Stargazey Point (33 page)

“I’ll go with you.” Now was the time. She couldn’t put it off any longer. “I talked to Celeste last night.”

“Oh and how is she?”

“She’s . . . concerned.”

The old Buick surged forward then slowed again. “About?”

“Look, Marnie, and hear me out—”

“I haven’t said a word.”

“No, but you will, and I want you to listen first.”

Marnie huffed out a sigh. “Okay, if you must, but I’m not going to like it, am I?”

“Academic. I know you have your mother’s silver in the trunk, and I know you’re going in to sell it.”

“Is that why you called Celeste?”

“I didn’t say that I—”

“Academic.”

“Okay, I did call her. I thought she should know about the tax situation. It is her inheritance after all.”

The car surged again. This time when it slowed down, Marnie was frowning at her. “And did you two concoct this together?”

“We decided to try to make you feel guilty enough to let us—her—pay the taxes.”

Marnie snorted. “Guilty. Good Lord, you have no idea. If I succumbed to everyone in my family or in Stargazey Point who tried to make me feel guilty, I’d never dig out. Better try another tactic.”

“Okay, here it is. You can’t pay the taxes. Celeste has a little money saved that she’s willing to put toward them. I’m thinking of staying here through the summer, and I insist on paying room and board and I might as well pay it up front.”

“You’re our guest.”

“Yes, and I’d be paying at least a thousand a week if I had to stay at the inn.”

Marnie cut her a look.

“Would you rather I go there?” Abbie said slowly.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Then it’s settled. We don’t know how much you need, but whatever we have we’re going to put down.”

Marnie didn’t answer. Abbie wondered if she had insulted her.

At last Marnie cleared her throat, stared at the road ahead. “I have to pay three thousand today or it will go on the auction block. Celeste can’t get money here in time.”

“But I have the money and a checkbook. Celeste and I will settle later.”

“I’m still selling the silver.”

Abbie slumped with relief. “That’s just what Celeste said.”

They looked at each other and grinned.

“But will Millie ever forgive you?”

“She has no choice. I’m all she’s got left. But don’t tell her about Celeste.”

Abbie shook her head.

“I’ll let you spot me today, but you get paid back with interest.”

Abbie knew when to back off. “Fine.” Though she had no intention of taking the money back.

“And then I’m going to strongly suggest to Beau to sell off a block of the property.”

They turned down Church Street, and Marnie pulled into a parking spot along the curb. Abbie carried the heavy silver box inside an antiques store. Five minutes later, they walked out still carrying the box of silver.

“I could spit nails,” Marnie said. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t take that last batch. It’s a service for twelve and the best of the lot. Damn. Now what do I do, go door-to-door until I find someone to buy it?”

“For probably much less than it’s worth,” Abbie said.

“Hell, we never get what it’s worth. Everybody and their uncle owns generations of silver and china.”

“Then put it back in the trunk,” Abbie said.

They drove to the courthouse on Screven Street where Abbie wrote a check for the back taxes.

“Thank you. You’ve given me a few months before the next tax payment, and maybe by then I’ll have a plan.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s celebrate. I’ll take you to lunch.”

“We’ll go to lunch. But I’ll buy. It’s the least I can do.”

They ate at one of the trendier French restaurants on Front Street.

“It isn’t authentic, but it’s better than catfish,” Marnie said and ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

“Did you ever go to France?” Abbie asked conversationally, while wondering if Marnie would be able to drive after a lunch of pâté de foie gras, steak frites, and wine.

“Oh, my dear, yes. Best time of my life.” Marnie smiled, and Abbie saw a flash of the young woman she must have been. “Spent twenty years there.”

Abbie stared. “You’re kidding. I mean . . .”

“And New York, San Francisco, Tokyo, to name but a few. Close your mouth.”

“So would you like to share?”

“Eventually. But the Reader’s Digest version is, I ran away from home at sixteen, worked my way to France and got involved in the war effort. I met a man there, a jazz musician, and we lived wickedly and mostly happily ever after until about fifteen years ago when he died of cancer.”

“I would never have guessed; you never talk about it.”

“It was a scandal. It’s never mentioned, and Millie pretends like it never happened. Beau . . .” She shrugged. “He has stories of his own, I’m sure.”

“What made you come home, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s home. Daddy was dead, at last. Jean Paul, my life partner—isn’t that what they call it these days?—was dead. Crispin House was going to wrack and ruin, so I sold my apartment and rode in like the geriatric cavalry. And before you ask, in the twelve years I’ve been back, I’ve spent every dime keeping the house from going under the hatches.

“So now I grow vegetables and wear dungarees and let my hair go uncombed as my last act of defiance. But I can’t in all good conscience let Beau and Millie go down with the proverbial ship. So I sell the silver and everything else that can be sold.” She groaned. “It’s all so pathetic, and so Southern.”

She poured the last of the wine into their glasses and ordered dessert. When the check came, Marnie opened her wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. “My egg money.”

Abbie narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never seen any chickens.”

“That’s because we only meet on Monday nights.” She grinned. “My last guilty pleasure. Poker. Don’t worry that I’ll gamble away the family nonfortune; let me just say that I don’t always win, but I never lose. But—”

“Don’t tell Millie,” they said together.

They wove their way out into eye-dazzling sunshine.

“Maybe we should walk to the electronics store.”

Chapter 22

I
t was late afternoon when Marnie dropped Abbie and several huge shopping bags off at the community center. Sarah was in the back but came to the door of the media room while Abbie unpacked her purchases.

“What the hell is all that?”

“Some toys I bought for myself,” Abbie said, continuing to unpack the bags.

“Then what are they doing here?”

Abbie pulled a tripod out of the box and began to set it up. “If you haven’t noticed, I spend most of my afternoons here. Where I go, my toys go.”

