The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel (33 page)

Suddenly, Duncan changed direction, heading southeast. “I think I see her!”

“Hold on!” Clancy yelled to Evie.

Duncan pushed Da’s boat past its limits, hitting fifteen knots at one point, even though the sea was choppy. Clancy was concerned that Evie would be tossed into the water, but saw how her hands clutched the side of the boat, determination in her eyes. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“Got her!” Duncan called out. “Two points off the bow!”

“Oh my God. Is she still in the boat?”

“Can’t see yet,” Clancy said. “Does she know to put on a life jacket?”

Evelyn raked her hands through her hair. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Binocs.”

Duncan handed a pair of binoculars over his right shoulder and Clancy focused them. Oh, no. He couldn’t see her. There was no little head anywhere.

“Is she there? Oh, God, tell me! Is she still in the boat? Please, please be in the boat!”

Just then, he saw movement in the FBI powerboat, a head poking up along the side. “Got her! Got her! She’s there!”

Evie gasped in relief.

“Hold on. I estimate two minutes to target.” Duncan
pulled back a little on the throttle and kept on a straight course. “Goddamn! Why are these birds still here?”

The helicopters hadn’t backed off. They’d moved closer, now probably hovering only thirty feet overhead, their searchlights sweeping everywhere. Thanks to them, this little maneuver would be a hundred times harder than it had to be.

Clancy put his head down, seawater smacking him in the face, limiting his line of sight. “Duncan! Reach under the seat! See if Da’s got a bullhorn!”

“Not here!”

“Evie. Hop up.”

She reached under her seat and handed him the small megaphone. Clancy turned the power switch, hoping to God the batteries weren’t dead.

“Jellybean. Can you slow the boat down?”

“She’s looking right at us.” Duncan was in perfect alignment to pull alongside.

“Make it go slower if you can,” Clancy called out to Chrissy.

The boat jerked, and went faster.

Duncan shouted, “Almost there. This is going to go quick. Are you ready, Clancy?”

“Hold on tight, Jellybean! I’m going to come help you. Grab tight onto anything you can reach and hold on!”

He removed his jacket and shoes and pulled his service weapon from the waistband of his trousers, handing it to Duncan.

They approached the FBI vessel. He stood. Clancy caught Duncan’s eye to ensure his brother was ready.

“On my mark!” Duncan pulled up alongside, but they were still going way too fast to attempt something like this. Not that they had any choice.

Duncan edged slightly ahead of the other boat so the instant Clancy spent in midair wouldn’t cause him to land in the water—or on the boat’s propeller.

“Three!”

He balanced.

“Two!”

Evie shouted, “I love you, Clancy!”

“One!”

Clancy jumped.

Below him was a three-foot-wide band of black sea, and he barely made it. He hit the deck hard and the boat lurched. Christina flew out the other side and hit the water.

Everything he had ever known, seen, and experienced raced through Clancy’s mind. He heard Evie’s scream somewhere off in the distance and he knew this was it. He would only get one chance.

As the lights swirled and the water sprayed, Clancy dove in after Jellybean, her point of entry into the water firm in his mind’s eye.

Freezing cold. Black. Silent. He pushed away any hint of doubt and pushed on. She might rise to the surface. She might not. She might be stunned by the cold. How many seconds did he have before she ran out of air? Before hypothermia set in? The water temperature had to be in the fifties this far from shore.

The searchlights penetrated the water, providing a dim wash of light. What a mysterious and otherworldly place this was, the cold undersea at night.

No Jellybean. She was nowhere. Nowhere.

He kept swimming, eyes open in the gray-green floating nighttime, his brain calling out to her.

Nothing. Nothing.

His lungs ached and his head felt full, like his skull was about to crack. He knew he had to surface to get more air, and started to push himself up.

Just then, he saw something. A mermaid tail. Her costume! She was there! Clancy pressed on, knowing he had one shot at reaching her. Closer, closer.

Something happened. The little girl began moving through the water as if she were powered by jet fuel. He would never be able to catch her. How could she move that fast?

