A Shore Thing (19 page)

“Who? You mean the developer? The architect? Future buyers of all those condos?” I glanced at Nancy who lowered her eyes.

He shook his head. “You are a brilliant woman, but you just don’t understand business. Think about all the businesses in town that would benefit from a project like that.” He pointed at Vince. “You could insure all those new residents.”

I waved my hands. “Okay, so let me get this straight. My evil scheme to protect the Kitteridge property along the marine sanctuary from development is prohibiting local businesses from flourishing. Have I got that right?”

Greta’s face paled. “I think he just means that this has happened so fast, Callie. We don’t really understand all the consequences of your plan.” She turned to Bobby. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

I shook my head. “Something happened, Bobby. What is it?”

Greta’s face registered surprise. She looked to me then her husband.

Sheila passed a tray of muffins. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’ve had enough of this subject for one evening. Oh, to have a Sunday supper without controversy.” She fanned herself and I half expected Sheila to fall into a Gone-with-the-Wind type swoon.

Bobby crouched forward. “I’ll tell you what it is, you know my chief investor, Henry? Remember him? He called this morning after reading yet another news story about the unstoppable Callie Duflay and told me quite bluntly that if SOS succeeds, he might not have a good reason to invest in phase two of my storage facility.”

Greta gasped. “What? Why?”

He twisted his face toward her. “Because if our community refuses to grow, then he sees no need to continue adding storage space in town.”

My shoulders drooped. “That’s ridiculous and you know it, Bobby. You are already bursting at the seams without this development. Can’t he see that?”

Bobby wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Who am I to challenge his reasoning? The guy makes his living investing in other people’s dreams. If he thinks losing this development will have a negative impact on business, then I take notice.”

My mother’s strained chuckle disrupted the thickness hanging in the room. “My Callie.” She fingered the string of polished red beads hanging around her neck. “You’ve been a mighty busy girl. All this in just two weeks?”

Sheila licked her napkin and ran it over Blakey’s face. “All this talk about how this will affect local businesses brings up something I’ve been meaning to ask, Callie.” She turned toward me, while smoothing out her napkin and dropping it into her lap. “Have you considered how this will affect the Kitteridges?”

Jim and I exchanged a glance. Careful here. It would be too easy to betray June’s confidence right now. One word of the Kitteridges’ troubles, however, and this conversation would be over. The sliced potatoes on my plate were getting cold, but I nibbled on them anyway, taking my time to answer. I placed my fork back onto the plate. “June and I have spoken.” I felt Jim’s stare. “And they are more than willing to entertain a sale to the community should we be able to raise the money.” In time.

Sheila shifted her eyebrows. “Well. Then they are generous people. You are lucky.” She threw up her hands and reached into a drawer beneath the buffet table behind her. “I almost forgot. One of the parents from Blakey’s kindergarten class asked me to give you this.” She held out an envelope. “It’s a donation to SOS, but don’t expect it to be for too much. They drive an old van.”

I accepted the envelope from her, still aware of Bobby’s palpable anger. The last thing I wanted was for his business to suffer. “Thanks.”

Our mother clapped her hands. “What say we all have a toast, hmm? Go on everybody, raise your glasses.” She surveyed all of us. “Now, here’s to adventure—for all of us.”

“Here, here.” Laughter burst forth. Water glasses clanked. Cheeriness, however, eluded me until Brenna and Blakey slid from their chairs and surrounded mine. While the rest of the family started up new conversations while continuing to dine, I swiveled to get a better look at my young niece and nephew.

Blakey sat on his heels and whispered up at me. “You should take us for ice cream sometime.”

Brenna nodded, her voice also a whisper. “Yeah. You should. You have been very busy lately, Auntie Callie.”

I smiled. “I have, haven’t I?” I brushed her bangs away from her eyelashes.

She leaned in until I could smell her pure, childlike breath. “My mom wants me to cut them but I think I should make my own decision about that. Don’t you?”

