At the River’s Edge The Chesapeake Diaries (15 page)

The old restaurant seemed even darker than it had been when she and Jesse had been there, but she’d seen everything she’d needed to see on her first visit. Right now, she just wanted to stand inside the open room and let her dreams build. This morning, her decisions having been made in the dark the night before, she needed her dreams, needed to feel that she was taking control of her life and moving forward in her own direction. Committing herself to Enright & Enright had been step one. Resigning from the DA’s office would be step two. Buying this place—making it her own—would be the third and final step.

Starting right now, she was taking charge.

She walked around the big room, envisioning what she’d do there, how it would look. She’d paint the interior walls a soft, creamy yellow, the tables and chairs black. The countertop was a mess of scratches and chips, so that would have to go. Poured concrete, tinted something pretty, perhaps a soft gray, might be
nice, if the wood was too far gone. The metal stools looked okay, but the seat cushions would need to be replaced. She’d probably have to do that herself, but she’d figure it out.

As for décor, she wasn’t sure. She loved the Bay but didn’t want her place to look too kitschy—no fake blue-claw crabs or fishing nets. She’d come up with something that reflected the true flavor of St. Dennis. Some valances at the windows—maybe a black-and-white toile—and some ceramic vases. Pale yellow maybe, like the walls, or blue, like the sky. She could grow the flowers herself from seeds, right outside the door and around the perimeter of the building, at least until she could get a proper garden going in that strip of ground between here and the bait shop. There was plenty of room for herbs and a cutting garden. Maybe after she got established, she’d plant some of her own produce.

She’d clear away some of the overgrowth outside and buy some flagstones to build a patio, buy a couple of tables and offer alfresco dining framed by views of the river. Of course, she’d have to plant something along the side to block out the ugly fence, but surely she could find shrubs or trees that would grow quickly.

She went into the kitchen, wishing she’d brought a flashlight as she opened each of the cabinets, took note of their contents, then closed the doors. The plain white dishes would be perfect if there were enough of them that were not chipped or cracked, but it was too dark to tell.

She glanced around one last time.

“I’ll be back,” she said aloud before she locked the door behind her. “I don’t know when, but I will.”

Back at the office, she slipped the key under the pile on Jesse’s desk where she’d found it. Violet wasn’t at her desk, but she could hear someone in the little kitchen at the end of the hall. She walked past the small room she’d asked Jesse to clean out for her. The odds were that he’d never get around to it, but Violet would make sure it got done. She went into the kitchen, where Violet stood at the sink washing a cup and saucer.

“Back so soon, dear?” Violet asked without turning around. “Did you do what you set out to do?”

“Yes. I only had one short errand.” Sophie smiled. As if she could fool Violet. “Something’s come up at home, something involving one of my cases, and I’m going to have to leave this morning. I left a note for Jesse on his desk. I don’t want to wait for him since I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Did you try calling him?”

“I don’t want to disturb him if he’s with a client.”

“Oh, good point.” Violet dried her hands on a bright blue towel as she turned to Sophie.

“I’m just going to run back to the house and grab my things so I can get on the road.” Sophie rested a hand on the back of a chair, stalling while she tried to figure out the best way to approach the one thing she needed to say.

“I’ll tell Jesse you waited for as long as you could.”

“Thanks, Violet.”

“You’re welcome.” Violet started toward the door, and when Sophie didn’t immediately move out of
the doorway, she asked, “Was there something else, dear?”

“I was just wondering … well, about your friend. The woman who owns that property out on River Road?”

“Enid Walsh.”

“Yes, Enid Walsh. I was wondering if maybe she’d mentioned anything about selling the place anytime soon.”

“What a coincidence! We had a discussion about that very thing just last night. I remembered that in her younger days, Enid loved to play bingo. Last night was bingo night at the grange hall, so I thought perhaps she’d like a night out. Of course she was delighted to go, and she seemed to enjoy herself. Won fifty dollars, too, so all in all, it was a very good night for her.”

“That was nice of you to take her.”

“One does what one can for one’s fellow travelers in life, dear.” Violet sighed. “Anyway, we did get talking on the way home about how she got to thinking about our conversation and how she’s come to the conclusion that she needs assistance to safely stay in her house or she’ll wind up in some sort of group home—a nursing home, that is—where she can be cared for. Now, Enid abhors that very idea—she’s pretty much a loner, don’t you know, never was one to socialize much, never married nor did she want to. When she worked at the restaurant, she stayed mostly in the kitchen, let her mother deal with the public. Went to church, and other than the occasional bingo game, she stayed pretty close to home. So the thought of having to sell her home to be able to afford to go
someplace she doesn’t want to be, well, that doesn’t make sense. I said …”

Oh, please … get to the point. Is she going to sell it?

Violet bustled past Sophie when she heard the phone ring on her desk. Sophie stepped out of the way and followed in the older woman’s wake, then forced herself not to tap her foot impatiently while Violet took the call.

“Let me just make a note for your brother,” Violet said after she hung up. “There. Now, where was I …?”

“You were talking to Enid Walsh.”

“Yes, yes. She said she’d been thinking about what I’d suggested, about it making more sense to sell the restaurant and use the money to stay in her family home. She could hire someone to live in with her so she’s not alone all the time, and she …”

“Do you think she’ll do that? Sell the restaurant, I mean.” Sophie’s impatience got the best of her. She had to cut to the chase.

“I believe she is seriously considering it, yes.”

“Do you think she’ll let you know when she makes that decision?”

