Return to Pelican Inn

CHAPTER TWO

ROSA STARED AT the man sprawled on the steps. First his eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then they lowered into a glare of unmitigated hostility, probably the perfect match to her own.

Bitsy pushed past Rosa. “Are you okay, Pike?”

“Fine, fine,” he said. He stood and unbuckled the tool belt from around his waist, brushing twigs and leaves from his jeans, spilling nails onto the ground. His forehead furrowed as he stared at Rosa. Her brain made note of his thick hair, now cut in a spiky, modern style, the slight dimple in his chin, his broad shoulders and lean physique. Her heart added its own observation: the arrogant arch to his eyebrow, his hands propped in irritation on his hips, the annoyed quirk of his full lips.

“What are you doing here?” they both articulated in unison.

Pike blinked. “Bitsy owns the place, remember? I’m a relative.”

Of course he would lead with that. He was blood. She was an interloper, a squatter on Bitsy’s generous affections.

“So what’s the deal, Rosa?” Pike demanded.

Slowly, Rosa turned and leveled a look at Bitsy, the picture of innocence.

“Isn’t this the oddest coincidence?” the older woman asked.

“Bitsy,” Rosa began sternly.

Cy inserted himself between them and shook Pike’s hand. “Hey, man. Good to see you.” He stared Pike full in the face, a man’s way of sizing up a potential enemy, Rosa knew.

Pike smiled, cordially. “You, too, Cy. Still hanging out with your crazy sister?”

Cy opened his mouth to answer but Rosa cut him off.

“Crazy?” she asked, lips twitching. “I wasn’t the one who just fell off the roof.”

“For your information,” Pike said, “I had it all under control. I didn’t fall, just skidded a little.”

“Uh-huh,” Cy said.

Rosa pressed her brother’s arm. “I need to have a private word with Pike.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“Okay. I think I’ll just go, er, sand something, then.”

“Let me show you where I keep the sandpaper, Cy,” Bitsy said gaily.

Before Rosa could get a word out, Bitsy vanished into the house with Cy. “I’ll talk to you later, Aunt Bitsy,” she grumped before turning back to Pike. “So, you were telling me why you’re here, Pike.”

His eyes narrowed. “First off, Bitsy is my aunt, so I don’t really need a more compelling reason than that. Second, the roof isn’t getting any younger, as you might have noticed, so I was doing some repair work at the request of Aunt Bitsy. Therefore...”

“You can drop the lawyer shtick.” He did it intentionally, to remind her again that she’d left law school while he’d sailed through on his way to a lucrative career that afforded him expensive, albeit attractive, haircuts and a silver Mercedes. He probably ran in the same legal circles as Foster Pardee, the man who’d used her. Her gut tightened. “I have as much right to be here as you do,” she couldn’t help adding.

“I didn’t say otherwise.”

“No, you wouldn’t actually have the guts to say it to my face, would you?” she snapped, heart slamming into her ribs. “Back in high school you made sure everybody knew my family and I didn’t belong in Tumbledown.”

His eyes flashed. “I didn’t need to tell them. They all knew once your mother...” His words died away as a look of horror flickered in his brown eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

She tried to get a breath in past the pain in her chest. “Oh, I think we both know exactly what you meant.”

He looked down at the ground, and she heard him expel a breath through his teeth. “Your father tried to ruin my family. I had a right to be angry.”

“He was doing his job,” Rosa said.

“And I was doing mine, defending my father.”

She glared. “By humiliating his enemy’s daughter.”

Pike started to answer, then closed his mouth and fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere over their heads.

Rosa’s skin felt hot, as if she’d swallowed some incendiary drink that burned past her heart deep down into her stomach. “Maybe,” she managed, “we should keep our families out of this.”

“Excellent idea,” he barked.

A man in his mid-forties sauntered into the yard sporting a long ponytail draped over his shoulder and carrying a large wicker basket.

“Hello, Rocky,” Rosa said. He was an ever-present fixture at the inn for a long as Rosa could remember. Rosa had lived with Bitsy until she turned twenty, her brother leaving the year before. Had it really been sixteen long years since she’d moved away from Tumbledown? Her visits to Aunt Bitsy had become less and less frequent the more drama and stress filled her life.

