Mike raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. The food police have spoken.”
“Speaking of police, I invited Will over, too,” Sunny tried to sound casual. That date for pancakes had never materialized over the weekend. Will had been preempted for something on Saturday morning, and he stayed out of touch on Sunday. Since he’d switched to the day shift this week, she’d invited him over tonight. “Don’t worry,” Sunny assured Mike. “If there’s not enough coffee cake to go around, he can share my piece.”
That sort of mirrored her problem with Will. Just like the coffee cake, there weren’t enough available males to be found in a small town like Kittery Harbor. Sunny should be glad to be seeing a guy like Will. But she wondered if it wasn’t getting a bit . . . well, dull. Pancake breakfasts, coffee cake. It didn’t sound like a healthy diet, for the body or for the soul.
Mike didn’t seem to have that problem with Mrs. M. His face was eager as they cleared the dinner plates and cleaned them. Then he set a pot of coffee brewing and got out the good china cups and cake plates. The coffee was just about done when the doorbell rang.
Mike moved with an extra spring in his step to answer it—although he almost sprang back when he opened the door to be greeted with a joyful “woof!” A biscuit-colored dog had his paws halfway up Mike’s thigh as he stretched to try and lick at his hands.
That pup just keeps growing, Sunny thought as Helena Martinson struggled with the golden Lab’s leash.
“Toby, get down! Where are your manners?” the petite woman scolded. She had a figure women decades younger would envy, and even her hair had merely gone from blond to something more like platinum. Mike had to bend down to receive her kiss, but he obviously thought it worthwhile. He didn’t even notice the dog romping around his legs. Mrs. Martinson gave Mike Toby’s leash and walked down the hall with a rueful smile. “Toby is still a bit of a handful,” she said, handing Sunny a small box that held her famous coffee cake.
“If he keeps growing, you’ll be able to ride him over,” Sunny replied.
Mike released Toby from his leash, and the dog headed immediately into the living room, sniffing the air and whining because he couldn’t find his friend Shadow. Sunny glanced back toward the kitchen, but the cat had definitely made himself scarce. He’d probably put in an appearance when the guests were leaving—Sunny was never sure whether it was an attempt to be sociable or if Shadow wanted to make sure the dog was definitely gone.
The bell rang again, and Sunny went this time to find Will Price at the door. He wore a pair of khakis and a natural cotton short-sleeved shirt, which should have gone over well on his rangy form with its summer tan. But the light colors only brought out a bright redness under his tan, a redness that only increased on his nose and cheeks, although the area around his eyes was noticeably paler. Wherever he’d spent the weekend, he’d been wearing sunglasses.
“That looks like a pretty good burn,” she told him, not feeling too much sympathy. So this was why he couldn’t see her?
“Ben Semple invited me out on his boat for some fishing Saturday morning,” Will said, naming a cop colleague. “We were stuck out there longer than I anticipated—without any sunblock. Ben got it even worse—he’s fairer than I am.” Will’s regular features, usually so calm and competent, twisted in embarrassment. “I spent Saturday afternoon and all of Sunday in the tub, trying to soak this down.”
“Well, I can’t tell if you’re blushing, so it didn’t quite work.” Shaking her head, Sunny led him to the living room, where Mike and Mrs. M. were already ensconced with coffee cake. After commenting on Will’s sunburn, they turned to Ollie Barnstable’s mishap. When Mike mentioned bumping into Gardner Scatterwell after all these years, Will looked a little surprised. “I met the man while doing some fund-raising for my old school,” he said. “Scatterwell graduated about thirty years ahead of me, but I was sent to try and tickle a donation out of him, along with a lot of rich folk up in Piney Brook.”
“Lord knows, Gardner would have the loot,” Mike chuckled. “I remember—”
But Helena cut off his flood of reminiscence. “I never warmed to Gardner,” she interrupted, “and I’d prefer not to hear about him.”
Mike was taken aback but quickly switched tracks to talk about the prickly Dr. Gavrik. Sunny waited until she and Helena were alone in the kitchen to put in her two cents. As a major linchpin in the Kittery Harbor gossip network, typically Mrs. M. would be eager to hear the latest news, even about people she didn’t necessarily like.
Especially about people she didn’t like, the cynical voice in the back of Sunny’s head suggested.
“I hope Dad didn’t upset you, mentioning Gardner Scatterwell. They were in a band together back in his high school days—although Dad says that ended when Gardner got too interested in my mom.”
“A chronic condition for him,” Mrs. Martinson muttered as she put plates in the sink. “I didn’t grow up around here, so I never encountered the Piney Brook crowd until I moved into town with my late husband.” She shook her head. “‘Scatterwell’ was an appropriate name for Gardner. He said it was because some ancestor must have been good at sowing seed on a farm. What he was good at was sowing wild oats—long after he should have grown up. You’ve heard the saying, ‘Shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations’? Gardner did his best to make that come true. His father made the family fortune, and he found ways to throw it away.”
“Sounds like a lot of people who’ve got more money than brains,” Sunny said.
Helena shot her a sharp look. “But not enough of a reason to dislike the man? Then how about this—true to form, he once got me alone in the kitchen during a party and told me how much he loved me.”
Sunny shrugged. “You’ve always been an attractive woman.”
“Yeah, but then he tried to show the depths of his devotion by shoving his tongue down my throat.” Helena Martinson made a face. “He knew I was married, for heaven’s sake. And if you remember my Raymond . . .”
Sunny recalled Mr. Martinson as a big, stocky guy who’d obviously adored his petite wife and gorgeous daughter (who was a few years older than Sunny). He’d had to put up with a lot of teenaged boys around the house, but he was pretty easygoing, even tolerating the guys who’d buzzed around Helena like moths drawn to her hot-mom flame—pretty much the same way Shadow tolerated Toby coming over.
“I recall a lot of guys who had crushes on you,” Sunny said.
“Boys.” Helena made a dismissive gesture. “Gardner was old enough to know better. And if Ray had found out, Gardner would’ve had his head handed to him.”
“What did you do?” Sunny couldn’t help asking.
“I pushed him away, told him his passion wasn’t requited, and made sure I was never alone with him again.” Mrs. M.’s lips twisted in a sort of smile. “He moped around for a couple of weeks, trying to convince me he was heartbroken, then went off to make some other woman’s life miserable. You could follow it like the phases of the moon. Usually his so-called deathless passions lasted about six weeks.”
“So you have no interest in tracking him down at Bridgewater Hall and rekindling the flames?” Sunny teased.
Helena’s answer caught Sunny off guard. “I’m very happy with what I have with your father. Someday I hope you can enjoy the same thing.” She glanced at the kitchen door. “Even if the man in your life lets himself get roasted like a turkey.”
Sunny determinedly turned the conversation away from herself and Will. “Dad told me he gave Gardner a poke in the snout in their go-round,” she said. “Is he the one who knocked it off-kilter?”
“No, but I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised to hear that someone did.” Helena sighed. “His nose was fine when I knew him. Gardner Scatterwell was a very handsome man—and knew it. That was one of his problems.” She moved aside to let Sunny add the cups and saucers to the dishes in the sink, and then turned on the water. “I don’t think I’d like to see what became of him.”