The Way Home (25 page)

Avery laughed. “Maybe it's just a phase.”

“I hope so. He didn't inherit my appetite, that's for sure. Not yet anyway.”

“He looks like you. So does Emily,” she added.

“Thanks. They can drive me crazy, but I couldn't live without them. They're my whole life.”

Noah appeared again at the front of the restaurant, this time leading an older woman by the hand. Her short white hair framed her face in a stylish cut. She wore a beach cover-up over a bathing suit and carried a big canvas beach bag. She was probably in her mid-sixties, Avery guessed, but looked very fit and youthful, more than able to handle the two children.

“Michael? We're going now. I have Emily's suit,” she added. “Oh, hello . . . I'm sorry to interrupt,” she added, suddenly noticing Avery.

“Mom, this is Avery Bishop. She owns the Café Peregrine, down the street. Avery, this is my mother, Victoria Rossi.”

Avery waved. “Nice to meet you. Great day for the beach,” she added, trying to make conversation.

“A perfect day. Too bad the two of you can't join us. You restaurant owners are a pale-looking group. I'm sure that you're both low on Vitamin D. But I do love your restaurant, Avery. I've peeked inside a few times. It's very pretty. I'm going to eat there very soon.”

“Anytime,” Avery offered.

“Good, don't tell Mike,” she added, though he was standing right there.

“It's all right, Mother. You'll like the food. Better than mine.”

Victoria laughed. “Have a good day. Time to get buried in the sand. If you don't hear from me in a few hours, come down with a shovel,” she told her son as Noah led her away.

“They don't really bury her. My mom likes to joke around . . . Well, maybe just her feet. Up to her knees or so.”

Now he was joking with Avery.

“Seems like it's a family trait. Joking around, I mean.”

“My dad was the all-time champ. I've inherited it from both sides.”

“Not a bad thing,” she said, thinking his humor was one of the qualities she liked best about him.

“Some people might disagree, but I'm glad to hear you like my jokes,” he added.

He smiled and met her gaze. It suddenly seemed as if time stopped and everything around them just melted away. Avery felt . . . mesmerized.

Then his phone rang, breaking the spell. “Sorry, got to grab this,” he murmured. “I have another tour group coming in tomorrow. If there's any overflow, I'll send them your way.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. This time I'll be ready.”

She waved and left Mike to take care of his business.

As she headed back to the café, she felt light and happy.

Venturing down to the Tuna had been a big step. She had to admit now that she had felt anxious about it. Intimidated, really. But she was glad that she finally had visited and glad she had seen Mike and met his family.

Maybe today had been the right time to go there. Maybe going there earlier, when she had been so unsure about the Peregrine succeeding, would have been too daunting. But today she had been ready to see and appreciate Mike's restaurant for what it was—a one-of-a-kind and totally fun classic. No wonder it had such a loyal following. There was certainly room for more than one restaurant on Ferry Street. She was ready to see that, too. Maybe she was even more ready for a relationship than she had thought.

Avery was soon busy with the lunch rush. She realized she didn't even need the overflow from the Tuna anymore. Her café had plenty of customers of their own. Finally.

Afterward, as she helped Gena and Brittany clean up the dining room, Gena gently poked her. She didn't say anything but urged Avery to follow her glance out to the street.

Avery did and saw Mike passing by with Cindy, the friendly woman from the Pilgrim Tours. They were too busy talking to take notice of Avery. Mike laughed and Cindy slipped her arm through his as they walked by, perfectly in step with each other.

Avery felt the blood rush to her face but couldn't say a word. Had Mike's interest suddenly turned to the Pilgrim Tour guide?
Has he just been flirting with me all this time, when it didn't mean anything to him?

Avery turned to Gena, struggling to hide her dismay. “That's the woman from the tour company. They're just friends,” she said quickly.

Gena shrugged. “Whatever you say. He sure has a lot of friends.” Avery heard the words Gena didn't say.
Don't say I didn't warn you.

Avery felt a dull ache in her chest. She had assumed Mike was sending his children to the beach with their grandmother so he could work. Was it really so he was free to see Cindy?

Maybe it's a business meeting, to talk about the tour groups that come to the Tuna,
she told herself.

Right. There was so much to talk about. Fries or baked potatoes with the entree? Coleslaw or pickle chips? Avery wasn't sure what had come over her, but she was suddenly and totally insanely jealous. Why did Cindy from Pilgrim Tours get to spend the afternoon with Mike, strolling around the boardwalk, talking and laughing and doing who knows what else . . . and she did not?

