The Inn at Angel Island

Chapter Three

THE next morning Liza silently repeated the question, though it did not always have its magic effect. She and Claire had finally emptied the closet in the front parlor, but that project was a mere warm-up compared to the next closet they tackled in the foyer, which was even larger and deeper.

Liza, perched on top of a ladder, wrestled with an antique hat-box and finally pulled it from one of the upper shelves. She knew that people collected these things, and it might be worth something. But it hardly seemed in collectible condition. She stared at it, feeling stumped, then glanced down, about to ask Claire her opinion.

But Claire was gone, along with several black bags of discards that had piled up in the hallway.

The brass door knocker rapped loudly on the front door.

Liza climbed down the ladder and headed over to answer it. It was probably Fran. They had spoken on the phone last night, and Fran was going to drop off some papers for her to sign, granting Bowman Realty the right to show the house to prospective buyers.

Liza pulled open the door, a friendly smile in place for her favorite real estate agent.

But it was not Fran Tulley on the other side of the door. Not by a long shot.

It was a stranger, a man about her age wearing a battered leather jacket and worn jeans. And an annoyingly amused expression as he looked her over.

“Can I help you?” Liza’s tone was curt, trying to make up in attitude what she lacked in appearance. She had picked out some old, worn-out clothing last night from the bags marked for charity, and now looked like a pile of cleaning rags wearing sneakers.

“You must be Liza, Elizabeth ’s niece.”

“Yes, I am… Are you here about a room? The inn isn’t open for guests right now.”

“Yes, I know.” He seemed amused by her answer. “I’m Daniel Merritt. Claire called me. Something about a leak in the basement?”

“Oh… right. Come on in.” Liza stepped back and pulled open the door.

Daniel Merritt was the handyman who usually worked on the inn, Liza remembered now. She had mentioned the leak to Claire last night, and the housekeeper had said she would call him. Liza had forgotten all about it.

And she’d also pictured the “regular handyman” around this place as someone much different.

Older for one thing. Balding. Paunchy.

Daniel Merritt was none of these.

Tall, dark, and… ironic was more like it.

Liza closed the door and turned. Daniel Merritt stared down at her curiously. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as if that would help.

Skip it, Liza. Doesn’t matter.

Uh… yeah. Right.

“Looks like you’ve been doing some cleaning up around here.” He glanced into the big parlor. “Quite a project.”

“No kidding. Know anyone who wants some sheet music from the 1950s? We have a nice collection from extremely corny Broad-way musicals.”

Daniel smiled. “I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks. You never know.”

“That’s true. Many people wouldn’t own up too quickly to that passion.”

She smiled back at him, surprised by the clever comeback. Okay, a handyman could have a sense of humor. Even out here.

“At least Claire is still here,” he said. “I’m sure she’s a big help.”

A godsend, she nearly said aloud.

“No question,” she agreed. “So… you came to check that leak? Do you need me to show you where it is?”

“Claire told me. I’ll just go down and take a look.”

“All right.” Liza stepped back and watched as he slipped off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree.

She didn’t mean to keep looking at him. He had broad shoulders and a good build. It wasn’t just the jacket. His black sweater was nearly the same shade as his thick dark hair; the collar of a denim shirt underneath peeked out from the neckline. Sort of stylish for a handyman, she thought.

He walked down the hallway and opened the door to the basement with an easy familiarity. He seemed very at home here. But her aunt must have called him frequently. The inn must have needed a lot of repairs. Still did, she reminded herself.

That was all going to be someone else’s headache in a little while. It was one thing she wasn’t going to inherit from her aunt. That was for sure.

Liza returned to the big front parlor and started to work on a bookcase. She considered running upstairs to wash her face and fix her hair, which had more than half escaped from a ponytail, then rejected the idea. What did she care what Daniel Merritt thought of her? She wasn’t here to win a beauty contest. She was here to work and get this house on the market.

She had loaded two boxes of books when Claire walked into the room. She looked like a real country woman today, Liza thought, wearing a long brown skirt, thick leather walking shoes, and a red down vest over a yellow sweater. Her long hair was pinned up in its usual style, parted in the middle and coiled in a big bun behind her head, emphasizing her round face and large gray blue eyes.

