Stargazey Point (10 page)

“I was afraid of that. I’ll have to order the replacement parts, but I can get by Bollinger’s tomorrow. Except I promised Millie I’d take your guest around. Maybe I should—”

“I don’t think Abbie’ll mind taking a little detour.”

Damn, cut off at the pass.
Though Cab didn’t get why he was so conflicted about taking Abbie Sinclair on a tour. She wasn’t his type, though his type had turned out to be a big bust. And he did want to get her alone so he could find out just why she was here. At the same time he didn’t want to have anything to do with her.

“Well, you gonna stand there gaping, or do you wanna go to the trouble to disconnect the engine from the mast, and see if we can clear up that hitch you’ve got?”

Cab retrieved his tool kit from the workbench. When he returned, Beau was standing on the wooden platform, hands in his pockets, surrounded by a forest of steel rods. “I remember when Ned bought this setup.
He
had to replace the engine. It had been running on steam before that.

“You coulda bowled us over with a feather when Ned ups and buys the damn thing. Didn’t know he had the inclination or the money. But he fooled us. He had both. Worked like a dog, though. Those days the beach was built up and the tourists flocked in. We were going great guns for a while.”

“I remember,” Cab said, joining him on the platform.

“And he sure loved you. The summers you spent with him was the icing on the cake, he said. Never had his own children, but he had you, and you would be the next generation to enjoy the fruits of his labor.”

“He said that?”

“Sure did. I know he’s lookin’ down saying, that’s my boy. You and this old thing meant everything in the world to him.” Beau sniffed, chose one of the wrenches, and bent over the engine. “He’d be tickled that you’ve taken over for him.”

The wall phone rang. It was the first time it had rung in days, and it startled both of them.

“Better answer that,” Beau said. “Might be an emergency.”

“Maybe.” Cab walked toward the phone, but instead of answering it, he listened to the caller leave his message.

“Hey, Cab, it’s Frank.” Frank Toohey, his colleague back in Atlanta. “Where are you? I know you’re there. Unless the gators got ya.” A hearty chuckle; Frank loved his own repartee. “Anyway, Tony and I are gonna be up in Myrtle Beach this weekend. Thought we’d stop by on our way up. See if you’ve had enough of backwater living. So find us a decent place for dinner if there are any.” There was a pause. “Oh, and just so you won’t be surprised, we’re bringing Bailey. See you in a few.”

The call ended and Cab erased the message, though he felt more like tearing the phone off the wall.

Beau was watching him. “Woman troubles?”

“Not anymore.” Over the months he’d gotten to know Beau, he’d told him about his past life and his aborted engagement. He’d been hurt when Bailey had called it off, but not all that surprised. He’d gotten over her. He’d gotten over it all. He really, really didn’t want to be dragged through it all again.

A
bbie was ready the next morning at ten sharp. Cabot had called the night before to make the arrangements. He hadn’t talked to Abbie directly but passed the information through Millie, who took the opportunity to reiterate what a lovely young man he was.

Abbie let it pass. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to have to defend herself from untoward advances from Cabot the third. He plainly wasn’t interested, and Abbie hoped the tour would be short.

At ten fifteen, Cabot called to say he was running late. Again Millie took the call, reiterating what a lovely man he was and adding that he worked just too darn hard.

When he finally showed up at twelve thirty, Abbie was playing Solitaire at the kitchen table, listening to Marnie and Millie squabble over which tomatoes were the ripest.

Millie ran out to meet him, and Abbie followed reluctantly behind. Since it was a sightseeing tour, she’d opted for dark-washed jeans and a V-neck sweater. Conservative but not fussy. She could tell the minute she stepped off the stairs earlier that morning that Millie did not approve. She probably thought Abbie should wear a dress and heels.

Cabot was standing in the foyer, and she was relieved to see him also in jeans. Though he looked anything but casual. He looked as trapped as she felt. She got a sudden image of her junior prom and facing the boy she’d invited to go with her. He’d been smart and sort of gawky, and she invited him because she felt sorry for him. It had been an excruciating evening for both of them. Cabot the third was far from gawky, but that didn’t assuage her doubts about the coming day.

She adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag and smiled. “Sure you’re up for this?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, ignoring her question.

Millie walked them to the door and practically pushed them out to the porch. “Y’all have a good time and don’t worry about hurryin’ back.”

“We won’t be too long,” Abbie and Cabot answered together.

“Oh, pooh, you two stay out as late as you want.” Millie frowned down at a silver newer-model Range Rover that was parked at the front steps. It was covered with splashes of dried mud and a layer of red dust.

“Don’t say it, Millie. I’ve been busy. If Ms. Sinclair doesn’t mind, I’ll stop by the car wash on our way to Bollinger’s.” He turned to Abbie, charming smile back intact. “Or I could run out there first and come back for you. I have to run a couple of errands and then the day is yours.”

Abbie just looked at him. The day was already half over. But Cabot the third smiled, and Abbie could practically hear Millie’s heart pattering.

Abbie only felt the underlying bite of hostility beneath that façade of Southern charm.

“Don’t stop at the car wash on my account,” said Abbie, leaving him on the porch and trotting down the stairs to the Range Rover. Before he could get to her, she’d opened the front door and climbed into the passenger’s seat, scandalizing Millie and forcing a reluctant grin from The Third.

“See you later, Miz Millie,” Cabot said and went around to his side of the SUV.

Abbie settled back in her seat determined to enjoy the scenery, even if her tour guide was less than congenial. There was nothing either of them could do except get through it; then Millie would be happy, and their obligation would be fulfilled.

“Hundred-year-old red oaks,” Cabot said as they passed down the drive to the street.

Abbie started. It seemed that Cabot had begun his tour duty.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Yes, they are.”

They lapsed into silence. Abbie usually didn’t have trouble drawing people out, which is why Werner had depended on her for choosing who to interview and later had her conduct the interviews on camera as well.

Had she lost those skills, that empathy people trusted? Did Cabot Reynolds feel threatened for some reason? Or was it because she felt threatened? By what? The Third’s pedigree? She wasn’t sure he had one. Maybe he was just a mongrel trying to be something he wasn’t. Or had she reached the point where she just needed to hold everyone at arm’s length?

They passed out of the trees, stopped at the end of the drive, then Cabot turned the SUV toward town.

“Are there more houses down the other way?” Abbie asked.

“Yes. Is that what you want to see?”

“Not really, I was just wondering.”

“There are several, but only the Crispins have ocean frontage.” His lips tightened as if he’d exchanged a confidence he shouldn’t have.

Abbie leaned back and looked out the window. She was getting a little tired of his surliness. Maybe he’d forgotten to take his medication. She tried to think of crazy fictional characters from the South, but she couldn’t imagine him in an undershirt, yelling “Stella!” at the top of his lungs.

“What’s that for?”

“What’s what?” she asked.

“The smile.”

She was smiling? That had to be a good sign. “Nothing. Do I have to have a reason to smile?”

He didn’t answer, but expelled a breath—the long-suffering hero—and they’d been gone less than five minutes. If she were smart, she’d bail while they were still close enough for her to walk home.

“This is town. If you look to your right, you’ll see the pier—or what’s left of it. The last hurricane destroyed it, the beach, and most of the buildings at this end of town.”

“The town decided not to build it back?”

“They would if—there’s no reason to. The beaches have eroded almost to nothing. The roads from the highway are narrow and nearly impassable when it rains. And as you’ll see as we pass through the three blocks of downtown proper, there’s no entertainment to speak of.”

“I hope you aren’t in the habit of giving guided tours.”

“Why?”

“You don’t make Stargazey Point sound very appetizing.”

“Well, it’s nice enough if you don’t want much. No room to grow. Got a national park to the northwest, highways to the west, and not much usable shoreline.”

“Well, I think it’s beautiful.” She said it partly just to be difficult, but also because it was the truth. Stargazey Point had a quiet charm about it. An oasis in the bustle of crowded boardwalks and congested highways. And if its beach wasn’t very wide, it made up for it in the softness of the white sand. And the people she’d met, with the possible exception of her driver, were laid-back and friendly.