Maybe I should have reminded him about my rain check on that sailing date,
she thought suddenly.
Maybe he thinks I'm not really interested in him that way.
She could hardly blame him. She'd been practically radiating N
ot ready, need to work on my business
vibes ever since they met
.

Have I fallen for the Lazy Tuna guy? And I waited so long he's given up?

Avery didn't like the idea of that at all. The good reviews, the uptick in business, and the sense that the café was finally catching on—that was all long-awaited good news. But it suddenly seemed cold comfort if it had come at the cost of missing her chance for a real relationship with Mike.

* * *

B
Y
the time the weekend rolled around, more great reviews for the Café Peregrine rolled in with it. A review on the local radio station was repeated almost hourly and another that Avery didn't expect popped up in the weekend issue of
What's Happening in Cape Light?

Teresa was the first to spot it and read the article aloud to the staff as they sat together on Friday afternoon, enjoying Avery's seafood bisque. “‘If you're looking for innovative cuisine, reasonable prices, and ocean-side ambience, try the Café Peregrine on Angel Island. A newcomer to Ferry Street this season . . . '”

“Wait . . . did you just say ‘ambience'?” Avery asked.

“Right. Ambience. It means . . .”

“Oh, I know what it means. It's just a little joke.”

While the rest of the staff clapped loudly and even gave a few catcalls of approval, Avery thought of Mike and their silly joke. She would take real pleasure showing him this one, maybe even highlighting the word in contention—that is,
if
he wasn't otherwise occupied with Cindy.

“Let's frame this and put it up near the other. We'll have a whole wall full before the summer is over,” Gena predicted.

A while later, sitting at the tiny desk that was crammed in a kitchen corner, Avery decided to call her family to share the good news. She tried her sister first and found her still working at her office.

“I haven't heard from you for a while. Is everything all right?” Christine asked.

Avery hated to think it, but had a feeling Christine expected her to say, “Everything is terrible. I'm going to take your advice and give up.”

Instead she was able to report all the good news. “. . . And this weekend we had a rave on the radio and another one in print. I'm going to send you a copy.”

“That's terrific. It was a good idea to serve lunch. I just hope it's not too hectic for you. I hope you're not exhausted by the end of the summer.”

Avery thought back to the night her family had dined at the café, and cringed. Christine must think the place looked like a sitcom every night, but there was no convincing her things were under control.

“I hired a great new waitress and everything's going very smoothly. There are just three more weekends until Labor Day,” Avery noticed, glancing at the calendar. “We're going to coast into the finish line.” It wasn't just hopeful optimism either. She knew this was true.

“That's great news, Avery. I can't wait to tell Mom. It's really strange that you called today to tell me this. I ran into Paul just this morning. He told me that the Tulip Café closed. He's very broken up about it.”

Avery was surprised at the news and at her reaction. It was like hearing about the passing of an old friend. Though she was sure Paul was more broken up about the restaurant failing than he had been about their broken engagement.

“The Tulip closed? It was doing so well when I left. Did Paul tell you why?”

“He didn't say much. Personally, I think the food went way downhill after you left the kitchen. I would have liked to hear him admit that, considering what he put you through. I told him about your new place . . . and how well you were doing,” she added. “I guess I did embellish a little. But now it seems your café has lived up to my description.”

At least her sister was honest.

“I guess so,” Avery said vaguely. News about her ex-fiancé was distracting. Once she would have been secretly pleased to hear that he was getting his comeuppance for dumping her. But she didn't feel that way at all now. She felt sorry for him, in a distant, unattached way.

“It's hard to say why a restaurant fails. There are any number of reasons,” Avery offered, trying to be fair. “I don't think about Paul much anymore,” she said honestly, “but I'm not happy to hear he's lost his business.”

“He's the type who always bounces back. Don't worry, he'll talk someone else into putting him in business again,” Christine predicted.

Avery thought that was probably true. Paul was a smooth talker, who could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

They talked for a few minutes more, and Avery promised to send the new review promptly.

“I'm really happy things are going well for you, Avery,” her sister said. “I know I sounded a bit negative when we were visiting. I'm sorry about that. I was just worried about Mom. But it seems like everything is working out.”

“It is,” Avery said. It felt good to hear her sister say that. Christine's approval meant more to her than she wanted to admit.

* * *

T
HE
inn was too crowded on Sunday morning for Claire to slip off to church. Reverend Ben was on vacation this week, and one of the deacons was running the service. She enjoyed these guest speakers, but their sermons rarely came close to the reverend's.

She had been up since half past six, along with Liza and Jamie, who worked together to set out the breakfast buffet and set the tables out on the porch and patio, along with the long table in the dining room.