Liza thought Claire was a pretty woman for her age, which, if Liza had to guess, was probably late fifties. She had very smooth skin, almost wrinkle free, but otherwise seemed older. Perhaps it was her steady, quiet manner or the way she dressed. Her style was sort of a mix of hippie-Earth Mother and country bumpkin.

“I packed a load of bags in my car and brought them right out to the carting station,” Claire reported as she walked in. Her round cheeks were red from the cold, and Liza felt guilty, knowing she had done all that work alone.

“You should have told me. I would have come to help you.” Liza stood up and wiped some dust off her hands with an old cloth.

“It wasn’t very heavy. Just bulky stuff. Besides, someone needed to be here for Daniel. I saw his car outside. Did he repair that leak downstairs?”

“He’s taking a look at it right now.”

“He’ll fix it. He can fix just about anything.”

“Does he paint?” Liza had meant to look for a painter today, but she’d gotten too busy.

“I believe so. Here he is. You can ask him yourself,” Claire suggested.

“Hello, Claire,” Daniel greeted the housekeeper with a wide, friendly smile. While he and Claire exchanged greetings, Liza took a moment to notice his impressive set of dimples.

Now, now, Liza. Handyman, remember? He’s definitely not your type.

“So how’s the leak? Can you fix it?” Liza asked abruptly.

“It wasn’t much. It’s already history.”

“Oh, good. Thanks.” He was efficient at least.

“Anything else you need me to check?”

Liza met his glance and looked away. His eyes were brown, a shade almost as dark as his hair, and were filled with a deep, serious light, even when he was smiling. It was an odd thing to notice about a stranger, but she instinctively felt it was true.

“I was wondering… do you do any house painting?”

“What did you have in mind?” He crossed his arms over his chest. She couldn’t tell if he was interested in the work or not. He didn’t act very eager like some contractors. He didn’t act as if he needed work at all.

“My brother and I have inherited the house, and we plan on selling it. As soon as possible,” she added. “The real estate agent suggested that we have the exterior painted-a quick job, just to freshen it up-and paint some of the rooms, too.”

“A quick job on the outside of this place?” She could tell from his expression he was trying hard not to laugh at her.

“Why? How long will it take? I just mean a quick coat of paint. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re in no danger of that.”

Liza started to say something, then stopped. So he was the clever type on top of it. Did she really need that?

And he had never even told her if he did painting, she suddenly realized.

“If you don’t take paint jobs or aren’t interested in the work, just say so, Mr. Merritt. I just thought I’d ask you first, since you seem to do so much here.”

“I never said I wasn’t interested.”

“You never said if you paint or not.”

“I do paint. And I’m interested. And it’s Daniel.”

He smiled again, meeting her gaze. Liza intended to brush him off-the last thing she needed was a sarcastic painter-but she relented.

“Well, that’s what we want. A quick coat of paint on the outside, just to freshen it up. The main rooms down here seem all right, but there are a few upstairs that need work. There’s a big brown stain on the ceiling in one bathroom.”

He nodded. “A leak last winter. Your aunt never got around to having the ceiling repaired.”

“I have a list somewhere. But that’s basically it.”

He looked surprised. Then amused again. “That’s it?”

She nodded, feeling off balance. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“That’s a drop in the paint bucket, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s all we intend to do. We just want to sell the property,” she repeated.

“And leave the big headaches for the next owner,” he finished for her.

She smiled at him. “Exactly.”

So now he was questioning her ethics? For goodness’ sake, it was done all the time. People didn’t bring a place like this into tip-top condition before they sold it. It wasn’t their responsibility. Buyer beware, everybody knew that.

“You know what this place really needs?” he told her. “A new roof and new windows. That will save money on heating and protect the whole building, especially with all the rain coming this spring.”

Liza shook her head. “We wouldn’t dream of doing anything that extensive.” Expensive, she really meant. But he understood her. She could tell.

“Besides,” she continued, “those kinds of repairs might be a waste. Somebody could buy this place and just… knock it down.”

Daniel tilted his head. “That wouldn’t bother you?”

She was taken aback by the question, by the way this conversation had suddenly turned personal. “I don’t think it really matters if it bothers me or not. It could happen,” she said, sidestepping the real answer.

