The Beach at Painter's Cove Read online

  But her friends wouldn’t be allowed to associate with her because her parents were the worst kind of thieves, who stole from their own family and left their children behind when they fled—like one of those stupid television movies.

  The woods suddenly got dark. A cloud passing over the sun; she knew that, and yet it was like her thoughts had brought on the cloud. And where was she? She didn’t recognize this part of the woods. Had she veered off the path? No, it was there in front of her.

  Still, her heart started pounding; this is what happened in time-travel books when the heroine is walking along and then suddenly she’s not where she was. Steph quickly looked around. It still looked like Grammy’s woods. But up ahead was something she’d never seen before. A cottage, a cabin, a Hobbit’s hut.

  She took a breath. Crept closer and nearly fell over with relief. It was one of the cottages Issy had told her about, where people used to store their supplies and meet for sex.

  It didn’t look very romantic. And it didn’t look like anyone had been there for years. She tiptoed up to the door. Knocked quietly.

  Stupid, no one is in there.

  No one answered, so she tried the handle. It didn’t open. Must be locked. She moved to the window, cupped her hands, and peered inside. Just a bunch of shadows. Pulled up the hem of her T-shirt and tried to wipe a clean spot on the pane. Looked again; a chair maybe, nothing much.

  It would make a great hangout. Except she didn’t have any friends here to hang out with. It could be her special place. She could write a novel or paint, except she’d never taken lessons. She could read her book. She was almost finished with it, but she could read it again, it was that interesting. Or maybe Aunt Fae had more books.

  She moved away from the cottage. Issy had said there were several on the property. Maybe one of the others was in better shape. She’d ask Grammy if she could have it. Not have, but use it while she was here. She hoped that would be a long, long time. If she had to go to foster care, she would die.

  Thinking that made her hiccup. If she didn’t do something, the hiccups would turn into blubbering and she’d done enough of that the first week she and Mandy and Griff had come. No more blubbering. She needed a plan. But what about Mandy and Griff? Maybe if she promised to take care of them, Grammy would let them stay, too.

  She started walking. Even if Grammy didn’t want them, they could live in one of the little houses like Aunt Fae did. Steph would have to find some kind of job. An illegal one, since you had to be fourteen to work and had to get a special permit for it. She’d worry about that later.

  First things first. Find a cottage big enough for the three of them.

  She followed the path and found another nestled back in the trees. She couldn’t see the first cottage anymore. Good. This one was more private. They could even hide here if they needed to. No one would find them.

  She peered in the window. This time she could see a little more. A bunch of old paintings stacked against the wall. An old easel, a chair. Like on PBS where the archaeologists find a town under a volcano and everything looks like the people should still be there, only they’ve been dead for centuries. Steph shivered. She didn’t like to think about things like that.

  Kids who went to the mall and mooned over movie stars were much better off. Her mind was always going places that ended up being scary. Like that thing Aunt Fae said about the galaxies. How could anything be that big? And how big was it? She moved away from the window. She wanted to go home.

  But where was that? In the big brick house on the cul-de-sac where you couldn’t even mess up your own room, like maybe some magazine would surprise them and want to take pictures. Was it Grammy’s house, which was a neat freak’s nightmare, but much more fun. And sometimes scarier.

  Ugh. She just wanted things to be right, but she was afraid once they had started falling apart, they wouldn’t stop.

  Suddenly the woods weren’t her friend anymore. Like they were angry at her. Wanted her out. It was just her imagination. She knew that, but still she turned around and walked—not ran, in case someone or thing was watching—but walked as fast as she could until she was back on the lawn at Grammy’s. Then she sprinted across the grass and around the house to safety.

  Stephanie burst through the kitchen door.

  Issy and Chloe both turned around.

  “Whoa, I thought you were upstairs taking the longest shower in history. Where have you been?”

  “Outside,” Steph huffed. She went to the fridge. She came out with a bottle of water and guzzled half of it. “I was just exploring. I saw some of those cottages you were talking about.”