I sucked in my breath, trying not to laugh. “Well your mama has your best interest in mind. Still, I think you are smart to tell her how you feel.”

Brenna’s large eyes implored mine, her voice still a whisper. “I won’t tell her you said so ’cuz that might make her mad.”

I pressed my lips together. “Fine. How about I take you for ice cream after school tomorrow?”

Blakey bobbed his head and threw a fist into the air. “Yes!”

Aside from my parents whose job it was to love me, it was nice to know I still had a few fans left in this family.

Chapter Twenty

Holly, rocketing by with a tray full of food, nearly ran me over as I ducked for cover after entering the RAG.

“Hey there, sorry!” she called over her shoulder.

I waved her off and righted myself. My mind had been a whirl from early this morning when I stepped outside to water my rain garden and I remembered the note I’d found over the weekend. It irked me that my brain continued to give the incident second thoughts.

In the back of the restaurant, the core leadership group of SOS had gathered to discuss the latest updates and news regarding the Kitteridge property. I hurried toward them when a voice snagged me from one of the side tables. “Callie!”

“Squid?”

He tapped a finger on his forehead, saluting me. I raised my hand in a wave and then noticed a wispy blonde sitting next to him. Her silken white hair split at her shoulders. “This is Peyton.”

She waved four fingers at me.

“Hi.” I cocked my head at Squid. “Thought you had already headed back to SLO for the week.”

He shook his head, probably hoping I didn’t notice the almost imperceptible look he sent Peyton. “I had some things to take care of up here. How about you? What brings you to this fine dining establishment?”

I glanced to the back. “A meeting with the SOS group.”

His eyes lit with recognition. “Ah. Well, don’t let us stop you, then.” His eyes lingered a beat longer. “See you Friday?”

I smiled and shrugged. “Guess we will. Nice meeting you, Peyton.”

She waved the same four fingers at me again, and I tried not to think about how young and skinny and, well, young she appeared.

The core group of SOS sat in the back sampling pastries and sipping coffee. I poured myself a cup and addressed them. “Thanks everyone for meeting here today. Great to see you all. I’m going to run down our list of officers and if you have something to share with the group, now would be a great time. Okay, let’s start with PR. Ruth?”

Ruth stood, clipboard in her hands. Even inside, she wore her signature floppy hat. “Heavens, it has been a busy week.” She turned to me. “Plan to get even busier.”

The group laughed.

She continued. “Now, Eliot, with the paper, will be running a regular feature on the progress of SOS. I’ve given him all of your contact information as he’ll be wanting to get quotes from you all. And for heaven’s sake, try to make yourselves sound intelligent. No ‘uhs’ or ‘ums’ or long-winded speeches that mean nothing—you’re not politicians! Think: sound bite.”

Gracie raised her hand. “I don’t think I understand what that is.”

“It’s a snippet of a statement, Gracie.” Ruth sighed and looked to me. “You’re an expert now. You explain it.”

I sat up straight, contemplating how to put this in simple terms. “A sound bite is usually just a few words or one sentence. The words have to be important so that newscasters and writers will replay or rewrite them over and over again.”

Gracie nodded her hands folded in front of her. “Something pithy, then?”

I held back a smile. “Yes. Pithy. That’s good.”

“Moving on.” Ruth looked at Bill. “You. How’s the word of mouth going with the geezers down at the donut shop?”

“Good. Good.” He bit into a peach Danish, chasing it down with a swig of coffee.

“All right then. Neta, did you get the latest report from the bank?”

“That I did! And you’re going to be thrilled, just tickled.” She groped around for her notebook while we waited. After retrieving it, Neta stood in silence.

“Well?” Ruth’s eye had closed halfway. “Get on with it.”

Neta jerked. “Oh. Sorry.” She examined her notes, adjusting her reading glasses. “As of this morning, we have received $29,382.00 in pledges.”

We all burst into applause. My mouth popped open. “Wow. Really? That’s . . . it’s fantastic. How much of that money has been received, roughly?”

