The home where Mrs. Travis was staying was a two-story white home just off the ocean in Port St. Joe. It sat on a square patch of grass that seemed almost out of place so close to the beach.
The home had black shutters and a cupola at the top, giving it a regal look. Ginny glanced down at her flowing dress and sandals and wondered if she should have dressed nicer for the meeting.
Well, it was too late to change her clothes now, so what she wore would have to do.
The door opened as soon as she knocked, and the driver from the other day opened it. “Mrs. Travis is expecting you,” he said politely.
Ginny followed him into the home, which was lavishly decorated with expensive rugs on the floors and custom paintings in gilded frames hanging on the walls.
The home was reminiscent of her old house in Buckhead, the one she’d had to abandon. Her stomach twinged in anger, and she exhaled slowly to release the hurt that still sliced sharply through her whenever she thought too much about it.
To distract herself, she focused on the decor. Large potted palms were tucked into the corners, and the crimson rugs were accented with golden drapes and cloths that graced the accent tables sprinkled about the foyer and beyond.
They walked through an open set of glass-lined French doors out into a sunroom. Sunlight splashed onto the white marble tile with ebony veins racing through it. More palms hugged the corners of the room, and a white wrought-iron table was placed in the center of the space, flanked by two matching chairs.
Mrs. Travis sat in one eating what looked like her breakfast. She turned slowly and greeted Ginny with a nod.
“Good to see you again. Can Sam bring you anything?”
“Tea would be appreciated.” She had learned a long time ago that when someone offered you a refreshment, it was best to take it. “Unsweetened is fine.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Travis flicked her hand and he left. “Sam’ll be back in a moment.”
Mrs. Travis was dressed in a sea-green suit dress with a white silk blouse peeking out underneath it. She pinned her stony gaze on Ginny, which caused a flush to work up her neck. It had been a long time since she’d been in the presence of a woman like this—powerful, able to twirl her finger and have anything and everything done, but Ginny wouldn’t cower, even if the woman’s eyes looked like they were seeing straight through her.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You’re very welcome. We’re excited for the opportunity to host the Teal Scarf Ladies.”
“We do a lot of charity work, you know,” Mrs. Travis explained. “We help women and children in the community. Well, most of them do. I only oversee. I don’t live here full-time. Much of my time is spent in Atlanta.”
“You don’t say. That’s where I moved from.”
“What area?”
“Buckhead.” Mrs. Travis’s eyebrows lifted. “It’s a long story,” she told her with a wave of her hand. “I’m happy here.”
“I haven’t been to Sugar Cove in…a long time. But when the president of the Teal Scarves suggested that we have the annual meeting here, I couldn’t say no. Though I wanted to.”
Her brows rose. Ginny fought the urge to ask such a personal question as to why Mrs. Travis wanted to say no, but she kept her mouth shut.
“I lived here, but that was way back before you were ever born. The rest of my life has been spent in the city, and my husband was a very successful businessman. He owned one of the local television stations for years until he sold it.”
That explained the wealth. “My late husband was also very successful.”
“I assumed so,” Mrs. Travis snipped. “You don’t look like you’ve worked in a kitchen all your life.”
“What do you mean?”
Her gaze flicked to Ginny’s hands. “Your fingers aren’t cracked and flat from pounding or cutting. Your face looks too well pampered. Tell me—do you miss your monthly facials?”
Ginny nearly choked on the sip of tea that Sam had dropped off a few seconds before. She cleared her throat. “I’ve found that life here is much simpler than it was back in Atlanta. I prefer it.”
The older woman nodded as if that was answer enough, while Ginny started to wonder if she’d bitten off more than she could chew working with this woman.
“Tell me, what ideas do you have for the luncheon?” Mrs. Travis asked.
She didn’t have any, expecting that the older woman would know what menu she wanted, which meant that she needed to come up with something quick. “We could do a choice of seafood and chicken, since some people have allergies to shellfish. Perhaps a chicken in wine sauce and maybe either shrimp and grits or perhaps West Indies Crab salad? Or a crab pie?”
“I prefer West Indies, don’t you? Such a delightful and delicate dish, very apropos for the region. And if you’re going that route, perhaps you could make Lane Cake for dessert.”
Ginny nearly blanched. She’d never made Lane Cake. It was a three-tiered white cake with vanilla frosting. That was the simple part. Between the layers were raisins, coconut, and the cake was brushed with bourbon. Reece would love making it, she was sure. But it was so complicated that they would need a practice run.
“Lane Cake? That’s quite—”
“Southern,” Mrs. Travis finished with a wide smile and glittering eyes. She stabbed into a sausage link and took a delicate bite, chewing before adding, “It would definitely fit with the theme for this year. I expect that the rest of the menu you can fill out yourself. With one cold dish and one hot dish, the sides should be easy—green beans, perhaps a carrot salad, maybe frozen cranberry salad, simple things that are easy for you to put together.”
“Certainly,” Ginny said. A long stretch of silence ignited between them, which she took as her hint to leave. “I’ll just put together a menu and send it over.”
“Fine. Then we’ll do a tasting beforehand.”
“Of course. Will you want to do that her—”
“Do you like living in the lighthouse?”
The question took her off guard. Her eyes flared and then narrowed. “Yes, I do. I live there with my daughters.”
“The two young women who I saw at the café?”
“Yes. My youngest bakes, and my oldest is a jewelry designer. She moved down from New York.”
“Sugar Cove certainly is a magical place.” Her eyes shimmered with memories. “It holds special meaning for many people.”
“Do you…do you have fond memories of the lighthouse?”
“What?” she blinked. “Oh yes. It’s quite the spectacle, don’t you think? We’d race along the beach and see the lighthouse towering over the sand. And when that light would shine at night, oh that was a sight.”
“Who was the keeper when you were young?” Perhaps this woman had known Emma Grace. Maybe she could shed some light as to what had happened to her.
“I don’t recall his name.”
“Was there an Emma Grace here?”
Mrs. Travis’s jaw slackened. “Why yes, there was.”
“There’s a story that she disappeared.”
Sadness filled the old woman’s eyes. “It’s tragic, what happened.”
Ginny’s fingers curled and uncurled anxiously. “What did happen?”
“If I recall, there was a storm. Emma Grace raced out into it, and it’s believed she drowned.”
Her heart sank. “Oh, I see.”
“Why do you ask?”
For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to reveal anything about the diary. Doing so felt like a betrayal to Emma Grace, even though she was long dead. “I was just curious. We’ve heard stories, is all, and I had hoped that perhaps she had lived.”
“No, no. No body was ever discovered. She wasn’t found.”
Her heart grew heavy hearing that. “I see.”
“Is there anything else that I can tell you about Sugar Cove? Any of its history that you’d like to know more about?”
“No, I think that’s it.” She glanced down at her watch and saw that it was already well past ten, going on eleven. Her heart fluttered. She needed to get back to the café. Reece was probably having a heck of a time with the lunch rush. “Thank you for the tea. I need to be heading back.”
Mrs. Travis flicked her finger, and the driver appeared at her side. How did she do that? “Sam will show you out.”
Ginny nearly ran to the front door. All she could think about as she slid into the front seat of her car was that Reece was probably going to kill her for being so late.