  “Cottages? Oh, the camps. I hope you didn’t go inside. They’re probably all rotten and unsafe.”

  “No, but they could be fixed up really nice, couldn’t they?”

  “I suppose. Why?”

  “Do you think . . .” Her eyes flicked away.

  “Think what?” Issy asked.

  “That maybe I could have one—I mean just to hang out in?”

  “Why? Isn’t this house big enough? Plenty of quiet, private places.”

  “I know, I just think they’re cool.”

  Issy sighed. “They are, and once they were really nice. I used to take my dolls out and play house in one of them. When they weren’t being used.”

  “And we used to hang out there when we wanted to be private,” Chloe added.

  “Ah, the good old teenage years,” Issy said on a laugh.

  “Were they really good?”

  Issy cocked her head. “Yeah. Filled with ups and downs and heartbreaks and ecstasy—the emotion not the drug. But yeah, they were good. And something you have to go through to get to the other side.

  “Tell you what, one day this week we’ll go take a look. Find one that’s in decent shape.”

  “Thanks, that’s great.”

  “In the meantime, are you up for some more cataloging this afternoon?”

  “Sure. I’ll go set up.” Steph passed Paolo coming in.

  Chloe lit up.

  “If I were a painter . . .” he began.

  “Fortunately, you aren’t,” Issy said. “Or Chloe and I would weigh two hundred pounds, have butts like a Rubens madonna, and would be surrounded by platters of homemade food we cooked while the bambinos were sleeping.”

  Paolo barked out a laugh. “Yes, you would. Lovable behinds with very low-cut peasant blouses and ample, very ample cleavage.”

  “Chauvinist,” Chloe exclaimed, laughing.

  “Classicist,” Paolo countered. “My appreciation of the female form is tempered by a combination of my love of Baroque painting and my provincial upbringing. However, as it is, I’m an equal-opportunity admirer of women of all types.”

  “And on that note,” Chloe said, “I’d best be going.”

  “Why?” Issy and Paolo said together.

  “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Issy said. “You don’t have to cook. There’s plenty of food. I can cook, and you can visit.”

  “Thanks, but I have a few errands and Ben says he thinks you’d like to spend some time with your family.”

  “Ben likes making decisions, doesn’t he?” Paolo said.

  Chloe smiled. “Yes. But in his defense, he’s used to working on his own and making all the calls. It’s just a habit he’s gotten into.”

  “No significant other?” Paolo asked.

  Chloe blinked, frowned. “Not yet. He’s had a couple that lasted for a while, but I think they got tired of specimens in the fridge. He sees women sometimes. He’s not a total nerd. He just doesn’t get very serious about any of them. He’s a scientist. His work comes first.”

  “Always did,” Issy said.

  “Why do you want to know?” Chloe asked Paolo.

  “Just curious. I know someone else whose work always comes first.”

  “And I know him right back,” said Issy.

  “Only out of necessity. Alas, mio povero cuor.”

  “Don’t lis
ten to him. Women come into the museum just to look at him.”

  Paolo sighed. “But not to love.”

  Issy laughed. “I’ll ask Leo if she minds us going out tonight again. That is, if you want to, Chloe.”

  “Of course. I’ll call Ben. Tell him we’re coming to his place to grill steaks. That way the guys can cook and we can have some girl time. I know it’s selfish but I don’t know when you’ll be back.”

  Issy chewed on that while she went to look for Leo. Back? She’d forgotten for a minute that she would be leaving soon. When would she be back? If she didn’t think of something quick, there might not be anyplace to come back to.

  Issy passed Mandy and Griff running to the kitchen—after a snack, no doubt. Leo was in the library with Steph. They were sitting on the couch with a big photograph album opened between them.

  They were bent over a page with a magnifying glass.

  “Grammy, do you mind if Paolo and I go out for an early dinner with Chloe and maybe Ben?”

