Wade family’s height and the scattering of freckles across the nose and cheeks. There was no doubt he was Willie’s son.
And Olivia’s half brother.
Releasing her father’s hand, Olivia stood up and crossed the room. She drew close to Hudson, waiting for some feeling of instant affection to sweep over her, but there was already too much churning inside for her to connect with him at this moment. Shock, grief, disbelief, and a thousand questions crowded her mind.
Hudson’s eyes were moist with tears. He glanced at the form in the bed and then at Olivia and bit the edge of his lip.
This small movement gave him the appearance of a little boy, unsure of himself and his future, and Olivia recognized in him the same fears and struggles she’d known as a child.
They were connected after all.
She reached out and brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips before leaving the room, her father’s words reverberating in her mind.
Olivia spent an hour sitting on the dock, stroking Haviland’s black curls and watching the harbor traffic. A flock of Canadian geese flew overhead and she tracked their flight until their V was just a dark smudge on the horizon.
Later, once her father’s body had been collected by the funeral home, Olivia, Kim, and Hudson sat in the garden together. They drank coffee laced with spiced rum and went over the burial details. After that, Kim left the siblings in order to prepare to open the restaurant. Olivia didn’t see anything strange in the Salters working that night. She hated the thought of spending her night in idleness. She didn’t want to lay herself open to the full force of her grief.
Hudson asked her to stay for supper, his pleading eyes belying his gruff manner. She agreed and was surprised by Hudson’s skill in the kitchen.
“It must have been a big shock to you, to learn that you had a half sister,” she said as he poured oil into a frying pan.
His mouth curved into the ghost of a grin. “I’d have thought it was a joke coming from another man, but Dad wasn’t much for telling jokes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I first got here?”
He shrugged. “He wanted to be the one to do it. I almost told you when you first came in, but it seemed real important to him.”
Olivia nodded. She liked that Hudson could hold things close to his chest.
“Have you ever thought of living elsewhere?” she asked him after finishing a delicious dinner of grilled grouper and homemade hush puppies.
He nodded as he plated steamed muscles and handed them off to Kim. “All the time. I want my kids to have more than I had growing up here.”
Olivia watched Kim pass through the swing door, a heavy platter in each hand. “And your wife?”
“She doesn’t have it easy, but it’s all we’ve got.”
Olivia poured Hudson a shot of whiskey and handed him a glass. Raising her own she said, “Perhaps we can change that. Together. I’m turning an old warehouse into the Bayside Crab House. My problem is that I don’t have anyone to run the place. Do you think you’d be interested?”
Hudson stared at her and then he grinned. “Hell, yeah, I’d be interested.”
“Then let’s toast to our father with his favorite drink and after this shot, we don’t have to look back ever again. We can start over. All of us.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“To the future,” Olivia said.
The siblings clinked their glasses and drank.
With the whiskey still warming her belly, Olivia stood at the end of the Salter’s dock waiting to board the boat she’d hired to take her back to Oyster Bay.
She’d called Rawlings and asked him to meet her at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage.
“I really need to see you,” was all she’d given him by way of explanation. To her immense relief and gratitude, he’d asked no questions but promised to be there, waiting for her.
All traces of daylight were nearly gone when the small craft motored past Oyster Bay’s lighthouse. Olivia had removed her watch and shoes and had her pant legs rolled up, fully prepared to hoist her overnight bag onto her shoulder and disembark near the sandbar. Haviland was quivering with anticipation, eager to get wet and to return to the gourmet fare he knew was stocked inside his house on the bluff.
A figure appeared on the beach and Olivia waved as she recognized Rawlings. He shielded his eyes against the setting sun, mimicking the pose of the carving Olivia’s father had made for his little girl.
The man at the helm cut the motor. They drifted gently toward the sandbar.
In the twilight, the only sound was the lapping of the water against the hull. Olivia handed the captain some cash, put her purse in her overnight bag, and slung it over her good shoulder. Accepting the captain’s hand, she prepared to put one leg over the side, but Haviland sprang forward, splashing them both as he leapt into the water.
“It’s all right, boy, a little salt water never hurt nobody!” the man called out with a chuckle. For some reason, his words caused Olivia to recall the photograph Laurel had taken of Mr. and Mrs. Donald in their hospital beds. More specifically, her mind’s eye focused on the word written on their signs.
“Forgive,” Olivia whispered.
She fixed her eyes on the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, seeking out the window of her girlhood room. The restless spirits had been laid to rest. It was time to forgive and to move on.
Olivia glanced at Rawlings and then at the lighthouse towering above him.
The beacon flashed, forming a luminous path on the surface of the water, welcoming her to the shore.
Turn the page for a preview of Ellery Adams’s next Books by the Bay Mystery . . .
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!
“All houses have secrets.”
Olivia Limoges was surprised to hear such an enigmatic statement from her contractor, but there wasn’t a hint of humor on Clyde Butler’s weathered face. Perhaps the seasoned builder was merely trying to make a point to the eager first-time home buyer who stood nearby, one arm wrapped possessively around the porch post.
Harris Williams gazed toward the front door of the aged bungalow with a look of pure devotion, and Olivia could tell he was already visualizing himself living there.
“Regardless of what you’ve discovered, Clyde, I don’t think you can talk Harris out of purchasing this place,” Olivia stated with amusement. “He’s clearly fallen in love.”
Captain Haviland, Olivia’s standard poodle, sniffed around the foundation of the 1930s home and then trotted around the corner, conducting a canine version of a house inspection.
Wearing a hopeful grin, Harris watched the poodle until Haviland disappeared from view, and then picked at a flake of peeling paint with his fingernail. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I can feel that this place has history. That’s important to me. There’s more character in this rusty nail than in all the other places I’ve seen put together.”
Olivia surveyed the facade of the two-bedroom bungalow. It had whitewashed brick walls and rows of large windows with black shutters. Olivia’s favorite feature was the wide and welcoming front porch. Leaves had gathered in between the railings and there were rents and holes in the screen door, but the slate steps felt solid under her feet. She’d been inside with Harris a few days ago and had liked the house. Harris was right. The place had a warm personality. Its modest design spoke of simpler times, of family traditions, of hard work and perseverance. She believed Harris was making a good choice.
Harris continued to defend the bungalow even though no one had argued with him. “I’ve seen a dozen new houses in my price range and yeah, sure, they all had pristine white walls and stainless steel appliances and shiny light fixtures to go along with the flat lawns and four little bushes and a pair of ornamental trees, but they had
