Inheritance, page 12
“Now you’re impugning my manhood.”
He took off his coat, tossed it on her chair.
No flannel shirt this time, but a navy sweater and black trousers.
She actually gripped her hands together when he picked it up.
“It’s so heavy. We really can wait until—”
“I’ve got it.”
When he hauled it up the stairs, she followed him.
“Which side?”
“The left.” She rushed to open it. “Everything else is on the other side now, and the power strip’s right there. God, thank you.”
“Let me plug it in. I’m down here anyway.”
While he did, she glanced over at the couch. The throw, folded, draped over the back.
“Want it on?”
“What?”
“The printer. Do you want it on?”
“Oh. Yes, please. You’re stronger than you look.”
When he straightened, he smiled at her. “How do I look?”
“Well, lanky. More like a runner than a weight lifter.”
“You can do both.”
“Apparently. Are you sure I can’t get you coffee? Or coffee cake?”
“Anna’s coffee cake’s tempting, but I’ve got a client.”
“I really appreciate you taking the detour.”
“No trouble,” he said as they started down. “How’s it going for you? Figuring things out, sleeping okay?”
“Slowly figuring, and sleep hasn’t been a problem, as I’ve conked early two nights running. A little off, I guess, moving things around when I’m half-asleep.”
Watching her, he shrugged back into his coat. “Really?”
“Like not remembering putting my phone on the charger, but hey, there it is. Absent-minded stuff, which tells me I need to get out. I’m going into the village today, try to get my bearings there.”
“Good idea.”
He looked at her, she thought, as he had her mood board.
Taking time.
“If you’re up for it, you could come by the office, meet with Dad. He’ll want to follow up with you.”
“I could.” Should, she amended. “I’ll call for an appointment.”
“I’ve got that.” Trey pulled out his phone. “His schedule’s on here, since Ace and I would handle his appointments if the boss didn’t clear him. He’s got eleven-thirty, one-thirty, and three open.”
“Ah, well … three?”
“You’re in. We’re on Bayview, a block off High Street, north side of the village.”
“Thanks. Really.”
“You’re welcome. Really.”
The minute she shut the door behind him the music started.
“Are you serious?” “Hooked on a Feeling,” she thought, rolling her eyes as she started upstairs. She hadn’t known she’d put it on her playlist, only recognized it from the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack.
“And I’m not hooked on a feeling just because he’s got those blue eyes, and the rest. Plus, I’m going to stop talking to myself. Right now.”
Calculating the time, she decided to start a fire after all. She could take a couple hours, print out what she wanted, go over the work for Anna one more time, then send it off before she cleaned up and drove to the village.
And when she went to the fireplace, she saw a nicely shoveled-out hearth and wood stacked for burning.
“When the hell did I do that?”
She tried thinking back, going over her steps, but just couldn’t remember.
“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “Just being efficient.”
She lit the starter, and caught herself rubbing a chill from her arms as she stepped back.
“Adjusting. I’m just adjusting to a lot of everything. And why shouldn’t I talk to myself? Who the hell cares?”
She went back to the desk, printed out the templates for the projected brochure, business card, a design for a potential ad.
Once she’d retrieved them, added them to her board, she sat again. She brought up the inactive website on her computer screen, on her tablet, on her phone.
“Really want those photos, from clay to finished piece. A time-lapse video. Oh yeah, wouldn’t that be cool?”
It wouldn’t hurt to have some visuals of the village on the About tab, she considered. She’d take some with her phone when she got there, upload them, see how they worked.
The bare bones of it looked good on a mobile, she thought as she scrolled through on her phone. The typography, the color, the shapes. Of course, there would be photos to load, the shopping cart to build, but yeah, good bones.
Satisfied, she wrote the email to Anna and sent the links.
If she didn’t like it, well, she’d be wrong, but she was entitled.
She turned her tablet off, left it charging. Taking her phone with her, she crossed to the bedroom.
Where the fire simmered.
She didn’t remember turning it on. She sure as hell didn’t remember making the bed.
Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she did her best to breathe through the sudden crash of nerves.
She just needed to get out, get some fresh air. Walk outside.
She felt steadier after a shower, and decided on a dark green sweater, a grey wool vest, and pants. She took her time with makeup because she planned to meet shopkeepers, locals, and first impressions mattered.
Better, definitely better, she thought. She looked friendly, professional. And sane.
Deliberately—making a mental note of it—she turned off the fire.
Downstairs, she got her coat, a cap, fussed a bit with the arrangement of her scarf. Not just for warmth, she thought, but style.
As she reached for her gloves, she heard a door creak open—or closed. Ignoring it, she grabbed the house keys and left.
The air hit fresh—and cold—with a brisk wind blowing in from the water. It filled her, she realized, that endless view, the wonderfully fierce sound of water surging against the rocky shore.
She needed to get out like this—even just for a walk. She crossed the pavers to her car, and sent a thanks to John Dee for clearing them and her car after the snowstorm.
The road wasn’t bad either, she noted as she carefully navigated the curves. At some point, she needed to check out the garage and the truck in it. But her car held its own just fine.
