The Women of Bayberry Cove. Cynthia ThomasonЧитать онлайн книгу.
into a parking place right in front of the Bayberry Cove Kettle just after a customer backed out. Glancing around at the spots nearest him, he confirmed the absence of a black BMW and couldn’t decide if he felt relief or disappointment.
He opened the door to the restaurant, and Louise breezed through it wearing a midthigh sundress splashed with sunflowers and held up with inch-wide shoulder straps. A flurry of gastric activity began in Wes’s stomach that made him forget his earlier cravings for pancakes and bacon.
She stopped in front of him and locked her mesmerizing pale lavender eyes with his. A shock of recognition—no doubt as profound as Wes’s own—shimmered in her gaze for mere seconds before mutating to an amused familiarity. Nothing seemed to faze this woman for long.
“Well, well, Commander.” She placed a fist on her hip and gave him a self-assured grin. “You clean up pretty darn well.”
His fingers twitched at his side. He resisted the ridiculous urge to salute. He literally was a commander, but he didn’t feel in charge of this encounter. “Good morning, Louise,” he said, reassured by the commanding tone of his voice, at least.
“You look refreshed, Wesley,” she said. “I assume you slept well in your seaside retreat.”
“Very well, thank you.” That was a lie. The window air conditioner in the master bedroom had cranked and hissed in competition with the twenty-year-old compressor in the refrigerator. But outdated appliances weren’t all that had kept him awake most of the night. He was staring at the main reason for his restlessness. “And you?”
“Like a top,” she said. “The motel you so generously recommended had all the amenities of, well…a motel.” She flipped a shimmering column of black hair over her shoulder. “But you’ll be glad to know that I may have solved the problem of my living quarters.”
“Oh?”
She raised her eyes to scan the tops of the buildings on Main Street. “I can’t imagine that there isn’t a room to let above one of these Bayberry Cove establishments. I can be quite comfortable here in the middle of everything that goes on in your little town.”
“That is an interesting solution, Louise. I’m sure you’ll find the nightlife in town quite stimulating. Have you checked with any of the shopkeepers yet about vacancies?”
“I don’t need to go door-to-door,” she answered smartly. “I’ve already made one friend in Bayberry Cove who will be helpful.” She pointed to the park across the street, where an old man sat on a bench.
Wes smiled when he recognized the familiar figure who had occupied that particular bench for most of the last five years.
“He was kind enough to give me directions to Pintail Point yesterday,” Louise continued. “I’m sure he’ll help me find a vacancy. I’ll bet he sees everything from that vantage point. And I’ll bet he knows everyone in town.”
“That’s probably a good bet,” Wes said.
Louise inclined her head toward the restaurant door. “You enjoy your breakfast, Commander. By the time you’ve finished, I’ll have signed a two-month lease, and we’ll practically be neighbors.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Wes glanced at the old-timer in the park. Mason was a tough cookie in most of his dealings, but if anyone could talk him into the lease deal of the century, it was Louise. “Why don’t we meet back here in, say, forty-five minutes, and you can let me know how you made out,” Wes suggested. “I’ll even spring for coffee and promise not to pour any on you.”
Amazingly, she seemed to like the idea. “Forty-five minutes it is.” She gave him a grin and left.
“HI. DO YOU REMEMBER ME?” Louise said to the old man sitting under the sprawling oak tree.
He looked at her with surprisingly clear blue eyes that were still apparently capable of appreciating her obvious attributes. Sliding over to give her room on the bench, he motioned for her to sit. “I may be old,” he said, “but my memory’s as fresh as last night’s dew for things that catch my fancy. Did you find your way to Pintail Point yesterday?”
She sat, then angled toward him with her elbow on the back of the bench. “I did. Your directions were perfect. I’m counting on you knowing every little thing about this town. That’s why I’ve come back for your help today.”
He layered his hands over a thick wooden walking stick and appraised her with an intensity that suddenly seemed strangely familiar. “What is it you need, young lady?”
Louise squirmed on the bench seat just a little, suppressing the feeling that she knew this man as more than just a passing acquaintance from the previous day. It was more than his eyes. Though his skin was creased with wrinkles and slack on his face, she detected a once-square jawline, punctuated by a strong chin that thrust forward with authority.
She told him about her search for living quarters and that she was hoping an apartment might be available in town. He nodded, asked her a few questions about her intended length of stay and her reason for being in Bayberry Cove.
She answered truthfully, and when she’d finished, he thought a moment and then replied. “There’s a small house out on the sound about four miles from here,” he said. “Has a sign above the door that says Buttercup Cottage. I think you’d like it there.”
Louise laughed. “I would indeed, but it seems someone beat me to it. A man is already living there….”
His scraggly white eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Do you know his name?”
“Wesley Fletcher,” she said.
The beginning of a smile curled the man’s thin lips. “So, the boy’s come home,” he said. “I wondered when I caught a glimpse of him going into the Kettle.”
“He has. I tried to bargain with him—”
“Oh, you can’t bargain with Wesley. He’s as stubborn as his father.”
Louise nodded. “So I’ve experienced.”
The old man chuckled. “You’d best leave the cottage to him.” He pointed across the street. “Now, then, see that furniture store? McCorkle’s New and Used?”
Louise nodded again.
“You try that place. I know the upstairs is vacant, and I think it’s in pretty good shape. ’Course, all these buildings are showing signs of age. But I expect that one will do.”
“And who should I see about renting it?” Louise asked.
“Ask for Suzie or Evan McCorkle. They run the place. You tell them that Mason told you to inquire.” He winked at her. “You’ll get the apartment. I guarantee it. Just have Suzie draw up a simple agreement saying you’ll pay three hundred a month for the next two months. Tell her to give you a copy and that’ll be that.”
“Really? It’s that easy?”
“You run along and get your suitcase. It’ll be that easy,” he assured her.
And it almost was. Evan McCorkle, gray-haired, well-fed and a living, breathing folk-art archetype of middle-class virtues, was at first reluctant to rent to Louise. She determined from what she deciphered from snatches of his whispered debate with his wife that Evan thought Louise might play loud music or entertain guests at odd hours.
But Suzie McCorkle argued that she had a good feeling about Miss Duncan, and couldn’t she always trust her feelings? In the end, it was Suzie’s intuition and the mention of Mason’s name that clinched the deal. By the time Louise entered the Bayberry Cove Kettle to meet Wesley Fletcher for coffee, she had a signed lease in her hand. “The place is a bit dusty,” she explained to Wes, “but I can fix it up. And I bought a few pieces of furniture from the McCorkles. I’ll be very comfortable there.”
Truthfully, it would take her a good two days to even make the place livable. The furniture