  “Of course not, dear.”

  “Chloe and I can make a salad and put a casserole in the oven. Just check on it when the timer dings.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. We can get our own dinner. Do it all the time. Now go on and have fun, but don’t stay out late, because we have so many pieces to inventory tomorrow.”

  Issy smiled. Leo was actually enjoying the work—and the children. She looked more lively than she had since Issy’s return. The kids and having something to do were good for her.

  “What about you, Steph, want to come for dinner with us?”

  “Thanks, but Aunt Fae and I are going to stream Lord of the Rings—if we can use your laptop.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.”

  Chapter 21

  Chloe drove through the town and out Shore Road for several miles with Issy and Paulo following before she turned onto a smaller access road and finally into a short drive surrounded by scrub oak. She came to a stop in a wide parking area and Issy pulled in next to her.

  “It looks rather like one of those houses where they greet you with a shotgun,” Paolo said.

  Issy nodded. The house appeared to have started life as a saltbox Cape Cod. Now it was a sprawling, ramshackle, wooden . . . Issy was at a loss for words. It was as if several architectural styles had been plunked down at random.

  “It is rather interesting.”

  “An adventure at least,” Paolo agreed, and got out of the car.

  “I’m sure Ben would agree. He was always about adventure.”

  “The staid marine ecologist? I thought there was more to him than you mentioned.”

  Chloe led them around the house to a side door. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s nice inside.”

  “And spotless, if you’ve been staying here,” Issy added.

  “I don’t know about spotless, but it’s clean. And not because of me. Ben is pretty meticulous at housekeeping, just like in his work. I have to say, he tends to leave the outside, outside.”

  They stepped into the house and Chloe turned on the lights. “I probably should have brought you in the front, but I’m so used to going through the mud room.”

  “This is the mud room?” Paolo said. “It’s almost as big as my bedroom in Manhattan.”

  Chloe smiled, showing her dimples. “A lot of mud comes through this room.”

  Uh-oh, thought Issy, the dimples are serious.

  The mud room also contained a large washer and dryer. There were two low shelves that held various types of boots in various states of dirty, a row of pegs for rain gear and waders on one wall and another on the opposite wall for nets, and various tools unfamiliar to Issy. A narrow door showed a bathroom complete with shower stall.

  “Well planned,” Issy said. “Strip out of stinky marsh clothes, put them right in the wash, and step into the shower. Come out clean and house-ready.” And like any good exhibit, it told a lot about the owner.

  The kitchen was small but functional with pine cabinets and newish but not upscale appliances. And not a granite countertop in sight.

  Paolo put the wine Issy had snagged from the Muses cellar on the table.

  Chloe dropped her bag on the counter and flicked a panel of light switches. “There’s a cabinet with wineglasses and a corkscrew right outside that door.”

  Issy went through to a larger room, where a small dining table and low buffet sat at one end and a couch, easy chair, miscellaneous tables, and a large television were crammed into the rest of the space.

  Very cozy, she thought. She found the corkscrew and the glasses and took them back to the kitchen.

  Chloe was busy unwrapping packages of steaks. “Ben just called to say he was on his way.”

  “Where exactly does he work?” Issy asked.

  “In the marshes? Actually I can show you.” Chloe led them through another door into a room that explained the different architectural styles. It ran the length of the house and more, a simple rectangle with high ceilings. One side was all glass and the view took Issy’s breath away. The house was on high ground with a cleared lawn that ran down to the water of the sound. On the right was a stand of trees. And to the left, scrub oak and a few houses not close enough to see their occupants. In the distance, marshes stretched to the horizon.

  “Wow,” Paolo said.

  “Double wow,” Issy agreed.

  “Those are Ben’s; not really, but I think of them as his. They’re about fifteen minutes away, close enough to keep an eye on, but far enough not to smell them at low tide. The best of both worlds.”

  “Is this all his land?” Paolo asked.