She had a solid ninety minutes before her appointment, so she’d make good use of it.
She liked the hints of the bay, the village as she drove down, and noted the white, red-capped lighthouse on the far point beyond it.
Something worth another visit—maybe in warmer weather. Today, she’d find a place to park, pop into a few of the stores. Meet some people, buy a little something, as supporting local shops mattered.
Maybe grab some lunch. She wondered if the pizzeria served it by the slice. She’d like a slice of pizza.
She’d drive down to the bay, take some photos. Potentially for Anna’s website—hell, maybe her own. But also to send to her mother, to Cleo.
As she drove into the village, she let out a happy sigh. Just what she needed. People, places, movement. After only a couple days in the manor, she’d begun to understand how easily it would be to become a recluse—as her uncle had.
With everything right there—the space, the views, winter roaring outside—why not stay in the warm and the quiet?
And talk to yourself, she thought.
Whoever took charge of street cleaning had done the job, and she parked at the curb in front of the bookstore.
She’d make a note of town businesses, check their websites, their online presence.
A woman with a two-story library hardly needed books, but to Sonya’s mind nothing held the pulse of a community like a bookstore.
She studied the sign—well done, good graphics—then climbed the trio of steps to the covered porch. Chimes rang as she opened the door.
It smelled of books, coffee, and fresh orange peel.
The long counter to her left held the coffee station, a checkout station, and a workstation with a monitor. To the right, books lined free-standing bookcases, made clever stacks on tables. Along with them stood spinners of bookmarks, greeting cards.
A woman with streaky brown hair worn in a bouncy tail looked up from the monitor. “Hi, welcome to A Bookstore. Can I help you find anything?”
“I thought I’d look around.” She walked to the counter, held out a hand. “I’m Sonya MacTavish. I’m living up at the manor.”
“Collin Poole’s niece.” The woman pushed off her stool, took Sonya’s extended hand. “It’s great meeting you! Diana Rowe. Everyone’s been wondering when you’d come into the village. How about some coffee, tea, hot chocolate? On the house.”
“I’d love some coffee.”
“The white chocolate mocha’s our flavor of the month.”
“Who am I to say no to that? It’s a great store.”
“There’s more in the back. Books, of course,” she said as she went to the coffee station. “And sidelines. Soy candles made locally, T-shirts, book bags. Feel free to look around. Here’s my partner. Anita, it’s Collin Poole’s niece, Sonya.”
“Oh! I see it. You’ve got your uncle’s eyes. Welcome to Poole’s Bay.”
“Thanks.”
Anita had a thick, soft fall of light brown hair and a firm handshake.
“Are you settling in? The manor’s an amazing place.”
“It is. I’m starting to settle.”
“The library,” Anita said in tones of reverence.
“My favorite room.”
“Collin was a big reader.” Diana brought the coffee around the counter, offered it. “He used to come in at least once or twice a month. Not so much in the last few years.”
“He’d call in an order,” Anita continued. “Deuce Doyle—I know he’s handling the estate, so you’ve met him—would pick them up and take the books to him. Or Trey would—Deuce’s son—if he couldn’t make it.”
“I know you never met him,” Diana said, “but he was really well-liked. We just loved him, didn’t we, Anita?”
“We did, and we miss him. Why don’t we show you the rest of the store?”
When the door opened, bells chiming, Diana waved them off. “I’ve got this.”
“You’re a graphic designer, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right. Oh, this is wonderful.”
Two cozy chairs faced an electric fireplace. More books, a section for kids with some pint-sized chairs. An open corner cabinet displayed the local candles, diffusers. Another held colorful T-shirts and book bags.
“You’ve got more space than I thought from outside. And you’ve managed to make it cozy.” After a sip of coffee, Sonya lifted her eyebrows. “Where’s this been all my life?”
“Diana’s got a knack. The coffee’s locally roasted. Poole’s Bay supports Poole’s Bay. Have you met your cousins yet?”
“No.”
“You’ve barely had time to unpack. The Pooles still build the best wooden sailing ships in Maine—in my opinion. Fiberglass boats and so on, too, but they keep up the founder’s tradition.
“I’ll let you browse. Just call on me or Diana if you need anything.”
The woman with a two-story library ended up leaving with three books, two bookmarks, and a pretty bag to carry them in.
She got her slice of pizza—solid A—and sat at the counter chatting with the man on duty who tossed dough to the approval of the lunch crowd.
She stopped in the gift shop that carried Anna’s pottery, had yet another conversation about her uncle with the assistant manager, who sold her one of Anna’s pots. An actual pot that would display Xena perfectly.
Another stop netted her a hand-knit scarf she didn’t need but was oh so soft and pretty. Plus, another contact, another conversation before she drove down to the bay.
She stood in the winter wind, taking pictures, watching boats and buoys bounce in the waves. And she marveled at the sight of the manor high up on the cliffs to the north.
And to the south, with the lighthouse above, the weathered brick buildings that housed Poole Shipbuilders.