Rocky was a veteran of the early days of the Persian Gulf War. He was a quiet man, and he could get anything to grow. Hydrangeas in a kaleidoscope of colors, daylilies, azaleas, spring bulbs.

Rocky lowered the basket to the ground while he dredged a stick of gum from his pocket. Then he flashed Rosa a peace sign, picked up the basket and continued toward the coop.

Rocky’s silent greeting was not a shock, at any rate. And she couldn’t argue that he’d been a loyal helper to Bitsy, especially after Leopold’s death.

“Look out for the loose board,” Pike called after him. Pike’s attention swiveled back to Rosa. “So, why are you here?”

“We’re redecorating the inn for Bitsy.”

Pike groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, man. You two are the Dollars and Sense outfit that’s competing in the contest? I thought Bitsy changed her mind about all that.”

“Yes, Cy and I happen to be the owners of Dollars and Sense, and we won the chance to participate. Furthermore, when we’re finished, the Pelican will be the hottest destination in Tumbledown. We’re going to turn this place around.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”

It was her turn to gape. “And why not?”

“Because the inn is...”

A crash came from the chicken coop, followed by an all-out cacophony of squawks and clucking. Puffs of feathers floated out of the opening.

“I’ve gotta go help Rocky.” He turned and jogged away.

“But why can’t we remodel, Pike?” She called after him. “Pike?”

Bending his tall frame, he disappeared into the clucking chaos.

Rosa did some deep breathing to try to keep her emotions in check. Pike’s presence brought up all the angst she’d left behind years before. He was her high school enemy and, worse yet, a lawyer. She wondered if it had been a mistake to come back to Tumbledown.

At the moment the only thing she knew for sure was that she did not want to have another confrontation with Pike until she had better control of what came out of her mouth. She headed back inside the inn, confusion and determination warring inside her.

Bitsy stood with a cowed expression, hands folded. She gave Rosa the “little girl lost” look that Rosa had seen her employ a number of times on susceptible individuals. “How much trouble am I in, exactly?”

Rosa sighed. “I know he’s your nephew and you are required to love him. You’re biologically related and all.”

“And I love you, too, Rosa, and I’m your aunt, biology or not.”

Rosa blinked hard, irritated to find tears gathering. “You should have told me he was here.”

“I know, but I thought you might not come, and this is the chance of a lifetime, isn’t it?”

Rosa nodded.

“And you forgive me for not telling you everything, right?” Bitsy moved close and put her smooth fingertips under Rosa’s chin, lifting gently. “Please tell me you can forgive me.”

Like a little girl, Rosa found she could only answer by throwing herself into Bitsy’s arms and snuffling against her shoulder, clinging to her until Cy ambled into the room, stopping uncertainly in the doorway.

Bitsy released Rosa and rubbed her hands together. “Tell you what. Why don’t you two put your bags up in the attic? It isn’t included in the contest.”

Cy nodded, impressed. “You know a lot about the details.”

“One hears things,” Bitsy said. “Now up to the attic with you.”

“It’s not necessary,” Rosa said, thinking she would rather have a sandpaper facial than stay in a place where she was likely to run into Pike. “We can easily find a hotel.”

Bitsy’s lip twitched. “If you so much as suggest a hotel again, I’ll be forced to puncture your tires.”

Rosa’s mouth fell open and Cy laughed. “Don’t mess with a woman who knits.”

Bitsy’s eyes sparkled. “Crochets. And I’m determined when I know what’s best for all concerned.”

Rosa and Bitsy trekked up the rickety stairs, single file, until they reached the attic, which was redolent with dust and a faint fragrance of the sea. The twin beds perched against the walls, just as they had when she was a teen, looking drastically smaller to Rosa’s adult eyes. Memories flooded through her.

She pictured the stacks of decorator magazines, dog-eared and marked, that she used to pore over in that tiny space, dreaming of bright, shining places where happy families lounged in comfort and style. Her foot found the white stain on the floor, a souvenir of the giant solar system she’d painstakingly painted on the wall before coming to her senses and covering it all with a cool blue tint.

