CHAPTER TWO
GEORGE MANAGED TO ESCAPE the courthouse by saying he had to meet a client, but I had to stay to look for comparable sales for the bungalow. Lester likely didn’t have a tracer on our van, but he seemed to be a good judge of when I’d be at the courthouse after a site visit.
He wants to provide options for houses to compare to the one I’m evaluating. I’ve threatened to tell the local Board of Realtors that he’s harassing me. Sadly, he’s pretty sure I won’t do that.
Lester left the registrar’s office, but he’d be back. A notebook and his favorite pen sat on a counter.
Sarah could barely contain a giggle. “He really didn’t know about Ramona and George?”
I glanced at her and shook my head. “He knows. He and George have…contrasting personalities. I don’t think he wanted to believe it.”
She shrugged. “They’re both pushy. I think they’re a lot alike.”
Lester strolled back in. “Who’s a lot alike?”
“Not people,” I said. “She thinks that cottage on C Street is like the one you sold. But it’s got one more bath.”
“Yeah. And it’s closer to the shore.” Lester nodded at Sarah, who turned back to her keyboard. “Nice try though, thanks.”
He planted himself on a stool next to the computer I was using. “George ignored my question.”
“Imagine that.”
“Are they movin’ in together?”
I tilted my head in his direction. “I honestly have not heard one word about it.” I nodded toward the computer screen. “You want your appraisal results this week?”
He took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed it toward me. “I wanted it yesterday.”
“So go away.”
“Yeah, all right. Is Ramona at her gallery today, or is that squirt working?”
“Do not let Megan hear you call her daughter a squirt. I think Ramona’s there, but I haven’t talked to her today.”
Lester slid off his chair. “If they’re gonna move in together, I could get them a deal. Catch you later.”
I watched his back as he left and turned to Sarah. “I suppose I should warn her.” I called Ramona and filled her in.
“Did George tell him anything?””
“No, nor did I.”
She said nothing for several seconds. “We haven’t figured out everything.”
“No rush,” I said lightly. “Just wanted to tell you a visitor is en route.”
“If I open the turpentine can for a minute, he’ll leave.” She hung up.
A COUPLE HOURS LATER, after doing a food bank order at Harvest for All, I decided to forgo a visit with Ramona. I didn’t want her to think I was prying about her and George (finally) moving in together. Not that I didn’t want to know about it.
That gave me time to swing by the hardware store to see if Sand and Sea could get a discount on a new window sash and glass. The assistant manager grinned at me. “Ms. Fremont used your name. We gave her fifteen percent off.”
I sat in my van in the store parking lot and checked email and thought more about the break-in at Sand and Sea. Since it was at night, I didn’t think anyone wanted to hurt the kids or staff who were there during the day. If someone planned to hide in a closet so they could kidnap a kid later, they’d have been way less obvious.
Stop being so dramatic. Still, it would be good to know the police had found, or at least identified, the burglar. I called Sergeant Morehouse.
His tone was testy. “Busy morning here, Jolie.”
“I understand. Since the twins go to Sand and Sea, I’m anxious to know if you caught anyone.”
“No, and unless a nearby business had a security camera pointed that way, it’ll take a lot of luck.”
“No fingerprints?” I asked.
“No nothin’.” He paused. “Since you usually keep what I tell you to yourself…”
“Except for Scoobie.”
“And only Scoobie, I’ll tell you the ground musta still been dry, cause there’s no footprints. And the person wore gloves.”
“How do you know that?”
“They left a note on cute pink paper.”
I almost asked what kind of paper when I realized he was being sarcastic. “I hope they drew you a smiley face.”
He hung up.
I ARRIVED AT THE B&B Monday afternoon out of breath from doing two loads of laundry and making a fast van-for-car trade so Scoobie could switch the kids with me.
As they pulled away, the kids were yelling out words that rhymed with shore, part of a game he plays when they drive.
“Bore, apple core,” Lance yelled.
I heard the first part of Leah’s taunt. “Apple doesn’t rhyme with…”
I shook my head. “Gotta work on her bossiness.”
The small parking lot outside the large Victorian B&B held no cars. I glanced at our Cape Cod house a couple hundred yards away and again felt grateful we’d been able to buy a house so close to Aunt Madge and Harry.
I shared her view about being a certain distance from the shore. She had chosen to buy her cornflower blue B&B three blocks back from the ocean, because it gave her the illusion of being safe from hurricane damage.
Ocean Alley is almost two miles long but only twelve blocks deep, with each street that is parallel to the ocean named for a letter of the alphabet. However, the alphabet starts with ‘B.’ The Great Atlantic Hurricane removed the old boardwalk and most of ‘A’ Street in 1944. I suppose three blocks wouldn’t make much difference for a Category Five storm, but those tend to stay south of us.
