Читать книгу Return of the Wild Son - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 9

Finnegan Cove, Michigan

April

J ENNA RACED DOWN the narrow coast route. She didn’t have to worry about cars approaching on the other side of the road. Few drivers were out at six o’clock on a Wednesday morning. If she hurried, she’d just make it to the bakery in time to help with the first tray of doughnuts.

She stretched her back muscles and stuck her arm out her open window. Maybe staying at the college library until eleven and then grabbing a few hours sleep at a friend’s place near campus hadn’t been such a good idea. She wasn’t exactly the fresh young age of a college kid, who could jump up from an air bed and jog into the start of her day. At thirty-three, she found her muscles were protesting.

She rounded a bend and kept her eyes straight ahead, determined not to look at the lighthouse. But as always, she couldn’t resist the haunting pull it had over her. In fact, she slowed her Jeep to a crawl.

The abandoned building rose like a specter in the dawn. Even through the grove of great oak trees, Jenna could see the peeling paint on the tower’s exterior walls, the crumbling stairs to the front door of the keeper’s cottage. The Fresnel lens at the top of the tower had been removed years before, after some kids had destroyed it with buckshot.

Jenna’s grandmother hated to see the building this way. She’d been raised in the small cottage, where her father had been the last light keeper of the Finnegan Cove Station. Hester had fond memories of her childhood along the lake, and the man who’d protected the shoreline. Jenna used to feel the same, but that was before the murder.

The For Sale sign that had been sitting in the yard in front of the lighthouse for over six months creaked in the early morning breeze. To Jenna’s knowledge, no one had made an offer or even looked at the place. But that would change if she had her way.

She stepped on the accelerator and sped by. Ten minutes later she swept through the louvered doors that separated the public area of Cove Bakery from the kitchen. Her mother had left the front door unlocked, probably unwise so early in the morning. Everyone, and especially Marion Malloy, knew that crime visited even this normally peaceful town.

Her mother was stacking loaves of fresh-baked bread onto the chrome rack. “Sorry I’m late,” Jenna said.

“It’s okay. I’ve got the croissants baking, and three dozen pastries are ready.” Marion wiped her hands on her apron. “Have you heard the news?”

News? Jenna had only been gone since yesterday, when she’d left for night class. “Guess not. Something going on?”

“I’ll say. Bill Hastings called last night to tell me someone had inquired about buying the lighthouse.”

Jenna froze, her hands wrapped around a stainless-steel bowl of dough. “What? Who?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just told me that a guy asked the Realtor a lot of questions about the building’s condition.”

Jenna grabbed a rolling pin and began pushing it furiously over the mound of dough she’d just slapped onto a floured cutting board. “What time is it?”

Marion glanced at her watch. “Twenty minutes after six. Why?”

“I’ve got somewhere to be at eight-thirty when Shirley gets here.”

“Where?”

“Just out.”

Marion frowned. “I know what you’re doing. You’re going to the mayor’s office to see what Bill knows about the potential buyer.”

Three Bronx cheers for a mother’s radar. “Maybe I can get him to tell me who’s interested.”

“Let it go, Jenna. That old building isn’t worth your time or worry.”

“I know that, Mom. Nobody knows that better than you and me. But I have plans for that place.”

Jenna had to strain to hear her what her mother said next, but she thought she could make out “obsession.”

“I’m aware of your plans, honey,” Marion said, “but I just don’t want you drawing attention to our family by pressuring Bill Hastings. People will talk.”

Jenna couldn’t believe her mother’s bland reaction to this possible sale. “I want them to talk, Mom. It will take more money and more people on my side before I can buy that place and tear it down.” She stopped rolling out the dough, and stared at her mother. “That lighthouse represents a very sad period of this town’s history, not just our own past.”

“And how close are you to having a down payment on that eighty thousand?”

Jenna frowned, picked up a cookie cutter and layered perfectly round biscuit dough on a baking sheet. “I just need a few more months, maybe a year.”

“I wish you’d forget about this, Jenna,” Marion said. “A young woman like you should be looking to the future, thinking about marriage, a family.”

“I am thinking about those things. All the time.”

Marion sprinkled a row of crullers with cinnamon sugar. “If you’re talking about George, then I have to point out that you’ve been planning this so-called future with him for the past three years, and there’s still no ring on your finger.”