Guests began to come down around seven and took coffee back to their rooms or out on the porch, where Liza had several copies of the Sunday newspapers available. The food was not served until eight sharp. Then they all appeared and swarmed around the buffet tables, like humming bees drawn to sweet flowers in the garden.

Claire stayed at the stove while Jamie and Liza ran from one end of the inn to the other, refilling the platters and coffee urns and clearing the used place settings away.

Most of the guests began checking out at eleven. Claire looked forward to a quiet day after that. She hoped to take a walk on the beach or show Jamie the stone labyrinth that sat in a high flat meadow a short distance from the cliffs. She hadn't been there for a long time and thought he might enjoy walking it, considering all the big questions he faced in his life right now.

She had just gotten the kitchen under control and was wiping down the countertops, when she heard rising voices in the hallway. It was mainly a man's voice, sounding very upset. She stepped outside the kitchen to see what was going on.

She recognized Mr. Rapp, one of her favorite guests, who was back with his wife for the second time this summer. Their bags were neatly piled by the door, and Mrs. Rapp stood nearby, dressed for the car ride and wearing a worried expression.

“Please don't tell me to calm down. It was a Cartier chronograph, worth a small fortune. My wife gave it to me for our fiftieth anniversary . . . It was right on my bedside table last night when I went to sleep. And now it's gone.”

“I'm very sorry for your distress,” Liza said sincerely. “But I think we can find it. If you'll let me go up and look around the room, I'll pull it apart from top to bottom. Jamie will help me move the furniture.”

Liza looked around for Jamie. He was just coming down the stairs, loaded down with suitcases.

“
He's
going to help? He's the one who stole it,” Mr. Rapp nearly shouted. He pointed at Jamie, his pale face turned a frightening shade of red.

Chapter Fourteen

J
AMIE
stared at everyone in confusion. “Stole what? . . . What are you talking about?”

Liza looked alarmed and upset. “I don't think it's right to accuse someone on my staff of stealing your property, Mr. Rapp. Maybe you misplaced it. Or maybe it was left somewhere you haven't looked yet—in a pocket or caught between the bed linens. Believe me, it happens all the time,” she assured him.

“It's not under the bed. Or in any of my pockets.” Mr. Rapp stood with his arms crossed, staring at Jamie. Jamie had set the load of bags down at the foot of the stairs, but remained there, looking afraid to go any closer.

Claire walked out of the kitchen and stood beside him, though she wasn't sure he even noticed her there.

“We'll check the room again. I'm sure we can find it,” Liza said in a calmer tone.

Mr. Rapp looked reluctant but finally nodded. “All right, see for yourself. But I tell you I've already looked high and low. He was the only person who went into the room this morning, besides me and my wife,” he added, looking straight at Jamie. “We were going down to breakfast. He came to the door and said he needed to fix the ceiling fan. I know the watch was in the room when he came in. I just realized a few minutes ago I didn't have it on. I looked on the nightstand—and now it's gone.”

Claire saw Liza take a deep breath. “We'll look again. It will only take a few minutes. Claire, can you get the Rapps some more coffee while they wait?”

“I've had enough coffee, thank you.” Mr. Rapp's tone was sharp. “I've had enough of everything around here.”

His wife walked up to him and said something quietly then led him out to the porch where they sat down at the very end of the row of wicker chairs.

Claire felt bad for everyone. It was understandable that he was so upset, losing such a valuable piece of jewelry. But it wasn't right of him to accuse Jamie the way he had. She did believe the watch was misplaced and they would soon find it.

She went upstairs to see if she could help in the search. Liza and Jamie had already pulled the night table and bed away from the wall. Liza was on her hands and knees, looking under the bed with a flashlight.

“Do you need any help?” Claire asked from the doorway.

Jamie turned to look at her. She couldn't tell what he was feeling. If anything, he looked a little angry. Of course he would be. No one liked to be so unfairly accused.

“That's all right, Claire. We can handle this. You should stay downstairs and take care of anyone who wants to check out.”

“I'll do that. Don't worry.” Claire took a few steps then turned in the doorway. “I'm sure you'll find the watch. I'm sure Mr. Rapp just misplaced it.”

Jamie was pushing a heavy six-drawer chest aside, his expression grim as he put his back into the task. He paused and looked over at her. “Thanks, Claire. I don't get it. He seemed like such a nice guy. But now he's like . . . wacky.”

Claire nodded. Not the way she would have described the situation, but he did have a point.

* * *

D
OWNSTAIRS,
Claire took care of the guests who remained while silently saying a prayer that the watch would be found. At least twenty minutes passed before Liza and Jamie returned from their search. Claire could tell from their expressions that they had not found the watch.