“It would be a shame if it did, I think. This old building is a real landmark. It’s one of only a few in this area built in the Queen Anne style. I’d hate to see it destroyed. But I guess there’s going to be a lot of bad development around here now unless somebody steps up to stop it.”

Liza sighed. “I don’t want to see the inn knocked down. That’s not what I’m saying at all. But this place needs so much work, it’s amazing the building hasn’t fallen down all on its own by now.”

And how had she even gotten into this argument with him? She was just trying to find a housepainter, for goodness’ sake.

“That much I agree with. Maybe the spring storms will do the job. Do you want to wait and see what happens? Or go through with the painting?”

“I’d like an estimate. If that’s not too much trouble. By tomorrow?”

“I’ll leave one off today,” he promised.

“That would be great. Thanks.” Her tone was flat and bland, though inside she felt anything but.

This guy was incredibly nervy. Maybe he was used to sounding off to clients since there were so few choices on the island? Or maybe he didn’t care what people thought or whether anyone hired him back. Daniel Merritt was just proof that you had to be somewhat eccentric or a misfit to live out here in the first place.

A good-looking misfit, she amended.

She stomped back into the parlor and started on the books again. Claire was back at the foyer closet. Liza soon realized there were no more boxes. They had quickly used up all that they had in the house yesterday. Someone really needed to make a run to the General Store-or into town-and score some more. Liza stood up and rubbed the small of her back.

Claire, who was up on the ladder, glanced down at her. “Back stiffening up?”

“A bit,” Liza admitted. Back in Boston, she worked out at a gym when she had the time, but clearing out closets and carrying boxes of books worked muscle groups that were just not included in the usual tighten-and-tone classes.

“Take a walk on the beach. That’s the best thing for it.”

Liza was surprised by Claire’s suggestion. She would have expected something more in the line of a hot bath or even a heating pad.

“I’d like to, but there’s still a lot to do here.”

“It will all be here when you come back,” Claire promised.

Yes, it would. This mess wasn’t going anywhere.

“All right. Just for a few minutes. It did turn out to be a really nice day.”

The morning had begun under a heavy veil of fog, as often happened on the island. But by noon the low layer of clouds had burned away and the sun had risen bright and high in a clear sky.

The foggy morning meant spring was almost here, Claire had told her. An odd sign, Liza thought, but it did make sense. The air had to be warm and humid to create a fog, so maybe spring was arriving.

Liza was already wearing a heavy fleece pullover. She grabbed a quilted vest and gloves before she went down to the water. She also wound a big woolen scarf-another find from the charity pile, a scarf her aunt had knitted ages ago-around her throat twice. Amazingly enough, Liza remembered the pale-yellow-and-cream-colored ribbon wool immediately when she saw it. It was a real treasure to her now.

She crossed the lane in front of the inn and headed down the narrow sandy path that led to the beach below. After all these years, she remembered the way easily. The path seemed so familiar, as if she had walked it yesterday.

The hill grew steep at one point, and Liza felt herself pulled down by the force of gravity, her feet moving beneath her faster than she wanted them to. She knew she had to just go with it or fall down. It was a freeing sensation to rush down the last few yards toward the ocean with the sound of crashing waves greeting her.

At the bottom of the hill, she slowed to a stop. She’d made it without tripping over a root or sliding on the sand. She stood still, giving herself a chance to catch her breath. She stared at the waves rolling in, tumbling one over the other, white-capped curls and foamy endings that rushed up the shoreline and were sucked back out again.

The waves were big today, making a loud crashing and booming sound. Liza had not been to the beach in a long time. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. This beach in particular. The sand was smooth and white.

The beach curved up around the cliffs, edged with huge reddish brown rocks, some covered with green moss and seaweed. Liza knew that if you examined those rocks closely, each one was like a little planet, supporting entire communities of tiny sea creatures that survived on the nourishment brought in with each wave or high tide. The same tides that left pockets of shells on the shoreline. Like a treasure chest casually emptied on the sand. The natural world was astounding, almost too much to get your mind around if you really sat and thought about it. Walking this beach had always made her feel humbled and distant from the rest of the world and all her worries.

It was working that same magic on her now. The cares that weighed so heavily on her shoulders seemed to melt along with the knots and aches in her arms and legs, and even those down in her back, as Claire had predicted.

