Chapter Four
Coco Calhoun McPike didn’t believe in leaving things up to chance—particularly when her horoscope that day had advised her to take a more active part in a family matter and to visit an old acquaintance. She felt she could do both by paying an informal call on Holt Bradford.
She remembered him as a dark, hot-eyed boy who had delivered lobster and loitered around the village, waiting for trouble to happen.
She also remembered that he had once stopped to change a flat for her while she’d been struggling on the side of the road trying to figure out which end of the jack to put under the bumper.
He’d refused—stiffly, she recalled—her offer of payment and had hopped back on his motorcycle and ridden off before she’d properly thanked him.
Proud, defiant, rebellious, she mused as she maneuvered her car into his driveway. Yet, in a grudging sort of way, chivalrous. Perhaps if she was clever—and Coco thought that she was—she could play on all of those traits to get what she wanted.
So this had been Christian Bradford’s cottage, she mused.
She’d seen it before, of course, but not since she’d known of the connection between the families.
She paused for a moment. With her eyes closed she tried to feel something.
Surely there was some remnant of energy here, something that time and wind hadn’t washed away.
Coco liked to consider herself a mystic. Whether it was a true evaluation or her imagination was ripe, she was certain she did feel some snap of passion in the air. Pleased with it, and herself, she trooped to the house.
She’d dressed very carefully. She wanted to look attractive, of course. Her vanity wouldn’t permit otherwise. But she’d also wanted to look distinguished and just the tiniest bit matronly. She felt the old and classic Chanel suit in powder blue worked very well.
She knocked, putting what she hoped was a wise and comforting smile on her face. The wild barking and the steady stream of curses from within had her placing a hand on her breast.
Five minutes out of the shower, his hair dripping and his temper curdled, Holt yanked open the door. Sadie bounded out. Coco squeaked. Good reflexes had Holt snatching the amorous dog by the collar before she could send Coco over the porch railing.
“Oh my.” Coco looked from dog to man, juggling the plate of double-fudge brownies.
“Oh, goodness. What a very large dog. She certainly does look like our Fred, and I’d so hoped he’d stop growing soon.
Why you could practically ride her if you liked, couldn’t you?
” She beamed a smile at Holt. “I’m so sorry, have I interrupted you? ”
He continued to struggle with the dog, who’d gotten a good whiff of the brownies and wanted her share. Now. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve interrupted,” Coco repeated. “I know it’s early, but on days like this I just can’t stay in bed.
All this sun and twittering birds. Not to mention the sawing and hammering.
Do you suppose she’d like one of these?” Without waiting for an answer, Coco took one of the brownies off the plate. “Now you sit and behave.”
With what was certainly a grin, Sadie stopped straining, sat and eyed Coco adoringly.
“Good dog.” Sadie took the treat politely then padded back into the house to enjoy it. “Well, now.” Pleased with the situation, Coco smiled at Holt. “You probably don’t remember me. Goodness, it’s been years.”
“Mrs. McPike.” He remembered her, all right, though the last time he’d seen her, her hair had been a dusky blond. It had been ten years, he thought, but she looked younger. She’d either had a first-class face-lift or had discovered the fountain of youth.
“Why, yes. It’s so flattering to be remembered by an attractive man. But you were hardly more than a boy the last time. Welcome home.” She offered the plate of brownies.
And left him no choice but to accept it and ask her in.
“Thanks.” He studied the plate as she breezed inside. Between plants and brownies, the Calhouns were making a habit of bearing gifts. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“To tell you the truth, I’ve just been dying to see the place. To think this is where Christian Bradford lived and worked.” She sighed. “And dreamed of Bianca.”
“Well, he lived and worked here anyway.”
“Suzanna tells me you’re not quite convinced they loved each other. I can appreciate your reluctance to fall right in with the story, but you see, it’s a part of my family history. And yours. Oh, what a glorious painting!”
She crossed the room to a misty seascape hung above the stone fireplace.
Even through the haze of fog, the colors were ripe and vivid, as though the vitality and passion were fighting to free themselves from the thin graying curtain.
Turbulent whitecaps, the black and toothy edge of rock, the gloom-crowned shadows of islands marooned in a cold, dark sea.
