Beachcombers. Part 24

"Yes, please." Millicent allowed Emma to tuck the blanket around her legs. "That Agatha, she did know what she was doing, didn't she? In her books, family members were always killing one another for money."

Emma settled on the sofa and opened the book. "We've got only about thirty pages left of this one."

"Spencer really likes you," Millicent said.

Surprised, Emma answered, "I really like Spencer."

"Don't pretend you're naive, dear, I know you're not." Millicent leaned her head back against the chair, closed her eyes, and was asleep at once.

Emma began to read, slowly, in a low droning voice, the kind Millicent slept best to. After awhile, she allowed her eyes to travel the room, lighting on all the objects and artifacts Millicent had collected over the years. Sailors' valentines hung on the wall. The lights.h.i.+p baskets were lined up from smallest to largest in the bay window. The l.u.s.trous Coffin painting hung above the fireplace-- Wait a minute.

Something was wrong here. Something had registered with Emma's brain, something tugged.

She scanned the room slowly. Across from her, Millicent rustled in her chair.

Quickly Emma returned to the book. "'Hercule smoothed his mustaches.'" She continued to read aloud, slowly, while scanning the room again. She'd spent so many hours in this room, it was as if each item had imprinted itself on her subconscious, and some detail was wrong here, something nagged at her like a chipped nail on ten otherwise perfect fingers. She tried not to think so hard, to let it come to her, and it did.

Seven lights.h.i.+p baskets still stood in a formal line on the window seat, ranged according to size, from largest to smallest. The outline was the same.

But the color was off. Five of the lights.h.i.+p baskets were lighter in color than the others. Millicent's baskets were all old and valuable, but now five of them were just slightly, but noticeably, lighter ...

"Why have you stopped reading?" Millicent was awake, and cranky.

"Sorry," Emma apologized, faking a little cough. "My throat is dry. If you don't mind, I'll get some iced tea for you and me."

"Very well." Millicent closed her eyes.

Emma hurried into the kitchen and prepared the tea, then carried the tall gla.s.ses and the plate of cookies into the living room. Millicent seemed to have fallen back asleep. Emma set the tray on the coffee table and quickly walked to the window at the front of the house, pretending to adjust the draperies.

Yes. Now that she was so close, it was obvious that five of the lights.h.i.+p baskets had been replaced. They were much lighter, and one of them had a fake ivory decoration that was similar to the real one, but just a little different.

Millicent spoke up. "I thought you were thirsty."

"I just needed to stretch my back." Emma hurried back to hand the older woman her tea. Now Millicent was awake, and eager to hear Emma read. She would have no more opportunity to check out the baskets. But in the back of her mind, she worked on the puzzle: Why were the lights.h.i.+p baskets different?

36.

Lily Emma rapped on Lily's bedroom door. "Hey, Lily. I just got a phone call from someone who needs a babysitter tonight."

"Sorry, I'm busy tonight." Lily was on her knees, digging into the back of her closet for a pair of strappy open-toe sandals that were torturously uncomfortable but killer s.e.xy.

It was the middle of August, and the island was caught up in the full force of summer activities. Beaches, stores, restaurants were crowded and so many boats were moored in the boat basin you could practically walk from the harbor to Monomoy without getting wet. Lily had never been so busy, and she loved it, loved all the parties, luncheons, receptions, events. Her boss at the magazine piled the work on and she did it all, and so well he actually praised her.

Her days were full. She would wake early to make love with Jason, rush home to shower and dress, type up her notes and email them to the magazine, then bike over to Eartha's. She'd help Eartha with her wardrobe or her correspondence--she was teaching the older woman how to use a computer and the Internet--then bike home to change her clothes and head off to a gallery opening or party. Late at night she'd go to Jason's, where they lay in bed, recounting their days for each other. And they would make love again.

When she had the chance to think about it, Lily admitted to herself that she was not doing her share of the household ch.o.r.es. On the other hand, she hardly ate anything at home, and she did all her own laundry, when she found the time.

Emma persisted. "She needs someone for every night this week, actually. I could do a couple. Can you do any?"

"Emma, I really can't. I've got parties to cover for the magazine."

"I thought you wanted to be part of Nantucket Mermaids," Emma snapped.

"I do! But Emma, you know I have to work almost every night!"

"Right, and you can't work in the morning because that's your time with Eartha, and you can't do afternoons because you have to do your nails or something."

"That's not fair!" Lily found the shoes and stood up, holding them in her hand. "Oh, no, I'd forgotten, the heel's broken." She almost wept. "Emma, can I borrow those open-toe high heels of yours? Just for tonight?"

Emma put her hands on her hips. "You are just hopeless."

"Please?"