“Where are the Rapps?” Liza whispered to Claire.

“Out on the porch,” Claire answered. “Mrs. Rapp is reading the newspaper, and Mr. Rapp is just pacing back and forth.”

Liza went outside while Jamie stayed with Claire in the foyer. “We didn't find it,” he reported. “I bet it's in one of his pockets. Or his suitcase or something.”

“Perhaps,” Claire agreed. She had noticed the Rapps going through their suitcases, backpack, and even Mrs. Rapp's purse while they waited for Liza to return. But maybe the watch had not been on the nightstand as Mr. Rapp recalled. If so, it could be anywhere. It could have fallen off while he was out yesterday on the beach or bird-watching. They might never find it.

Claire felt a sense of dread, pulling at her like weight. She wondered what would happen next.

More guests came down, and Jamie carried more luggage out to their cars. Claire followed, curious.

“I'd be happy to reimburse you, Mr. Rapp,” she heard Liza offer. “But I need to file a claim with my insurance company first. It will take a little time. Do you have a receipt for the watch at home? That will probably be needed.”

“I'm sure I saved it,” Mrs. Rapp said.

“Yes, you'll need a receipt, and a police report would probably help, too.” Mr. Rapp's tone was far less conciliatory than his wife's.

“A police report? I don't think that's necessary.” Liza sounded alarmed, and Claire felt the same way.

“Too late then. I've already called. I would tell you what time that was, but I don't have a watch,” he added sharply.

Mrs. Rapp sighed. “About ten minutes ago,” she said quietly. “I didn't think it was necessary either.”

“Let them come. When a uniformed officer asks that boy a few questions, I'm sure my watch will magically appear. At least he's had no time to get rid of it.”

Claire felt her heart pound in her chest. The police were coming? To question Jamie? That sounded so unfair. So extreme.

She was about to speak up in Jamie's defense when Liza glanced her way and gently shook her head, sending a
Don't worry, I'll handle this
message.

“I think it's unfair to single Jamie out with no proof, Mr. Rapp,” Liza said firmly. “But if the police want to ask him questions, I'm sure he'll cooperate. He has nothing to hide.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. At least Liza believed Jamie was innocent. That was something.

“We'll see . . . Here they are now. Sooner than I thought.”

A white-and-blue police car pulled up the drive to the inn.

Claire recognized Tucker Tully at the wheel, familiar in his uniform.

He got out and came up onto the porch steps. “Liza, Claire.” He nodded quickly in greeting. “Someone here reported missing property?”

“Stolen property,” Mr. Rapp quickly corrected him. “A very expensive watch, stolen out of our room this morning.”

Tucker took a pad out of his back pocket. “All right, let me take down some information, sir. Your name, please . . .”

Tucker talked with the Rapps a few minutes at the end of the porch and made notes. Jamie had finished loading the suitcases and came up onto the porch.

“The police are here?” He looked nervous and scared, Claire thought. But that was only natural if you were being accused of such a thing.

Liza rested her hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry, Jamie. The officer is just trying to sort this out. He's going to ask you a few questions. He's going to ask me questions, too. And even Claire.”

That was true, Claire realized. The explanation should have made Jamie feel better, but he didn't look much calmer. He just stared down at his shoes.

Tucker soon walked over to them, Mr. Rapp trailing him.

“Mr. Rapp says the room has been searched twice, and he's looked through all his baggage for it and in his car,” he said to Liza. “Have you looked around the rest of the inn?”

Liza shook her head. “We haven't had the time yet. But we definitely should,” she added. “You never know.”

“That's right. Something is lost because it's not where you thought it should be, so you have to look in unlikely places for it,” Claire said. She had a feeling her circuitous reasoning was not very convincing, but it was true. You rarely find something you've lost in a place you expected it to be. Or it wouldn't be lost.

Tucker turned to Jamie. “You're Jamie, right?”

Jamie nodded. “That's me.”

“This guest says you came into his room this morning to fix the ceiling fan. Did you see a watch on the nightstand?”

Jamie thought a moment. “I don't know . . . I wasn't really looking around the room. I was just there for the fan, wondering if I'd be able to figure out why it wasn't working.”

“He's lying.” Mr. Rapp suddenly stepped forward. “I know he liked the watch. He had his eye on it. He complimented me when we were here in June, and I was showing him all the gadgets and features. He was quite impressed.”

“I'm not lying. I didn't lift your watch,” Jamie shouted back. “Maybe you dropped it down at the beach or running around in the woods, chasing birds,” he added angrily. “Now you're trying to find someone to blame it on.”

