Chapter 4

“Wyatt’s ex is renting a place down the street from him.” Morgan’s mind whirled. Her boyfriend had mentioned needing to discuss something. Clearly, this was it. He knew Amber was there.

Had the two seen each other? Maybe they’d met for dinner, for old time’s sake. Her stomach churned at the thought he may have even taken Amber to their special spot, Whisper Brook Waterfall, where Wyatt and Morgan had gone on their first date.

She clutched her gut, her mind reeling. “What’s the street number? I want to drive by.”

Ariel rattled it off and reached for her friend’s hand. “I can see you’re upset. I had no idea. Wyatt…must know.”

“Oh, I think he knows.” Morgan explained how he’d picked her up at the airport and dropped her off at Easton Estate. “He stopped me before he left. I could tell he wanted to say something, but said we could discuss it tomorrow during breakfast.”

“Wyatt isn’t interested in that snobby, self-centered woman,” Ariel said.

“He loved her once.”

“Loved being the key word. Besides, he was young and didn’t know any better.” Her friend attempted to state Wyatt’s case, all of which made perfect sense. It still didn’t stop Morgan from feeling blindsided. Why, after all these years, had the woman decided to come back?

By most standards, Easton Island was a small island. Many of the residents were generational — grandparents, parents, children, grandchildren, all born and raised there. Which meant many of them knew each other — and talked.

Morgan, being both a Locke and Easton, was a more visible islander merely because of who she was. The family names were everywhere…Easton Island, Easton Harbor, Easton Airport, Locke Village, Locke Pointe Bed-and-Breakfast.

It would be easy for Amber Marais to monitor Morgan’s movements. No doubt she knew she’d been traveling for the last couple of weeks, giving her the perfect opportunity to…

Ariel interrupted her thoughts. “I’m sorry I brought Amber’s name up.”

“As I said, I already knew she was here.” Morgan told her about the woman and Naomi Renaud standing outside the gallery earlier. “I wouldn’t put it past her to track my schedule and make an appearance in front of the art gallery so I would see her.”

“Wyatt Dawson is no dummy,” Ariel said. “There’s no way he’s given Amber a minute of his time.”

Despite her friend trying to cheer her up, and she made valid points, excellent points, Morgan was still upset if only for the fact the woman could literally walk to Wyatt’s place. Another concerning thought popped into her head. If she was monitoring Morgan’s moves, she was more than likely keeping tabs on her ex.

Ting. Morgan’s cell phone chimed. It was a text from Mrs. Arnsby, reminding her of dinner at Easton Estate. She texted a reply, confirming she would be there, and pushed her chair back. “I should head home. I need to change for dinner.”

“You’re having dinner at the grand estate?” Ariel teased.

“Mrs. Arnsby is celebrating me coming home. She loves cooking and makes any excuse to whip up gourmet meals for the family.”

“You’re lucky, Morgan.” Ariel followed her to the door. “You have so much going for you. Don’t let Amber get under your skin.”

“I’ll try not to, although she’s not making it easy.” Morgan gave her friend a quick hug. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime. By the way, I got an invitation to Locke Pointe’s open house. Ronni invited area businesses so we could come check it out and recommend it to customers.”

Morgan tapped the side of her forehead. “Talk about lucky. I’m lucky to have Ronni running the place. She’s one smart cookie.” She thanked her friend again and drove straight home.

Chester, who was not happy about being left behind, met her at the door, giving her the “don’t leave me alone again” look.

“I see you, Mr. Pouty Face. Tell you what…you can ride along with me back to Grandmother’s place. Maybe if we ask nicely, she’ll let you play with Daisy.”

Swapping out her casual attire for a black skirt and striped black and white blouse, she slid a pair of flats on before catching up with her pup, who stood blocking the back door.

“Silly dog. I told you I would take you with me.” As soon as Morgan opened the door, Chester scampered down the steps and ran to the SUV. Because there was little traffic on the roads, they arrived a solid ten minutes early for dinner.

Elizabeth was a stickler for punctuality. Dinner was served at exactly seven o’clock. Evening meals required proper attire. In other words, ball caps, blue jeans, T-shirts and casual clothing were not allowed.

Stepping into the kitchen, Morgan smelled the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon. Mrs. Arnsby stood in the center of the room, balancing a platter with what appeared to be an oval cake on top.

“Something smells delicious.”

“Figgy duff,” the cook said. “I’ve fixed a traditional Newfoundlanders’ Jiggs Dinner and decided to go all out by serving figgy duff for dessert.”

Morgan set her purse on an empty chair. “I’m intrigued. What is Jiggs Dinner and figgy duff?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Mrs. Arnsby slid the platter forward. “Jiggs Dinner is basically boiled meat with vegetables.”