The late-afternoon sun was sinking toward the horizon. The breeze off the water was colder than she would have liked, but Liza just tightened her scarf and kept walking. She had almost the entire beach to herself. Only one other hardy soul was in sight, some distance down the shoreline, a fisherman casting his line into the surf.

Liza drew closer to the fisherman, a man with a thick beard and wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in high rubber waders, a heavy sweater, and a down vest. She watched as he reeled in his line and checked the reel. He looked vaguely familiar, and she wondered where she knew him from.

He looked up at her suddenly and smiled. “Hello there. Beautiful afternoon, isn’t it? If you don’t mind the wind.”

She smiled back. The sound of his voice triggered her memory. It was Reverend Ben Lewis from the old stone church on the green in Cape Light. He looked very different today in his fishing garb; she hadn’t recognized him.

“I don’t mind it, Reverend,” Liza replied. “Though it must make your surf casting a challenge.”

“Oh, I’m not very good at it,” he admitted, “so it doesn’t make too much difference to me. My family keeps giving me these expensive rod-and-reel sets. But the sport is a lot like cooking. It’s not the equipment; it’s the person using it, if you know what I mean.”

He laughed, and she had to laugh with him. Then with a more serious expression, he said, “Aren’t you Elizabeth Dunne’s niece, Liza?”

She nodded. “That’s me.”

“I remember you from the memorial service. Are you visiting the island?”

“For a week or two. I’m meeting my brother, Peter, here. We’re going to clear out the inn and put it up for sale.”

“That’s a big job. Serious business,” the reverend replied.

“It is a big job. I mean, clearing out all my aunt’s old belongings will be. I started yesterday, and I’ve hardly finished one closet. Claire North is helping me,” Liza added, recalling that Claire was a member of the reverend’s congregation.

“That’s a big help to have. You’re lucky.” His blue eyes seemed to twinkle behind his glasses.

Everyone Liza met thought so well of Claire. Fran Tulley, Daniel Merritt, and now, Reverend Ben. Not to mention her aunt, who had loved Claire dearly.

“She’s a very hard worker,” Liza replied. “I know she did so much for my aunt. Especially… at the end.”

When I should have been there, she nearly added.

“She and your aunt were very close,” Ben agreed. “More like friends than anything else.”

Liza suddenly had the urge to confide in Reverend Ben about her own relationship with her aunt, the way she had neglected Aunt Elizabeth and disappointed her when she had needed Liza most. But of course she couldn’t say that. She hardly knew the man. “Did you see my aunt much last winter?” she asked instead.

“I came out and visited her once a week or so. I try to keep up with all the folks at our church who are shut-in for one reason or another. She didn’t leave the inn much once she caught bronchitis. Then the pneumonia set in,” he said in a somber tone. He looked up at Liza and caught her eye. “I will tell you that Elizabeth rarely seemed down or dispirited. She seemed to think it was just a passing thing, like a bad cold. Or at least that’s what she kept telling me.”

“That’s how it was when we talked over the phone. That’s what she told me, too,” Liza replied. “Now I wonder if she knew more but didn’t want me to worry.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think Elizabeth ever believed anything was seriously wrong. Or that she wouldn’t be up and around by the spring, getting the inn ready for her guests again.”

Liza took that in. Her aunt had never expected to die. So don’t beat yourself up if you didn’t come out here to visit in time.

Liza blinked. She felt her eyes tearing up and wondered if it was the wind or simply the conversation.

“Your aunt was a woman of great faith,” Reverend Ben continued quietly. “She lived a full life and felt satisfied. I honestly don’t think she feared death. I know that even at the very end she was resolved and at peace.”

Liza swallowed hard to keep from crying. “Thank you for telling me that, Reverend,” she said finally.

He gazed at her a moment but didn’t reply. Then he turned his attention back to the fishing pole, which he had stuck in the sand for safekeeping.

“How long will you be staying at the inn?” he asked.

“About ten or twelve days more. Depending on how things go, I guess. Fran Tulley is our real estate agent. She seems to think she can find a buyer quickly. The island has become a hot spot, she says, with all the improvements going on.”

“A hot spot, eh?” Reverend Ben smiled. “Well, maybe for around here it would qualify. But the inn is a beautiful old building. I imagine there are many fans of historic houses who would be interested.”

