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  Emily heard some muffled snickers behind her and realized that people in the diner had been eavesdropping on the debate. Sounded like she’d scored a point. Though getting laughed at had only made Charlie madder.

  “Betty Bowman doesn’t deal much with bird lovers, from what I can see,” Charlie argued. “She deals with money lovers. Big, greedy contractors who’ll put up anything to turn over a dollar, then take off.” He leaned toward her, his face red. “It’s not just me. People aren’t going to like this once it gets around, I guarantee you.”

  “I disagree. But we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” Emily stood up and held out some bills. “Is that my coffee?” she asked pointedly, looking down at the paper bag he’d been so reluctant to hand over.

  He handed the bag across the counter and took her money.

  “Thanks. Have a good day,” she said evenly as she left.

  “Yeah, you too, Mayor,” Charlie grumbled at her back. After she’d left, he looked over at Tucker. “You believe her? Some kind of mayor, that’s all I have to say.”

  Tucker stood up and brushed some crumbs off his uniform.

  “I think she does a decent job. You’re hard on her, because you keep thinking what you’d do in her shoes. But you’re not in her shoes yet, pal,” Tucker reminded him.

  “I will be if people in this town have any common sense.” Charlie crossed his arms over his chest. His scowl suddenly turned to a wide smile. “You’d better be nice to me, Officer Tulley. I might be your new boss soon.”

  “Yeah, you might. I’d better start looking into early retirement,” the police officer replied as he carefully placed his hat on his head.

  Charlie went back to the grill, and Lucy walked around with a pot of coffee, giving refills. She reached the girl with the tour book last. Lucy noticed she’d finished her French toast and was now writing in a notebook. “More coffee?”

  The girl looked up, appearing distracted or rattled about something, Lucy thought.

  “Um . . . no, thanks. Just the check, please.”

  “Sure, hon.” Lucy pulled the girl’s check from a pad in her pocket, tallied it up, and placed it on the counter next to the girl’s plate. “Here you go. How was your breakfast?”

  “Very good, thanks.” The girl closed the notebook and slipped it in her backpack along with the guidebook. She drew out a wallet and pulled out some bills. “That woman who was in here a few minutes ago talking to the cook. That was the mayor?”

  “That was our mayor, Emily Warwick,” Lucy confirmed. “And the guy giving her grief was my husband,” she added with a laugh. “I think she’s doing a good job. Though obviously, Charlie does not agree.”

  “I noticed. He seemed pretty upset with her.”

  “That’s just his way.” Lucy glanced over her shoulder again, checking to see if Charlie was out of earshot. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

  The young girl didn’t reply. Her thoughts were whirling. She’d come all this way looking for Emily Warwick, thinking she might have to stay in town for days to track her down. Then she’d practically sat right in her lap. And she turned out to be the mayor here. It . . . wasn’t what she had expected.

  She glanced up as she realized Lucy was staring at her. “Oh, sorry. Here you are.” She handed over the bills. “My name is Sara, by the way.”

  “My name is Lucy. Lucy Bates.” She looked down at her hand, wiped it on her apron, and extended it to the girl. “Nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you again before you leave town.”

  “Maybe you will. It’s very pretty here. I might stay a few days. I’m not sure.”

  “Got the summer off?”

  “Sort of. I graduated a few weeks ago and I don’t have a job yet.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll find something,” Lucy assured her.

  “Yeah, well, first I have to look, I guess,” Sara replied with a grin.

  Lucy laughed. “That might help. What did you study?”

  “I was an English major. Not a big career track,” Sara added.

  “Oh, but that’s interesting. Do you want to be an English teacher, like in a high school or something?”

  “I’m not sure. I like to write.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll be a writer, then.” Lucy rang up the check and handed Sara the change. “Hang around here awhile. You’ll find plenty to write about.”

  Sara laughed. “Maybe I will.” She tucked a tip under the edge of her plate and picked up her knapsack again. “Bye, Lucy,” she said as she headed for the door.

  “See you,” Lucy replied, smiling.

