He pushed away from the counter.“Well, I gotta get back to the town offices. Let me know if you need anything and don’t forget to make sure you get your proper inspections for Ed’s work.”
He was all business now, probably thinking about what he might like to inspect over at the Smugglers Bay Inn.
“Will do.” I watched him leave, glad to have some alone time. I needed to concentrate on the loaf recipe.
As I pawed through the file trying to choose between the cranberry-orange bread I had in my hand, the apple-pecan bread and the peanut-butter-banana bread, I could hear the Biddefords coming back inside. They were in rare form, jostling and arguing. Not much different from before the discovery of the skeleton, but I’d probably have to lay down the law about digging. I didn’t want the yard filled with dangerous holes.
I glanced into the yard just in time to see Henry skulking around the corner of the old chicken coop, near the shed. Now there was an odd one, always with his head buried in a book. He was very quiet and didn’t seem to mesh with the rest of the family at all. I’d heard in snippets of conversations that Henry was also one of the most-skilled cheese sculptors of the entire clan and had become famous for a very detailed sculpture of the Taj Mahal in white cheddar.
What was he doing out by the shed? The shed was a newer structure and old Jed wouldn’t have used it as a landmark for his treasure cache since it wasn’t around during his time.
I craned my neck, pressing my face almost to the glass to get a better look. It didn’t look like he was digging up anything. He didn’t even have a shovel. It almost looked as if he was spying on someone, but I couldn’t see who because he was casting furtive glances in my direction. Whoever the person was they were hidden behind the tall, overgrown shrubbery on the other sideof the kitchen window.
I rushed to the pantry because the window in there was on the other side of the shrubs. Darn it! I still couldn’t see anyone, but I could hear the low murmur of voices.
“Just what do you think you’re getting at?”
I recognized Carla’s nasal Ivy League twang but she obviously wasn’t arguing with Henry. He was on the other side of the yard spying on her.
“You know what I’m getting at…”
Was that Bob? He sounded awfully mean and mad.
“… not gonna stand for it, you make it right or else…” Bob again.What wasn’t he going to stand for?
“Ha! I don’t answer to you.” Carla’s hushed whisper was sharp with anger.
Unfortunately, they then lowered their voices and I couldn’t hear what they were saying. After a few minutes of ear straining, Carla’s voice came through once more, loud and clear. “Don’t bet on it.”
The sound of rustling shrubs and Carla cursing under her breath signaled the end of the conversation. I rushed back to the kitchen, my mind whirling. What in the world was that about? I knew the whole family was at odds but clearly Carla was up to something and Bob was calling her out.
I peeked out the window in time to see Henry walking over to meet Carla. They were about twenty feet from the window now and I could see Carla had two shovels.
“What was that about?” Henry asked.
Carla glanced back toward the shrubbery and I jumped back from the window. Not that I was doing anything wrong, but still…
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna just stand by and take his crap. This time I’m going to do something about it,” she said as she thrust one of the shovels into Henry’s hands. As they turned and stalked off, her words rang in my ears. I couldn’t shake the fact that her tone was unmistakablythreatening.
Six
Carla’s words were still echoing in my head an hour later when I pulled up to the town common where they were setting up for the 250-year celebration. Millie and Mom hadn’t cancelled or shown up at the guesthouse to dig up the grounds, so I assumed our meeting was still on. It was a perfect day witha cloudless blue sky, warm sun shining down, and birds twittering and flying in the leaves of the stately oaks and maples that lined the common.
The smells of fresh peaches and honeysuckle mingled with the sounds of volunteers hammering the stakes for the giant white tents under which other volunteers were setting up tables for the various town businesses to place their brochures and items for sale. At the far end, a myriad of colorful boats could be seen moored in Oyster Cove, with the sound of the ocean lapping against the town docks and the cry of seagulls in the background.
Under the tents, the area was abuzz with town merchants vying for the best spot for their table. The celebration didn’t open to the public for another day, but everyone wanted to make sure everything was perfect.
I found Millie at the front of the tent, draping a red gingham tablecloth on a long white plastic folding table.
“Hi, Josie, what do you think?” Millie placed some Oyster Cove Guesthouse pamphlets into a plastic holder and stood back to admire her handiwork.
“It looks pretty good,” I said.
“You can pile up the baked goods over here, and then I thought we would put that book about the history of the guesthouse over here. You know, the one in the bookcase in the owner’s quarters?” She pointed to various spots on the table then turned an inquisitive face toward me. “Youare nailing down the baked goods, aren’t you?”
“Yep. I’m going to do peanut-butter-banana bread.” Of all the recipes I’d culled out, that one sounded the most interesting. I mean, who doesn’t like peanut butter and bananas? I tried to sound confident but the look on Millie’s face made me think I’d missed the mark. Maybe that recipe was above my level.
After a few seconds, she nodded.“A very good choice. If you need help let me know.”
My eyes drifted to the next table. To my dismay I spotted a pamphlet for the Smugglers Bay Inn.
“Stella Dumont’s display is right next to ours?” My tone was incredulous.
Millie’s excited expression soured. “Yes. Can you believe that? I talked to Fay Weinstein from the Chamber of Commerce to try to get it moved, but she wouldn’t do it. Two guesthouses advertising next to each other. It’s preposterous, isn’t it, Rose?” She turned to my mother who simply nodded.
I scrutinized Stella’s table. It was decked out in an eyelet-lace tablecloth with crystal candleholders and a pile of magnets and lip balm with the Smugglers Bay Inn logo. If you ask me, her logo of a one-eyed bearded pirate with a parrot on his shoulder was a little clich?d. The Oyster Cove Guesthouse didn’t have a logo, but if it did I would pick something a bit more elegant. Maybe Ishould have one, though. Would it make a difference in bookings?
I wondered what Stella was baking. She’d been known to steal recipes from Millie.
“I hear Stella is making a lemon custard,” Millie clucked disapprovingly and gestured toward the sky. “I mean with this heat, doesn’t she know the custard will sour?”
Hopefully itwould sour and fewer people would go to her inn and come to mine instead.
The buzz of activity behind us continued as we talked. Townspeople rushed around. Merchants came to check their tables and drop things off. There was something odd about the whole thing, though. Most of them had shovels. Had word gotten out about the treasure? Suddenly, I pictured the grounds of the Oyster Cove Guesthouse littered with holes much like the Swiss cheese that the Biddefords used for carving. Visions of lawsuits from people who hurt themselves falling in the holes swam in my mind.
One of the people running around inside the tent was my maid, Flora. Funny, I didn’t remember giving her the afternoon off.
Millie noticed me giving her the stink eye.
“Flora is baking for the great-grandmothers of twins’ club,” she said, as if that explained it.
I remembered Flora boasting about having dozens of grandchildren and a large number of great-grandchildren too. No surprise at least some of them were twins.“What is she making?”