Molly walked down the slope of the backyard beside Grace. It had been nonstop around the inn since Friday evening when their sixth guest had checked in. On top of cleaning and working the front desk, Molly had been doing everything from giving restaurant recommendations to busing tables to assisting guests with their in-room Keurig machines. They all had.
Currently she and her sister were tasked with cleaning out the boat, which had been used by a family of four that afternoon. Molly was hoping for a full night’s sleep tonight. Six o’clock had come too early this morning.
“Have you heard from Sarah?” Molly asked as they walked across the recently mown grass toward the lake. Grace’s best friend was in Florida for the next two weeks. The family deserved a vacation after making it through Mrs. Benson’s cancer.
“We’ve been texting. She’s so lucky. She’s lying out on the beach all day, and I’m stuck working the inn the entire summer.”
“Hey, that was part of the deal. You could be in LA right now, living in a strange city and getting ready to start your senior year there.”
Grace sighed. “I know, I know. And I’m grateful to you guys, really. But this weekend has been nuts. There’s hardly even time to scarf down a sandwich.”
“We’re just getting into the swing of things. It’ll get easier, you’ll see.” The old wooden pier shimmied as they stepped onto it.
“Ugh,” Grace said as they neared the boat.
Molly stared down into the hull, frowning. Empty juice boxes, candy wrappers, and broken chips were scattered around the boat. Someone had spilled a drink on the bottom, and dead bugs had been caught in the sticky trap.
Molly handed Grace the trash bag she’d brought down. “I’ll go get some cleaning supplies.”
“We need to initiate some new boat rules,” Grace said.
“They’re in the rental agreement, but we already gave them back their deposit. Let’s just get it cleaned up. From now on we’ll check the boat before we give the refund.”
Grace stepped into the boat as Molly turned and headed back toward the inn. Live and learn. She hopped off the pier, determined to keep a good attitude. Most of the guests were gracious and pleasant. There were bound to be a few bad apples.
“Hello, Molly.”
“Oh!” Molly spotted Adam in one of the Adirondack chairs facing the lake. “I didn’t see you there.”
“You were chatting with your sister as you walked past, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Molly hoped he hadn’t overheard them complaining about the guests, but the pier was far enough away to make that unlikely.
“I haven’t seen you around the past couple days,” she said. Not since the library research, which had turned out fruitless after finding the picture. She’d made it through June’s issues and had called it quits when Levi called her for help.
“I’ve seen you running around the place, but you were always busy.”
“It’s been a little crazy. How’s the research going? For your work, I mean. I’m not going to bug you about our little project every time I see you. I promise.”
“My work’s coming along all right,” he said.
But something in his eyes gave Molly the feeling it wasn’t.
“I’d rather be working on our project, if I’m honest. I didn’t turn up anything new though. There are quite a few Ben and Benjamin Schwartzes living in the US, unfortunately. Also some deceased ones—one of whom could also be our guy.”
“Let’s hope not. If only he didn’t have such a common name. Why can’t he be Titus Dromgoogle or something?”
“Did you just make that up?”
“Maybe.”
His lips twitched. “Well, I’m holding out hope we’ll find another clue in the newspaper.”
She had a thought. “You know, there might be some old-timers around here who remember them.”
“Good thought. Especially Lizzie, since she was a resident. Maybe they’ll have a birth date or middle name for us.”
“It’s Benjamin’s information we need, so it’s probably a long shot, but . . . Hey, what about the school yearbook? There are probably copies in the library. If we can find people who knew Lizzie and are still living here, maybe they’ll remember Benjamin.”
He tilted his head at her, his gaze laser-focused. “That’s a great idea, Molly. I can check that on Monday when it opens.”
Something about the way he looked at her made her cheeks go hot. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check, I guess.”
“If they have copies, I’ll bring them home and have you look them over and see if you recognize anyone.”
Bring them home. She liked his referring to the inn that way—because she wanted all the guests to feel at home. Or so she told herself.
He shifted a paperback book on his lap, and she automatically searched the cover.
“Oh, I read that one.” She gestured to the Lee Child book. “All of the Jack Reacher novels are good.”
“I stole it from your library. This is my first, but I like it so far.”
“Why didn’t you start with book one? I have them all in there.”
He shrugged. “I liked the back cover copy on this one.”
“No, no, no. How can you start on book six? Don’t you want to know all the back story?”
His lips twitched. “The novels can apparently stand alone. I’m not lost at all.”