Clancy startled. That hadn’t been Jellybean, because the little girl was right in front of him, suspended in the water, unmoving. He reached a hand out for her and missed. She began to float away.

He was down to his last seconds. He couldn’t resist the urge—he had to gasp for air in a place he knew he would never find it. His mouth opened. And that’s when he witnessed the impossible—a bevy of ethereal sea goddesses gathered around him, curiosity in their eyes and soft, sad smiles on their exquisite faces. So much beauty . . .

Funny how he had spent his whole life denying the possibility of mermaids, and here in the last flash of life he discovered he’d been wrong.

Suddenly he felt the water churn around him. A mermaid tail beat with force directly before him, silken hair cascading behind, the creature catching Jellybean’s lifeless body in her outstretched arms. Together, they shot toward the surface.

Clancy let himself go. He felt something solid against his chest and he embraced it, as he rushed up, up, to his death.

Oh, how he had loved Evelyn. He hoped she would remember him. Always . . .

In the next instant, everything exploded—air, life, noise, light, cold—he was slammed with it. Clancy realized that he was in the ocean and it was night and over the roar of boat engines and helicopters he heard a soft whimper. He looked down. A person was tucked under his arm. A child. Jellybean. And she was crying.
She was alive! He was alive, too!

Wait.

What?

He and Christina were suddenly lifted from the cold water. When he next opened his eyes he had no idea how much time had passed. All he knew was that Evie was there, holding Jellybean and kissing Clancy all over his face.

He tried to concentrate so he could get the words out. “Is she—?”

“Yes! You saved her life! You saved her!”

He didn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open. Such strange thoughts . . .

“Clancy, can you hear me? I knew the second you went in the water . . . if you didn’t come up, all the joy would disappear from my life. You and Christina are the most important things in the world to me. I love you. I love you! Do you understand what I’m saying? You are the only man I’ve ever loved and the only man I ever will.”

He tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. Down there, down in that watery world below the surface, what had been real and what had been illusion? Which was worse—a brain without oxygen or a bowl of ’shroomer chili? Maybe the psychedelic result was much the same.

But some of it was real—the searchlights, jumping from one boat to the other, the shock of the freezing water against his flesh, the pain in his lungs, the graceful propulsion of the . . .

Uh-oh.

His eyes popped open. Clancy clutched Evie’s hand and pulled her closer. He had to tell her. She needed to know. It was important that she understood they were real. He had really, truly seen the beautiful creatures, he had touched them! And if he and Christina were alive, it was because of them.

He pulled on Evie’s sleeve.

“What is it, Clancy? Are you all right? Tell me.”

“Mermaids,”
he whispered.
“Beautiful mermaids everywhere.”

M
r. T made his move while the flower girl wasn’t paying attention, and the vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles was suddenly gone. All that remained was the point of sugar cone and a sticky drip down her thumb.

“Hey! You silly dog!”

“Not again,” Clancy sighed.

“Earl?”

“Mr. T this time. Do you think they meet in advance to decide whose turn it is?”

“Oh, I’m certain they do,” Evie said. “I bet they have a five-year business plan, too.”

“Yeah, they’re brilliant like that, aren’t they?”

Clancy and Evie were enjoying their stroll into town, an outing that would kill the gap between the wedding ceremony and the reception. When Rowan married Ash today she became the first Flynn of her generation to get hitched. Clancy had a hard time deciding who was more excited about that—the bride or her mother. The reception may prove to be a different story, though. His parents had agreed to sit at the same table for the catered affair, but now Frasier was running around trying to swap out seating cards.

True, Clancy and Evie could have stayed at the Safe Haven or hung out at home for an hour, but it was so
beautiful outside—approaching record-breaking warm temperatures for October—that they decided to make the most of it. Winter would be coming soon enough. And besides, Charlie was visiting for the weekend and the little house was awfully cramped with three adults, two dogs, and a preschooler.