They passed the building with the cupola and she was going to ask him what it was, but Sarah Davis stepped out from the community center, grinned, and waved. Abbie waved back.

Cabot slanted Abbie a dark look. “It has no attractions like Myrtle Beach, no theme parks. No hotels and no room to build any,” he added quickly. “Same thing goes for golf courses.”

“I think the inn is lovely and the lack of amenities might be a drawing card for people looking for a quiet, charming place to vacation.”

“They can go to Hilton Head or Charleston and get all the charm they want.”

“Ah,” she said, suddenly understanding what was going on. “You just don’t want any tourists mucking up your home, is that it?”

“Tourists? We could use some tourism. But I might as well lay it on the line. We don’t want some big corporation coming in, razing the place, and then locking everybody out.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Or any small corporations or individual developers either.”

“Good.”

Cabot just kept frowning at her, which was odd. Maybe he had his own plans for Stargazey Point.

As they drove through town, Cabot the third dutifully pointed out each business. But he never stopped the SUV.

A little white church marked the end of town. It had a stubby steeple and small sunny cemetery off to one side. Abbie closed her eyes until they were past.

On the outskirts of town, they slowed down in front of a white clapboard house with the popular blue trim where an old woman and a little boy sat on the front stoop. The woman was shelling peas into a plastic bowl, but she looked up and nodded when Cab beeped the horn. The boy jumped up and dashed out to run alongside the Range Rover. Cabot slowed down and played along for a few moments, then waved out the window as they left the boy behind.

“Everyone seems to know you,” Abbie said conversationally. “The beauty of small town life.”

“The beauty and the bane.”

Okay, conversation was going to be stilted at best and painful most of the time. Except that she kept coming back for more.
The way to get to the real truth,
Werner told her whenever she stopped short in an interview.
Badger them until they finally open up or get caught in their own lies
. But did she really want to know more about Cabot Reynolds the third? Did she care?

He might be a plumber or independently wealthy or just shabby genteel. His jeans were Levi’s not Calvin’s. But his car was strictly upwardly mobile. He owned horses, according to Sarah. But he hadn’t volunteered anything about himself.

“Are your ‘people’ from around here?”

“My people,” he said, mimicking her tone, “are from around Boston.”

“Boston? What on earth are you doing down here?”

His frown deepened. “Showing you the sights.”

They lapsed back into silence.

The houses became sparser, less tended. Each hugged the road, tethered to telephone lines by sagging wires. The last house was a deserted wooden shack, balanced precariously between a patch of dirt that had once served as a parking lot and a slash of bulldozed earth at its back. A rotting sign above the boarded door spelled out cook’s bb. The rest of the sign had fallen to the ground.

“A friend of mine used to own that, best barbecue on the coast,” Cabot said.

Abbie looked back and saw the brick smokehouse standing alone among the scarred ground. “What happened? A hurricane?”

Cabot shot her a sideways glance. “Developer. Bought it for a song.”

“Doesn’t look like they’ve done much developing.”

“No.” His tone was harsh. It was pretty obvious where he stood on developing the coastline. She didn’t blame him. It had a certain wild, but gentle beauty, a tenuous balance that even the most conscientious builder couldn’t keep from disturbing. And the fact that some were unscrupulous enough to cheat the people who had a real claim to the land brought out her crusader spirit—but it wasn’t her business, not anymore. Not their histories, their needs, their desires, their stories. She no longer had the right to enter their lives.

Cabot sped up and they left Stargazey Point behind. He concentrated on the road, not bothering to make conversation. Abbie just breathed in the fresh air and tried to enjoy the scenery. Tried to forget why she was here. Tried not to worry about where she was going.

“Something wrong?”

She glanced over at her driver, who was frowning at her. “No. Why?”

“You sighed like maybe you wished you hadn’t come.”

“You mean you’re hoping I’ll change my mind and free up your day?”

“No. Whether we like it or not, neither of us can avoid this little tour. Millie has a way of getting her way.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was sighing with pleasure.”

That gained her another frown.

They drove over a causeway, but instead of coming to signs of civilization like the shopping malls and highway hotels she had passed on her way from the airport, they seemed to be going farther into the wilderness.