“That’s how it ends?” Reece asked.
Ginny placed the diary on the table. “That’s it. I don’t know how Emma Grace had time to write in it during the storm, but she did.”
Chandler nibbled the inside of her mouth. “And then she also had to stash the diary back in the wall.”
“That, too.” She sighed and sat at the table with them. “It’s all still a big mystery about what happened to her. Honestly, I don’t feel like we know much more now than we did to begin with.”
“Except for the reason why her father hated Jim’s dad,” Reece pointed out.
“True.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “I wish that there was more to it, but that’s it.”
Chandler pulled the diary to her. “Maybe one of the historical societies will want it.”
“Maybe so, honey.” She could ask around and see if any were willing to take and preserve the diary. At the very least it was a good snapshot in time, describing what life at the lighthouse had been like seventy years ago. “But until then, we’ve got a luncheon to get through. Are y’all ready?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Reece said cheerfully with a salute.
She dismissed her silliness with a wave. “Let’s make this perfect because I don’t think Mrs. Travis will settle for anything less. Oh, here she is now.”
A sleek black sedan pulled up, and Sam got out to open the back passenger door. A whirl of excitement rushed through Ginny as she recalled the first time she had met Mrs. Travis and how Aiden had entered the café when the older woman was leaving.
Even though it had been days since their kiss, whenever she focused on it, she could still feel his lips on hers. Honestly she couldn’t wait to experience the feeling again. He’d called her the next day, but they’d both been so busy—her with the luncheon and him taking over the charter business—that they hadn’t had time to see one another again.
With the way things were looking, they might not get a chance to connect before Thanksgiving, which was quickly approaching.
But her thoughts snapped back to the present when Mrs. Travis entered. She wore a white hat, a coral dress suit fit for a queen, and wound loosely around her neck coiled a teal chiffon scarf.
“Mrs. Travis, good to see you,” Ginny said, greeting her with one hand extended.
Mrs. Travis gave the hand a shake and looked the dining room over. “Everything looks beautiful.”
Ginny and her daughters had cloaked each table in a white cloth with a teal runner cutting down the middle. Each table would seat four, and the silverware sat atop teal napkins (which she had bought for a steal off the Internet), and water glasses were also set, just waiting to be filled.
“I’m glad you like it,” she told the older woman.
Mrs. Travis slowly walked around the dining room, eyeing the tables as if she might find the slightest thing wrong with them, which made Ginny’s nerves fray. Instead Mrs. Travis turned and smiled.
“It looks like we’re ready for the ladies.”
The ladies, as Mrs. Travis had referred to them, began arriving shortly thereafter. There were sixty of them, and each one wore a more dramatic teal scarf than the last. Some were covered in peacocks, another shimmered as if it had been spun with gold, and another was encrusted on the sides with pinky-sized rhinestones.
All in all, the women were very nice and enjoyed the meal. They complimented Ginny and her daughters.
They also kept the three women very busy refilling water and tea, clearing plates and dropping off dessert. By the time the ladies were on the coffee service and Mrs. Travis had risen to speak, Ginny was ready for a nap.
She sat in the kitchen with her daughters, resting, while she listened to Mrs. Travis talk from the dining room.
“Thank you all for coming today and being here with me in Sugar Cove. This town holds special memories for me, and I thought it would be the perfect place for us to have our luncheon.”
She went on, talking about the weekend plans she had for the women—touring an art gallery, having tea at the local bed-and-breakfast—all the sorts of things that ladies liked to do.
A few minutes later the speech was finished, and the women were beginning to leave. While Reece and Chandler washed dishes, Ginny cleared the last of the plates and cups off the tables.
“It was a good meal,” Mrs. Travis told her. “You did a fine job. And this place…” Her gaze swept around the room. “It was good seeing it again.”
Something in her voice nudged at Ginny’s heart. “You know it?”
“Somewhat. I passed it every day when I lived here.”
“Would you like to see the rest of it?”
Her lips pursed as if she would decline. But a moment later she gave a surprising, “Yes. I would like a tour.”
“Well, come on.”
She placed the cups she held back on the table and slowly led the older woman past the dining room. “The bedrooms are back here. We only moved in a few months ago, and all we’ve really done is paint. This lighthouse has good bones.”
Mrs. Travis reached out and ran her fingers across some of the exposed bricks. “Yes, it does.”