Of course, there was another reason for this stroll. Evie just didn’t know it yet. If all went well, she was about to make Clancy the luckiest man on Earth.

So much had happened in the last couple months. The last time Clancy Skyped with Duncan, his brother joked that no one would have believed the events of that night on the dock if Heather Hewes hadn’t sold her freelance news footage to
60 Minutes
.

Richard Wahlman had suffered another heart attack the night of the Mermaid Ball. He was fine now—well, at least his heart was fine. He left Congress and quit politics altogether, and his wife, who had filled in for him during his illness, was now a shoo-in for the midterm elections just a week away. Wahlman’s former chief of staff, the one who stuck it to him, worked for the wife now. Most of the criminal charges against him had been dropped, though he was set to go to trial for influence peddling next year.

When he was still hospitalized, Richard signed over his parental rights and backed away from any custody or visitation action. He said that night on the dock taught him he didn’t have what it took to be a father—the health or the mind-set. He said it was clear that Christina belonged where she was, but he wanted to create a trust fund for her education and be nearby should she ever want to get to know her biological father. So he bought a house on Martha’s Vineyard.

Perhaps the oddest turn of events in Wahlman’s life was his claim that his heart attack led to a near-death experience and an encounter with God. In an effort to set things right with Her, he joined an online Goddess
worship community and applied for membership to the Bayberry Island Mermaid Society. They denied him by a unanimous vote, saying he was “simply too out there.” They referred him to the Fairy Brigade.

Richard paid every cent in attorney fees that Clancy and Evelyn accrued in their efforts to untangle their legal issues. It had taken nearly two frustrating months, but everything was behind them now.

Or maybe everything was ahead of them.

They approached Fountain Square to enjoy the last bit of the mermaid’s glory. Tomorrow, the fountain would be shut off for the winter, and her pipes drained to ward off winter damage. It was nice that Earl, Mr. T, and Christina got one last day to chase one another around the fountain.

“Are you happy, Evie?”

She stopped walking. Those sea glass green eyes of hers were puzzled. “You know I am. I tell you every day.”

The dogs and the flower girl went around again.

“Do you love me?”

Evie laughed and grabbed both his cheeks. “Of course I love you. You are my first and will be my last.”

Dogs and girl zoomed by again.

“I’m glad, but I have to be honest. I think something’s missing.”

Evie took a step back and frowned. Clancy got down on one knee and pulled two small velvet boxes out of his pocket.

“Oh, my God.”

He opened the smaller of the two and held it up as an offering. “Evelyn McGuinness, will you do me the honor of being my wife? I want to share the rest of this strange and beautiful life with you.”

“Yes.” She laughed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Clancy slipped the ring on her finger, jumped up, and took her into his arms. He kissed her hard.

They heard heavy breathing, and pulled their lips apart. Two dogs and a little girl stared up at them.

Christina put her hands on her hips. “Do you love her and want to marry her?”

“With all my heart. And I love you, too.”

Clancy gave the larger box to Christina. She ran to a bench near the fountain, and pulled out the delicate silver chain and mermaid pendant. Her eyes widened as she stared at Clancy.

“This is for me?”

“Absolutely.” Clancy and Evie went to sit on either side of Christina.

“Can you help me put it on?”

Clancy kissed her vanilla cheek and reached around her sticky neck, fiddling with the clasp. All of a sudden, he had the oddest feeling that someone had joined them, and he raised his head to see who it was. No one was there. Except . . . his eyes traveled upward.

She towered over them. The Great Mermaid gazed out to sea in unmoving silence, the way she’d always done and always would do.

In his own thoughts, Clancy thanked her for everything. Just in case.

Read on for a look at the first book

in Susan Donovan’s Bayberry Island series,

SEA OF LOVE

Available from Signet Select.

“I
s it true what they say about the mermaid statue?”

“Yeah, like, can she really hook us up with some hot guys while we’re here?”

Rowan Flynn’s eyelid began to twitch. She gently closed the cash drawer and smiled at her latest arrivals, grateful they couldn’t read her thoughts. But holy hell—this had to be the hundredth mermaid question of the day! At this rate she’d never make it through festival week without completely losing her mind.

