“Speed only matters if you’re in a hurry. When I’m on the water, I like to take my time. Chill. Enjoy the scenery.”

“Smell the roses.”

“Something like that.”

Ford watched his brother set out down the hall and disappear around the first corner, then closed the door and went back into the sitting room. Funny, it had never occurred to him that anyone would have guessed that he hadn’t been part of a UN unit. That it had been his eleven-year-old nephew who’d figured it out put a smile on Ford’s face. Smart kid. Even though he appreciated his time alone, he’d enjoy being with his brother’s son and getting to know him. Everything he’d seen of the boy had been thumbs-up. Considering that Dan was raising D.J. and Diana on his own, Ford had to give him credit. It couldn’t be easy, being a single parent.

Of course, Dan wasn’t exactly alone. He’d always had Mom around to help out with the kids, even before his wife, Doreen, died. And that had been how many years ago? Ford was hard-pressed to remember for sure, but he thought it was around eight years. D.J. had been really little when his mother died, maybe three or so. Ford thought it might have been the year Diana started kindergarten. He’d only been in the army for a few years and hadn’t been able to secure a leave to come home for Doreen’s funeral, which had pissed him off mightily. He was certain his brother would never forgive him for not being there, but when he’d told his mother this, Grace had assured him that Dan had barely noticed who’d been there and who hadn’t.

Apparently that was true. Dan had never brought it up, so if in fact he’d been aware that Ford wasn’t there the day they buried Doreen, it must not have bothered him.

“The thing that mattered,” Grace had told Ford, “was that Doreen was gone. Who was there in the church or who was there at the cemetery was immaterial. His wife was gone. When you grieve the way your brother grieved, not much else gets your attention.”

Ford wondered what it was like to love someone so much that when they were gone, you were blind and deaf to everything going on around you. Knowing firsthand how fragile life could be, how uncertain, he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

Ford had never really known Doreen all that well. He’d met her several times, had been his brother’s best man at the wedding, but he’d never gotten to really know her. He knew that she’d been a huge help to both Dan and Grace in running the inn, that she’d agreed to put off having her children until Dan felt that he had the inn under control and in the black, that she’d been a terrific mother to her daughter and her son. He’d have been embarrassed if he’d had to admit it, but he’d had to look at her photo on the mantel in the family suite to recall what she looked like.

And all he knew of her passing was that she’d drowned somewhere out in the sound, alone.

Which explained why Dan wouldn’t allow D.J. to go out past the point by himself.

Well, it might be fun to have the company, he thought, and probably as close as he might ever come to knowing what his father felt when he kayaked with Ford. The chances of him settling down here and having a son were about as slim as … Ford thought for a moment of a proper analogy, then smiled. About as slim as his mother slowing down.

The thought cheered him. He wanted to think of his mother as eternal, even though he knew that she was mortal and would eventually pass on. That, of course, wouldn’t happen for a long time. That pink bunny he saw on TV had nothing on Grace Sinclair.

He went to the side window and looked out. From there he could see the children’s playground, the tennis courts, and in the background, the blue-gray of the Chesapeake. Maybe he’d take a stroll around the grounds, check out a kayak that might be suitable for a young boy, make sure it’s in proper condition for a trip around Cannonball Island, maybe even beyond, depending on how good the kid is. Maybe he’d take the long way round to the dock, the path that looped around the courts. He wondered if the pretty blonde was still at the inn, if right now she might be one of those women outfitted in white shorts lobbing balls back and forth across the clay court.

It wouldn’t hurt to look.

Chapter 8

CARLY propped up the painting—one of her favorites—on the counter in her parents’ kitchen where the lighting was best. Carolina must have painted it from memory, she thought, unless she’d managed somehow to paint it from a boat, as the perspective was one of looking inward from the water at a small cove and its narrow stretch of beach.

The sand had a yellowish cast and the loblolly pines that stretched along the left side were pale green in what looked to be the fading light of afternoon. On the beach, a couple sat upon a blanket that had been spread on the sand. A basket was placed on one corner of the blanket and a bottle of wine and two glasses topped the basket. Obviously a picnic on the beach, but it was clear that neither the man nor the woman had any interest in food or wine as they gazed at each other with such intensity. The woman was dressed in the style popular in the 1920s, the skirt fanned around her legs. Her dark hair was loose and fell in thick curls onto her shoulders, and her wide-brimmed hat lay forgotten on the sand as she gazed into the eyes of … whom? Her husband? Lover?

The title of the work had been written in a clear hand on the back of the painting: Stolen Moments.

A tickle went up Carly’s spine every time she looked at it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that those stolen moments had been Carolina’s. Could it be possible, she mused, that her artist had had an affair, and that the painting might be the evidence? It was highly unlikely that the man in the painting was James Ryder, Carolina’s husband, who’d made her life so miserable. For one thing, Carly couldn’t imagine Carolina would have looked at him the way she was looking into the eyes of the man in the painting with complete and total adoration. For another, the date on the back of the painting was 1927, and Carly knew from Carolina’s journal entries that James Ryder had died in 1924. And while the work lacked the kinetic energy of so many of Carolina’s works, there was a vibrancy surrounding the subjects that was impossible to ignore. She hadn’t mentioned it to Ellie, thinking that in this case, showing was definitely better than telling.

She was wondering if it might be provocative to use this painting for the cover of the exhibit catalog when the phone rang.

Carly’s heart beat a little faster when she read the caller ID.

“So what do you know?” she immediately asked. “What have you heard?”

“That the town council likes the idea of being the ones to introduce the art world to the body of Carolina Ellis’s work. They like the idea of you sharing revenue from the book proceeds with them to help pay for the work on the carriage house,” Ellie replied. “They especially liked that part.”

“Too bad you can’t see me. I’m pumping my fist in triumph,” Carly told her. “So what happens now?”

“One thing at a time.” Ellie laughed. “Don’t you want to know how the voting went, or what Grace said to convince the members of the council?”

“Nope. I want to know when we get started.” She corrected herself. “When you get started. You and Cam.”

“You were right the first time. As you and I discussed before, they definitely want you to be here to oversee it. Cam will, of course, take full responsibility for the work, but as someone pointed out, if it wasn’t done to your specifications, you could conceivably come back and make us do it over. So they want you here while the work is being done, and then they want you to prepare a timetable of when you expect to be able to open the exhibit. There’s a great deal of interest in making a big announcement about Carolina’s work. Grace mentioned it would bring in lots of additional foot traffic to town, and since everyone on the council has a business of some sort …”

“They’re all seeing dollar signs,” Carly completed the sentence.

“Pretty much.”

“I thought they wanted the exhibit to open in conjunction with some sort of holiday tour in St. Dennis.”

“That was before they started seeing the dollar signs. Now it’s ‘How soon can we get this off the ground?’ ”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them it would depend on how soon you could put the exhibit together.”

“I don’t have a quick answer for that.”