"No." Emma turned her back on Lily, stalked off to her room, and slammed the door.

Lily's thoughts were all in a tangle. Emma had never been as caring to her as Abbie was but now Emma was just being mean. Her sisters had ganged up and started a "Let's Count Lily's Flaws" campaign. She wished she hadn't begged Abbie to come home.

Now Lily pounded on Emma's door. It was locked. Lily said, "You just don't respect the work I do! You know you had to dress well for your precious money job in Boston. Well, I have to dress well for my job, too! I'm not just some vain little idiot!"

No response.

Lily leaned her forehead against Emma's door. "Emmie ..."

No response.

"Well, see if I ever do anything nice for you!" Lily shouted. She heard how childish she sounded, and it embarra.s.sed her. She wanted to cry, but more than that, she wanted someone to hold her and comfort her and at least tell her she was hot no matter how old her shoes were.

She went back to her own room, plopped down on her bed, and mentally scanned her clothing. Carrie! she thought with a hit of excitement. Carrie's shoe size was pretty close to Lily's, and Carrie had lots of great shoes. And Carrie had a baby, so she wasn't going out much. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up her cell phone and called her friend.

She spent two hours at Carrie's, two duty hours from Lily's point of view. Carrie gladly loaned her several pairs of drop-dead shoes from her carefree single days, but she also talked endlessly about baby Olivia, who was teething, and not sleeping through the night, but was still pretty cute with her drooly little smile. Lily tried to tell Carrie about her job, but her friend hadn't seemed very interested, and why would she be? Carrie never went anyplace anymore.

With her backpack full of shoes b.u.mping against her back, Lily biked home. She wheeled her bike into the garage and went up the steps and into the kitchen. It was after five, and she had to be at a c.o.c.ktail party at six.

"h.e.l.lo!" she called out as she always did, letting the screen door slam behind her.

"h.e.l.lo," Marina said.

Surprised, Lily stopped dead.

Marina was at the stove, stirring something. Her blond hair was tied up high with a shoestring and her feet were bare. Her slip of a sundress showed off how slim she was, but Lily could see the lines at her eyes and the beginning of lines around her mouth. Marina was old.

"What are you doing here?" Lily demanded.

Marina smiled. "Fixing dinner. I hope you can stay. It's my favorite new recipe."

"Why aren't you fixing dinner in the cottage?"

"Because your sisters and your father are joining me, and the cottage is too small for us to eat in comfortably. Plus, this meal is too elaborate to be prepared in the little kitchen." She opened the freezer door and gestured inside. "I made baked Alaska for dessert. So scrumptious and cold, perfect for a summer evening, don't you think?"

Lily turned away, pretending to have difficulty slipping her backpack off, but really to hide her irritation. Who did this woman think she was, cooking in their kitchen? Opening the freezer door as if she had every right to use it?

"You look hot," Marina said. "I made sangria. Would you like a gla.s.s to take up while you shower?" Opening the refrigerator, she took out a pitcher full of fruit and rose-colored liquid.

"Okay." Lily grudgingly accepted. What had been going on here while she was so busy with Jason and Eartha and her work? Her sisters hadn't told her anything, but for the past two weeks Lily hadn't had a moment to sit down with them and talk.

Anyway, how could she ask it? Are you sleeping with my father?

Marina filled a gla.s.s with ice, poured the sangria over it, and handed Lily the gla.s.s.

"Thank you," Lily said quietly.

"h.e.l.lo, ladies!" Lily's father came in through the kitchen door. Seeing Lily, he gave her a quick peck on the forehead.

Then he crossed the room and gave Marina a quick peck.

On the mouth.

"G.o.d, this smells good." Lily's father was covered with sawdust and his arms and face and neck were sunburned. "I'd better take a shower."

Marina held up the pitcher. "Would you like some sangria?"

Lily's father's expression was skeptical. "Um, what's in it?"

"Red wine, a little brandy, a little club soda, and lots of healthy fruit." Marina leaned against the kitchen counter as she talked, as if she were offering herself as well as the drink.

"I think I'd rather have a beer." Jim reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a Heineken. "Okay, ladies, see you later." He took off for the upstairs and his shower.

"You seem very chummy with my father," Lily said.

"Oh, well--" Marina began to reply but stopped when Emma swept into the kitchen.

"Hi, Lily, how's it going? Oh, wow, Marina, that smells fabulous!"

"Paella," Marina told her. "And--" she held up the pitcher triumphantly. "Sangria."

"You are the best," Emma said. "And man, do I need a drink." She took the gla.s.s Marina offered and plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. After a long sip, she said, "I need your advice on something."

