The mayor extended his hand. ‘On behalf of the citizens of Annapolis, let me welcome you to our city. I’m Josh Cohen.’
The arrival of the mayor must have been the signal to start the show. Almost immediately, a large wooden rowboat set off from the dock, manned by two oarsmen. The vessel’s passengers included three men in full patriot regalia, carrying torches.
‘Those actors are representing Anthony Stewart, the owner of the vessel, and the brothers Joseph and James Williams, the merchants who ordered the tea,’ I heard Michael tell the children.
Melody tugged on my sleeve. ‘Mr Rainey says that Anthony Stewart named the boat after his daughter. It must have sucked to have to burn it down.’ A few minutes later, I heard her say, ‘Father, if you had a boat, would you name it after me?’
Jack laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I think Melody would be a lovely name for a boat.’
The city couldn’t burn an actual two-masted sailing ship, of course, especially not an antique one, so they’d duded up a barge with poles and second-hand sails, decked it with flags and banners, and moored it in the middle of Annapolis harbor just off the Naval Academy sea wall.
As the rowboat neared the Peggy Stewart, the crowd on shore began waving and shouting. My preparations for a sunny day out had included a fringed parasol, so I held it aloft and shouted ‘Huzzah,’ along with everyone else.
When the rowboat pulled alongside, ‘Stewart’ and the ‘Williams brothers’ tossed their torches into the replica. There was a flare-up as the accelerant ignited. The crowd went wild. Higher and higher rose the flames, licking at the ropes, gobbling up the sails. You’d have thought it was Army-Navy game day in Annapolis the way the crowd roared.
The rowboat returned to the dock and the trio of arsonists climbed out. Jack Donovan sauntered over to greet them, shaking their hands, clapping them on the back in a job-well-done sort of way. Then the four men wandered off together, presumably to lift a pint at Middleton’s, pursued by one of the auxiliary LynxE cameramen.
As the flames consuming the Peggy Stewart replica began to die down, the crowd gradually lost interest and began to wander. I’d thought I’d lost track of Amy and Alex, and then I spotted Amy, standing with French next to a fellow in a makeshift colonial costume who was trying to chat her up, but Amy appeared to be staring at the burning ship, pretending not to listen. I decided to bail her out, so I gathered up Melody and Gabe, ducked out from under the canopy and traipsed over to join them. By the time I got there, however, the pesky individual had moved on.
For our day out, Founding Father had issued us vouchers, redeemable for treats at the Market House and other local business. I reached into my pocket and pulled out three of mine, facsimiles of Maryland colonial currency in two-dollar denominations. I handed them to French. ‘Why don’t you take Melody and Gabe over to Storm Brothers and buy them some ice cream?’
‘Where’s Alex?’ I asked Amy after they had gone.
‘He’s off with Michael, buying a beer. They’re supposed to be fetching me the eighteenth-century version of a Sprite, but it’s been a while, so I think they must have meant beers, plural.’
‘Alex certainly looked handsome today,’ I commented as we watched one of the charred masts snap and topple into the water.
‘Hubba hubba,’ Amy said. ‘Don’t you think it’s totally unfair how guys are born with the gorgeous fringed eyelashes?’
‘Totally.’
‘There you are!’ said a familiar voice behind us. Michael, carrying a can of Sprite in one hand and a bottle of Sam Adams lager in the other. ‘Sorry, Hannah,’ he said, handing the Sprite to Amy. ‘I should have asked if you wanted anything. Sip of my beer?’ He tipped the bottle my way.
I screwed up my face. ‘No, thank you. Stomach still delicate.’
Amy popped the top on her soda after fumbling a bit because of her gloves. She took a grateful sip, then said, ‘Where’s Alex got to?’
Michael shrugged. ‘He got waylaid by a guy who wanted to talk about Patriot House. I think he was angling for an introduction to you.’ He nudged Amy’s arm.
Amy tossed her head and made an elaborate show of rolling her eyes. ‘Sure he wasn’t a reporter?’ she asked.
‘Gosh,’ Michael said. ‘I bet you’re right. Alex better mind his Ps and Qs.’
Watching rivulets of condensation drip down Michael’s beer bottle made me desperately thirsty. ‘Take care of Amy, will you? I’m going to get something to drink. Non-alcoholic,’ I added.
I flipped open my parasol, held it over my head and began weaving through the crowd in the direction of Starbucks. As I passed Aromi d’Italia, I thought I caught sight of Alex’s distinctive blue suit over by the harbor master’s office. As Michael had said, Alex appeared to be talking to someone. I made a left turn and headed in their direction, but just as I got within hailing distance, his companion wandered away. ‘Alex!’ I called, waving my parasol to attract his attention.
‘Hannah?’ Alex glanced quickly over his shoulder, then back at me.
‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked.
‘Some tourist from Raleigh, up for the day.’
‘Ah. Michael was worried that he might be a reporter.’
Alex flushed. ‘Shit, Hannah. I know better than that. I’m not itching to get canned. Besides, I need the money.’
‘Amy’s been wondering where you got to.’ I smiled, looped my arm through his. ‘Shall we?’
Alex covered my hand where it rested on his arm. ‘I’m very fond of Amy,’ he confided. ‘As you are no doubt aware.’
‘A person would have to be blind not to notice,’ I teased. ‘No wife or girlfriend at home, I suppose?’
‘Do I seem like a rogue to you, Mrs Ives?’
‘Not at all, Mr Mueller.’
We’d reached the boardwalk when Alex said, ‘I had a fiancé until six months ago. She dumped me for a motivational speaker from Des Moines. Seems there’s more money in the touchy-feely biz than in music.’
‘Motivation, schmotivation.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘I’d rather listen to you play the violin any day.’ I looked up, smiled. ‘How long have you been studying?’
‘Since I was five. Mom bought me one of those teeny-tiny violins and took me to a woman who taught the Suzuki method.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Suzuki believed that children who hear fine music from the day of their birth and learn to play it, develop discipline, endurance, and sensitivity, as well as a beautiful heart.’
That certainly described Alex, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
‘And the dancing?’
He shrugged. ‘Just a hobby.’
As we neared the place where I’d last seen Michael and Amy, I was suddenly distracted by a handsome chap wearing a dark green suit with gold buttons. His khaki breeches fit his slender frame to perfection. He’d topped off his ensemble with a powdered wig and a tricorn hat, and as we approached him along the boardwalk, he removed his hat and bowed deeply.
‘Paul!’ I grinned up at Alex. ‘Sorry, Mr Mueller, but I know this gentleman.’
Alex released my arm, doffed his hat and bowed deeply. ‘Later, alligator.’
My heart raced as I closed the distance between me and my husband. Paul gathered me in, crushing me and hundreds of yards of fine silk fabric to his own equally well-costumed chest. I flipped the parasol so it shielded us from Chad’s Steadicam and planted a kiss on my husband’s lips. He returned it hungrily.
‘Watch it, bub, or I’ll roger you right here,’ I whispered, my lips close to his ear.
‘Is that a promise?’ he murmured into my hair. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Hannah. Jud told me you’d been ill.’
‘He shouldn’t have worried you, Paul. I’m fine. Really. A touch of the flu. No big deal.’