I walked quietly up the side porch steps. At two-forty-five in the afternoon, guests could be out gallivanting, as Aunt Madge says. She changes the security code every couple days so guests can come and go freely and she and Harry don’t have to keep track of keys.
I always prepared myself to see a guest reading a book in the breakfast room or what used to be the formal living room. No one responded to my greeting of, “Hello, bread baker in the B&B.” That suited me fine.
Aunt Madge and Harry’s golden retrievers, Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy, yipped from the private family area behind the breakfast room. I put in the security code to enter their great room and greeted the dogs with pats and a treat. They finally figured no more goodies were coming and followed me to the sliding glass door at the far end of the huge room.
This late on a late October day, shadows dominated the room. I turned on one of the brown ginger-jar lamps next to the loveseat, then almost tripped over a large chew toy. “Just what I need.”
After I punched the bread Aunt Madge had left in the fridge, I sat at the large oak table to call a new credit union branch to tell them that Harry and I could generally do quick-turn-around real estate appraisals.
Sometimes friends say how super it is for me to help Mayor Madge, whose Cozy Corner is the only B&B in town that serves afternoon tea. What they don’t get is that I have an hour-and-a-half to myself while I wait for the bread to rise again and then bake. Better than anything other than a free babysitter on date night.
Just as the smell of baking bread wafted through the great room, my phone rang.
Aunt Madge sounded almost furtive. “Jolie? Have you met my new guest, Benjamin Butterfinger?”
“No. Butterfinger?”
“Heavens. Butterfield. I’m in the middle of five things. He came in yesterday evening. Didn’t have a reservation, and you know I don’t like that.”
“Yep.” Since she’d really gotten into her mayoral role, Aunt Madge and Harry have talked about discontinuing all guests except in the summer.
“He knows Tanya at the Economic Development Office, and she called and asked if I had space. I’m going to need her to cooperate on those zoning plans for affordable housing, so of course, I said yes.”
“Aunt Madge, deal maker,” I murmured.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway, I just found out that he’s scouting town for some older buildings so he can develop a boutique hotel.”
“Ah, competition.”
“I’m not worried about that. One of the places he’s supposedly checking out is Sand and Sea Daycare.”
Now the smell of baking bread almost turned my stomach. “Oh no, if they have to move, prices’ll really go up.”
“Yes. Plus, Natalie is willing to consider renting the third floor to that jewelry designer I’ve been trying to persuade to move here from Ocean Grove.”
“No elevator. She must have good legs.”
“It’s a he. And I haven’t bothered to look. If he comes here, he could do some of his shows in Beachcomber’s Alley.”
I laughed in spite of my concerns about a price increase. The town’s oldest hotel is determined to stay in business and would love more bookings beyond the summer season. “So, am I supposed to poison the tea?”
“Only if it’s slow-acting. I don’t want the twins to have to visit you behind bars.”
“Good point. What do you want me to do?”
“Just listen. Maybe even ask him why he’s in town. If he mentions Sand and Sea, you can tell him how great it is that…I don’t know...your kids can play in the same space you did.”
“I didn’t go to daycare there.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“Remember when you used to tell me to mind my own business?”
“This is different. It’s saving a business.” Someone in her background said something. “I have to go. Let me know.”
I looked at my phone’s screen and replied, knowing she wouldn’t hear me. “Someone should warn Mr. Butterfield.”
A rap sounded on the door that led to the breakfast room. A man’s voice said, “Did I hear my name?”
I felt my face redden. Thank goodness people could no longer just walk into the private area from the guest breakfast room.
I stood and opened the door with its code. For a moment I stared at the man in the charcoal gray suit and maroon and gray tie. The only time I’d seen someone so dressed up at the B&B was when Aunt Madge and Harry got married.
“I take it I’m meeting Mr. Butterfield.” I extended a hand and nodded that I would come into the breakfast room.
He stood aside. “Benjamin. I need a warning?” He smiled as he shook my hand.
I grinned. “No. I’m supposed to see if you like your bread warmed or want to wait until it cools.”
He frowned lightly. “Great smells. But I thought your aunt would be here when I had tea.”
A little wheeling and dealing outside of the mayor’s office, perhaps? “She will be.” I gestured to a chair at one of the four small tables.
He continued to stand. “I’m heading upstairs to change. When you see her, tell her I look forward to tea and warm bread.” He emphasized warm.
He turned, I thought abruptly, and headed for the staircase that leads from the front entry foyer to the second floor.
It seemed to me that he wanted to get Aunt Madge outside the office to discuss his proposals. I didn’t like his plans, and thought there were some ethics rules regarding secret conversations about city business. Of course, it would be a private sale, so maybe policies like that didn’t apply.
Benjamin Butterfield struck me as someone used to getting his way. Maybe I should at least put some Metamucil in his tea.