“Mom wanted to know if you’d help her out by giving this a taste. It’s a dried cherry and pecan scone. She’s testing a new recipe.”
“Twist my arm,” Riley said. The scone was still warm from the oven. She nibbled an edge. “Mmm. Tell Annie she’s got a winner. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I’ll let her know. I don’t really get the whole concept of a scone. I’m a biscuit and sausage gravy man myself.” He took the chair opposite hers and poised the coffeepot above her mug. Riley nodded, and he poured a refill.
“How’s Maggy doing? Is she still under house arrest?”
“I think I’ll grant the poor kid early release. Her grandmother has been on her case, and she’s really missing her dad. She’s had a pretty miserable week.”
He looked at her closely. “How about you? Have things gotten any better in your world since I saw you the other day?”
“No,” she said flatly. “My house is going on the auction block.”
He didn’t act surprised. “Will you try to bid on it?”
“I’m not sure I can.…”
Before Riley could explain, Annie Milas pushed the door open and stuck her head out. “Nate, sorry to interrupt, but Wayne just called from Southpoint. He says it’s urgent.”
“It’s always urgent,” Nate said, standing up. He turned to Riley. “Thanks for the input on the baked goods.”
“I better get back to the house myself. Thanks for the scone, Annie. Two thumbs up.”
Nate followed his mother into the Mercantile. Customers had begun wandering in, looking for caffeine and carbs. Summer Fridays were insanely busy, and today looked like it would be even busier than usual.
Annie glanced over at Nate. “Did you tell her?” She nodded toward the porch and Riley, who was polishing off the rest of her scone.
“I didn’t get a chance,” Nate said. “Every time I think the time might be right to let her know, something comes up.”
He pointed toward the bay, at the approaching ferry. “Wayne was calling to say we’re short a deckhand today. I better get over to the landing.”
He leaned over and gave his mother a peck on the cheek.
* * *
Miles Kenton’s bulk filled his leather wingback chair. He was about Riley’s age, she knew, because the Kentons had a summer cottage on Belle Isle, and his father, Miller, had been friends with Riley’s father, W.R. But the funeral home director looked much older, with his shiny bald head, rumpled suit coat, and suspenders.
“Your sweet mama called to let me know I’d probably be hearing from you today,” he said.
“Yes,” Riley said. “She’s been a busy little bee helping with arrangements.”
Miles gave her a benevolent smile. “You know, it’s been my family’s privilege to bury three generations of Nolans. And I knew Wendell from Kiwanis. He was a fine man. You have my condolences.”
“Thank you,” Riley said.
“Had you and Wendell discussed any kind of plans?”
“We hadn’t discussed anything lately,” Riley said in what she was sure was the understatement of the day.
“Will you be wanting Wendell buried in the family plot on the island?”
Riley considered the idea briefly, then nodded. If nothing else, the family plot, under a moss-hung oak tree in the churchyard on Belle Isle was free. Free was key right now.
Miles nodded. “Your mother mentioned a nice mahogany casket—maybe something with brass fittings, along the lines of the Mercury model she chose for your father?”
“No.”
“No?” Miles raised an eyebrow.
“My mother isn’t making Wendell’s arrangements,” Riley said firmly. “I am. And I don’t want any mahogany casket. I don’t want a casket at all. I want Wendell cremated. We’ll have a small memorial service in the Chapel in the Pines, and that’s it.”
“Surely you’ll want to have family calling hours here, say from two to four, the evening before the service?”
“Absolutely not,” Riley said.
Miles shifted his bulk, and the springs in the chair squeaked a mild rebuke. “We’ll respect your wishes, of course, but for a man of Wendell’s stature in this community, it’s usual for folks to drop by and pay their respects to you and your family. You might not think so, but it’s really a comfort to the family in situations like yours.”
“Folks have already dropped by. In droves,” Riley said. “I’m exhausted by their kindness. Overwhelmed. As to my situation, you know that the sheriff believes Wendell was murdered. So nothing about this death is usual. Also, for now, economics is a factor.”
“Your mother indicated she’d be taking care of all expenses,” Miles said, frowning at the unwelcome topic of money.
Riley’s mind flashed back to her bare-bones bank account. “All the more reason to keep things simple.”
“I see.” He picked up a pen and made some notes. “Of course, you’re the widow, so we want to honor your wishes. Although, from knowing Evelyn, she is not going to be happy about your choices. Now, we can handle the cremation as soon as the coroner releases the remains, and then you can decide when you would like the service. We’ll need to have some floral sprays at the chapel. And you’ll want some type of urn. If you’ll step into the other room, I can show you some different choices.”
Riley rested her hands lightly on the desktop. “Miles? Let me be clear about something here. I don’t want a casket. I don’t want any floral sprays. I especially don’t want an urn. I cannot imagine any circumstances under which I would want to display the ashes of my deceased husband. As far as I’m concerned, you can put Wendell Griggs’s ashes in a Duke’s Mayonnaise jar, and we’ll bury that in the family plot. Okay?”
Miles Kenton’s lips pursed, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, he grinned.
“A Duke’s Mayonnaise jar? That’s a good one. That would put your mama in an early grave for sure.”
* * *
Friday afternoon, the Carolina Queen was at full capacity. Nate designated himself a floater, making coffee behind the concession stand, loading and unloading the baggage bins, and taking a turn in the pilothouse.
He was surprised to discover he actually enjoyed interacting with the passengers, especially those who were embarking for Belle Isle instead of returning to the mainland.
People were mostly in vacation mode, happy and relaxed. There was an infectious air of anticipation from the weekenders who chatted about their plans: golf dates and beach outings, tennis matches and family reunions. The younger kids, sensing the excitement of their elders, raced up and down the metal stairs between decks, leaning over the railing, exclaiming about the dolphins following in the boat’s wake and the looming spire of Big Belle on the horizon.
Longtime islanders greeted him by name, asked for the local fishing report, congratulated him on his return to the island, and asked after his mother.
Nate had been apprehensive about returning home, wondering if he’d feel out of place in his childhood home after so much time away, but today, he began to wonder if maybe it really was possible to go home again. He cautioned himself, though, warning that the events of the upcoming weeks could totally change his perspective on life on a small island.