They came to the spiral staircase that led to the tower. “Up there is where the magic used to happen. At the top is the actual working part of the home.”
“Yes,” the old woman whispered. “So it is.” She placed a hand on the wall and closed her eyes.
Ginny reached out, prepared to grab Mrs. Travis if she fell. “Are you feeling all right? Do I need to get your driver?”
Her eyes remained closed. “I’m fine. Just listening.”
To the wall? Okay, then. Being from a large city, there was very little that she hadn’t heard of when it came to new age spiritual sort of stuff. But she had never experienced someone listening to a wall.
After a long moment Mrs. Travis opened her eyes. Her gaze slowly lifted, and she peered up as if trying to see all the way to the top, which was impossible as the stairway was lined on both sides by brick walls and the steps were made of thickly hewn boards, worn smooth from years of feet going up and down them.
“If I was younger, I would try the trek,” she confessed. “But these old legs can’t do that anymore. But I wonder”—she looked at Ginny—“what is the view like?”
“It’s beautiful. There’s ocean as far as the eye can see, and to the left and right are strips of beach and houses. You can also see some of the shops. It’s really spectacular, especially at sunset.”
“I’m sure it is,” she murmured, her eyes wistful. She glanced up the staircase one more time and then slowly turned around. “Thank you for giving me a tour, and thank you for a lovely luncheon.”
“It was our pleasure.”
Mrs. Travis nodded as if she already knew that. As the two women walked toward the front door, she said, “You’ll need to stop by the house this week for your check.”
Ginny’s stomach dropped. “You won’t be paying today? I have the bill ready.”
“Oh no. I don’t have my checkbook with me. Bring the bill and I’ll write the check.”
That was a blow. She had expected to be paid on the day of service. But there wasn’t any reason to think that the older woman would jilt her, so she nodded. “I’ll come Tuesday morning, before the lunch service starts. Is nine thirty too early?”
“Not at all.”
“I’ll see you then.”
When they reached the front door, Sam was waiting to escort Mrs. Travis to the car. As soon as the teal scarf lady was in her car, Ginny grabbed the cups that she’d abandoned on the table and took them to the kitchen to be washed.
Reece glanced up from her spot in front of the sink, where she was rinsing a coffee cup. “Is everyone gone?”
“All gone.”
“Let’s see the check,” she said excitedly.
Ginny sighed. “There was no check.”
“What?” Chandler stopped wiping the plate that she held. “What do you mean, there wasn’t a check?”
She lifted her hands in both a gesture of surrender and to prove that they were empty. “What I mean is, she didn’t write one. She wants me to come see her next week. Then she’ll pay.”
Her youngest frowned. “You sure do get away with a lot of things when you’re older.”
“You might be right, honey.”
“In the jewelry business you don’t get away with anything. If a piece isn’t perfect, few will buy it, and if the workmanship is bad, no one will.” Chandler lifted a stack of plates and walked them to the cupboard. “But that’s just jewelry.”
There was something in the slump of her oldest daughter’s shoulders that suggested something was wrong. Maybe she was still thinking about what her father had done.
“Reece, I’ll finish the dishes. You did so much in preparing the food. Why don’t you take off?”
Her eyes flared with surprise. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Her youngest pulled the apron off her head and hung it on a peg. “Thank you,” she said cheerfully before planting a kiss on her cheek.
Ginny laughed at the surprise display of affection. “Why, by the way you’re acting, I would think you’ve got a hot date.”
She smiled wide. “I do, and now I can get ready earlier. See y’all later.”
“Be sure to let me know when you leave.” Her daughter may have been old enough to live her life, but Ginny still worried about her.
“Will do, Mama.”
And with that, Reece disappeared from the kitchen.
“Talk about greased lightning,” Ginny murmured.
Chandler didn’t answer.
“Honey, is there something wrong?” she asked, gently placing the coffee cups in the warm soapy dishwater.
“What would make you ask that?”
“You just seem…unhappy, and I don’t want to pry, but…” She very much wanted to pry but needed a good excuse. One came in the leftover Lane Cake sitting atop the counter. “Why don’t we have some cake and coffee?”
Her daughter eyed the cake hungrily. “Maybe just a small slice?”
Ginny smiled. “Come and sit. Let’s chat and eat.”
With that, she plated two slices of cake and headed into the dining room with Chandler not far behind.