“I told her I could help her to find someone to appraise the property so she could ask a fair price for it. She said she’d call me when she’s made a decision.” Violet tapped a pen on her desktop. “She does need to get as much as she can for it, you know. If she can’t make enough from the sale to enable her to stay in her home, there’s no point in selling it, as far as she’s concerned. She will need to get fair market value for it.”

“Of course.” Sophie wondered what the fair market
price would be. “Could you … um, when she has a price, when she makes up her mind, do you think you could let me know? I mean, before she officially puts it up for sale?”

“You’ll know when I know.” Violet paused. “You seem to have quite an interest in the place.”

“Oh, it’s always been a dream of mine to own my own little café. I guess everyone has their little dreams, right?”

“Does Jesse know of your interest?”

“He knows, but he doesn’t think much of it,” she admitted. “So if you could maybe not mention this conversation to him.” She added pointedly, “Or to anyone …”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks, Violet.” Sophie gave the woman a quick hug. “I’ll be back for the wedding, so I’ll see you soon. In the meantime, if anything …”

“Of course, dear. I promise I’ll call you.”

Violet watched from the front window as Sophie drove away from the curb, then sighed deeply. She hated keeping things from Curtis—they’d been friends for seventy years, and his wife had been her dearest friend. These days, they’d say BFFs—best friends forever, and she and Rose Enright had certainly been that. So to keep something important from Curtis, something that he’d probably like to know—something he probably
should
know—just felt wrong.

On the other hand, she’d promised Sophie that she wouldn’t say a word. Oh, of course, the idea was that she not mention anything to Jesse, but Violet felt
pretty sure that Sophie’s “or anyone” was a direct reference to her grandfather.

Violet had known, of course, where Sophie had gone earlier that morning. She’d taken the mail into Jesse’s office and had started to place it in the center of his desk where she always did—lest he later claim to not have seen something—and seen the note Sophie had left there. Violet hadn’t meant to pry, but she knew every piece of paper on Jesse’s desk and hadn’t recognized that one, so she had to investigate, didn’t she? Her heart had skipped a beat when she read it—Curtis and Jesse would both be over the moon when they found out that Sophie was planning on moving to St. Dennis and would be joining the firm after all—but she’d also noticed that the key to Walsh’s restaurant was no longer on the desk. She’d deliberately positioned that string to hang off the side of the pile that Jesse had left there the day before, lest the key be misplaced. If she’d had time to search for the Walsh file, she’d have returned the key herself. God only knew where he’d put it—it wasn’t in the drawer where it belonged.

Of course, with his sister joining the firm, Violet suspected that Jesse would have more time to deal with those little details he so often overlooked these days. Then again, there was always the possibility that Jesse Enright was just not as detail-oriented as some.

Violet turned away from the window and went into the small office that Sophie had selected as her own. There were others upstairs, all unused at this point, but apparently there was something about this room that she liked. It had two nice windows that looked across Old St. Mary’s Church Road, so it did have a
view, but that was about all. Violet made a mental note to check upstairs for a few paintings to bring down and hang in what she already thought of as Sophie’s room. Something told her that the young woman would appreciate a few of the older prints that had once hung in her grandfather’s office. She seemed like someone who’d appreciate her roots, even if she was just discovering them.

A sigh escaped Violet’s lips. If in fact Sophie was going to do something that was going to upset her family, she should be permitted to do so on her own terms and in her own time, and it wasn’t Violet’s place to interfere. And she of all people knew Curtis, knew how he could be when he wanted someone to do something—the word
manipulative
sprang to mind—whether or not others were inclined to go along with him. Lord knew she hated to judge, but it wasn’t easy for Curtis to back off when he wanted something—and right now, what he wanted was for Sophie to be one of the Enrights in Enright & Enright. How badly he wanted that to happen, Violet couldn’t know for certain, but perhaps it would be best not to get into the middle of all that.

Best to let things take their natural course.

Besides, there was always the chance that Enid would decide not to sell the property after all, and everyone would have gotten into a snit for no reason at all.

Satisfied that her chosen course was the correct one, Violet answered the ringing phone with a clear conscience and a cheery voice.

Jason picked up his set of documents from the settlement table and tucked them under his arm. He’d already said his goodbyes to the representative from the mortgage company and Paul, who’d handled the sale on behalf of both parties. Once outside, though, the new property owner broke into a huge grin, and mentally, he was jumping into the air, clicking his heels. Everything had gone smoothly, and he was in and out in less than an hour. He hopped into his truck and headed straight for River Road.

He stopped the pickup at the gate, and leaving the engine idling, he got out and unlocked the gate with the key he’d been given. He swung the gate wide open, then drove his truck through and across the cracked and broken macadam to the back of the lot where the tree line began. There he parked and got out again.

The wind had picked up, enough that he had to zip up his leather jacket almost to the neck, but he barely noticed. This was his place now.
His
. He walked every inch of it, clear down to the river, which effectively acted as the back property line. Once at the water’s edge, he raised a hand to his forehead, using it as a visor to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun, and looked downriver as far as he could. About a half mile away were the old warehouses that Dallas MacGregor had renovated and were now housing her start-up film company. A mile or so farther down was the start of the residential area, where several of the biggest and grandest homes in town were built in the nineteenth century. Dallas’s great-aunt Berry lived in one of those. He’d been at a holiday party Dallas and her husband, Grant, had hosted there in December.
It was the fanciest house he’d ever been in. If his property had come with a dock, he’d probably be able to see the back of Berry’s property from here. He thought about the feasibility of putting a dock in, then dismissed the thought. It would serve no purpose but to amuse him if he ever decided to take up kayaking.