“Well, yes, but—” She shook her head. “I can’t read a series out of order. I mean, if I see a book I want to read, but it’s the third of the series, I’ll go back and read the first two before I start it.”
He grinned. “You’re an author’s dream.”
“Sometimes, if I have to wait like a year for the next book in a series to come out, I’ll even reread the earlier books to refresh my memory.”
He just smiled at her.
“What? That’s perfectly normal.”
“What are the most times you’ve ever read a book?”
“I don’t know. Seven or eight, maybe?”
“And which book would that be?”
“Everything by Nathaniel Quinn.” Grace butted into the conversation with all the grace of a lame giraffe. “She’s read every book by Nathaniel Quinn at least ten times.”
Molly’s face went hot, and she nailed Grace with a warning look. “All right, Grace.”
But her sister was just getting started. She shifted the bag of trash. “She’s in looove with Nathaniel Quinn.”
“That’s enough.” Molly’s gaze skittered off Adam, too embarrassed to let it linger.
“Well, it’s true,” Grace said. “You talk about him all the time. Nathaniel Quinn this and Nathaniel Quinn that. Somebody put me out of my misery. If I have to listen to one more romantic paragraph I’m going to gag.”
Molly gave her sister a flinty look, lifting her chin a notch. “I admire his writing. Now how about you go dump that garbage and get the cleaning supplies while you’re at it?”
“Fine.” Grace rolled her eyes as she started up the slope. She turned back to Adam and mouthed Madly in love.
* * *
Molly brushed her hair from her eyes. “She’s such a child.”
Adam was torn between being flattered and wanting to melt into the ground. That Molly admired his writing was extremely gratifying. She was well read and obviously bright.
He was also flattered by the fact that she seemed to have a little crush on him—or rather, on his alias.
But she was no doubt under the same illusion as most of his readers—that Nathaniel Quinn bore some resemblance to the tough, rugged heroes he wrote. Just the thought of Molly discovering his real identity, the thought of being such a disappointment to her, made him want to run far, far away.
He felt trapped in the chair. Worse, he felt exposed. His breaths were hot and stuffy in his lungs, the same way they’d felt each time his publisher tried to pull him out of hiding.
But he wasn’t exposed, he reasoned with himself. Molly didn’t know who he was, and she had no way of finding out unless he told her. And that sure wasn’t happening. Especially now.
Molly was still talking. He had no idea what she’d said, but she was currently in some pretty heavy denial. Her cheeks were flushed, and he didn’t think it was from the heat alone. Hard to say which of them might be more mortified by Grace’s revelation.
“And he’s a really good writer,” Molly was saying. “I admire his skill, that’s all. Are you familiar with his work?”
Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, yes, I am, actually.”
“He’s good, right? I mean, it’s hard to find such well-written romance, that’s all. And he uses a pseudonym, so he’s a mystery as well. And a bit of a recluse, I guess. Or maybe he’s just shy.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I’ve heard.”
“So which is your favorite?”
His eyes flew to hers, dread lodged in his gut at the thought of discussing his books, one by one, with her. Why hadn’t he just said he’d never heard of the man?
But Molly was gesturing to the book in his hands. “Which author, I mean. I love Lee Child and his Jack Reacher series. I couldn’t possibly tell you which one was my favorite though.”
“I have a lot of favorite authors. David Baldacci, Richard Paul Evans, Daniel Silva, too many to name. The Secret Servant is one of my favorite contemporary novels, but maybe only because it was my first by Silva.”
“That was a good one. There’s something about that first, isn’t there? Finding a new author you love? Especially when they have a long backlist.” She tilted her head, a sudden flicker of appreciation in her eyes. “You know, I’ve really missed talking about books and authors. There’s a book club in town, but . . . I don’t know. The women who go aren’t that passionate about reading. I haven’t had anyone around who appreciates a good read as much as my dad did.”
He felt a twinge of jealousy. What would it have been like to share something important with his father? To bond over books—over anything for that matter?
And yet Molly’s words also warmed some place deep inside him. He loved sharing this interest with her. “I’m always available to talk books with you.”
The back screen door slapped shut, and the sound of Grace’s footsteps preceded her presence.
When she reached them she shoved a handful of cleaning supplies at Molly. “Brother dear needs me at the front desk. The boat’s all yours.” And with a jaunty little smile Grace was gone, having no idea of all the turmoil she’d just caused.