  LUCY WAS TAKING AN ORDER AT A LARGE TABLE WHEN Grace Hegman walked in, her yellow Labrador retriever, Daisy, following close at her heels. Dogs were not allowed in the diner, but Grace and Daisy were an exception to the rule. Besides, Grace rarely ate at the Clam Box, though her father Digger often did. Lucy had a feeling she was looking for him.

  Grace stood at the door and looked around. Then, as Lucy had predicted, she asked very loudly, “Anyone see my father?”

  “Try Reilly’s Boatyard,” Warren Oakes, an attorney in town, suggested.

  Grace looked skeptical. “Reilly’s? I doubt it.”

  “I saw Digger headed that way myself,” another voice agreed.

  “But he knows he’s not supposed to go wandering around Reilly’s anymore,” Grace said to no one in particular. Looking worried and confused, Grace met Lucy’s gaze. “Harry Reilly said he was going to get the police involved next time he caught my father trespassing.”

  Lucy picked up a glass and wiped it with a towel. “Maybe you ought to just go take a look,” she said gently.

  Lucy had heard that Harry had hired Digger to work in the yard. Digger had been in earlier, when the diner opened at half past six, looking proud to be on his way to his new job.

  Grace wouldn’t like it when she heard, Lucy was sure. And Lucy wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to her, either.

  A customer at a back booth waved for service, and Lucy went to check on his table. Grace remained in front of the door, standing perfectly still, her lips pursed in a thoughtful expression. Warren Oakes smiled at Daisy and held out a tidbit of bacon. “Here, doggie,” he coaxed gently.

  Daisy licked her chops and replied with a canine smile, but remained solidly seated at Grace’s feet.

  Warren met Grace’s stare. “Can your dog have a little bacon?”

  “No, she cannot,” Grace replied firmly. She turned on her heel and opened the door. “Come, Daisy,” she said. The dog rose instantly and followed her.

  Lucy watched Grace go. She’d like to be a fly on the wall when Grace caught up with Harry Reilly and Digger. There would be more fireworks at the harbor this morning, for sure.

  Charlie met her as she turned back to the counter. “Just saw another one of our regulars pass with one of those Bean drinks. You’ve got to get out there, Lucy, see what’s what.”

  “Me?” Lucy stared at him. “Why me? I don’t want to go spy on those people.”

  “Of course you have to go. I can’t leave right in the middle of breakfast,” Charlie insisted. “Here, take this thing off. You have to look like a normal person.” He reached out and untied her apron strings. “Just run down the street and see what they’re doing. Take a look inside and see if any of our regulars are there.”

  “But I can’t just—”

  “This is an emergency. They could put us out of business. How would you like that?”

  Lucy glared at him and snatched her apron back. She pulled a tube of lipstick out of the front pocket. Checking her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the cereal boxes, she added a little lipstick and poked her fingers in her curly blond hair.

  “Go on,” Charlie said. “You don’t need to primp, for goodness’ sake.”

  “I’m going, Charlie. Just calm down.” Lucy shook her head at him and hooked her purse over her shoulder, then left the diner in a huff.

  JESSICA WARWICK WALKED QUICKLY DO
WN MAIN Street in her best black heels, headed for the bank. The fancy shoes were already starting to pinch a bit, but she willed herself to put up with them, at least until after her lunch date with Paul.

  She noticed Lucy Bates rushing out of the diner, rooting through her purse as she walked, but didn’t really pay attention until the other woman nearly walked right into her.

  “Jessica . . . oh, I’m sorry.” Lucy grabbed Jessica’s arm to steady herself.

  “That’s okay.” Lucy had dropped a pair of sunglasses, and Jessica bent to retrieve them. Lucy looked even more harried than usual, she noticed. “Are you okay?”

  “Me? I’m fine. Just got to check on something for Charlie. You have a good day now,” she added. She slipped on the dark glasses and rushed off in the opposite direction.

