Better Than Gold. Mary BradyЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “YOU’RE LATE.”

      At 6:42 p.m. Mia shed her old wool coat and shook the rain off on the porch to keep the hardwood floor of Monique Beaudin’s foyer dry. The expression on her friend’s delicate, oval face said worried friend, no trace of anger. That would be Monique, the M to her M. Mia wasn’t sure she had ever truly seen her angry.

      “Hey.” Mia stepped inside and toed off her shoes. “I thought if I hung around, Chief Montcalm would eventually let me back in.”

      Monique raised her naturally perfect dark blond brows.

      “Well, he didn’t,” Mia continued as she tucked her damp hair behind her ears. “He had a couple of his people put that yellow police tape across the doors and they all gave me the stink eye as if they thought I was going to break into my own place as soon as they drove away.”

      “So, did you?”

      “I would have, but Chief Montcalm scares the bejeebers out of me.”

      “Well, relax.” Monique took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, accompanying the breath with flowing hand movements.

      “I wish I could relax, turn it off like you do. I wish I could.”

      “Practice. Practice and maybe a nice glass of sauvignon blanc will lighten the mood.”

      “What makes you think my mood needs lightening?” Mia stiffened her shoulders as if miffed, and then slouched.

      Monique bubbled out a laugh and led the way to her neat, frilly living room. “Sit. You need it. I’ll drop dinner into the pot and I’ve got everything else ready.”

      By the time they were finished drinking their second glass of wine, lobster shells and remnants of Monique’s handmade bread lay strewn on the serving tray between them.

      To pay the lobster its due and because they were both starving, most of the meal passed in silence broken by such things as “Oh, this is so wonderful” and the cracking of shells.

      “So are they going to let you back in soon?” Monique asked as she placed her neatly folded napkin on the table.

      “I hope so. Every hour the police lock me out, the more pitifully behind I get. I need my crew back in there tomorrow to have the place ready by next Monday because the finishing crew is due to start.” Mia sat forward with her elbows on her knees. “What if all this is for nothing?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “What if we’re too late to build the town up, to make a difference. Building Pirate’s Cove will bring in a few tourists, but it’s only a start. We need more motels and shops, even more restaurants. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some boating business, sightseeing or something like that. If Pirate’s Roost fails, especially before I get a good start, will the rest give up?”

      “Funny you should mention boating.” When Monique sank back against the cushions of the navy couch, Mia realized the usual spark in her friend’s bubbly personality seemed to be dim tonight. It hadn’t been her imagination earlier on the phone. “What’s going on?”

      Monique let out a sigh that sounded like defeat. “I hate to bring it up because it’s like an old broken record in my life.”

      “I’ll get my Victrola,” Mia said. “Come on out with it.”

      “Well, when Granddad stopped by to leave our dinner—” Monique gestured toward the remains on the table. “He told me he was moving south, before the snow flies next fall. Says too much of the town has gone so he might as well go, too.”

      Mia leaned forward, put her stockinged feet on the floor and clutched a frilly chartreuse throw pillow to her chest.

      “What happened this time?” The threat Edwin Beaudin, a longtime widower, had been making since Monique’s mother had died two years ago weighed heavily on his granddaughter.

      “There’s a for-sale sign on the Calvins’ lobster boat. You can guess how it went after he saw that. Says he might as well give up bee-un ah Main-ah.” Monique used her grandfather’s heavy Maine accent. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he goes. I wish I still had Mom. He’d stay for her.”

      Mia’s heart ached, but...” Maybe you and I will have to make him stay.”

      “You know my granddad. He’s more stubborn than you are.”

      “That’s what I’m depending on.”

      “You have an idea?” Monique’s expression brightened and so did Mia’s heart.

      “I have a skeleton, and a crew that needs a nanny. What if he still felt like he was a necessary part of the Bailey’s Cove community?” When Edwin Beaudin lost first his wife and then his daughter, he lost the will to battle the elements, pollution, poachers and the competition for the ever-dwindling supply of fish and lobster. “And I need the shoulder of a big strong man to lean on.”

      “You?” Monique laughed out loud. “Need a shoulder to lean on?”

      “I’m glad I’m so amusing.”

      “Well, you’re so ‘I can do it myself’ that I never thought I’d ever...ever...ever hear you say those words. Lean on someone, especially a man and especially after Rory.”

      “I’d like to think I’ve forgiven myself for agreeing to marry a guy who would give me a ring he paid for with my money and have the guts to ask for it back when he changed his mind.”

      “I’m sure you think you have, honey, but trust me, you still don’t lean on anyone for anything.”

      “I lean on you.”

      “That’s because I feed you.”

      “There is that.” Mia put her elbows on her knees again. “But besides fishing or hauling in a big lobsta for his granddaughter and her friend, what does Edwin Beaudin like better than to rescue someone?”

      “Nothing. He’s been rescuing me my whole life.” Monique’s big blue eyes opened wider in dawning comprehension.

      “Do you think he’d be interested in supervising those three workers for me, keeping Charlie out of the bar? I can’t pay him much up front, but as a former boat captain, he can keep a crew in line.”

      “He might.”

      Mia felt some of the same tentative hope she heard in Monique’s voice.

      Monique’s shoulders sagged again.

      “What?”

      “Granddad’s right about so many of the old-timers leaving. What if he’s right about getting out of town, building a life of some kind away from here? What if it is time to give up?”

      “Giving up on Bailey’s Cove means, giving up our hometown having a place in Maine’s heritage. All we’d have left are the fading memories. No one would care or, after a while, even remember the folks who worked so hard to make this a viable town, your ancestors and mine. At least half the people in Bailey’s Cove have a relative who settled somewhere around here.”

      “But do you think it’s worth it to beat yourself up to get the restaurant finished? Wouldn’t it be easier to leave it all behind?”

      “I’ve been out there in the world and there is truly