“I hope so,” Liza said simply. She yanked her gloves up a bit, so that they covered the cuffs of her pullover. The setting sun was almost touching the dark blue ocean, and the air had grown even colder. “I guess I’d better get back to the inn. Claire will be wondering what happened to me. It was nice seeing you, Reverend.”

“Good to see you, Liza. Come by the church and say hello if you have time,” he added. “If I can help you with anything during your visit, please let me know.”

He was gently offering her a chance to talk more about her aunt and her loss, she thought.

“Thanks. Maybe I will.” Liza smiled at him, then she turned and started back in the way she had come.

Reverend Ben was a nice man. She enjoyed talking with him, even though she had never been a big churchgoer. Her parents had not belonged to any particular church, only attending services on holidays like Easter or Christmas and choosing whichever church was most convenient. Her father liked the music and appreciated a good choir.

When she and Peter came out to Angel Island in the summertime, her aunt often took them to the church on the green in Cape Light. Liza vaguely remembered Reverend Ben holding the services there, though there may have been another minister before him. She couldn’t recall now.

Either way, she had never gotten to know Reverend Ben. She only spoke to him briefly when she and Peter had planned the memorial service. He was intelligent and easy to talk to; nothing like the impression she had of ministers-stuffy and even judgmental types. Even so, she doubted she would go out of her way to see him again, though it had been nice of him to offer.

WHEN Liza returned to the inn that afternoon, the house seemed flooded with a warm, buttery scent, an appetizing aroma she couldn’t quite identify.

Liza tugged off her gloves, scarf, and vest, and walked back to the kitchen. Claire had the oven door open and was checking her work in progress, wearing a big blue oven mitt on one hand.

For some reason, Liza’s conversation with Reverend Ben had made her feel more appreciative of Claire’s presence. Claire didn’t have to stay on here and help dismantle the house, Liza realized, even though she was being paid for her work. The entire process had to be hard for her. Maybe even harder than it is for me.

“What are you baking?” Liza asked. “It smells delicious.”

“Chicken pot pie. Do you like that?”

Liza smiled. “I haven’t had it since I was a little girl. But I did like it then. It was one of my favorites.”

Her very favorite. Aunt Elizabeth would make it for her, even in the summer when such a hearty dish seemed out of season. She always used lots of vegetables from the garden; it was almost a vegetable pie, Liza thought.

Liza knew Claire was a good cook but doubted anyone could match her aunt’s perfection of this dish. Her aunt seemed to use some secret ingredients to make it taste so good.

“I was cleaning out a bookcase and found your aunt’s recipe book. One of her many recipe books,” Claire corrected herself. “I think they’re all over the house.” She pulled off the mitt and set it on the counter. “The pot pie recipe fell out, so I decided to try it.”

Claire nodded toward a piece of lined yellowed paper that lay on the kitchen counter. Liza recognized her aunt’s handwriting immediately, a hurried, artistic scrawl. Thoughts always racing ahead of her pen; that was Aunt Elizabeth.

Liza looked the recipe over; there were a few smudges and food stains blurring the words. A tiny note in the margin read: Extra carrots for L.

That’s about me. I used to ask for extra carrots, Liza realized, feeling touched.

Liza looked up. Claire had been watching her. Reading her thoughts, Liza guessed, from the expression on the housekeeper’s face. Liza suddenly felt self-conscious. Too close.

“Do you need any help?” she asked.

“I think we’re all set. Dinner is ready, whenever you are.”

Liza suddenly realized that with everything going on around the inn-put dealing with Daniel Merritt on the top of that list-she had gotten so distracted, she hadn’t checked messages from the office since that morning. She hadn’t even brought her BlackBerry along to the beach. She must have a hundred messages by now.

“Let me just run up to my room a minute. I’ll be right down,” she promised Claire.

She found the BlackBerry on the small table near her bed and checked her e-mail. She scrolled down the addresses and subject lines quickly, guessing what most messages contained.

She was looking for one in particular, some word about the logo sketches that were sent via Fran Tulley’s fax to the office yesterday.

Liza had her fingers crossed that her ideas would be chosen over Charlie Reiger’s. If the prospective client, a national chain of discount shoe stores, preferred her take over Charlie’s, it would tip the scales in her favor in regard to who was named account manager-and who was promoted to vice president.