Jenna gave her a sharp glance. “Do you really want to go there, Mom? Because if we discuss the subject of who’s living in the past, I’ll point out that you haven’t had a date since Daddy died twenty years ago.” She immediately regretted she’d said it when she saw the familiar veil of sadness creep over her mother’s eyes. Jenna stopped working and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Marion shrugged. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I just don’t want to see you follow the path I’ve taken. You’re only thirty-three. You can still make a life outside of this bakery. You’ve made a good start by taking nursing classes at the college, but you’ve got to get over this… thing you have about the lighthouse.”

Jenna stepped back. “I won’t rest until it’s torn down and something positive stands in its place. Something that serves Daddy’s memory.”

Jenna shoved a baking sheet into the oven. “And I am making a life, Mom. I’m going to graduate soon. I’ll have my nursing degree. And I have George. Once I see a beautiful green park in place of that lighthouse, my life will be just about perfect!”

Marion sighed. Jenna walked by her, picked up a waxed bag and stuffed a half-dozen chocolate-covered doughnuts into it.

“Who are those for?” her mother asked.

“Who else? Bill Hastings.” Jenna rattled the bag in the air. “If I can’t reach him with gentle persuasion, I know he’ll accept a bribe.”

“What are you going to do if he does tell you who the interested party is? Are you going to accost the guy?”

Jenna closed the sack and set it aside. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll make a friend of him. I’ll tell him if he tears down the lighthouse, I’ll suggest my plan for something in its place and he can name it the Joseph Malloy—John Doe Park.”

T WO HOURS LATER , Jenna entered the reception area of the mayor’s office and nodded to Bill Hastings’s secretary.

“Morning, Jenna,” Lucinda said.

“Hi. Is he in?”

The secretary gave a furtive look over her shoulder. “Well, yeah, I think so. But maybe I should check.”

Jenna caught a glimpse of Bill skirting his desk. He’d just grabbed the bottom of the blind on his office door window and started to yank it down when Jenna said, “Never mind. I see him.”

She strode into his office. “Hello, Bill.”

“Did Marion tell you? I wanted her to break the news, smooth over the situation.”

“She told me. No smoothing it over, though.”

He raised a hand. “Now, Jenna, don’t fly off the handle.”

“Who’s the buyer, Bill?”

He shook his nearly bald head. “I don’t know. The Realtor called to tell me someone was looking at the place. That’s all I heard.”

“Don’t sell it to him. You know I’m planning to buy it.”

Bill walked around his desk and squeezed his plump frame between the arms of his chair. “Be reasonable, Jenna. What are you going to do? Have bake sales and car washes to come up with the down payment?”

“I’ve got a committee behind me. We’re slowly getting the money together. We’ve only had a little over six months. We need more time.”

Bill had the decency to look repentant. “I’m not waiting on your committee. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think we’d get any other interest. Don’t jump to conclusions, however. This is just a first step. The guy will probably back out.”

“I don’t like the way this whole listing has been handled,” Jenna said. “You never called a meeting of citizens to discuss putting the lighthouse up for sale.”

“No, but I didn’t have to. It’s up to my discretion if I feel the entire town needs to be consulted on an issue. And I believed we could handle this decision among council members.” He stared at her. “Check the town’s policies manual, Jenna.”

“The lighthouse belongs to everybody, Bill. You had no right—”

He held up one finger. “Correction. The U.S. Coast Guard sold the station to the town council in 1969. The five council members at the time were listed as co-owners. They were given a legal deed and power of attorney to maintain or sell the property as long as it’s in the best interest of the citizens of Finnegan Cove. And each time an election was held and new council members took over, the deed was passed down.”

He clasped his hands on top of his desk. “As town leaders, we can decide the future of the light station, Jenna, and that’s what we’re doing, with the best interest of the town in mind.”

She set the bag of doughnuts on his desk and saw his gaze connect with Cove Bakery’s trademark steaming cup of coffee. “I’ve brought doughnuts.”

“That was mighty nice of you, Jenna.”

“You stop the sale of the lighthouse and I’ll bring you a half dozen every morning for the next six months.”

He stared longingly at the sack. “As much as I’d like the doughnuts, and you know I’m a big fan of your mama’s baking, the matter’s out of my hands. The council has voted.” He gave her a placating smile. “Besides, all you and your rabble-rousers want to do is tear the place down. The Michigan Beacon Society would be all over my butt if I let you do that. They want every lighthouse in the state saved if possible.”