“Ah.” Morgan arched her eyebrow. “Meaning it’s an approved dish to keep Grandmother eating healthier meals.”

“It is.” The cook lowered her voice. “She doesn’t protest as much when I serve traditional Canadian dishes. Along with the boiled meat the dinner includes chopped cabbage, potatoes, carrots and turnips.”

“I’m sure it will be delicious,” Morgan said. “You have the magic touch and can make a rotten tomato tasty.”

The cook blushed, waving dismissively. “You’re too kind. It’s a labor of love.”

Morgan eyed the figgy duff more closely. “So, what’s in this figgy dessert?”

“Flour, brown sugar, ginger, cinnamon. Simple ingredients. It’s served with a warm sauce poured over the top. Although I make a slightly different variation than the centuries-old recipe.”

“How so?”

“Archival recipes used breadcrumbs for the base. Of course, they were soaked to soften them. I’ve even seen some older recipes using crumbled and softened crackers.”

“Like saltines.”

“Correct.”

“I can’t wait to try it.” Morgan placed her elbows on the quartz countertop. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The history lesson.”

“I don’t want to bore you,” the cook said.

“You’ve never given a boring history lesson. I’m intrigued by Canadian history. So…what’s the story?”

“The figgy duff is traced all the way back to the 16 th century English West. You may recognize its close ancestor, figgy pudding.”

“As in figgy pudding from the Christmas Carol?” Morgan asked.

“Precisely. Although figgy pudding aka figgy duff doesn’t contain figs but rather raisins. There may be a bit of debate, but my understanding is the Cornish term for a raisin is a fig, hence the name.” Mrs. Arnsby continued. “Duff means boiled or steamed pudding, most times containing dried fruit.”

Morgan grimaced. “I’m not a huge fan of raisins.”

“You’re in luck.” Mrs. Arnsby darted to the counter and carried an identical tray with a matching figgy duff. “I made a second pudding using blueberries instead of raisins.”

“I can’t wait to try it.” Morgan glanced around. “Do you need help with anything?”

“My kitchen crew should be finished with the place settings. They’ll be along in a minute to fill the table. Thank you for the offer.”

“You’re welcome. You’re spoiling me with a welcome home dinner.”

“We’re all thrilled you made it home safe and sound,” she said. “I believe Brett is joining us this evening.”

“He is. We’re meeting after the meal to discuss a project.” Morgan traipsed over to Chester’s chair where he sat intently watching every move Mrs. Arnsby made. She fed him a doggie treat from the hidden stash the cook kept.

The dinner bell chimed, announcing the start of the meal. Morgan reached the dining room to find almost everyone was already there. Jax, the estate’s “jack-of-all-trades” who also handled the estate’s security as well as overseeing the grounds, took his place at the table. Ben, Elizabeth’s chauffeur, who was in charge of the fleet of vehicles and transportation, sat next to Grandmother Elizabeth. Brett arrived moments later.

Starting with soup and salad, the meal progressed at a steady pace. Morgan filled her grandmother and brother in on her visits, promising to forward her notes the following day.

The main course, Jiggs Dinner, was a bountiful mixture of meat and vegetables. Mrs. Arnsby had seasoned it perfectly. Morgan, not realizing how hungry she was, promptly gobbled up every morsel on her plate.

As soon as the main course dishes were cleared, coffee was served, along with generous slices of figgy duff. Morgan sampled her piece. Deeming it as delicious as it looked, she dug in.

“I see you enjoyed your meal,” Jax commented. “Figgy duff has been added to the list of Mrs. Arnsby’s signature dishes. I was never a fan until I tasted hers.”

“Oh, stop.” The cook rolled her eyes. “It’s such an easy recipe.”

“Maybe for you,” Elizabeth said. “Jax is right. It’s one of your best dishes, Jane.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

After the meal ended, Elizabeth and her grandchildren headed to the library for another cup of coffee. Brett waited for Mrs. Arnsby to finish arranging the beverage tray and closed the door behind her.

“I want to tell you again, Morgan, how much I appreciate you taking the bull by the horns, jumping in and doing a great job of handling the leased property visits. The tenants have done nothing but sing your praises.”

“I don’t doubt it. Both of you are Eastons through and through,” Elizabeth said proudly.

“The notes and files you gave me were a huge help,” Morgan said. “It made my job a lot easier. I hope it alleviated some of your workload.”

“Immensely. If you’re on board, I would like to officially turn the visits over to you.”

“Consider them off your plate.” Morgan changed the subject. “You mentioned wanting to discuss the Wynn Harbor Inn project.”

“I do. Unfortunately, I don’t have good news,” Brett said.