If only she’d had a chance to send the ideas in as a more finished presentation. But that couldn’t be helped. Sometimes the best ideas just won out, even scrawled on a paper napkin.

There was one message from her boss, and Liza quickly opened it. It was a question about some other project. No mention of the logos.

That worried her a little, but Liza tamped down her anxiety. If she didn’t hear by tomorrow, she would send Eve a note and ask directly. Better to know than wait in limbo.

Liza opened another e-mail, this one from Peter.

Liza-

I’ve worked out time off from school for Will, so we’re trying to get a flight out tomorrow. See you soon.

Love,

Peter

Well, there was some good news. Liza shut down the device and put it in her pocket. Peter and Will were on their way. She would definitely see them by tomorrow night.

That was a relief. For a while there, she had wondered if he was going to make it at all. She felt sorry now for doubting him. Peter could be scattered at times, but he wasn’t going to let her down. They would get through this mess together.

Liza washed her face and hands, and went down to dinner. She had read somewhere that certain scents affected your mood. Mint wakes you up, and cinnamon makes you feel more alert. Chicken pot pie must qualify, she thought. The mouthwatering smell was already making her feel more cheerful.

In the kitchen the table was set for two, with the chicken pie sitting in between. There was also a green salad.

Claire was at the sink, washing out some pans. She turned when Liza entered the room. “Everything’s ready. Just take a seat. I put beets in the salad. They’re also from the garden. I hope you like that.”

“Sounds great,” Liza said.

She sat down at her place, hoping she hadn’t kept Claire waiting too long. She had lost track of time, fussing over her e-mails and office dramas. Claire was an employee, but for some reason, it didn’t feel right treating her that way. Sometimes Liza couldn’t help feeling that she was merely a guest in Claire’s territory.

Claire sat down and then closed her eyes and bent her head for a moment. She was saying grace, Liza guessed. She waited until Claire was finished before she began eating her salad, which was a mixture of greens with icy cold thin slices of red beets on top and a sprinkling of goat’s milk cheese.

“Delicious salad,” Liza said between bites. “Is this cheese from the farm down the road?”

Claire nodded. “They started the business only a few years ago, but they’re getting quite a reputation. They sell to a lot of stores and restaurants in the city.”

“I want to pick up some lavender there to take home with me.” Liza pictured her apartment, which could have been on another planet she felt so distant from it at the moment. Had she only been here two days?

“Lavender is wonderful stuff,” Claire agreed. “Your aunt always had me spray the bed linens with lavender-scented water-for the guests and for herself, too. The scent helps you relax.”

“I have been sleeping well here,” Liza admitted. “Maybe that’s it.”

“The sea air helps. And all the hard work,” Claire added. “How is your back?” she asked with concern.

“Much better, thanks. Walking was a good idea.” Liza took another bite of the pot pie. The flaky crust just about melted in her mouth. “I met Reverend Lewis on the beach. He was surf casting.”

“Oh yes, that’s his hobby. He comes out here a lot with his rod and reel, though I’ve never seen him catch anything,” Claire added with a smile.

“He told me he wasn’t very good at it.”

“There’s more to surf casting than catching a fish for Reverend Ben,” Claire said. “I think he needs the time alone with just his own thoughts and the ocean. It refreshes his spirit, you know?

“Daniel stopped by while you were down on the beach,” Claire went on. “He left an envelope for you. I put it on the mail table.”

“That’s probably the estimate for the painting,” Liza said. “Thanks. I’ll take a look after dinner.”

Liza was far more interested in talking about Daniel than about Reverend Ben’s surf casting. She had a lot of questions about that man. But she didn’t want to be too obvious.

“I guess I’d like to hire Daniel if his price is reasonable,” she said carefully. “But I don’t know much about him. Do you think he does good work?”

“Excellent work. He’s very responsible and professional. He’s more of a carpenter. But I’m sure he’ll do a good job painting for you,” Claire added.

“He seems to do a little of everything,” Liza remarked, thinking of how he fixed the leaky pipe.

“You don’t find too many specialists out here. A person needs to be flexible to earn a living, just to get by day-to-day.”