Jenna fumed. He was so missing the point. “It’s a decaying old building, Bill. It’s unsafe. No one’s allowed inside. I want to tear it down and reopen Lighthouse Park. Put in a playground, picnic areas, make it even better than it was before…”

“Jenna, we both know why you want that building gone,” Bill said sympathetically, “and I can understand. I liked Joe.”

“Forget about my father. That’s my issue, but the Lighthouse Park Committee has a broader goal than just eliminating a tragic eyesore from our shoreline.”

Bill shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know why you didn’t just set a match to the lighthouse long ago.”

“Great idea, Bill. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But everyone would know exactly who torched the place, and I’d end up rotting away in prison just like Harley Shelton. The difference is, he deserves what he got!” She snatched up the bag of pastries. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re not taking the doughnuts, are you?”

She stared down at the bag. “You didn’t give me any information.”

“There isn’t any to give yet. The potential buyer probably won’t even show up. And if he does…”

Lucinda stuck her head in the office. “Excuse me. Bill?”

“What is it, Lucinda?”

“Mark Blayne is on the phone from Sutter’s Point Realty.” She cast a sideways look at Jenna. “The fella who’s interested in the lighthouse is coming to town this morning.”

Jenna leaned over the desk. “Won’t even show up, huh?”

Lucinda backed up a few steps. “Believe it or not, the original call came from somebody in Sutter’s Point.”

Bill beamed. “Hot diggety. This guy lives close. He’s got to know about the shape that building’s in. This is starting out to be a great day.” He glanced at Jenna and affected an expression of chagrin. “Sorry, Jenna. But it’s the wheels of progress, you know. If there’s a chance to get the lighthouse off this town’s back, I’m going to take it.”

She wanted to strangle him. Instead, she slammed the bag of doughnuts back onto his desk. It made her feel somewhat better to picture his arteries clogged with hundreds of grams of fat. And she decided to find out just exactly who from Sutter’s Point was buying the lighthouse out from under her.

J ENNA WAS BACK AT THE bakery by nine o’clock, mechanically refilling coffee cups. “Who could this buyer be?” she asked her mother.

Marion gave her a long-suffering look and began arranging clean mugs behind the counter. “He’s just looking, Jenna. We don’t know that he’s going to buy it. So why is it so important that you know his name?”

“Because maybe he’s a nice old man who just wants to do something for the community. Maybe I can talk him into donating the lighthouse back to us.”

Marion stared at her. “That wouldn’t make any sense. No one spends eighty thousand dollars on a lark—at least no one from around here. It’s more likely this guy bought it as an investment, and turning it over to you and your committee would be a ridiculous decision.”

“Then maybe he’s a developer interested in putting something new on that property. He might even like my idea for beautification.”

“Jenna, you have to stop concocting these ideas. If you really want to tackle a tough problem, think about what will happen if the place sells and we have to tell your grandmother.” Marion sighed. “I’m not sure this town is equipped to handle a rebellion at the seniors home.”

“She’ll be devastated,” Jenna agreed. “But no more than if she discovered my plans for the building.”

Marion nodded toward the front window of the shop. “Who’s that man across the street? He’s just standing there…Maybe he’s lost?”

N ATE STOPPED on the sidewalk and looked across at the grassy area that separated the two sides of Main Street. New businesses had popped up, but much about Finnegan Cove was familiar. The park benches were freshly painted. The flowers were just beginning to bloom. The brick buildings were solid and clean, their roofs in good repair. It wasn’t the sun-washed glitz of Southern California; here there was a sense of reverence for what had come before. For permanence.

Nate didn’t want to be here. He hadn’t thought about returning to this place since he’d headed his old pickup out of town two weeks after his father’s trial and pointed west. Even when he came to Michigan to visit his father, he never considered stopping in Finnegan Cove. There’d been no reason to. Those who’d once befriended the Sheltons had ended up condemning them, along with the ones who’d paid little regard to a struggling fisherman and his two sons.

Before the cancer took her, his mother had had friends. Everyone liked Cheryl Shelton. She’d been sweet and friendly and always offered a helping hand to anyone who needed it. When she died, each of the three Shelton men felt the loss deeply.

