that she was a friend of Ellie’s and that she’d recently opened a new restaurant somewhere in St. Dennis. Satisfied that between Grace and Ellie she’d get the scoop on the little house, she turned the car around and headed back to work.

She’d have to find just the right time to talk to Ellie. She’d hate for Ellie to be insulted that Carly didn’t want to stay with her family.

She found her chance that evening while she and Ellie were in the kitchen, Ellie rinsing the dinner dishes and handing them off to Carly to load into the dishwasher.

“El, I’ve been thinking,” Carly began.

“About what?”

The words stuck in her throat.

“Car?” Ellie turned to her. “What’s up?”

“You know, these projects—the gallery and the paintings and the book and the catalog for the exhibit—they’re all really time-consuming.”

“I know. So what did you want to talk about?”

“Just that I’ve been thinking …”

“You said that.” Ellie dried her hands on a towel.

“I love staying here with you and Cam and Gabi, and of course Dune. I love having a dog around. I had one when I was little but it’s been a long time …”

“You’re hedging. Get on with it.”

Carly took a deep breath. “I think I need to find a place. Like, a place to myself. You know, these last few years I’ve been living by myself, and I …”

“And it’s driving you nuts having a barking dog and ringing phones and teenagers inside, outside, everywhere.” Ellie laughed. “I wondered how long you were going to last.”

“You did?” Carly frowned. “Am I that transparent?”

“No, but I know you. You’re used to being in a quiet place. You don’t work well with noise, any kind of noise. You never did. Not back in school, not when we were in grad school and we shared that apartment in Boston, remember?”

“The guys next door who had parties twice a week.” Carly grimaced.

“The girls upstairs who had parties every night,” Ellie reminded her. “The point is, you’re a person who likes her space. And right now you’re trying to complete several important tasks at the same time. So what are you thinking? One of the B&Bs?”

“Actually, I was speaking with Grace today—she stopped by the carriage house—and the topic came up. She mentioned that Sophie Enright had been renting this house over on Hudson Street and that Sophie would be moving out sometime soon.”

Ellie nodded. “Like this weekend soon. She and Jason have been working their butts off to fix up the apartment over her restaurant. I don’t know where she gets the energy. She works at the restaurant from five in the morning till two in the afternoon, then she goes into the law office and works until she’s finished whatever she has to do there. Then she goes back to the restaurant to work on the apartment. Though I think Jason did most of the painting, and Cam helped him with the plumbing, which wasn’t in great shape.” Ellie paused. “Is this your way of saying that you’re interested in renting the house?”

“Grace said she knows the person who owns it. She was going to find out when it might be available.”

“I’d say by early next week, but I can call Sophie if you’d like, find out when she expects to have her stuff out.”

“You don’t mind? I don’t want you to think …”

Ellie waved an impatient hand. “Stop. I understand. You’re not hurting my feelings. I want you to have the time you need to work. And really, I was wondering how long you were going to be able to deal with the kids being here all the time. This isn’t a quiet place.” She smiled. “I mean, Gabi believes that my great-aunt Lilly—who’s been dead and buried for years—visits her sometimes at night, so what does that tell you?”

Carly stared at her blankly. “I dunno, what does it tell me?”

“That the kid—on her own or with a crowd—can make enough noise to raise the dead.”

FORD dragged the kayak onto the grass, then carried it into the small boathouse where Dan stored the canoes and the kayaks for the use of the inn’s guests. Ford kept this particular kayak separate because it was his favorite and he didn’t want someone else taking off in it when he wanted to use it, which was all too often this past week. He knew he needed to do something besides paddle and read, but being on the water gave him time to think. He just wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or a bad one.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t made an effort to fill his hours in other ways. Every day this week, he’d walked down to the tennis courts, Dan’s racket in hand. He’d told himself that it was exercise he was after, but he couldn’t kid himself into believing that he hadn’t been hoping to catch a glimpse of the pretty blonde. So far, the only game he’d been able to scare up was one against Hal Garrity, the retired chief of police who had to be closing in on seventy, and who, as a friend of the family, had court privileges even though he wasn’t staying at the inn.

Hal had beaten the pants off him.

Ford had gone with D.J. to soccer tryout yesterday morning, and he’d sat on the bleachers and watched a bunch of twelve-year-olds show off their dribbling and kicking skills. It held his interest for all of the twenty minutes that his nephew was on the field, and after that, his mind wandered all over the place.

Twice in the past week he’d walked into town. He’d had coffee one morning at Cuppachino with his mother, Lucy, Clay, and a bunch of St. Dennis residents he didn’t really know. The talk had been about a new restaurant that had just opened out on River Road. Sophie Enright was the owner and there was much chatter about how great the food was and how everyone would meet there for lunch at noon. Everyone except Ford had agreed. Instead he’d stopped at Book ’Em and picked up a few new books, the reading of which had served to give him another excuse to spend time alone in his room.