Stargazey Point (12 page)

“Bubba, you leave Cab and his girl alone.”

Bubba rolled his head, padded past Cabot, and snuffled Abbie’s hand.

“Bubba,” Quincy commanded halfheartedly.

“He’s all right,” Abbie said. She leaned over and took Bubba’s jowls between her hands. Gave them a good scratch.

“Bubba, he’s got a way with the ladies,” Quincy said. “He sure does.” He chuckled. “Uh-huh, he sure does. Let’s load this stuff in your truck, Cab.”

The two men headed outside, leaving Abbie and Bubba to get better acquainted. The merchandise was loaded, Cabot paid cash, and they were back in the car in a matter of minutes. Cabot handed her a bottle of hand sanitizer.

“Thanks,” she said. “Bubba was very effusive in his affection.” Abbie scrubbed her hands then wiped off her cheek where Bubba had given her a parting slurp.

Cabot puffed out air.

“What?”

“I gotta say. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had been totally grossed out by Bubba. Some women . . .”

“Oh, please, I’ve—” She stopped abruptly. She’d been about to say,
I’ve been around a lot more intimidating animals than an old coonhound
. “—always liked dogs,” she finished lamely. “Though Bubba has some serious slobbering going on.”

Cabot laughed. It was a warming sound, and Abbie realized that she hadn’t heard him laugh before. Of course she hadn’t been doing much laughing herself lately.

“So where to? There’s Myrtle Beach, amusement parks, bars, and restaurants.”

Abbie shook her head. “I’m not a theme park kind of girl. Something low-key would be fine. Though I’m not partial to alligators.”

“Neither am I,” Cabot said. “Anyway, we’re a little overpopulated for them. Just stay out of the swamps.”

“Not a problem.”

“How about a quaint, historic, not-too-over-tourist-populated town with a nice harbor, good seafood, and a better sunset?”

“Sounds great.”

“I’ll call Millie and tell her not to expect you for dinner.”

Abbie felt a serious stab of panic; she breathed it away. They’d gotten a late start, and even though it was still early afternoon, they hadn’t seen much outside of marshes and electrical stores.

About twenty minutes later they came to a bridge, actually two bridges, that spanned converging rivers. A
WELCOME TO HISTORIC GEORGETOWN
sign greeted them at the far side.

“It’s not much when you first enter it,” Cabot said as they drove down a four-lane street with fast-food places, motels, and industrial buildings. “Most people pass right by without stopping.”

“I’m not sure the local businesses are as happy about that as you seem to be.”

“They get enough business.” He turned left, leaving the industrial area behind. They drove down a tree-lined street flanked by white clapboard houses, grass, and shrubs.

“Feel like walking a bit?”

“Sure.”

Cabot made another turn and parked at one of the spaces that ran along both sides of the street. They walked along the sidewalk, shaded by thick live oaks. Here each house was marked with a historical designation, and Cabot pointed out special features as they passed by.

“They’ve done a good job of preservation and renovation,” he said. “Hard to imagine wars were ever fought here.”

“Definitely serene looking,” Abbie agreed, though she had no problem imagining blood and gore here—or anywhere for that matter. And that disturbed her. She didn’t want to be like that. She wanted to breathe easy and be happy again. Live in a house like the ones they’d passed. She’d wanted that for longer than she cared to admit, but it made her feel doubly guilty.

They crossed the street, and Cabot stopped her to point out an oriel window almost hidden by the trees. As they walked along, he explained the difference between Italianate and Georgian style. The way he talked about finials, cupolas, cornices, and gables was almost reverent.

His enthusiasm was catching, and Abbie found herself asking questions about architecture. She also found herself thinking about Cab Reynolds and wondering if she had misjudged him.

A few blocks later they came to a large Southern-plantation-type house that overlooked a river. The house was open to the public, but they didn’t go inside. Instead Cabot led her through a park and onto another street where shops painted in charming colors lined both sides of the street. Abbie couldn’t help comparing these well-tended stores with their cheerful façades and colorful flower boxes with the struggling, straggling stores at Stargazey Point.

Is this what Cabot wanted for Stargazey? Is this why he took such an interest in keeping developers out. Did he have his own plans for Stargazey Point? Why else would someone from Boston be living in a back-of-beyond near ghost town.

“Are you really from Boston?” she asked as they stopped at the corner to let a car go by.

It was like she’d pulled the plug. His face, which had been animated, became passive, and his voice lost its fervor.

“Partially,” he said.

“And which part of you would that be?”

“I spent my teenage years there with my father and stepmother.”

“And before that?”

He frowned slightly. “I was born and raised in Charleston. Why?”

“Just curious. Occupational hazard.”

“From being a weathergirl?”

“From working at a television station, I guess.” She’d recovered smoothly enough. She didn’t love the idea that he thought she was still the weathergirl, but it was better if she just let him keep this misconception. She could easily talk about the weather. She couldn’t talk about what she had been doing for the last eight years. It was too painful, too raw, too humiliating. Too final.

“So how did you wind up in Stargazey Point?”

Cabot shrugged. “I spent every summer in Stargazey Point with my uncle. I went to college, worked in Atlanta for a while—”

“As an architect by any chance?”

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “I found I didn’t really like the job so I came back here.”

“Where you raise horses?”

Cabot smiled. “Who told you that, Beau?”

“Sarah.”

“Sarah? When did you meet her?”

“In town yesterday. I met Sarah, Bethanne from the inn, and Penny Farlowe, who owns Flora’s.”

Cabot’s eyes narrowed. “What did they have to say?”

“Well,” she began. “I went in to buy some paper and Bethanne was just going over to Flora’s and invited me to go along. Sarah came in. Then, you might as well know, I said something that made Bethanne cry, she ran out, and I left.”