Another day, she thought—maybe. How could she be sure how her “cousins” felt about her inheritance?
She’d give that some time, give them some space.
Maybe Oliver Doyle could give her a little better feel for that, and them.
She glanced at the time on her phone.
And no time like the now to find out.
In a fresh gust of wind, she walked back to her car to drive to her appointment.
Chapter Nine
The beauty of small towns, Sonya discovered, was you’d have to work hard to get lost.
One block west across High Street, and she was there.
The law office stood on the corner inside another Victorian.
Not with the size and scale of the manor, she noted, but absolutely charming.
They’d gone a sagey green for the cladding, cream for the trim on the fanciful three-story. A covered porch stood on one side of the entrance doors and an angled turret on the other.
Peaked roofs, a pair of dormers, what she thought of as kind of a half turret on the far side of the third floor.
Trey’s apartment, she thought, and it would have a wonderful view of the bay, the point, the lighthouse.
They’d provided a space for parking, but since it seemed nearly full, she pulled up to the curb and wound her way up the path to the short stairs with their twin rails to the entrance.
No doubt it had once been a home, and if it remained one, she’d have knocked. But thinking business, she tried the door.
And walked into the hum of an office.
The requisite fireplace crackled with light, and the generous windows offered more.
They kept it homey, she supposed, yet dignified with the dark millwork, a waiting area with chairs upholstered in burgundy and navy. A woman somewhere in her fifties sat at a desk. From just a few days at the manor, Sonya thought she recognized it as an antique.
The woman had a short cap of steel-gray hair, a sharp-jawed face, and cheaters perched on her nose.
The fingers flying—no other word for it—over a keyboard paused. “Good afternoon.”
And there, Sonya thought, was the down east accent she’d wanted to hear.
“Hi. I’m Sonya MacTavish. I have a three o’clock with Mr. Doyle. The second Mr. Doyle.”
“You’ve got the look of him. Poole green eyes. Could use a little more meat you don’t want to get blown off in a nor’easter. Have a seat, I’ll let Deuce know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
Sonya chose a chair, noted another desk—currently empty—sat across the room.
“Collin’s niece is here. Ayah,” the woman said so Sonya had to bite back a smile.
She hung up the phone, and when she rose, Sonya assumed she’d sat on cushions, as she barely topped five feet.
“I’ll take you back.”
“Thanks. Did you know my uncle?”
“Of course I did. Went to school together, didn’t we?”
She led the way down a wide hallway, paused at a set of pocket doors.
“First boy I kissed. No spark on either side, but you don’t know till you know.” She opened the doors.
“You don’t get coffee unless you drank that tea I made you. And I’ll know if you lie.”
Deuce pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“I drank it, Sadie, and it’s every bit as nasty as I remember from last time.”
She stood in the doorway, eyeing him. Then nodded. “All right then, I’ll get you coffee. How do you take yours?” she asked Sonya.
“Actually, I just had coffee at the bookstore, so—”
“Water then. Keep hydrated.”
Deuce rose as Sadie marched off. “Sadie runs my life here; my wife runs it at home. What I need is a hunting cabin.” He crossed the room to take both her hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to welcome you to the manor.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Just a cold, but between the two women running my life, you’d think I had the plague. Sit, come sit. Tell me how you are.”
He took one of the two wing chairs facing the desk.
“I’m told you’re working up something for Anna.”
“Yes, I sent her some options before I came into the village. I want to thank you, your family, for everything you’ve done.”
“Collin would’ve done the same for mine. What do you think of the manor?”
“It’s a cliché, but truth. The pictures don’t do it justice. My father’s painting…”
Now he reached over, laid a hand over hers.
“I honestly didn’t realize it was your father’s work, and don’t know how that slipped by me. I assumed Collin had painted it.”
“Their styles were similar.”
“I wish I could tell you how and when Collin acquired it, but I don’t know. We were in our twenties when Collin moved into the manor. Honestly, I don’t remember that painting not being in his office once he set it up.”
Sadie came in with a mug of coffee and a glass of water.
“Sadie, Collin, and I went to school together.”
“I tried them both out. No spark. Turned out I like girls.”
She went out, closed the door.
Deuce shook his head. “She marches to her own—and drums you right along with her. I couldn’t manage without her. She and Maureen have been together nearly thirty years, I’d say. They’d be among the few who spent any real time with Collin the last four or five years, so may be able to fill in some blanks if you need them filled.”
“She’s a little scary, but I may risk it.”
“Oh, she’s a lot scary.” He said it with a laugh. “And she was fond of Collin. So. Trey gave you information on the local banks, doctors, and all of that. Do you need any guidance there?”
“I’ll open an account this week. I should’ve done that today, but I wanted to just … look around. I decided I’ll use the bank my uncle used. It seems simpler.”
“I think that’s a good choice. You set up your office in the library! Another good choice. It’s a marvelous room.”
“It is. Everything is. I don’t know how to handle it. What I mean is, I didn’t expect to love it. And I do, and at the same time it’s so intimidating.”