“It’s powerful,” she murmured. “And, oh, lonely. It’s his, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She let out a shaky sigh. “If you’d like to see that view, you’ve only to walk on the cliffs beneath The Towers.
Suzanna walks there, sometimes with the children, sometimes alone.
Too often alone.” Shaking off the mood, Coco turned back.
“My niece seems to feel that you’re not particularly interested in confirming Christian and Bianca’s relationship or helping to find the emeralds. I find that difficult to believe.”
Holt set the plate aside. “It shouldn’t be, Mrs. McPike. But what I told your niece was that if and when I was convinced there had been a connection of any importance, I’d do what I could to help. Which, as I see it, is next to nothing.”
“You were a police officer, weren’t you?”
Holt hooked his thumbs in his pockets, not trusting the change of subject. “Yeah.”
“I have to admit I was surprised when I heard you’d chosen that profession, but I’m sure you were well suited to the job.”
The scar on his back seemed to twinge. “I used to be.”
“And you’d have solved cases, I suppose.”
His lips curved a little. “A few.”
“So you’d have looked for clues and followed them up until you found the right answer.” She smiled at him. “I always admire the police on television who solve the mystery and tidy everything up before the end of the show.”
“Life’s not tidy.”
On certain men, she thought, a sneer was not at all unattractive.
“No, indeed not, but we could certainly use someone on our side who has your experience.” She walked back toward him, and she was no longer smiling.
“I’ll be frank. If I had known what trouble it would cause my family, I might have let the legend of the emeralds die with me.
When my brother and his wife were killed and left their girls in my care, I was also left the responsibility of passing along the story of the Calhoun emeralds—when the time was right.
By doing what I consider my duty, I’ve put my family in danger.
I’ll do anything in my power, and use anyone I can, to keep them from being hurt.
Until those emeralds are found, I can’t be sure my family is safe. ”
“You need the police,” he began.
“They’re doing what they can. It isn’t enough.” Reaching out, she put a hand on his. “They aren’t personally involved and can’t possibly understand. You can.”
Her faith and her obstinate logic made him uneasy. “You’re overestimating me.”
“I don’t think so.” Coco held his hand another moment, then gave it a brief squeeze before releasing it. “But I don’t mean to nag. I only came so I could add my input to Suzanna’s. She has such a difficult time pushing for what she wants.”
“She does well enough.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. But with her work and Mandy’s wedding and everything else that’s been going on, I know she hasn’t had time to speak with you again for the last couple of days.
I tell you, our lives have been turned upside down for the last few months.
First C.C.’s wedding and the renovations, now Amanda and Sloan—and Lilah already setting a date to marry Max.
” She paused and hoped to look wistful. “If I could only find some nice man for Suzanna, I’d have all my girls settled. ”
Holt didn’t miss the speculative look. “I’m sure she’ll take care of that herself when she’s ready.”
“Not when she doesn’t give herself a moment to look.
And after what that excuse for a man did to her.
” She cut herself off there. If she started on Baxter Dumont, it would be difficult to stop.
And it would hardly be proper conversation.
“Well, in any case, she keeps herself too busy with her business and her children, so I like to keep my eye out for her. You’re not married, are you? ”
At least no one could accuse her of being subtle, Holt thought, amused. “Yeah. I’ve got a wife and six kids in Portland.”
Coco blinked, then laughed. “It was a rude question,” she admitted.
“And before I ask another, I’ll leave you alone.
” She started for the door, pleased that he had enough manners to accompany her and open it for her.
“Oh, by the way, Amanda’s wedding is Saturday at six.
We’re holding the reception at the ballroom in The Towers. I’d like for you to come.”
The unexpected curve had him hesitating. “I really don’t think it’s appropriate.”
“It’s more than appropriate,” she corrected. “Our families go back quite a long way, Holt. We’d very much like to have you there.” She started toward her car then turned, smiling again. “And Suzanna doesn’t have an escort. It seems a pity.”
The thief called himself by many names. When he had first come to Bar Harbor in search of the emeralds, he had used the name Livingston and had posed as a successful British businessman.
He had only been partially successful and had returned under the guise of Ellis Caufield, a wealthy eccentric.
Due to bad luck and his partner’s fumbling, he’d had to abandon that particular cover.