“I guess I do agree. But I don’t feel right intervening.”
“But we must,” Sandra said. “Can you imagine him living out there alone during a storm?”
No, Ashley couldn’t. But storms had nothing to do with it. She couldn’t imagine how anyone would choose isolation over family.
Loneliness was one of Ashley’s constant companions. It had been that way even before Adam had died, when he’d been deployed to some godforsaken place and managed to call only every once in a while.
She’d hated the loneliness then. But when Adam had been killed, she hadn’t taken a deep dive into self-pity.
No. She’d moved here, where people poked their noses into her business. And then she’d become an innkeeper, with a constant crowd of guests coming and going. She was still lonely, but she wasn’t alone.
She understood Topher’s grief, but she had no clue how to make him return to the world of the living. She had hoped he would take his meals with the rest of her boarders. But he hadn’t. He wouldn’t even let the cleaning lady in to tidy up.
“No,” she said aloud, looking up. “I wouldn’t want him out there in the middle of the bay living alone. Not in a storm or on the calmest summer day.”
“Okay, then,” Karen said. “We need to put our heads together and figure out a way to stop him.”
Chapter Five
Jessica threw herself into the City Hall project, working late into the night on Tuesday and Wednesday. By Thursday afternoon, the proposal was as good as it was going to get. Messing around with it for another twelve hours would only make her crazy. If she filed it today, she’d have time on Friday and over the weekend to generate a few ideas for Topher’s castle.
So at half past noon on Thursday, she sent the electronic version of her City Hall design via email to the selection committee’s administrator. But she also needed to provide one set of paper drawings, and since she was within walking distance of the old City Hall and in desperate need of stretching her legs, she left the office and walked down to hand deliver the package.
Big mistake.
No sooner had she set foot in the old building on the corner of Tulip and Mimosa than she ran headlong into State Representative Caleb Tate, who was coming down the hall with Councilmember Harry Bauman in tow.
She overheard their conversation—all about sailing—and suspected they were headed off to the yacht club.
PopPop had been a lifelong member of the club, and his connections had helped her land the job as a lifeguard up there the summer of her junior year in high school. But she’d never really belonged to the yacht club set. The kids who hung around the pool were rich and spoiled. Caleb had been one of them.
She’d gotten a bird’s eye view of Caleb that summer—enough to know that the Rutledge Raiders’ star running back considered himself a gift to all females, whether the females in question were interested or not.
She never had been. But that hadn’t stopped him from following her into the deserted women’s locker room one afternoon and pressing his unwanted attentions on her.
Thank goodness Mrs. Bauman had arrived unexpectedly. Of course the old biddy had misread the situation and scolded both of them for making out in the locker room. The woman had actually threatened to tell Jessica’s parents.
But she’d never made good on that threat. Heck, the way Daddy would sometimes go on and on about the boys on that championship team, he might not have even cared that she was caught red-handed with one of them. And he certainly wouldn’t have believed or listened if she’d told him the truth.
Daddy had once been a Rutledge Raider himself. And he was the team’s biggest booster. No. He wouldn’t have wanted to hear about Caleb’s behavior. And in the end, he didn’t care about the fact that the football team had started a rumor that had wrecked everything.
When he’d heard those rumors, he’d chosen to believe them.
And it was the height of irony that, months later, the boy who had attacked her in the locker room against her will was the very same one who had accosted her in the hallway outside her physics class and called her a slut for sleeping around with Colton St. Pierre.
He’d pointed his finger at her while a group of other football players, Topher Martin among them, had stood by and laughed.
And none of them had paid a price for their lies or their cruelty. They’d gotten away with it because they were members of a powerful and entitled group.
Not much had changed. Caleb was still in a position of power over her. He sat on the design selection committee, along with Harry Bauman. And she wanted that commission more than anything.
Harry, an avuncular old gentleman, waved at her as he came down the hall. “Jessica, I hear you’ve been a busy girl.”
What was Harry talking about? What did he think she’d been busy doing? What were people gossiping about today? She hated it when people started conversations this way. It always made her feel left-footed and just a little out of sync.
But she covered her worry by pasting a smile on her lips as she held up the cardboard tube containing her entry into the design competition. “I have been busy. Working on my entry for the City Hall design. Thought I’d drop it off myself a day early.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh, good.” Harry turned toward Caleb. “You remember Jessica Blackwood, don’t you? She used to be a lifeguard up at the yacht club.”
“I do.” Caleb gave her an oily smile as his gaze slid from the top of her head down to her not-very-expensive ballet flats. Why did this man make her feel so small and dirty? “So, do you work for an architectural firm in town?” he asked.
She wanted to spit in his big blue eyes. “I have my own business. And we’re doing well. In fact, I just moved my company into new space above Daffy Down Dilly.” She delivered this line with forced innocence and enjoyed every moment of his surprised expression.
She had stolen that office space away from him. Bobby Don Ayers down at Berkshire Hathaway had told her Caleb Tate had wanted the office above the boutique and wasn’t happy when she’d beaten him to the punch. Score one moral victory for her side.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Harry said. “I’m glad business has been good for you.” He turned toward Caleb. “Jessica has been designing a lot of interesting houses in the area.”
“Yes, I was the architect of the Akiyama house that was on last year’s house and garden tour,” she said in her best Southern-lady voice.
“That’s the one that looks like a bird taking flight,” Harry said. “And speaking of birds, I’ve heard from several in the neighborhood that Topher Martin has hired you to design a house out on Lookout Island.”
“I—”
“Topher?” Caleb interrupted. “Topher is back in Magnolia Harbor?”
“Yes. He is. He’s staying at Howland House,” Harry said.
“Damn. I need to look that boy up,” Caleb said. “I heard he made billions after he gave up football.” As if Topher’s billions were all that mattered—probably because campaign contributions were Caleb Tate’s lifeblood.
“Well, it was nice to see you again,” she said, and then edged away from the two men. She couldn’t get away from Caleb fast enough. “I’d like to get this into the clerk’s office as soon as possible.” She managed to sound confident as she held up the cardboard tube containing the architectural drawings.