  Jessica often stopped at the Clam Box for coffee in the morning, but she had no time today. She’d hit the snooze button on her alarm one too many times and then had dressed in a rush. She hoped she looked right for her date. The gray-blue suit—a sheath with a matching long jacket—was simple but elegant. She’d added gold earrings and a bracelet. But maybe the earrings were too much? Too big? She’d ask her friend Suzanne Foster at work.

  Why did some people think dating was so much fun? Jessica wondered as she entered the bank’s cool interior. Dating was definitely high stress. Sometimes her job seemed a lot easier than trying to have a social life.

  Jessica hadn’t expected it, but there had been distinct advantages in her transfer from Boston to this backwater branch. Her career had actually advanced here. She wasn’t lost in a large staff; her experience and hard work were noticed. She’d even gotten a raise and a promotion last month, along with a new, larger office space that included a window.

  Or rather, she would have a window once the renovations were done, converting a space on the second floor that had previously been used for storage. As she walked down the corridor toward her office, she heard a loud, ominous noise coming from inside. She pulled open the door and gasped. Her office was a complete wreck.

  A workman stood in the middle of the mess. His broad back turned to her, he was attacking the far wall with a loud, serious-looking piece of machinery, the battle giving off swirling clouds of white dust.

  Jessica remembered then that the office manager had told her a carpenter was scheduled for Wednesday morning.

  But today was Tuesday.

  And there he was.

  And she was already behind, due to present a report that she hadn’t completed at a staff meeting this afternoon. The last thing she needed was to be surrounded by a dust tornado and an irritating racket.

  “Excuse me . . .” Jessica called out. “Uh . . . sir? Could you please stop that a minute? . . . Please?”

  If he’d heard her at all, he gave no sign. He didn’t turn or shift a bulky muscle. He was concentrating intently on slicing a hole in her wall with his machine, which looked fairly heavy and even dangerous. He wore protective goggles and a mask over his mouth.

  “Hey . . . could you shut that off a minute?” Jessica called out more loudly.

  Still no response. Jessica stepped out from behind her desk and approached him. Puffs of white powder filled the air as the tool cut into the plasterboard wall. His dark curly hair was coated with it, she noticed. She’d be coated with it in a minute if she didn’t watch out. Just what she needed to complete her high-style look—a coating of plaster dust.

  She reached out and tapped one broad shoulder.

  Suddenly the buzzing noise stopped. The workman pulled the machine away from the wall, and looked down at her. He was just slightly taller than she was in her heels. They stood practically nose to nose. Still, his broad shoulders and powerful build gave a solid, almost intimidating impression. He quickly pushed down the mask to talk.

  “Yes?” he asked politely.

  “You’re not supposed to be working in here today,” she stated flatly. “I was told you would be here on Wednesday. As in tomorrow.”

  He pushed the eye gear up on his head and took a long look at her. His tanned skin was covered with a fine layer of dust. Still, she couldn’t help but be struck by his strong, ruggedly attractive features—lean cheeks, square jaw, and blunt chin.

  “Sorry, that’s not what I was told.” His expression was perfectly polite, yet something in his dark eyes hinted at amusement.

  He pulled a slip of paper out his back pocket and read from it, “Room thirty-five, double window in the southwest wall, Thermopane glass, exterior crown molding, white polyvinyl framing . . . so on and so forth. . . .” He handed her the work order, which was signed by the office manager and showed Tuesday’s date. “Official enough for you?”

  Terrific. She had to get a wise guy besides.

  “I was told you wouldn’t be in here until tomorrow,” she began reasonably enough. “I would have prepared for this—taken work home or something. What am I supposed to do now?” Jessica heard her voice rising, but she couldn’t help herself. “Look at this place. It’s a total mess!”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Unfortunately . . . it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “Great . . . that’s just great.” Not only a wise guy, but a wise guy with a philosophical streak. Jessica turned in a half circle, taking it all in. “I need to get at files and things. I need to use my computer. . . . Where is my computer?” she asked suddenly.