“And, like, where’s the nearest liquor store?”

But wait . . . what if this were the opportunity she’d been waiting for, the perfect time to knock some sense into the tourists? Maybe these girls—two typical, clueless, party-hungry twentysomethings checking into her family’s godforsaken, falling-down bed-and-breakfast—would be better off knowing the awful, horrible truth about the Bayberry Island mermaid legend. And love in general.

The thought made her giddy.

Rowan was prepared for this opportunity. She’d rehearsed her mermaid smackdown a thousand times. The words were locked, loaded, and ready to
zing!
from her mouth and slap these chicks right on their empty, tanned
foreheads, perhaps saving them from years of heartache and delusion.

Yo! Wake up!
she could say.
Of course there’s no truth to the legend. Trust me—the mermaid can’t bring you true love. It’s a frickin’ fountain carved from a lifeless, soulless hunk of bronze, sitting in a town square in the middle of a useless island stuck between Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard, where . . .

“Uh, like, hell-
oh
-oh?”

The girls stared at Rowan. They waited for her answer with optimistic, wide eyes. She just couldn’t do it. What right did she have to stomp all over their fantasies? How could she crush the romantic tendencies nature had hardwired into their feminine souls? How could she jack up their weeklong vacation?

Besides, her mother would kill her if she flipped out in front of paying guests. The Flynns relied on the B and B to keep them afloat—a predicament that was 100 percent Rowan’s fault.

So she handed her guests the keys to the Tea Rose Room, put on her happy-hotelier face, and offered up the standard line of crap. “Well, as we locals like to say, there’s no limit to the mermaid’s magical powers—but only if you
believe.
”

“Awesome.” The dark-haired woman snatched the keys from Rowan and glanced at her friend. “Because I
believe
we need to get laid this week!”

The girls laughed so hard they practically tripped over themselves getting to the grand staircase. Rowan cocked her head and watched them guffaw their way to the landing, banging their rolling suitcases against the already
banged-up oak steps. For about the tenth time that day, she imagined how horrified her loony great-great-grandfather would be at the state of this place. Rutherford Flynn’s mansion was once considered an architectural wonder, a symbol of the family patriarch’s huge ego, legendary business acumen, enormous wallet, and enduring passion for his wife—a woman he swore was a mermaid.

“Oh! Like, ma’am, we forgot to ask. Where’s our room?”

Ma’am?
Rowan was only thirty, just a few years older than these girls! Since when was she a damn
ma’am
?

Oh. That’s right. She’d become a
ma’am
the day she’d left the real world to become the spinster innkeeper of Bayberry Island.

“Turn right at the top of the stairs.” Rowan heard the forced cheerfulness disappear from her voice. “It’s the second room on the left. Enjoy your stay, ladies.”

“We are so going to try!”

As the giggling and suitcase dragging continued directly overhead, Rowan propped her elbows on the old wood of the front desk and let her face fall into her hands. So she was a ma’am now, a ma’am with three check-ins arriving on the evening ferry. She was a ma’am with one clogged toilet on the third floor, twenty-two guests for breakfast tomorrow, four temporary maids who spoke as many languages, and eight hellish days until the island’s annual Mermaid Festival had run its course. Oh, and one more detail: the business was twenty-seven thousand dollars in the hole for the year, losses that absolutely
had
to be made up in the coming week or bankruptcy was a distinct possibility. Which also was this ma’am’s fault, thank you very much.

And every second Rowan stayed on the island playing pimp to the mermaid legend was a reminder of the lethal error she’d made while visiting her family exactly three years before. She’d dropped her guard with that fish bitch just long enough to leave her vulnerable to heartbreak, betrayal, and the theft of what little
remained of the Flynn family fortune. It was hard to believe, but Rowan had been happy before then. She’d studied organizational psychology and had a career she loved, working as an executive recruiter in the higher-education field. She had a great apartment in Boston and a busy social life. So what if she hadn’t found her true love? She’d been in no rush.

