The After House (12 page)

Hugh nodded with a smile. “The left side.”

Remy strolled closer, and a chill danced up her spine. Cool air eddied in a tiny whirlpool, making her shiver. She looked back at Hugh. “You have a draft here.”

He strolled toward her, feeling the temperature drop significantly. “That’s strange. I never noticed it before.” He looked up for a hole in the vaulted roof, then walked over to the radiator, placing his hand on the return. “Come closer to the heat.”

“Said the spider to the fly,” she thought. Then she wondered where that had come from. Something buzzed around her, and her vision blurred for a moment. She brushed it away. When she placed her foot down, a feeling
of lassitude enveloped her. Hugh motioned for her to come closer, holding out another chair, but she couldn’t move. Her feet felt glued to the floor.

Eli watched the younger man, his face grim. He rarely left the house, but he sensed Remy had to be watched. She was as fragile as the lace on her dresser, yet she insisted on acting brave. Captain Eli Gaspar would bet the last of his pipe tobacco that the man had more than tea on his mind, and someone had to keep an eye on the girl. After all, as a member of his crew, she became his responsibility.

Hugh’s phone rang. “Ah, here we go.” He listened intently, his face serious, his gray eyes watching her. “I see. No, she’s right here. I’ll let her know. When can she reopen?”

He slid the phone into his back pocket.

“Well?” she asked from her spot, forcing her legs to move closer. Taking a deep breath, she shook off the feeling of restraint, the graciousness in Hugh’s eyes more inviting than the hesitation she knew ravaged her soul.

“It was definitely arson. They feel strongly it was mischief, and they’re betting on kids. It made a mess but didn’t cause any real harm. Do you have any enemies?”

“No, not at all.” She thought briefly about the break-in at her house. Her eyes clouded over.

Hugh moved closer. “What are you thinking about? Are you worried? It’s just a small scorch mark that you’ll be able to buff right out.”

“There wasn’t much damage,” Remy agreed. “Well, I better go.”

Hugh stayed her with his hand. “Detective Saunders asked for you to wait. He’ll be here soon.” He smiled and said, “Would you like the nickel tour?”

“What if I don’t have a nickel? Remy asked playfully. She liked Hugh. They were closer now. The room was hushed as well, like a church. Remy smiled at that. It was as though the world narrowed to the two of them. “In for a nickel, in for a pound,” she thought with a laugh. She might as well. She nodded. After all, the police had asked her to wait there.

He pulled a coin from his tight jeans and placed it on the mahogany desk. “My treat.” He held out a hand to invite her to the first display. She hesitated, but he reached for her. Raising her own small hand, she placed it in his warm clasp, and a feeling of rightness overwhelmed her. They looked at each other. A sigh escaped her lips as Hugh’s hand encased her own.

They walked over to the first display, seeing the artifacts, but each one’s mind and body buzzed with the awareness of the other. Remy squirmed with the onslaught of emotions. She could feel her hormones move into overdrive. She watched his lips as he talked and wondered what he would think of her if she threw him down on the ratty rug to have her wicked way with him. If she could remember a wicked way, she would surely have it, she knew with certainty.

He was talking about telescopes, so she forced her eyes to rest on the shiny brass, seeing only Hugh, and his broad shoulders narrowing to a tight—

“It was always a popular hamlet,” Hugh told her, his face alight with humor, his voice serious.

A lighted case had commemorative telescopes, a naval saber from the Civil War, dress gloves, and a ship’s log. Remy strolled past, not particularly interested, but she listened politely to Hugh as he explained each display. There were framed yellow maps and newspapers describing the changing town.

“Hamlet?” she asked, showing she was a good listener. “Not,” she thought.

“Small town.” Hugh pointed to an old map. “Glaciers carved out our harbor about twenty thousand years ago. They left behind all those big boulders dotting the hills. We have a natural harbor.”

“What does that mean?” Remy asked, warming to his enthusiasm. He talked lovingly of his little museum, his arms working to point out this and that. Remy watched the enjoyment in his face, lost in the deep resonance of his voice. Her mother’s words from a few days ago echoed in her head. “Once you know, you just know.” She searched her memory from the beginning with Scott. He was fun. She enjoyed him, but there was not the gut-punching sense of…what? What was she feeling? She forced herself to pay attention to him. Was it lust? Could desire have been doing this?

Surely coupled with loneliness, the need to interact with a man was strong, but this was something else. She
had male students whom she worked with daily. She never saw them as anything more than bodies that needed to be stretched to their capacities for exercise. Licking her lips, she wondered if his pecs were dusted with hair or smooth. Oh, he would never be interested in someone like her. He was smart, worldly, knew about this kind of stuff. All she knew about was yoga and what kind of mayo to put on a sandwich.

Hugh smiled. “It means that ships can sail right into the harbor and dock here. That makes it easy to get cargo on and off the ships. That’s very important.” He took her to a large chest of drawers, polished to within an inch of its life. She saw that it belonged to a famous family in the area. “This is all significant.” He moved his hand expansively. “It shows that furniture was made here. This was no backwater. It was an important place.”

The tour felt intimate, his voice hushed, reverent.
“It’s hard to believe we’re talking about fish.”
Remy didn’t realize she’d said it aloud.

“No, no. They’re mammals. They breastfeed.”

“We are talking about whales?” Remy asked quietly.