Lily's eyes went back and forth between her sister and this strange woman who seemed to have enchanted everyone. Why would Emma need advice from Marina? Why didn't she ask Lily? Lily was family!

Marina poured herself a drink and sat down at the table. "Shoot."

Lily sat down, too.

"You're making a lights.h.i.+p basket with Sheila Lester, right?"

"Right."

"Well, you know I'm reading every afternoon to Millicent Bracebridge."

"Yes, you've spoken about her a lot. And also about her grandson, Spencer." Marina waggled her eyebrows teasingly.

What the h.e.l.l! Lily thought. When did Emma tell Marina all this?

"You know Millicent has a lot of valuable Nantucket heirlooms. Oil paintings. Sailor's valentines. And seven lights.h.i.+p baskets, very old, probably by Jose Reyes, probably worth thousands of dollars. I mean each one. She has them arranged according to size on the windowsill in her living room."

"I'm with you so far," Marina said.

"Well, today while I was reading, I glanced at the collection and it seems to me, no, I'm sure of it--five of the baskets have been exchanged. Five of them are lighter than the others."

"Have you asked Millicent about them?"

"No. No, I haven't for several reasons. For one thing, she has macular degeneration, so she wouldn't have noticed the change. For another, she treasures all her Nantucket antiques, and I'm sure she'd never sell them or give them away. I think someone is stealing them and replacing them with cheap reproductions."

"That's a pretty serious accusation," Marina said. "Do you have any idea who's doing it?"

Emma looked grim. "It's got to be Sandra. I've gone over and over this in my mind. I know Cathy Evans, she's the housekeeper, and she would never steal anything. Nor would Patty LaFleur. She's the home health nurse who comes in to help Millicent every evening. Feeds her dinner, gets her into the shower, in and out of her clothes, into bed, spends the night with her and gets her up and going in the morning. Both these women have been on the island forever and have sterling reputations and great families. They just wouldn't steal. I'd stake my life on it. No, it's got to be Millicent's daughter-in-law, Sandra."

"What are you going to do?" Marina asked.

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Emma answered.

Lily shot up from her chair. "I've got to get to work." She left her drink on the table and stormed from the room. Why did Emma want to talk to Marina about this problem! Why didn't Emma want to talk to Lily? Or at least wait and talk to Abbie! What was going on? Emma was acting as if Marina was a good friend. Confiding in her. Asking her advice.

Emma was almost acting as if Marina were her mother!

For sure, Marina was driving a wedge between Lily and the rest of her family.

At the c.o.c.ktail party, Lily's thoughts about Marina revolved on an obsessive hamster wheel, hampering her work. She forgot to write down the names of a couple she'd just met and worst of all, she missed the opportunity to snap a photo of a television anchor who briefly dropped in to the party. But Eartha arrived, with much drama, as always, and Lily cheered up. She loved the way Eartha embraced Lily and whispered in her ear. She knew others were watching them, wondering what fabulous bit of gossip Eartha had now.

"I'll get you a martini," Lily told the older woman, once Eartha was ensconced on the sofa.

"Thanks, dawling." Eartha spread out the skirts of her fuchsia silk dress and flashed a welcome smile to the friends who were flocking to see her.

Jason had told her he was bartending at this party, still it gave Lily a little s.h.i.+ver of delight to see him there behind the table, handsome in his white s.h.i.+rt and black tie, flas.h.i.+ng his great smile at people. A willowy brunette approached Jason to ask for a drink, leaning forward over the table so he could hear her--and so he could catch a view of the remarkable cleavage exposed by her dress. Sorry, honey, he's taken, Lily thought smugly.

"Ah, Lily. How nice to see you here."

Lily turned. Bancroft Stone stood there smiling at her. She'd met Bancroft the night Eartha took her to the dinner party on the yacht. Bancroft had just finished at the London School of Economics and was working with a hedge fund company based in London and New York. Even though his hairline was receding, he was handsome enough. And his British accent--genuine, one of his grandmothers lived in England--thrilled Lily. She returned the greeting and easily fell into a conversation with him. He hadn't paid special attention to her at the dinner party, so she was surprised at how he lingered next to her now, treating her as if she were the center of the universe, leaning toward her--of course, that could be because the noise level was so high all around them. Still, she thought he seemed to be flirting with her. What would it be like to date this man? He was smooth, cultured, cosmopolitan. The kind of man who could take her to the opera in New York, to polo matches in Connecticut, to ski at Vail. He would never marry Lily, she was certain he was from the sort of family who only married among their narrow social set, but she wouldn't want to marry the man. Date him, yes. Sleep with him? Perhaps.

"Want to go out to dinner later?" Bancroft asked.

Dumbfounded, Lily blinked and stammered. "Well, I-I ..."