Chapter 9

nine

I sabelle was hurrying across the courtyard when Blossom called out to her. "Yoo-hoo! Wait up, Izzy!"

Isabelle spun around to face her. "My name is Isabelle. Only my family is allowed to call me Izzy."

"That's a shame. Izzy suits you." Blossom shoved a brown leather journal at her. "I found this. I believe it belongs to you."

Isabelle took the journal and ran her finger over the three-digit locking mechanism. "Where'd you get this?" she asked accusingly. "My late husband was a criminal attorney. He often used these journals to record his private thoughts on his more complex cases."

"I found a copy of Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides on his desk. But when I opened it, there were no pages, only a hollowed-out space used as a safe. This journal was hidden inside."

Isabelle frowned. "That's odd. I never knew Edward to hide his journals." She looked up at Blossom. "By library , if you're referring to my husband's study, those books are private property and not for the use of our guests."

"Then you should put up a sign."

"And you should refrain from snooping around in my personal belongings." When Isabelle started toward the cottage with the journal, Blossom's little dog ran after her, nipping at her heels. Feeling a sharp pain, she kicked at the dog. The dog let out a loud yelp and scurried back to Blossom. "Ouch! Your dog bit me."

Blossom picked up her dog. "Jolene is very protective. She gets defensive when people act aggressively toward me."

"You haven't seen aggressive, lady." Isabelle hiked up her pants leg. "Look! I'm bleeding."

"Let me see." Gripping her dog under her arm, Blossom bent over to examine Isabelle's ankle. "It's only a little scrape. She barely grazed the skin." She straightened. "But don't worry, she's up to date on her rabies shot."

Isabelle tensed. "Rabies! Good lord. I'm warning you, Blossom, either keep that dog away from me, or I'll have to ask you to leave," she said and entered the cottage, slamming the door behind her.

She washed the scrape with soap and water in the bathroom sink and located an old roll of gauze and a tube of antibiotic ointment in the medicine cabinet. After bandaging her wound, even though it was still daylight out and she hadn't eaten dinner, she changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed.

Isabelle entered Edward's birthdate in the combination lock. When that didn't work, she tried 3-1-2, their numeric address on Beach Drive. The lock clicked and she opened the journal. On the first page, in her husband's tidy cursive, was written My vision for Magnolia Shores Resort.

Isabelle had sat at his desk many times since his death, but she'd never seen The Prince of Tides book safe Blossom had mentioned. And she definitely would have noticed it. Edward was also a fan of Pat Conroy, and they'd often discussed the tormented characters in his novels. They agreed that, of all Conroy's works, The Prince of Tides offered the deepest dive into family dysfunction. She stared up at the ceiling. "Oh, Edward. You heard me at the cemetery, didn't you? That's how this diary found its way into that strange woman's hands."

Isabelle turned the page and began reading. What she learned from her late husband's words stunned her. The bed and breakfast was merely the first stage of a very elaborate scheme to turn their hundred-acre property into a full-blown resort. He dreamed of building a three-story boutique hotel on the large vacant lot beside the main house. He referred to it repeatedly as The Sanctuary. In addition to a large lobby with a check-in area, the first floor would feature a spa with a fitness center, a dining room, a cocktail lounge, and an upscale gift shop. With thirty new guest suites on the second and third floors, the main house would then revert to being home for the St. Clair family.

Isabelle read the entire journal, each page filled with inventive ideas for Magnolia Shores. Edward planned to offer fishing excursions and sunset cruises on Catawba Sound. He envisioned paddleboard and kayak rentals and a fleet of bicycles available to guests on a first-come, first-served basis. In addition to the three meals offered in the dining room, a less formal lunch would be served at a cafe by a new and larger pool.

When she finally finished reading, Isabelle closed the diary and hugged it to her chest. This venture was way over her head. Even reading Edward's ideas exhausted her. She knew her husband well and was sure of his intent—to create a future for the younger St. Clair generations. But why rope Isabelle into running the bed and breakfast? Why not simply provide her with ample money to live on and pass the property to Pritchard and Kate to manage?

* * *

Shelby waited until the last guest left for dinner in town before going to the kitchen for a sandwich. She was seated at the table, scrolling through Luke's social media posts, when Silas entered the room.

"Things are pretty quiet around here," he said. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna take off. If anything happens, call me. I live nearby and can be here in a matter of minutes."

"Okay, sounds good." She gestured at her pimento cheese sandwich. "Would you like a sandwich before you go?"

"Thanks, but I'm grilling a tuna steak at home. I wouldn't mind some water for the road though." He removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and leaned against the counter. "I saw your granny enter the cottage. I assume she's in for the night."

Shelby's eyebrows shot up. "You'd better not let Izzy hear you call her that."

Silas chuckled. "Don't worry. I value my job. And my life."

"Where did you work before here?" Shelby asked and crammed the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth.