They came upon a diorama of a Native American village. “We weren’t the first settlers in the—”

“We?” she questioned, raising an arched brow. She was aiming to concentrate better. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself. Squashing her attraction, she focused on his tour.

“We, as in my father’s family. They are longtime residents of the area. Anyway, getting back to the subject, we weren’t the first settlers here. The Matinecocks first
settled here thousands of years ago. They sold the land to the English for a collection of hatchets and knives, some shirts, nails, and needles.”

“Not a great deal for the Matinecocks,” Remy said.

“I’m not very proud of it,” Hugh said. “But that was the way of it.” They stared at the collection of shells and arrowheads. He picked one out of the display, toying with the sharp point against the pad of his thumb. For a minute, he seemed lost in thought, as if he was debating something, then he blurted, “They’re mine.” He was embarrassed.

“He’s a nerd,” Remy thought. Happiness overwhelmed her. It didn’t bother her. “Me too,” she wanted to shout.

“I dug most of these up on my parents’ property. Not something I like to admit on a first date.”

“Is this a date?” Remy asked, her tone teasing, the dimple in her cheek showing. She liked the way he looked at her, his gray eyes caressing her face.

He tucked the arrowhead carefully in the case. “I’m sure you’ve been on worse.”

She turned to look him full in the face. It wasn’t fair to have such a handsome mayor. He probably fought off his constituents. “Who says this is bad?” she asked softly.

The lights flickered, breaking the mood.

Hugh directed her to the next case. “The area grew, becoming famous for its mills. These two men.” They walked over to two portraits flanking the back walls of the church. They sat stiffly, looking out at the world grimly. “These are the Jones Brothers. They put Cold Spring, as it was known in those days, on the map. My ancestor…oh…I think it’s finally warming up in here.”

Remy agreed. Her nose had feeling again. It was decidedly warmer in the room. In fact, she felt too warm in her clothes. She took off her jacket, and Hugh hung it on a rolling chair. She studied the serious faces above her.

“They bought a fleet of whaling ships in the mid-nineteenth century, making Cold Spring rival the great whaling harbors of Massachusetts.”

“What’s up with all this?” She gestured to the collection of carved scrimshaw in a glass case.

Hugh blushed and shrugged. “I like whales. I just do. I think they are majestic, beautiful. Did you ever see one in the wild?”

Remy shook her head that she hadn’t, caught up in his energy.

“The whalers and the whaling industry decimated the population, killed thousands of whales.”

“So, why would you venerate the whole thing?”

“Someone’s got to remember it. Interactive museums, little displays like this remind people of what we are capable of doing. If it’s not recorded or studied, we’re bound to repeat it. I feel like it’s some sort of restitution. My seventh great-grandfather was a whaler. That’s where I got my first scrimshaw.”

Remy wiped the sheen of perspiration from her forehead. The pipes clanged loudly, startling both Hugh and Remy. He walked over to check the thermostat.

“Humph. Damnedest thing.” He flicked it with his finger.

Hugh fiddled with the knob, then walked over to the table case filled with various tools made from whalebone. “Some animal gave its life for these trinkets.”

Remy joined him. Hugh opened it, taking out a device with a carved handle attached to a scalloped disk. It had yellowed with age. Hugh placed it in her hands. Remy looked at him with a question in her eyes.

“It’s a pie crust trimmer.”

Remy smiled, running her finger on the delicate rim of the disc. “What are these?” She gestured to a row on flat sticks next to a group of etched whale’s teeth.

“Busks.” Hugh took out a flat, narrow whalebone shaped like an emery board.

“I can’t imagine—”

“It’s a very personal item.” Hugh’s voice dropped, and he moved closer. Remy couldn’t stop staring at those lips. “Men made them for their sweethearts to wear in their corsets as a reminder while the men were away.”

“Did your seventh great-grandfather make one of these?” she asked in a husky whisper.

“I can’t believe I’m flirting over fossils,” Remy thought, swaying closer. Hugh handed the smooth whalebone to Remy. Her fingers touched the carved words reverently.

Remy placed it across her breast, over her heart. The air stilled, and Hugh leaned forward. “He’s going to kiss me,” she thought dreamily. Her eyes slid shut, and she felt him lean into her, his lips lightly grazing hers. The register book fell heavily to the floor, causing them to jump. They parted guiltily. It lay splayed, the pages rifling as though a breeze blew over them.

She blinked up at Hugh and handed him the busk. “It couldn’t have been comfortable, do you think?”

Hugh cleared his throat. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be.” There was another pregnant pause, and Remy’s eyes were drawn to a portrait near the door.

Remy nodded, her gaze caught on the face of a beautiful woman with a blond chignon, who smiled down at her. “Who is this?” She walked over to the painting.

“That’s Sarah—” Hugh said, but he was interrupted by the detective’s arrival.

Detective Saunders was a tall man, a former highway patrolman, now a plainclothes officer, who walked purposefully toward the couple. He had a head of ginger hair and the milky skin of a redhead. He smiled politely at Remy.

“As I told the mayor, however amateurish, it was definitely arson. Can you think of anyone who would do this to you?”

Remy shook her head. Hugh touched her back in a comforting way, and with surprise, Remy chose not to move away. His large hand felt good against the thin material of her shirt. He rested his hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

“Well, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. We’ll send an extra patrol car to circle past your home later tonight.”

“I can have my class at four?”

Saunders nodded. “We’re done in there. Call Jacar’s Hardware. They’ll board up the window.”

The detective nodded to Hugh grimly, then left the museum.