“It doesn’t take much to set her off. What did you say, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Abbie sighed. She had a feeling he’d find out anyway, so she might as well tell him herself.

“Sarah said you were showing me around; she called it a date. Just as a joke. I merely said it wasn’t a date. Bethanne burst into tears and ran out of the shop.”

Abbie had often gotten unexpected truths from people she was interviewing and usually took it in stride. But Bethanne’s reaction had hit her out of the blue and hit her where it hurt.

“Her husband died. It’s been hard for her,” Cabot said. “She cries a lot. It’s healthier than keeping grief to yourself.”

She searched his face to see if he was talking about her but decided she was just being paranoid. Celeste had promised not to tell the Crispins about her reasons for the visit.

“It might do her good to have someone to talk to. You know, someone who doesn’t know everything about Jim’s death.”

Abbie shook her head. She wasn’t going to encourage any kind of friendship with Bethanne. The two of them would end up crying into their appletinis and commiserating like two old widows.

“So what does Sarah do? Her accent doesn’t sound nearly as thick as everyone else’s. Is she from around here originally?”

Cabot took her elbow as they stepped off the curb. “She’s from here, but she’s lived in New York for about ten years now. She teaches at Columbia in cultural studies and is taking some time off to spend with her great-grandmother until she goes back in the fall. She runs the after-school program at the community center—by default. The last person left without notice.”

He led her down to a wooden walkway that ran along the edge of the water. There was a cool breeze and Abbie was glad she’d worn long sleeves. Alfresco dining places were lined up side by side, the different establishments marked off by low wooden fences or glass surrounds. Upscale dining and wine bars rubbed elbows with hamburger joints and crab shacks.

“I suppose she gets lots of opportunity to study culture around here,” Abbie said.

“Yeah, but mainly she’s paying back. The community got together to send her to school.”

They stopped to look out over the water.

“Don’t feed the alligators?” Abbie asked, looking at a metal sign posted on the railing. “Is that sort of like no shoes, no shirt, no service?”

“Actually, it’s serious. Not only is it bad for them, but the restaurants don’t want to encourage them to get any closer.”

Abbie shuddered.

“Not to worry, I don’t believe they’ve ever tried to get in without a reservation.”

“Very funny.”

“Really, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

They stood side by side, looking out at the river and watching the sun set. It was later than Abbie realized. She also realized she was having a good time.

She wasn’t sure that she should be having a good time. She should be taking solitary walks and trying to figure out what came next. But somehow Cabot the third made it easy to forget the reason she’d come here.

“Nothing like sunset over the marshes,” Cabot said.

“No, there isn’t.” She’d watched the sunset from the beach the night before. She could almost be standing on the beach now. She tried to imagine Crispin House as a popular museum. Stargazey Inn filled with people year-round, the shops thriving. A smaller version of this town.

She sighed. More than likely the businesses would continue to go under, the house would gradually fall down around the siblings’ ears, destined to be razed to build a private gated community like the one they’d passed on the way to Georgetown. And another little bit of the past would be swept away.

“What?”

She started. “I was just thinking about the Crispins. It seems a shame that they couldn’t get some help restoring the house. It must date back from plantation—real plantation—days. Why doesn’t it have landmark status?”

“I doubt if it qualifies. Much of the land was sold off years ago. The storms have destroyed some parts of the house and had to be rebuilt. Most of the antique furnishings have been sold. It’s an interesting part of history, but the house is mainly just old.

“Now. Would you rather dine with linen tablecloths and an extensive wine list or eat crab legs off a newspaper chased by microbeer.”

“Newspaper and beer,” she said automatically.

“Great. I know the place.”

They walked down the boardwalk to the marina where wooden tables were crowded around a weather-beaten shack. Strands of lights were draped over a latticed roof suspended over the dining area. Almost every table was filled, but just as they walked in a couple at a table next to the water stood up. A busboy cleared their table before they reached the exit, and a hostess hustled Cabot and Abbie toward it.

As soon as they were seated, she began rattling off things in an accent so thick that Abbie had trouble following it. They ordered beer and crab legs that came in a huge metal pot, which a muscular waiter dumped onto the table.

“Wow,” Abbie said, contemplating the pile of crabs before her. They were beautiful; bright orange against the black and white of the paper, as if the setting sun had found a space in the lattice overhead and spilled onto the table. Beautiful and heart wrenching, but mostly beautiful.

Please, please,
Abbie prayed. Let it all stay beautiful—just for a little while.

Chapter 8

M
illie stood watch at the parlor window. “They’ve been gone for a long time.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Marnie said, looking up from where she was stretched out on the sofa reading a magazine.

“I suppose. And I hope they hit it off. Don’t you?” Millie turned from the window.

Marnie looked back at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “I think that would be very nice.”

“Oh, you. And you, too, Beau.”

Beau looked up from his carving. Marnie noticed that he’d placed yesterday’s newspaper at his feet to collect the shavings.

“I’ve been hopin’ Cab would find a nice girl ever since he came back. At first I thought maybe Bethanne, poor soul, but I just don’t think they would suit. Do you?” Getting no response, she went on. “Well, I don’t. It’s goin’ to take her a long time to get over Jim passing like that. Why, she might never marry again.”

“Mm-huh,” Marnie said. Beau leaned over, rolled up the newspaper and shavings, and stood up. “You leave the boy be. He’ll find somebody to marry in his own good time.”

“Hmmph. Something you would know all about, being an old confirmed bachelor.”

“That’s right, Sister.” He strode over and gave Millie a peck on the cheek. “I’m going on down to town for a bit. If I see the two of them, I’ll tell them not to miss curfew.” He paused at the arch. “And you never know, I might give him a run for his money with that girl myself.” He grinned and left the room.