Why had Bitsy ever allowed the solar system monstrosity in the first place? Rosa sneaked a look at Bitsy’s worn face. Because Bitsy was a stalwart defender of every one of Rosa’s dreams. She’d been the only one besides Cy to whom Rosa spilled her truest feelings after her humiliating exit from law school.

And now it was Rosa’s turn to do the same for Bitsy, to transform the Pelican into the jewel of the coast, no matter what Pike thought.

She carefully set Baggy down and threw open the faded curtains that covered the round window, the room’s most precious feature. The view had not changed. Framed by the branches of a cypress tree that thrived just outside the window, the Pacific Ocean danced in an endless rhythm against the cliffs below. Rosa swallowed a lump in her throat, momentarily letting go of her worries: the teetering business and the rent due at the end of the month. “I’m so happy to be here.”

Bitsy squeezed her shoulder. “And I’m thrilled to have you back.”

“Oh, look.” Rosa pointed at the crawling waves. “There’s Larry’s fishing boat. I can’t believe he’s still sailing. He must be close to ninety by now.”

“Well, some things never change.” A tone of uncertainty crept into Bitsy’s voice. “Then again, some things do.”

“Is everything okay?” Rosa studied Bitsy closely. The woman was thinner than she remembered, her skin more wrinkled and her eyes shadowed.

“Fine, fine,” Bitsy said. She gazed out toward the ocean. “Still the best view in the house.”

“Second best.” Rosa looked out at the worn shingles on the peak of the jutting room fondly known as Captain’s Nest. The panorama from that room was truly unbeatable. As far as Rosa had ever known, though, Captain’s Nest was stuffed from floor to rafters with boxes, rendering it unusable. Even in her time growing up at the inn, the Nest was kept secure. She’d only managed to sneak in a few times when the door was left unlocked. “So you don’t get hurt,” Bitsy said many times. Not anymore. It would be the highlight of the inn, the charming nautical nook that levered the Pelican above the competition.

“Do you have a place we can store the boxes?”

Bitsy blinked. “What boxes?”

“The ones you keep in Captain’s Nest. We’ll need to get them out so we can paint, maybe do some rough texture.”

“No,” Bitsy said firmly.

“No? Well, we can find someplace else to store things temporarily.”

“No, I mean no one is going in that room.”

“But it’s the gem of this inn.”

Bitsy shook her head, lips pressed together. When she answered, her voice was low. “That room is off-limits. No one is touching Captain’s Nest.”

Rosa could not believe what she was hearing. “Bitsy, we won’t change anything without consulting you, I promise.”

Bitsy took Rosa’s hands and pressed them. Her palms were cool, the fingertips almost icy. “No, honey. No one goes in there.” Without waiting for Rosa to respond, Bitsy turned on her heel and left.

Rosa watched Bitsy go, her gait as strong and sure as it had ever been. Bitsy had an iron resolve that Rosa had witnessed firsthand many a time, but in this circumstance, there seemed no reason for such a reaction. Captain’s Nest was off-limits? Still? Puzzling over it, Rosa returned to the foyer to find Cy peering at a newspaper.

“Do you think Bitsy is okay?” she asked her brother.

Cy didn’t look up from his paper, his knee bobbing up and down. “Of course. She’s the same as ever. There’s an estate sale two blocks from here.”

Rosa tried for a firm tone. “It’s not a good time. We’ve got to meet with the Great Escapes people, and for some reason Pike doesn’t want us to...”

Cy had the same glazed-over expression he got whenever he was about to embark on a decorating treasure hunt. His uncanny nose for a bargain had netted them everything from a Japanese tobacco box to an exquisite Persian rug he bought for pocket change. “Bitsy heard they might have clocks. A clock would look completely amazing in the sitting room.”

Rosa sighed. Cy was a kind of decorating history savant. He’d been completely obsessed with clocks ever since he’d read that Thomas Jefferson designed the Great Clock in the front hall of his Monticello mansion.