  “Hmmm, let’s see. It’s around here somewhere.” His face took on a thoughtful expression as he nimbly stepped over tools and equipment. Surprisingly agile in his large boots, she thought vaguely. Then he smiled again. “Okay, I remember now, I rolled the whole cart into the office next door. Even with a cover on top, I thought it might get too dusty.”

  Well, that had been considerate of him. “Thanks, that was a good idea.”

  She felt a bit calmer and, as she surveyed the mess, somewhat resigned to having her day turned upside down.

  “This big gray lump over here is your desk,” he went on, “and I pushed the file cabinets back against this wall. I just covered the bookcase,” he added, pointing to more drop cloth–covered shapes.

  Jessica nodded.

  “I’d rather not stop right in the middle,” he admitted, glancing at the partial hole in the wall. “But, of course, I can if I have to.”

  She glanced at him and then away. She felt an urge to be imperious and demanding. She didn’t like having her well-ordered office, her personal territory, turned inside out without any warning at all.

  Then she squelched the reaction. She didn’t want to act like a Warwick. It was bad enough that some people in town expected her to.

  Besides, she realized, there was no sense tossing him out now. It would only make the mess last longer.

  “The place is already a disaster. You may as well stay and try to finish,” she said as graciously as she could.

  “I should be done by the end of the day. Except for the finish work. Might have to come back for that. But I’ll have everything back the way I found it by five o’clock tonight. Don’t worry.”

  Jessica met his dark-eyed gaze. Despite the plaster dust and the goggles on his head, she couldn’t help noticing again that he was handsome. Incredibly handsome. He wasn’t her type, of course. Still, if she looked at him long enough, he sort of took her breath away.

  Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Jessica turned to her desk and started to raise the drop cloth so she could open the drawers.

  “Let me do that for you,” he offered. “You’ll get all dusty.”

  She stepped back and watched as he carefully rolled back the cloth.

  “Thanks.” She pulled open a side drawer and tried to ignore him. But she was keenly aware of the fact that he was standing less than a foot away, watching her. She grabbed some files that she needed for the day and stacked them on her desk. Somehow her nameplate slipped off the desktop and dropped to the floor.

  He quickly picked it up. “Jessica Warwick, Assistant Manager,�
�� he read her name and title aloud as he handed it back to her. “Jessica Warwick. Of course. I thought I recognized you. But I wasn’t sure.”

  Jessica stared at him, puzzled. Did they know each other? She was sure she wouldn’t have forgotten a man with his looks. Unless early senility was setting in. Still, she couldn’t place him and felt embarrassed. He clearly seemed to remember her.

  “You don’t remember me, I guess,” he said. “Sam Morgan. I was a few years ahead of you at school.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m sorry,” Jessica apologized.

  It had been at least ten years since she’d last seen Sam Morgan, and they’d moved in different social circles back then.

  “That’s all right.” He didn’t seem offended. “It’s been a long time. I didn’t recognize you at first, either,” he admitted. “When did you come back to town?”

  “A few months ago. Around Christmastime.”

  “Really? I had no idea you’d moved back.”

  Jessica glanced down at her files again. That wasn’t surprising. They probably still moved in different social circles.

  “Where were you living?” he asked.

  “In Boston. But my mother had a stroke last fall, and I decided to come back to help take care of her.”

  “That was good of you.”

  “My sister needed some help. But my mother has improved a lot. I may be able to move back to the city soon.”

  Sam looked surprised. “Oh, so it’s only short-term?”

  “That’s right. Just temporary.”

  If he had any interest in her at all, she had just sent him a message, loud and clear. He was attractive enough, that was for sure. But he was definitely and absolutely not her type. She turned her back to him and lifted up the heavy pile of file folders, her calculator balanced on top.

  “Here, I can carry those,” Sam offered.

  “That’s okay. I can handle it.”

  Jessica knew he was just trying to be polite, but she didn’t want any more of his help. She swept past him and out the door, carrying her load to the coffee room at the end of the hall. She’d work there today. That was all there was to it. She could borrow a laptop if she needed a computer. She’d check her e-mail somewhere, too. She’d just have to get by.