But she’d returned for the Mermaid Festival that year and met a B and B guest named Frederick Theissen. He was so charming, handsome, and witty that before she could say, “Hold on a jiff while I check your references,” Rowan had fallen insanely in love with a complete stranger determined to whisk her away to New York. Her mother and her cronies insisted it was the legend at work and that Frederick was her destiny.

As it turned out, her charming, handsome, and witty stranger might have loved her, but he also happened to be a Wall Street con man who used her to steal what remained of her family’s money. Destiny sucked.

Of course, her mother wasn’t entirely to blame for her downfall. Rowan should have known better. But she still had the right to despise anything and everything related to the frickin’ mermaid until the day she died.

The familiar
putt-putt
of a car engine caught her attention, and Rowan raised her head to look out the beveled glass of the heavily carved front doors. She watched the VW Bug plastered with iridescent fish scales come to a stop in the semicircle driveway. Since it was festival week, the car was decked out for maximum gawking effect, with its headlights covered in huge plastic seashells and a giant-assed mermaid tail sticking out from the trunk. Her mother got out of the car and strolled through the door.

“Hi, honey! Everything going smoothly? How many more are due on the last ferry?”

Rowan gave Mona the once-over and smiled. Like the car, her mother was in her festival finery, in her case the formal costume of the president of the Bayberry Island
Mermaid Society. Mona’s flowing blond wig was parted in the center and fell down her back. She wore shells on her boobs, sea glass drop earrings, and a spandex skirt of mother-of-pearl scales that hugged her hips, thighs, and legs. The skirt’s hem fanned out into a mermaid flipper that provided just enough ankle room for her to walk around like Morticia Addams. Unlike Morticia, however, Rowan’s mother wore a pair of coral-embellished flip-flops.

“Hi, Ma.” Rowan checked the B and B reservation list. “Two doubles and a quad—parents and two kids.”

“Will you put the family in the Seahorse Suite?”

“No. I’ve already got a family in there. I’m putting the new arrivals in the Dolphin Suite.”

Her mother approached the front desk, leaned in close, and whispered, “What’s the status of the commode?”

“I’m hoping it’ll get fixed before they check in.”

One of Mona’s eyebrows arched high, and she tapped a finger on the front desk. “You’d better do more than hope, my dear. The Safe Haven Bed-and-Breakfast has a reputation to uphold.”

Rowan held her tongue. Some might argue the establishment’s only reputation was that it had seen better days and was owned by the island’s first family of cray-cray.

“But why worry?” Mona waved an arm around dramatically, a move that caused one of her shells to shift slightly north of decent. “The evening ferry might not even make it here. Did you hear the forecast?”

This was a rhetorical question, Rowan suspected, but she could tell by the tone of her mother’s voice that the news wasn’t good. “Last I heard, it was just some rain.”

Mona shook her head, her blond tresses swinging. “Ten-foot swells. Wind gusts up to forty-five knots. Lightning. The coast guard’s already issued a small-craft advisory. And the island council is meeting with Clancy right now to decide if they should take down the outdoor festival decorations—a public safety concern, you know. We
wouldn’t want that giant starfish flying around the boardwalk like back in 1995. Nearly killed that poor man from Arkansas.”

“Absolutely.” Rowan pretended to tidy some papers on the desk as she forced her chuckle into submission. They both knew the real public safety risk was that council members could come to blows deciding whether to undecorate for what might be just a quick-moving summer squall. She didn’t pity her older brother Clancy. Tempers were known to flare up during festival week, a make-or-break seven days for anyone trying to eke out a living on this island, which was nearly everyone. And that didn’t count the latest twist. A Boston developer’s plans to build a swanky marina, golf course, and casino hotel had split the locals into two warring factions. About half of the island’s residents preferred to keep Bayberry’s quaint New England vibe. The other half wanted increased tourism revenue, even if it meant crowds, traffic, noise, and pollution. And the Flynns were at the center of the dispute, since their land sat smack dab in the middle of the mile-long cove and was essential to the development plans. Much to the dismay of every other property owner on the cove, both Mona and Frasier were listed as owners, and Mona forbade Rowan’s father to sell the land. This meant that one little, middle-aged, spandex-clad mermaid was holding a major real estate developer, every other cove landowner, and half the population of the island hostage.