  “Not quite an acre. The property goes all the way down to the water. Though it’s a triangular parcel, so there’s really only about twenty feet of beachfront. It was a lucky buy; the owners had already started this room then couldn’t pay their mortgage and bailed. Ben got it at auction. I confess I thought that was sort of bad karma—you know, taking someone else’s house. But Ben said it gave them a new beginning without debt and gave him a house and debt. So they were even.”

  “Sounds like Ben,” Issy said.

  “It took forever to get him to put real furniture in here,” Chloe said, indicating the couches and chairs and game tables and a heavy wooden dining table that was a work of art. “He spent his first two years here in an aluminum chaise longue.”

  “That also sounds like Ben.”

  When they returned to the kitchen, Ben’s truck was sitting outside and the mud room shower was running. A few minutes later he came out, hair dripping, barefoot, and wrapped in a towel.

  “Sorry. When I left this morning I didn’t know I was having company and didn’t bring any clothes downstairs. Back in a sec.” He clasped the towel more tightly and hurried past them.

  Issy got a glimpse of sinewy back muscles as he whipped past her.

  Chloe smiled after him, then grinned at Issy. “It’s just like Dad always said . . .”

  “He’ll fill out nicely when he gets older,” they quoted together, in exaggerated, low voices.

  Issy laughed. “And he has. What I could see. Not that I was looking.”

  Chloe gave her a know-it-all smile.

  “Ben was always tall and skinny as a rail,” Issy told Paolo. “Mrs. Collins was always trying to get him to eat more but their dad said . . . well, we just told you what he said. Shall I start on a salad or something?”

  Ben came back a few minutes later, dressed and shod, and still looking pretty good.

  “I suppose I have to grill the steaks,” he said, looking at the platter Chloe held out to him.

  “I’ll come kibitz,” Paolo said, and followed him outside.

  Issy and Chloe set the table out in the room overlooking the sound and went back to the kitchen.

  Chloe sank into a chair. “I feel like you and I haven’t had a chance to talk since you’ve been home.”

  “I was just thinking that. I have to thank you again for dealing with Mandy and Griff for
me.”

  “No problem, I just dump them off with Melanie Hathaway in the school office in the mornings. And take them home when she brings them back. How are things going at the house?”

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Issy said abruptly. “My vacation is flying by. And as much as I enjoy being here, and getting a chance to hear Grammy talk about the artwork in the house, time is running out. I’m no nearer to solving the problem of how to save the house from sale and Grammy and Aunt Fae from going to the old-folks home.

  “And Jillian, who shows up like the uninvited guest, comes and goes at will, and doesn’t lift a finger to help, but managed to expend enough energy to get in touch with Uncle George and he’s coming tomorrow, probably with an ultimatum.”

  Issy pulled out a chair and sat down. “We are so screwed.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  “I’ve thought of a hundred things, but none of them are realistic.”

  “No sign of Vivienne?”

  Issy shook her head. “Evidently George’s people saw her with Dan in Panama. But I just can’t believe it. Vivienne. Mrs. Ultimate Suburban Mom suddenly dumps her kids to live the high life in Panama? Panama? Why there?”

  “No extradition probably.”

  “Of course. Which means she has no intention of coming back. And what am I going to do with these kids? I can’t really leave them with Leo even if she gets to keep the house.

  “Fae’s been staying there for the last few days, but I can tell it chafes her. She’s used to being alone. I don’t think she wants to give that up for great-nieces and -nephews or the old-folks home. I can’t stay much longer, and I’m running out of savings.”

  The door opened and Ben and Paolo came back in with the steaks.

  “Are you two still sitting here?”

  “Just waiting for you.” Chloe went to the oven, laying a hand briefly on Issy’s shoulder as she passed by.

  “What’s that?” Paolo asked as Chloe carried a steaming casserole dish past him.

  “Scalloped potatoes.”

  “Heaven.” He took the dish from her. Issy followed with the salad.