Liza wouldn’t have known a thing if she hadn’t come home unexpectedly early from a business trip-and found them together, about to enjoy a candlelit dinner that her husband had prepared.
He was quite a good cook; Liza had to hand him that. Good at cooking up excuses, too. But she had eyes in her head. She could see what was going on, though part of her still wanted to believe Jeff’s spin on the cozy scene-that the relationship didn’t mean anything to him and he still loved Liza.
The larger part of her felt hurt and betrayed. She had demanded a divorce, and Jeff had finally agreed, dragging his heels all the way. About two weeks ago, they had both received the final decree. But Jeff kept calling. She clicked off the phone before she let herself listen to his message a second time. She could feel his charm and tender concern wearing her down, making her confused, even at this late date. Here she was, once again, wondering if she had done the right thing after all by ending their marriage.
Liza washed up and put on her nightgown. Then she put a few of her things away, hanging up clothes in the empty closet. She found her notebook computer and a stack of client files and climbed into bed, making a mini-office of the space.
She was tired but wound up. Work was always the perfect distraction from too much emotion. She needed to tie up some loose ends and answer a few e-mails, especially the messages she had noticed from her boss and clients, before she went to sleep.
Angel Island might feel like a world away from Boston, but Liza knew she would be returning soon enough. She had to keep her eye on the ball and keep things running smoothly in her real life, even at this distance.
Chapter Two
LIZA woke to the sound of her BlackBerry, buzzing like an electronic insect trapped in a jar.
Groggily, she reached around the covers and nearly rolled over on her laptop before locating the device. She picked it up and squinted at the message. An e-mail from her assistant, Sara, marked “Urgent.”
Was Sara in the office already? Liza checked the time.
Nine forty-five? She quickly sat up in bed. How had that happened? She barely slept past seven most mornings and rarely needed an alarm.
The room was pitch-black for one thing, the heavy shades and curtains blocking the light, except for a slim crack of sun that showed under the fringed edge. She had been in a deep sleep, tired from the drive in the rain, exhausted enough to sleep late, and already there was some emergency going on.
She quickly opened the e-mail, bracing herself. It was not good news. Liza’s boss, Eve, wanted the sketches of the new logo that was part of a pitch for a new account. For some reason, which was not explained, Eve needed the sketches by one o’clock that afternoon.
The account hadn’t signed on yet at the agency, and there was a call for all hands on deck to bring this one in. Liza was once again pitted against Charlie Reiger in a contest to see who had the best logo ideas.
Eve had originally said the sketches weren’t due until next week, but it seemed she had changed her mind. Now Liza had to scramble. At least she had brought the sketches with her, though they weren’t quite finished.
Knowing Charlie, he had probably given his ideas to the art department and already had four-color samples with complete, finished graphics ready to submit.
Liza jumped out of bed and pulled open the package of artwork she had brought along. She found the sketches easily, but her heart dropped when she looked them over. They were rougher than she remembered. She wondered if there was some sort of quickie graphics place or print shop she could find around here. Not on the island, of course, but back in Cape Light?
No, there wasn’t time. It was nearly ten o’clock. She would never find a place, get the work done, and get the material faxed in by one o’clock. It simply wasn’t possible.
She stared at the sketches again, then began to rummage through the art supplies she had packed. Quickly, Liza grabbed a pencil and some markers and added a few polishing touches. Hardly perfect, but better, she thought. They would have to do. She had to send them in and hope Eve would use a bit of imagination when she reviewed them. Well… more than a bit.
Liza hurriedly got dressed, placed the sketches in a large envelope, and ran downstairs. She wished now she had brought her printer along. She could have scanned the sketches and e-mailed them to the office in about two minutes. It had been dumb to forget the printer of all things. Now she had to find someplace where she could make a copy and send a fax.
She checked the kitchen, but it seemed that Claire had not arrived yet. The housekeeper probably wouldn’t be able to help her anyway, Liza reasoned.
She grabbed her coat and purse and headed outside, having no real idea of where she was going. She got in her car and decided to try the General Store first. If they couldn’t help her, then she would head into town.
The ride to the small village center was brief but scenic. The ocean stretched out on the left side of the road, and there were rolling meadows on the right. The inn had few neighbors, though there were some large old houses built around the turn of the century nearby-some, but not all, in better condition than the inn, Liza noticed.
There was also some farmland. There had always been a farm here on the island, but it seemed the ownership had changed hands since her last visit. What was once a nondescript farm was now an herb farm where she saw a flock of goats grazing. “Gilroy Goat Farm,” a sign read. “Organic herbs, goat cheese, fudge, soaps & lavender.” There was a barn and several small outbuildings, one painted light purple, where she guessed the lavender was sold. Liza made a note to stop there when she had more time.
She drove on a bit farther, passing a few cottages and lots of open land, then finally came to the small commercial center of the island, the place where the two main roads met. There was an open area and space for cars to park around a small square with benches and a fountain. The fountain was not running at this time of year, but in the summer it was a nice place to sit, shaded by a large tree and edged with flowers.
Liza parked and ran inside. The store was wide and low, and she was immediately transported to the past by the very distinct scent of the place-a mix of wooden floorboards, fresh-brewed coffee, soap powders, produce, and who knew what else.
For a small space, the store held an amazing variety of stock, just about everything a person might need, from motor oil to mayonnaise, dog biscuits to diapers, tea bags to tent pegs.
She wondered if Walter and Marion Doyle still owned the place. Liza recalled seeing them at her aunt’s memorial service, but that didn’t mean they still lived out here and ran the store.
Liza glanced around and soon spotted Walter behind the deli counter, packing up an order for a big, burly man wearing high rubber fishing boots.
Marion was closer, stocking a shelf with boxes of throat lozenges. Liza walked over and caught her glance. “Hi. I’m looking for a fax machine. Do you have one here?”
“A fax machine?” Marion shook her head. “We don’t have one of those. We have express mail delivery, though. Your package might get delivered by tomorrow, depending on the zip code.”
Liza remembered now. The General Store on the island also served as the post office, with a section of PO boxes right past the deli counter. Marion Doyle had always been the postmistress, selling stamps and weighing packages. Now she had express mail to offer. But tomorrow was too late. An hour from now was too late.