Chapter Sixteen
Sonya wasn’t afraid of Ace, but anyone who wasn’t at least a little afraid of Sadie had ice water in their veins rather than blood.
She wasn’t late.
Since her lunch date had chosen an upscale restaurant, she thanked Molly again for the wardrobe choice, and her hairdresser for the punch of style in long, loose waves.
She walked in and saw, of course, Ace Doyle had the perfect table by the wall of windows overlooking the bay, the boats sailing on it, the lighthouse in the distance.
And of course, he already sat at that perfect table in one of his sharp three-piece suits, complete with pocket square.
He rose when he saw her, then took both her hands, kissed both her cheeks. “You’re a vision.”
“I couldn’t be less and have lunch with the most dashing man on the coast of Maine. This is a bright spot on a bright day.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “These old bones are glad to feel the sun again. Now, what can I get you to drink?”
“It’s been a busy morning. I’d love a Coke.”
He turned to the hovering server. “My lovely companion would like a Coke.”
“After I spoke with Sadie,” Sonya began, “I wondered about Eddie. Is he okay?”
“More than. I sent him off to court with Trey today. We know Sadie can handle all of us and then some. Eddie needs the experience, and some exposure to Trey’s style of litigating.”
“What’s his style?”
Ace sat back as the server brought out Sonya’s drink.
“There’s an old saying for lawyers. When the facts are on your side, pound the facts. When the law’s on your side, pound the law. When neither’s on your side, pound the table.
“My grandson never pounds the table.” Pride coated every word as he continued, “Facts, law, logic, reason are his tools, and he never forgets to give the emotions a little tug.”
“Sounds like a good lawyer.”
“Damn good lawyer. And here’s my other date.”
He rose again as Cleo came in, dressed for it in a sheerly layered mini with white flowers over ocean blue.
“Another vision. I’m the envy of Poole’s Bay.”
“Since you’re the most charming man in Poole’s Bay, I’d say we’re the target of envy.”
The server stopped by as Ace pulled out Cleo’s chair. “I’ll have sparkling water with lime, thanks. Since I just finished a painting, and I’m driving, I’m going to pretend it’s champagne.”
“What did you paint?”
“I finished the tree in front of the manor, dressed for summer. Fall and winter to come.”
“I look forward to seeing all four seasons. And what made your morning busy?” he asked Sonya.
Whatever he wanted to meet her about would wait, she realized. Friendly conversation first, menus, specials, ordering—which included Ace’s choice of a pull-apart cheese bread for the table.
By the time Sonya sampled her shrimp salad, she’d forgotten about the requested meeting.
He told stories that made her laugh or simply fascinated her.
“Not long after Collin took over the manor, before he’d done much clearing out or fixing up, he had a poker party.
A kind of christening with cards, whiskey, and cigars.
Let’s see, there was me and Deuce, your cousin Connor, Larry—that’s John Dee’s dad, retired down to Florida.
Friendly game, at a table he and Deuce had hauled up and set right in the big foyer. ”
The memory made him smile as he ate.
“Had a fire going in the parlor, some chips and whatnot to soak up the whiskey. Now, Collin, that boy had a good brain for business. Poole brain there. But he couldn’t play poker worth a damn.”
“More a chess man,” Sonya said.
“That’s a fact. Always thought he could bluff or draw to an inside straight.
We’re playing penny ante, which was lucky for him, but on one hand, the pot got healthy, and Connor raises it, and I raise that.
Had myself a pretty full house, queens over nines.
And Collin’s sitting there with trash. I’m telling you, you could see it on his face. But he’s getting ready to raise again.”
He paused, tapped his napkin to his lips. “Now, he’d hauled his own stereo up to the manor. Just as he’s about to bump that pot with that trash hand, lose his shirt again, Kenny Rogers starts singing. ‘The Gambler.’”
“You’ve got to know when to hold ’em,” Cleo sang. “Know when to fold ’em.”
And Ace shot a finger at her. “That’s right. Gave every man in there a good, hard jolt. He’d hauled that stereo up to the manor, but he hadn’t set it up yet. It wasn’t even plugged in.”
“Clover.” Sonya tossed back her head and laughed. “Looking out for her boy.”
“Have to say yes. We didn’t know it then, but I know it now. Turns out Collin took his mother’s advice and folded.”
“Who won the pot?”
He grinned at Cleo. “My full house beat Connor’s heart flush. Good healthy pot, too.”
Sitting back, he sighed. “For the most part after that, Collin stuck with chess.”