Liza knew her aunt and uncle had been very self-sufficient, doing many jobs at the inn themselves when they were young and strong enough-painting, renovating rooms, ripping up rugs, and refinishing floors. At the time she thought they were just trying to save money. That may have been true, but it was also probably easier to do it themselves than to find someone to come out to the island.

“You have to be pretty self-reliant to live out here,” Liza agreed. “It’s not for the faint of heart, especially in the winter.”

“The winters are hard. There’s less work. And it can be hard on the soul, all the solitude and quiet. For some people, I mean.”

From her tone, Liza didn’t think Claire counted herself among those who were disturbed by the solitude. She seemed so self-sufficient and had such equanimity. But Liza still wondered if she lived all alone. Wasn’t there somebody in her life?

Was there someone in Daniel’s life? That question seemed even more interesting to her right now.

“I imagine it’s hard to support a family out here, even if both partners work.” Liza paused. “What does Daniel’s wife do?”

Claire looked up, her expression one of surprise. “Daniel isn’t married. He doesn’t have a wife.”

Liza smothered a smile. “Really? I thought he mentioned something about a wife.”

Okay, it was a bald-faced fib, but she couldn’t help it. It had slipped out as she tried to cover her tracks.

“You must have misunderstood him.”

“Yes, I must have,” Liza agreed. She sensed that Claire knew she had fibbed but was too polite to call her on it.

So, the handsome jack-of-all-trades was single. But that didn’t mean he was without a relationship. A man who looked like that had to be in a relationship. On this small island, he would have his pick of single women, Liza was sure. Or perhaps he liked playing the field and was the commitment-phobic type…

Liza caught herself, surprised by the direction of her thoughts. In the many months that she and Jeff had been separated and then finally divorced, she hadn’t thought much at all about dating. No one had really caught her eye, though she had met a few single men through work and well-meaning friends who had dragged her out to restaurants and parties.

Liza knew she wasn’t ready to take that step yet. She still felt attached to Jeff in a way. Not really married anymore-but not entirely separated either. That was more his doing than hers. It seemed he just couldn’t let go, even though he was the one who ruined it for them.

“Care for some more chicken pie?” Claire’s question broke into her rambling thoughts.

“No, thanks. It was perfect, though,” Liza said, “ just like Aunt Elizabeth’s.”

Claire seemed pleased by the compliment. “I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as good. But thank you for saying that. There’s some dessert if you’d like. A chocolate pudding pie. It’s in the fridge.”

Another one of her aunt’s specialties. A graham cracker crust filled with rich chocolate pudding and covered with whipped cream. Easy to make, deadly to eat.

Liza sighed. “I’m going to put on twenty pounds if I don’t watch out.”

Claire glanced at her and laughed. “Even if you did, it would hardly show at all.”

Not in the baggy sweats or jeans she had pulled from the charity bag to wear around the inn. But getting back into her sleek business suits and spandex gym clothes would be a challenge.

“I think I’ll pass on dessert for now,” she said finally. “Peter and Will will be here tomorrow. I’m sure that pie won’t go to waste.”

Liza helped Claire clear the table and clean up. There wasn’t much to do. Claire was the type of cook who cleaned as she went and didn’t leave a huge mess at the end. Unlike Liza, who couldn’t manage to scramble an egg without using every pot and utensil she owned. Cooking had never been her forte.

Claire closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “Looks like we’re all done. Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. Thanks for dinner.”

Claire nodded. “Do you need anything more?”

“I don’t think so.” Liza watched as Claire gathered her things, slipping on her down parka and taking a canvas tote from a hook behind the kitchen door.

“I’ll be off then. See you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to meeting your brother and your nephew,” she added.

“They’re looking forward to coming here. Well, my brother is. I’m not so sure about Will.”

Claire stood at the back door. “He’ll be fine. This place will do him good.” She nodded to herself, then went out the door.

Liza hoped the prediction was true. Claire had a way of sounding so certain of things. Liza wondered where it came from, that sense of knowing, of certainty. She felt in awe of it-and suspicious of it.

Nobody could feel that grounded and sure of things, not with the way the world was these days. Her aunt, too, had had a touch of that inner certainty. Not as much as Claire, but more and more as she had grown older.

Where did this certainty come from? Liza only wished she knew. If she could bottle it, she’d make a million.