Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“You’d be surprised what people will do when someone has a gun to their head.”

“Can’t he be stopped?”

“If enough support is given to the current president—the legitimate government—then yes, he can be stopped from taking over, but he has to be caught first. He’s been very clever in his alliances. He has backing from some tribesmen who are aligned with al Qaeda, among others.”

“So if the government captures him …?”

“Game over. Like I said, he’s been clever, and he’s elusive, but if the current regime gets their hands on him, it’s done. One of the things about making alliances with people who are not generally trustworthy is that, well, you can’t trust them. Everyone’s playing their own game right now.”

“So say he’s betrayed by one of these other groups, and they hand him over to the government?”

“A real possibility, which is why he’s so hard to find. But in that case, he’ll be brought to justice, with or without a trial. Which in that world means executed by whichever means the president wants.”

“That would be your first choice.”

“Damn right.”

“It won’t bring back Anna or Stephano or anyone else he murdered.”

“No, but it would stop him from murdering more innocent people.”

“Could you go back?”

“Anytime I want.”

“Would you go back?”

His answer was a long time coming. “I don’t know. I left because I’d had enough. I started to think there had to be something more, something better in life. I don’t regret where I’ve been and what I’ve done, don’t misunderstand. But I figured it was time to move on, see what else there is.”

“Like interviewing local characters.” She tried to lighten the mood.

“Hey, you were one of those characters I was sent to interview.” He turned and took her in his arms. “Smartest thing I ever did was say yes when my mom asked me to do a couple of interviews for her paper. Look where we are.”

“Where are we?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

“I guess we’re on the road to what comes next,” he told her, not seeming to mind that she asked. “I guess we’re just going to have to see where that road leads …” He paused. “You in, Car?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I’m in …”

CARLY was beginning to understand that when Ford made a bet, he meant business.

“What would you have done if you’d lost the bet?” she asked him over dinner several nights later.

“I’d have paid up.”

“You would have made dinner for the rest of the week.” She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“Of course. That’s what a bet is. You lose, well, you pay up.”

“Even though you don’t know how to cook.”

“I can cook a little.”

“Like what, eggs and toast? Oatmeal? Please.”

“I’d have gone to the chef at the inn and asked him to give me a crash course.” He leaned back against the counter. “So what’s on the menu tonight, Julia Child?”

“Take-out Thai.” She held up the bag unapologetically. “I didn’t get to the grocery store.”

He got out the plates and set the table without asking, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do. “I think your calling me out on my lack of cooking ability when you’re doing takeout is somewhat, oh, I don’t know … hypocritical?”

She laughed at his affected sanctimonious air.

“I believe I’ve already proven myself.”

“True. But the bet was to make dinner—not reservations, not orders for takeout,” he reminded her. “However, I’ll let it slide this time because I happen to love Thai.”

“So I should consider myself lucky.”

“Very. Perhaps better planning on your part will help avoid this situation in the future.”

She rolled up a dish towel and tossed it at him, and he laughed as he ducked and caught it with one hand. She watched him move around the kitchen, at ease with its layout, almost as if he belonged there.

She chastised herself for letting that thought slip in. She had no idea where he was headed—if he knew, he was keeping that bit of news to himself. Carly’s path, on the other hand, was pretty clear. There was so much on her plate, she had little time to think about anything except making sure that she delivered everything she’d promised.

She had two more weeks in St. Dennis before the gallery would open and she’d be showing off Carolina’s paintings. Who knew what came next? She’d have the option of taking some of the works back to New York to sell in her own gallery—if Ellie decided to sell any of them. So far, she hadn’t been able to decide what to do. She could sell a few or none at all. She could pull them from the gallery in St. Dennis—aptly dubbed the Enright Gallery by the town council—and send all or some of them back to New York with Carly. It seemed she changed her mind daily. The indecision was making Carly so crazy, she found herself avoiding the issue entirely.

The town council had balked at the price of the security system, despite Carly’s assurances that eventually the gallery in the carriage house would repay the expense. After the success of the Carolina Ellis exhibit, Carly had explained, other artists would want to show there as well—assuming the security of the works could be guaranteed—thus raising more revenue. But she’d been unable to convince them, so she ended up paying Tony’s bill on her own. The system was in, and the test runs had been completed on everything except the wiring on the individual paintings. Tony would be back next week to tend to that, and once that entire system was in place, they’d hang the paintings.

To that end, Ford had accompanied her to Ellie’s to measure the paintings that were stored there.