Nate looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He had a half hour before he had to meet Mike at the lighthouse. He headed toward the red-and-white-striped awning over a wooden sign advertising a bakery across the street where there’d once been a dentist’s office. He was nervous about seeing Mike again. Even before their mother died, Nate and Mike hadn’t seen eye to eye on much. Probably caffeine was the last thing Nate needed before facing his brother, but what the heck.

T HE TALL MAN IN JEANS and a light jacket Marion had pointed out was approaching the shop. The sun glinted off his dark-blond hair. His bronzed complexion told Jenna he wasn’t from around Finnegan Cove. No one on Lake Michigan had the hint of a tan in April. This guy had to be a transplant from someplace exotic and sunny. Cool and confident—that’s what he was, with the emphasis on cool. Residents of Finnegan Cove were solid, dependable, but definitely not cool.

He came inside and looked around. The last customers had left several minutes ago. The sandwich crowd wouldn’t be in for lunch for some time.

“Are you open?” the man asked, coming up to the counter.

“Until two,” Marion said.

He sat on a bar stool. Something about the man’s voice seemed familiar. Jenna studied him closely. He looked familiar, too, as if he was someone she ought to know. But that was impossible. How would she know a guy whose jeans even looked expensive—as if custom-made to fit his long, lean legs? He wore a shirt with a button-down collar. Guys in Finnegan Cove wore Wranglers from Wal-Mart, and T-shirts advertising the local bait-and-tackle hut. She couldn’t look away. The stranger was intriguing, and not just because they didn’t see many strangers before tourist season.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” he said, and pointed to the chrome cake tray covered with a plastic dome. “And that raspberry Danish.”

Marion slid the pastry onto a plate and set it in front of him. She stood a moment, her eyes intent on his face. Then she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jenna rushed over from the coffee machine. “Mom, are you all right?”

Marion’s eyes widened. Her lips twitched, as if she didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “After all these years…”

The man stared hard at her mother, then sat back on the stool. “My God. Marion Malloy?”

She exhaled a long breath and said simply, “Nate.”

Jenna dropped the cup she’d been about to fill with coffee. It broke into a dozen pieces. He tore his gaze from Marion’s face to look at her, and the past came back in a nightmarish rush. He was Nate Shelton—older, more filled out, without the wiry toughness of youth, and with a few wrinkles around his unforgettable blue eyes.

Marion cleared her throat, hurried to help Jenna clean up the mess. After throwing the shards in the trash can, she broke the awful silence. “You remember my daughter, Jenna, don’t you, Nate?”

He gave her an intense appraisal, as if trying to find her in his memory bank. “Sure,” he said after several uncomfortable moments. “You were just a kid when I…left.”

You mean when you ran away rather than face what your father had done. “I was thirteen,” she said. “Not so much a kid. Old enough.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He picked up his fork, cut into the pastry and then let it sit there. After a moment he looked at Marion and said, “So have you stayed in Finnegan Cove all this time?”

“I never thought of leaving,” she replied. “This is my home. And I bought this shop with the money…” She paused, looked down at the counter. “With the money I got after Joe died. Anyway, this is a nice business. My daughter helps out. We get along just fine.”

He nodded, acknowledged the full cup of coffee Jenna placed in front of him. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.” He took a sip. “You know, I think about what happened a lot. I’m sorry for what you went through.”

“Forget it, Nate,” Marion said. “It’s in the past.”

Forget it? Jenna rested her hip against the counter and said, “What are you doing here, Nate? I heard you were on the West Coast somewhere. Why have you come back?”

He stared up at her with those blue eyes that used to make her adolescent knees weak. “It’s kind of strange, I guess, me being here again. And my reason for being here will seem even stranger.”

She waited, raised her eyebrows in question.

“The old lighthouse,” he said. “I’m thinking about making an offer on it.”

Jenna’s heart tripped. She clutched the lapels of her blouse with trembling fingers.

He spoke matter-of-factly, as if his admission wouldn’t cut her to her core. “I’m taking a look at it this morning.”

“But you don’t live in Sutter’s Point,” she said, her voice harsh and defensive. “The man who’s interested in the lighthouse is from Sutter’s Point.”

“Oh. You must be talking about my brother, Mike. I think he’s made some inquiries about the lighthouse in the past few days.” Nate gave a half smile. “I see word still travels fast around here.”

Jenna closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at the handsome face she used to dream about years ago. The face so like his father’s.

The son of the man who had killed her dad was planning to buy the lighthouse.