“We’ll set up a poker night,” Sonya promised. “But you’ll have to deal with women at the table.”
“I never object to women at the table.” He winked at them.
“And I’m glad both of you could come, indulge me for lunch.
It’s good to see friends so close. My best friend, since we were boys long ago?
Oh, we got into some scrapes together over the time—and some no one, not even my own darling, knows about to this day.
Best man at each other’s wedding. I went for the law, he for medicine.
Joe was the village doctor for more years than I can count.
“He lost his beloved to cancer about three years back.”
“Oh.” Sonya reached over for Ace’s hand. “That’s hard.”
“For some, there really is only one. She was his. A year later, he retired, moved down to North Carolina to be closer to his youngest daughter and her family.”
“You miss him,” Cleo said.
“Like my right arm. We keep in touch. Emails, calls, even social media. His oldest lives in Bangor, so he travels up now and again, visits. Paula and I travel down once a year. But I miss having a beer with him after a long day, sitting around the poker table. I know the treasure of good friends.”
He lifted his glass. “So I know that what I wanted to talk to Sonya about, she would talk to you about, Cleo. She’d want to hear what you think. You mentioned a museum, something to hold and display the history of Poole’s Bay.”
“I did.”
“Well, I had a glimmer about that, and I gave it some thought. Talked to some people. The old school—kindergarten through eighth grade.” He flashed a grin. “One of the places Joe and I got in some scrapes.”
“Redbrick building,” Sonya said, bringing it into her mind. “On the other side of the marina. It’s on … what is it?”
“Gull Lane,” Cleo supplied.
Ace sat back. “Not only a pleasure to look at, a pleasure to talk with, but observant about where you are.”
“It’s our community.”
He nodded at Sonya. “You’ve made that so, and people notice. When they built the new schools—elementary, middle, high school—all before either of you graced this earth, they used it as a polling place, a meeting hall, for storage, for this, that, the other.”
“And you think it could serve as a museum.”
“It’s a good, solid building. Not that it won’t need work. Bringing it up to today’s codes, dealing with lead paint, asbestos. It’s why we haven’t tackled it. It needs a purpose so that the work it needs means something.
“I can tell you it’s sturdy, in and out.
Took a little tour of it yesterday. All this rain?
No leaks. Built to last. Now, it’s village property, the building and the land it sits on, and that would remain.
What it would need is funding. At least the pledge of it to get it moving through channels, to get a plan done. ”
He sipped his water. “The people I talked to are warm to the idea. We have a foundation, the family, and we’d make that pledge, a substantial one. I know a few others who’d cough up more.”
He held up both hands. “Now, you’ve got to account for people being people. There’ll be some squabbling on what goes in it, how’s it all done.”
“I bet some good and sensible lawyers could handle the squabbling.”
He sparkled a grin at Sonya. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Sonya looked at Cleo.
“Son, you already know what I think.”
“Yeah, I do.” She looked back at Ace. “We’re in.”
“I had a feeling.” He took both their hands, squeezed. “How about we talk about it a little more over dessert?”
Sonya hadn’t been as excited about a project since she’d landed the Ryder account. Unlike the Ryder project, she knew this one could and likely would take years.
Ace had estimated three, with the initial several months—at least—dealing with those squabbles, legalities, plans, and budget.
But the idea of being part of a yearslong project in her home, in her community, just added to the excitement.
And still she felt a thrill a few days later when she opened an email from Carrie of Bayside Lotions and Potions.
Reading between the lines, she decided Hogan had pressured his mother, probably his aunt as well, to make the inquiry. The distinct lack of enthusiasm, coated in doubts and wrapped in politeness, came through clearly.
Carrie wasn’t convinced her business needed what Sonya could offer.
“So I’ll convince you.”
She’d taken a look at their website, and the social media pages no one had posted on in more than six weeks, and decided Hogan’s assessment of lame was high praise.
They obviously hadn’t paid anyone who knew what they were doing to set them up. Design-wise, the page hit limp. As far as user-friendly, it didn’t reach limp.
“You need me,” she murmured.
She decided to take some time to show them why.
She went up to gift storage, arranged products on the hunt table, scattered some flowers, some of Cleo’s crystals, took pictures with her phone.
She took them down to her own bathroom, arranged them on the vanity counter, took more, took some of individual products.
“Relax. Indulge. Enhance,” she muttered. “Something like that.”
Back in her office, she mocked up a web page, new header, new font, clear text, creative photos.
Carrie, it was good to hear from you.