“All right,” she said, hiding a smile. “But if you come back with a clock connected to a Chinese gong that chimes the half hour...”

“Jefferson’s clock chimed on the hour, not the half,” he fired back. “Did you know that gong rang loudly enough for field hands to hear it three miles away?”

“Yes, Cy. You mentioned that a time or two.” She grabbed her keys. “I’ll drop you on my way to the magazine, but remember we’ve only got five thousand for the whole place.”

“Caviar decorating on a bologna and cheese budget. I got it.”

She shot a glance into the backyard as they left. No chicken sounds, but no sign of Pike, either. She wondered how he’d squeezed his strapping six-foot-three frame into the coop.

Shaking off thoughts of Pike, she headed for the parking lot.

* * *

AFTER CY PRACTICALLY leaped from the moving car at the entrance to the estate sale, Rosa drove down Highway One, once again drinking in the vast ocean and the wheeling scores of seagulls and terns. If she hadn’t been on her way to a meeting, she would have pulled the elastic from her ponytail and let the glorious wind have its way. Instead, she kept her speed steady and professionalism intact as she made her way to the Great Escapes headquarters in Cliffside, some twelve miles north of Tumbledown. Once there, she was ushered into the neat but ordinary office of Wanda Elliot, coordinator of the contest.

The fiftysomething redhead looked ill at ease, despite her snappy charcoal suit. Rosa attributed Wanda’s discomfort to the bland eggshell paint and prosaic print on the wall. She found herself daydreaming about what the space would look like with a woven area rug and a handful of bright, odd-sized pillows tossed artfully about on the corner chairs.

Wanda sat at her desk, tapping a pencil on the glass top. “So, we’ve spelled it all out for you, the terms of the contest. If we could just have your paperwork.” She thrust out a hand and snatched the papers Rosa provided.

“I still can’t believe we were chosen to participate.”

“I’m sure. Is there anything else?” There was a small tic underneath Wanda’s eye.

“We’re just happy and thrilled,” Rosa said, raising her charm quotient with a cheerful smile. “Bitsy mentioned that she knew you.”

“Me? No. Well, yes. I mean, we’ve probably met a time or two. That’s natural, isn’t it?” Wanda’s blue eyes widened. “That a travel magazine editor and an innkeeper would meet?”

“She said she met you when she brought in pictures of the Pelican along with a history of the inn.”

Wanda looked relieved. “Ah, yes. Excellent write-up, as a matter of fact. Her nephew helped.”

Rosa jerked. “Her nephew?”

“Yes, good-looking man.” Wanda sighed, a wistful look stealing across her face. “That little dimple in his chin. If they could just figure out how to surgically implant those in all men.”

Rosa leaned forward, trying to catch Wanda’s eye. “Pike helped her prepare the materials for the contest?”

Wanda nodded, chewing a fingernail. “Yes. Dreamy brown eyes, too. Like fudge.”

Now it was Rosa’s turn to tap the desk. The noise seemed to rouse Wanda from her Pike-induced stupor. “That’s funny,” Rosa said. “I spoke to Pike right before I came here, and he gave me the distinct impression he wasn’t in favor of the contest.”

Wanda nodded. “Yes, I got that sense, too. He’s probably just going along with Bitsy to make her happy. Men always want to give Bitsy whatever she wants. Pike seems like he’d be that type of nephew. Loyal...kind...” She sighed again. “Strong.”

Rosa resisted the urge to shake Wanda by the shoulders. “But why would he be against the contest?” she asked firmly. “It can’t do anything but help Bitsy’s business...or the next owner’s, if she decides to sell someday.”

Wanda blinked. “He doesn’t want to help the business.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard him talking to Bitsy while they were here. He thinks she should give up the inn right now.”

“Give it up?”

“You know, sell it. A prime piece of seaside property like that would fetch a small fortune, and let’s face it, Bitsy is getting a little long in the tooth to be an innkeeper, though she fancies she’s the mayor of Tumbledown or something.” Wanda added, “Or so I’ve heard.”