"In the laundry. At Ridgeland Correctional Institution."

Shelby's teal eyes popped. "You were in jail ?"

A pained expression crossed Silas's face. "Ten years ago, when my ex-wife's boyfriend beat her to a pulp, she accused me of aggravated assault to protect him. I was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years." He paused, his voice heavy. "She eventually admitted she had lied about the incident, and I was released from prison. Two weeks after her confession, that same boyfriend—who had become her husband by then—murdered her."

Shelby's jaw hit the table. "Goodness. That's some story. I'm sorry, Silas. I can't imagine going to prison for a crime I didn't commit."

Silas stared down at the floor. "I probably shouldn't have told you. I'm not good at lying. Can I trust you to keep my secret? I don't think Izzy would approve of me working here if she knew about my past."

"You're right about that. She'd fire you on the spot. But don't worry. I promise not to say anything." Shelby got up from the table and took her plate to the dishwasher. "I can tell you're a good man, Silas. Having you around makes me feel safer."

After seeing Silas out, Shelby searched her grandfather's study for his Nikon. She found it in the cabinet behind his desk. Once the guests had returned from town, she took the camera and her laptop upstairs to the room vacated earlier by the woman whose mother had passed away. She stayed up late watching YouTube instructional videos to better understand the features of this particular Nikon camera model.

Waking before dawn on Sunday, she took the camera out to the dock and photographed the main house with the pink rays of the rising sun in the background. Hearing the soft rumble of an outboard motor, she turned to see a center-console fishing boat approaching from behind. When the engine quieted, she assumed the boat had passed by. But a few minutes later, the boat's bow inched up beside her, and a casting net splashed into the water.

"Morning, ma'am," said the guy pulling in the casting net. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all." She waved her camera. "I already captured the magic moment."

The guy emptied his net in the live bait well at the back of the boat and returned to the bow for another cast. He posed a serene figure in the glorious morning sunlight, too intent on his task in the quiet surroundings to notice when she snapped a few photos of him wrestling his net into the boat.

After plucking all the minnows from the net, he dipped it in the water to rinse off the mud and dropped it in the boat. Starting his engine, he eased over to the dock.

He flashed Shelby a kilowatt smile. "Thanks for letting me fish your waters."

Shelby laughed at his joke. Everyone knew Catawba Sound was public property. "Any time."

"Are you a guest at the new bed and breakfast?"

"Actually, I'm working here for my grandmother, Isabelle St. Clair. I'm taking some pics for our new website."

"Cool! I knew your grandfather. Edward was a really good dude."

"Thanks. He was a good dude. We all miss him." Shelby held up the Nikon. "This was his camera."

"So, you're Edward's daughter's daughter. The one from Texas."

"Right. I'm Shelby Kinder, Kate's daughter."

"Nice to meet you, Shelby. I'm Matt Hitchcock. Are you just here for the summer?"

Shelby shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. If I like the job, I may stay for a while."

"Maybe we can go out sometime."

Out of habit, the words tumbled from her mouth, "I have a boyfriend."

He appeared disappointed. "Lucky guy," Matt said, putting the boat in reverse. "I've gotta run. My old man is waiting for me to go offshore. Have a good day."

Shelby lifted her hand in a wave. "Bye."

She strolled up the dock, enjoying the peacefulness of the early hour. Most of their guests were still sleeping, and the wildlife was beginning to stir. She couldn't remember the last time she'd awakened before sunrise. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure she'd ever willingly gotten up so early. In her new life, she was discovering many things about herself, and not all of them were bad.

When she reached the cottage, she was relieved to find her grandmother had already left for the main house. She packed some clothes and toiletries in a tote bag and returned to the room where she'd spent the night. Based on her rudimentary reservation system, the room was free until Thursday. She'd sleep in a tent, if necessary, to avoid her grumpy grandmother.

While showering, she noticed the absence of individually wrapped soap bars and trial-size shampoo bottles, conditioner, and shower gel. She made a mental note to add these items to her expanding to-do list.

Shelby slipped on a yellow floral sundress. If she ever received a paycheck, she'd bum a ride to town to shop for more appropriate work attire. She took her camera downstairs to her desk and uploaded the sunrise images to the photo editing software. The photographs were stunning. While she'd learned some digital photography from her college class, she gave her grandfather's camera and God all the credit.

She studied the images of Matt. His yellow-green eyes mirrored the expanse of marsh grass rustling in the breeze behind him. His sandy hair, tousled and spiked at the front by the wind, underscored his rugged charm. The gray T-shirt he wore clung to his broad chest and bulging biceps, accentuating his toned body. During their brief exchange, she'd sensed a gentleness about him, and his genuine smile had warmed her heart.

Why had she told him she had a boyfriend? Dozens of guys had hit on her since her breakup with Luke, and she'd given them the same answer. Telling them she was in a relationship seemed less cruel than saying she wasn't interested. And no one had interested her, until now.