“Are you trying to guilt me? I told you—”

“Most of it was on sale. It’s not a case of largesse from the plantation house, if that’s why you’re so bent. We can’t do this with the two pieces of Neanderthal equipment Eddie Price managed to miss. You know, you should really get over this inability-to-accept-help syndrome.” She stopped, shocked at both their reactions. “If you don’t want it for the center, I’ll take it with me when I leave.”

“Fine,” Sarah said and retreated to the kitchen.

Abbie sighed, not sure if they had come to an understanding or if Sarah had just written her off as a friend. “You could at least show some interest in what I got.”

Silence, then the slow creak of the floorboards as Sarah came down the hallway. She stopped in the doorway. “Hit me with it.”

“Tempting, but what if we just look?”

“Snark doesn’t become you.” Sarah stepped up to the counter.

“I bought two of these to augment my video cam.” Abbie lined up the camcorders on the worktable.

“Shit, those are camcorders?”

“Yes. Not high-end tech but better than a phone for basic video. And cheap.”

“Cheap? How cheap?”

“About fifty each.”

“Better
and
cheaper than a phone. Hmm.” Sarah picked one up. “And not too heavy.”

“Yeah, but not quality video. Still we’ll be able to get some decent location shots with them and I really got them so the kids wouldn’t have to wait so long until their turn with the digital.”

She hoisted a box that held a video package—recorder, case, and tripod—to the countertop. Then she laid the additional tripod next to it.

“You can’t keep momentum up when there’s so much downtime in between turns at shoots. These babies will hopefully keep them busy, and if they get interested, maybe their parents will, too. The carousel story will just be the beginning. You can do all sorts of recorded histories after that.”

“Except I’m going back to New York,” Sarah said.

“Well, whoever takes over for you. For now let’s concentrate on getting a tape of the carousel. That way if there’s any decent footage, and I think there will be, Cam can use it for publicity, YouTube shorts, commercials, whatever. And when people see how it helps bring revenue to the town, they’ll be even more cooperative the next time.”

Abbie wound down. “In theory, anyway.”

“Girl, you are something else.”

Abbie frowned, suddenly serious. “You were right. I’m good with kids and mothers. It’s sort of what I did. Let me help by doing what I know how to do.”

“Why do you want to help?”

“You asked me to. Hell, you strong-armed me into it. And now you’ve giving me shit for doing it?”

“I did, but I didn’t mean for you to spend any money on it. I can’t pay you back.”

“I didn’t ask you to. This town gave me a safe haven when I needed it, the Crispins, Penny, Bethanne, even you, the biggest pain in the butt on the South Carolina shore. Let me give a little back without having to beg.” She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “All this stuff cost less than five hundred dollars, including the coffeemaker I got for Crispin House.”

“You bought them a coffeemaker?”

“Yes. And I hope
they’re
not offended, but really, that percolator they use makes mud.”

“I’m not offended. Well, okay, I’m kinda thin-skinned about that kind of stuff.”

“Something you should work on. Maybe you should get Ervina to give you a potion.”

Sarah scowled, her mouth twisted, then she broke into a grin. “You are one scary woman.” She chuckled, then grew somber. “And a strong one. Thanks for the equipment.”

“My pleasure,” Abbie said and began opening boxes.

A
bbie stopped by the carousel on her way home that night to see if Beau was ready to leave. It seemed to be becoming a ritual, the two of them walking back together at the end of the workday. If Millie ever wondered why they came in together each night, she didn’t ask.

She found Cab perched on a ladder, paintbrush in hand. Abbie waited for him to finish what looked like a delicate task before she called up to him. “What are you doing?”

He looked down, his concentrated expression turning to welcome. “Hang on two secs.” He put the finishing touches on a fat cherub, balanced the brush on the paint can, and climbed down.

There was a smear of pink paint across his nose. It made Abbie smile.

“We decided to do the finishing on the cherubs in situ instead of trying to take them down without damaging them, but I didn’t want Beau to be climbing up there, so the job fell to me. You off for the night?”

“Uh-huh. I’m beat.”

“Kids getting to be too much?”

“Not usually, but I went into Georgetown with Marnie today, we had lunch, there was wine involved. I bought a bunch of equipment. The kids got a little overexcited about using the new cameras. They were practically bouncing off the walls by the time they left. It was a long afternoon.”

Cab smiled at her, and she felt a little flutter.

“You bought new video equipment for the center?”

“Yes. And before you get all snooty on me, I did it to make my life easier.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I did, and besides everything was on sale.”

“And Sarah’s giving you a hard time about it?”

“Of course. Is Beau still here? I thought I’d walk home with him.”

“He’s in back. But he’s probably close to finishing up . . . if you want to wait.”

“I’ll wait, but don’t let me interrupt your work.”

Cab glanced up the ladder and back at her. “Right. I’d like to get these little angels done tonight.” He climbed, reluctantly it seemed to Abbie, back up the ladder.

Beau came out of the back room a few minutes later, saw Abbie, and tipped his head. Then he called up to Cab, “I set the humidity and temperature. I’ll leave the locking up for you. My young lady is here.”

Cab stopped painting long enough to look down at them. “Lucky man,” he said. “Good night.” He turned back to the cherub, and Beau and Abbie walked out into the night.

“Boy’s like a racehorse nearing the finish line.”

“He does seem rather single-minded,” Abbie agreed. “Has he had any more luck with organizing the menagerie?”

“Not yet. But he will.” Beau’s steps slowed as they reached the end of the drive. Abbie didn’t blame him for not being in a hurry.

Marnie and she had discussed keeping the silver hidden in case of emergency, but in the end decided to give it back to Millie.