“Now, now, simmer down, pal.” Tucker pressed a hand to Jamie's shoulder. “We're not going to get anywhere arguing over this. Liza, I think you should keep searching the inn. The Rapps can come down to the police station if they want and file a report.”

“That's all? That's all you can do is file a report? The thief is standing right here, right under your nose, Officer,” Mr. Rapp insisted.

Claire swallowed hard. Now she really had to speak up. “You can't call Jamie a thief. That's not right. You have absolutely no proof.”

“Claire has a point,” Tucker said before anyone else could speak. “You need some physical evidence or a witness to bring charges against somebody. Once we file a report, we can figure out if there's sufficient evidence to follow up with legal action.”

Mrs. Rapp tugged on her husband's sleeve. “Let's just go home. I'll call the insurance company from the car. I'm sure we have coverage for this.”

“That's not the point. I want to make a report, Officer. I want you to ask that young man more questions.”

“You can follow me to the station. It's on your way out of town,” Tucker replied, ignoring Mr. Rapp's final demand. “I'll send you a copy of the report, Liza. I might have more questions. I'll be in touch.” He looked directly at Jamie. Claire felt a chill.

The Rapps followed the police car out of the drive and disappeared down the road.

Liza, Claire, and Jamie went back inside. Most of the guests had checked out. Others had gone out to enjoy the beautiful weather—off to the beach or bike riding.

Jamie looked at Claire and Liza. “What should I do now? Do you want to look around more?”

Liza nodded. “I think we should. At least we can tell the Rapps—and the insurance company—that we did a thorough search.” She reached out and touched Jamie's arm. “Don't worry, Jamie. Even if we don't find it, it was very wrong of Mr. Rapp to accuse you that way without any proof.”

“Tucker knows that, too,” Claire assured him. “Come on, let's look around the first floor. Let's each take a room,” she proposed. “We might find it.”

The three split up. Liza took the front parlor, Jamie took the sitting room, and Claire took the dining room and patio. She already knew the watch wasn't in the kitchen, though she planned to check again, just in case.

Her thoughts wandered wildly while she searched. She didn't want to think of what might happen if somehow Mr. Rapp convinced Tucker, or some other law officer, to pursue this. What if he made something up? He seemed so determined to find Jamie guilty; he might resort to such a thing.

If Jamie was found guilty of stealing the watch, he would probably have to spend time in jail. She knew that he'd been in trouble with the law before, as a kid. But he had been so young, he had always gotten off fairly easily.

It wouldn't be so simple this time, now that he was an adult. Even a few months in jail would be dreadful, a black mark on his life that he might never recover from. Just when he was getting some momentum in a positive direction. It didn't seem fair.

* * *

B
RUNCH
at the Peregrine—especially the Baked Apple French Toast, one of Avery's recent creations—was the highlight of a rave review that had appeared in a Newburyport newspaper the past week. So many customers showed up at noon on Sunday that a line formed out the door. While Gena took pictures with her cell phone, Avery wondered how to keep her potential patrons from losing patience and walking off. But Teresa calmly sent Brittany out with a tray of cold drinks and mini-quiches, which kept the customers calm and tantalized.

Later that afternoon, Avery was in an upbeat mood as she prepped for dinner. She thought about sending Mike the photo of the customer line, with a silly caption like, “Miracles happen!” Then dismissed the notion. She wanted him to see that the Peregrine was doing well, but she didn't want him to think she was gloating.

She hadn't seen him much on the boardwalk the last few days and suspected the Tuna was very busy as the summer wound down, even more than her café. The tour group had marched by the other day, as scheduled, but an older gentleman with silver hair and a handlebar mustache had led the parade. The vivacious Cindy was nowhere in sight.

Avery thought that was a good sign. She decided she had read too much into seeing Mike and Cindy together. She had let it scare her off too easily. What she really needed to do was march down to the Tuna herself and take Mike up on her rain check for that sailing date—any kind of date. He probably thought she wasn't interested. She wasn't sure how that had happened, but she felt ready now to make it clear that she was interested in seeing where their relationship could go. Very interested.

As Avery mulled this over, Gena pushed open the door that led to the dining room. “Someone's here to see you, Avery.”

Avery looked up from the red pepper she had been chopping. Was it Mike? She hoped so. Maybe her thoughts had summoned him.

But before she could even smooth down her hair, someone peeked over Gena's shoulder and smiled. Her heart fell. It wasn't Mike, not even close.

“There she is, chopping away. Making the magic happen,” her visitor called out.