Neta peered through her glasses again at the scrawling on her notepad. “Says here the bank has received a grand total of $1,200.50.” She looked up. “Do you want me to read it again?”

I swallowed and shook my head. “No, but I think we’d all better impress upon people that there is a deadline. We must have cash in hand for the Kitteridges to be able to accept our offer.”

“Phew, oh Callie, you’re still here.” Steph blew in, her cheeks flushed, her belly threatening to birth twins. “I gotta sit.”

“Absolutely. Take my chair.” I helped her into it. “What made you come all the way down here?”

She gaped at me. “Don’t you remember? I said I’d be the head of the prayer team.”

“Of course. Yes. I knew that.”

“Just came by to tell y’all that we’ve got you covered.”

Ruth bent forward. “Covered? What do you mean ‘covered’?”

Steph blew out a few Lamaze-style breaths. “Covered in prayer. My team of women meets twice a week to pray about all our needs. We should meet every day—everybody seems to have so many needs. Anyway, we’ve been meeting and praying and listening to God and I don’t know, just felt like I should be here.”

Ruth batted at the gnat that crisscrossed in front of her face. “Can’t imagine why.”

I placed a hand on Steph’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming. I’m grateful.” I scanned the group. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got much to do. I’ll be working with our Webmaster this afternoon to set up ways to get the word out to the community. So if you won’t mind, I’d better—”

“Wait!” Ruth held her clipboard out like a stop sign. “I forgot to mention that you’re being interviewed today on the news.”

“Today? What time?”

She glanced at her notes. “Down in SLO at 3:30. You’ll be on around four. Meant to tell you but with you running late again and all the things I’ve been doing, I forgot. Here.” She handed me a sheet of paper. “Here are the directions. Wear something dark and solid, so you look professional.”

Television. Probably the best way to get out the message about our campaign, but I’d never been on camera; never even been in a crowd scene during a televised event. Would it be cowardly to admit how the thought of being interviewed on camera made my knees quiver?

It would and I knew it, so I glanced at Ruth. “Good job, PR Lady. I’m all over it.”

Thing was, I had no idea what that entailed.

GAGE

HUNGER HAD DETERRED GAGE from inputting even one more piece of data into the Computer-Aided Design software on his computer. He pulled into his drive, grateful he lived close enough to dash home and eat a late lunch or really an early dinner, still able to return to the office for another long night.

A sleek, black car, far less practical than his truck, sat in his drive.

He called in through his front door. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Mitchell.”

The babysitter. He had been so focused on the intensity of his work that Gage had forgotten that Suz would still be at Callie’s, and Jer’s babysitter would be here with him. He scooped up Jer as he ran down the hall. “Hey, buddy. This your new sitter?”

Jer bobbed his head. “She’s funny.”

Gage leaned against the wall while Jer bounced in his arms. “Is that right? Nice to see you again, Tori. I just stopped in to grab a bite to take back to the office with me.”

“That’s fine. We’re just playing. Wanna go get one of your toys, Jeremiah?” She plucked Jer from his arms and scampered with him down the hallway.

Since Suz and Jer moved in, the refrigerator held more surprises than it had with just a bachelor in residence. Leftovers made the world go ’round, he always thought, probably because their mother loved to cook. That and she sold Tupperware for a time, so something could always be found burped and sealed within the many-sized containers they owned. From all the dated terra-cotta hued plastic inside their fridge, Suz had acquired much of their mother’s collection.

He set an iron skillet atop the gas burner and began warming his lunch: turkey stroganoff over egg noodles. As the kitchen began to swirl with the aroma, Gage’s stomach protested the long wait. He switched on the television in the living room to pass the time.

Commercials on every channel. He increased the volume and turned to check on lunch. Jeremiah’s heavy steps clomped down the hall and followed him into the kitchen. His nephew clambered onto a chair. “Whatcha eatin’?”