“I still think it’s nuts that you’d pay all that money for fancy security at the carriage house while the paintings are in Ellie’s attic.” He followed her along the walk up to Ellie’s front door. “Remind me again what kind of security system she and Cam have?”

Carly’s knock on the door was followed by an explosion of barking from inside.

She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Guard dog.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but she saw the glint of humor there and laughed.

Gabi let them in, and they made the obligatory fuss over Dune, who followed them to the second floor, but wouldn’t go up the third-floor steps.

“It’s just as well,” Gabi told them as they ascended to the attic. “She’d just get into stuff and either chew it or bring it downstairs. Go ahead and do whatever. Ellie said to ask you just to lock the back door when you leave and that she was sorry that she and Cam couldn’t wait but they had to get to Dallas’s to finish up something at the studio that she wanted done before the weekend. I have to leave for field-hockey camp and I’m really late.”

Gabi was halfway down the steps when she called up to Carly. “Could you do me a favor and just walk Dune a little before you leave?”

“Sure thing,” Carly called back.

“Thanks! See you guys later …”

“So what are we doing?” Ford rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the crowded attic.

“We’re going to measure each painting and write down its dimensions. Then I will photograph each one for the catalog.”

“I thought you already did that.”

“Only with my phone. I need higher quality for the catalog.”

“Okay, why don’t you measure and I’ll take the pictures?” he suggested.

“That’s what I had in mind.” She unwrapped the paper from the first painting and stood it against the wall, measured it with a tape measure, then wrote down the name of the painting and the dimensions on her smartphone.

“I can see why you like Carolina’s work,” Ford told her after he’d taken pictures of several of the paintings. “They’re pretty and the scenes are all so peaceful. Like this one.” He pointed to the one he’d just photographed. “That’s right down there on the beach.”

“What beach?” She was preparing to rewrap the painting.

“The beach at the end of the road. See there, there’s the inlet across the way.”

She studied it for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we had photographs of the places she painted? Sort of a now and then …”

“Don’t go looking for work,” he cautioned. “I think you have enough to do between now and the end of the month.”

“True, but it could be wonderful.”

“Carly …”

“Okay, okay. So maybe not for this exhibit, but maybe for sometime in the future …” She liked the idea of Carolina’s paintings of places in St. Dennis from her day hanging next to photos of those actual places in today’s world.

“You planning on being around to do another exhibit?” he asked casually as he set up the shot on the painting she was unwrapping.

“I hadn’t really thought about it till right now. I mean, Ellie and I talked about me taking some of the paintings to my gallery in New York to display and then maybe sell a few, but she can’t make up her mind. Which means that the entire collection would still be here, and that means someone’s going to have to be in charge of the exhibit.”

“Couldn’t they hire someone else?”

“I guess.” The very thought annoyed her. The exhibit was hers.

“So you’d just turn the whole thing over to someone else?”

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “How would you work that out? I mean, if you were to stick around.”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d think of something.”

“Guess you could always stay at the inn.”

“I guess. Or at the house, if it’s still available.”

“How long is your lease for?”

“I took it through the end of the year because the original idea was to have the gallery open for the holiday house tour.”

“So you could come back …”

“I could.”

She wrapped and rewrapped, and he took shot after shot until the job was completed. They were greeted merrily by Dune when they got back to the first floor.

“Oh, I told Gabi I’d take her out before we left.” Carly took the dog’s leash from its place near the back door and hooked it to her collar. “Want to go to the beach, Dune?”

The dog wagged her tail all the way from the house to the dune that led to the little stretch of beach at the end of Bay View Road. She scampered along the sand sniffing at whatever had washed up overnight, occasionally picking up bits of flotsam that Carly had to take from her.

“See there?” Ford stopped at the water’s edge and pointed across the Bay. “There’s the inlet I was talking about.” He raised the camera that still hung around his neck and took a series of shots. He looked through the viewfinder, nodded his approval, and showed Carly the images in the camera.

“Nice. Oh, that does look like the painting, except the tree line is closer to the water. Damn, it’s a shame I don’t have time to—”

“You don’t.”

“But you know what would be really cool?” She tugged on the dog’s leash to head back to the house. “A sort of photo essay that would run in the Gazette. Yesterday through the eyes of Carolina Ellis—today through the eye of the lens.”

She thought he was about to remind her again that she didn’t have time for such a project, but he surprised her by falling silent, and she could tell by the look on his face that the idea appealed to him, too. Finally, he said, “That could be interesting.”

They returned to the house, where Carly gave Dune fresh water, a biscuit for being a good girl, and one tummy rub before locking the back door behind them.