Rowan had come to view the conflict as a kind of civil war, and like the more historically significant one, the conflict had pitted family member against family member, neighbor against neighbor. The weapon of choice around here wasn’t cannon or musket, though. It was endless squabbling, ruthless name-calling, and an occasional episode of hair pulling or tire slashing.

Rowan might not be thrilled about running from Manhattan with her life in shambles, but one thing could be said for her place of birth. It wasn’t dull.

“Well, Ma, I’m sure Clancy will handle the situation with tact and diplomacy. He always does.”

“That is so true.” As Mona’s gaze wandered off past the French doors and into the parlor, a faint smile settled on her lips. Rowan was well aware that her mother was enamored with her two grown sons—Clancy, a former Boston patrol officer who was now the island’s chief of police, and Duncan, a Navy SEAL deployed somewhere in the Middle East. As the baby of the family, Rowan had grown up accepting that her mother was unabashedly proud of her two smart, handsome, and capable boys. Of course Mona had always loved Rowan, too—but
enamored
? Not so much. Exasperated was more like it, especially starting in about fifth grade, when Rowan began talking about how she couldn’t wait to escape the island and start her real life.

“This
is
your real life,” her mother would say. “Every day you’re alive is real. And if you can’t be really alive here on Bayberry Island, you’ll never be really alive, no matter where you go.”

God, how that used to piss Rowan off. It still did.

Mona adjusted her shell bra and returned her attention to her daughter. “I told Clancy to come over here after the meeting and help you with the storm shutters. God knows your father is useless when it comes to that sort of thing, if he cared enough to check on the house in the first place.”

Rowan ignored the jab. She’d adopted a hands-off policy when it came to her parents’ ongoing power struggles, including their opposing positions on the development plans. “Only a few shutters are in good enough condition to make a difference, and besides, Clancy’s got more important things to do right now.”

Mona didn’t like that response, apparently. Her brow crinkled up. “Who’s going to help you, then? Has a handsome and single handyman managed to check in without me noticing?”

“Not possible, Ma.”

“It’s not possible that such a man would want to visit Bayberry Island?”

“No—it’s not possible you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“True enough.” Mona giggled. “It
is
my job, you know.”

Rowan’s eyes got big, and all she could think was,
Dear God, not this again
. Her mother was the retired principal of the island’s only school, but she’d just alluded to her other “job”—that of Mermaid Society president and keeper of all things legend related. It was a wide net that Mona and her posse used to fish around in other people’s love lives.

Her mother glanced down at Rowan and put her hands on her scale-covered hips. “You look like you have something facetious to say.”

“Nope. Not me, Ma. I’m totally cool with the legend. Love is a many-splendored thing . . . all you need is love . . . back that ass up and all that shit.”

Mona gasped. “
Rowan Moira Flynn
!”

Just then, the
tap-tap
of quick footsteps moved through the huge formal dining room and headed toward the foyer, which was enough to divert Mona’s attention.

“Imelda!”

The petite older woman clutched her chest in surprise, then cut loose with a long string of Portuguese-laced obscenities. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day, Mona.”

“I was just happy to see you.”

Imelda Silva, who had once been the family’s private housekeeper and was now the B and B’s cook, shook her head and marched through the foyer on her way to the staircase. “I’ve been working for your family for twenty-five years. You and I both know you’re not happy to see me. You just want me to do something for that fruity mermaid group of yours and the answer is still
não
! I’d rather fix the toilet in the Dolphin Suite! And you, Rowan.” Imelda pointed an accusatory finger in her direction. “Stay out of the butter pecan ice cream. It’s the topping for tomorrow’s waffles.”