Rosa’s eyes narrowed. And a nice piece of that “small fortune” would go to her faithful nephew and lawyer. Her father had been right about Pike. She thanked Wanda and made for the door.

“If you see Pike, tell him I said hello,” Wanda called.

Rosa offered a tight smile. “Oh, Pike and I are going to have a long conversation as soon as he finishes canoodling with the chickens.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. Thank you, Ms. Elliot.”

Rosa returned to the parking lot, put the car into gear and stepped on the gas.

It was time to get started and show lawyer Pike that decorator Rosa was ready for a throwdown.

CHAPTER THREE

ROSA ALTERNATELY PUZZLED and fumed all the way back to Tumbledown.

Cy was not at the appointed meeting place outside the estate sale. Since her brother wore no watch and paid scant attention to his cell phone when in the throes of an antique hunt, there was nothing to be done but track him down on foot. She stepped out of the car and trudged through a trellis laden with clematis and into a well-appointed Tudor-style home filled with customers and eager sale attendants.

She found Cy in the living room, a wall sconce in each hand, standing like the figurehead from some strange pirate ship.

An old lady with startling bluish hair arranged in perfect springy curls tried to snatch them out of his grip.

“I got them first,” she said.

The normally unflappable Cy yanked back. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But these are mine. I found them, and I’ve got an inn to refurbish.”

She glowered up at him. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a store to fill and original sconces will sell.”

“They’re reproductions.”

The old lady glared as if he’d sworn at her. “Liar. They’re Colonial Revival, circa 1920.”

Cy glared back, though he had to bend down to look the ferocious female in the eyes. “Circa 1925.” He drew out the last word into the full measure of syllables. “Reeeproductionssssss.”

Her face twisted into a deeper scowl. “Aged brass.”

Cy drew himself up to his full six feet. “Cast metal.”

She fell back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty on her wrinkled face, and Cy went in for the kill. Leaning close, he delivered the coup de grace. “Polychrome finish.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I think I know you. Did you go to school here?”

Cy nodded, snapping his fingers. “You’re Miss Flaubert, the freshman English teacher.”

“Retired teacher,” she said sharply. “And you’re Cy Franco, C-minus student who wrote an essay about promoting nudist beaches here in Tumbledown.”

Rosa felt her cheeks warm.

Cy laughed. “Yep, that was me. Awesome that you remember my paper after all these years.”

Miss Flaubert’s gaze found Rosa and shifted back to Cy. “You two were memorable, all right.” With a sniff, she stalked off, muttering angry words under her breath.

Cy spotted Rosa and waved the sconces. “I had to fight the English teacher for ’em.”

“So I heard.” She risked a look around to see if anyone else had taken note of the exchange, but no one appeared at all interested. “Ready to go?”

He shot a mournful glance at the remaining treasures. “I guess. I’ve got a box waiting for me at the pay table.”

“Cy...” she warned.

“Don’t worry. Just a lamp and a small piece of stained glass.”

They lined up to pay and Rosa filled him in.

“So, you think Pike’s trying to put the squeeze on Bitsy to sell?” Cy asked, eyes wide.

“Seems like it.”

“Then why help her enter the contest in the first place?”

Rosa shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

As they waited by the tables crowded with items, Rosa’s attention was caught by an old black-and-white photo of a man perched proudly on the bow of a small boat. Before she knew it, her memories took her back to Pike’s exquisite eighteen foot runabout, listening to him ramble on about the mahogany decks that he himself had restored. She hadn’t cared one bit about anything relating to boats, but back then, her sixteen-year-old self had been more than impressed by his heart-melting smile and, yes, the dimple in his strong chin.

Pike was completely at home on that boat, more comfortable than she’d ever seen him strolling down the halls of their high school. She’d always thought there was some sort of tension in him, some coiled spring inside, in spite of the easy smile and elegant posture. Lost in the memory, she could feel the wind whipping her hair, his hand on the small of her back.

On that boat, the sleek Poppy’s Dream, Pike was truly at home.

Until the day when Poppy’s Dream was delivered to the bottom of the Pacific.