“Good idea.” The car pulled up in front of the lighthouse, and I grabbed my beach bag and got out.
“I forgot to ask,” Bertie said, “did you and Connor have a nice afternoon? Before you were so rudely interrupted.”
“We did. Thanks for the lift. See you tomorrow.” I shut the car door and ran up the path.
Chapter Twelve
Charles greeted me in his normally effusive manner. I always hope it’s me he’s happy to see, and not just that he’s hoping to soon hear the pop of the tab being released on the cat food can. He ran ahead of me, balancing nimbly on the staircase railing. I ran after him, not nearly so nimbly, and let us into the Lighthouse Aerie. I threw my bag on the bed, and before doing anything else, I called Aunt Ellen from the landline in my apartment. Charles paced across the kitchen and wound himself around my legs, reminding me that I had more important tasks to attend to. I wagged my finger at him. It was still too early for dinner.
Although, for Charles, it was never too early for dinner.
“Good afternoon, Lucy,” Aunt Ellen said.
“Hi. I know this might sound strange, but I do have a reason for asking.”
“Go ahead.”
“Rachel Blackstone. Her name came up today in connection with a missing necklace.”
“Oh yes. That.”
“So it was hers? I heard that a valuable piece of jewelry had been stolen from her many years ago.”
“That’s true. And ‘valuable’ is the word. It was a family heirloom containing a legendary diamond and worth a considerable amount of money. It was never recovered, and Rachel feels guilty to this day about it.”
“You mean she had something to do with its disappearing?”
“No, not at all. Guilty that she didn’t take better care, I mean.”
“Do you think she’d be willing to talk to me about it?”
“I don’t see why not. She feels guilty, as I said, but it’s not a sensitive subject for her.”
In the background, I heard my uncle Amos yelling at Aunt Ellen.
“Amos says it’s been too long and you’re to come to dinner tonight. He’s grilling fish, and there’s always room for one more. Josie will be here.”
“Sounds mighty tempting,” I said, meaning it. No one on planet Earth does grilled fish better than Uncle Amos. I grew up eating it in those long, lazy summers I spent on the Outer Banks.
“I have an idea,” Aunt Ellen said. “I’ll invite Rachel too. I know she’s in town. We have a meeting of the museum board tomorrow.”
“That would be great. If she’s not comfortable talking about what happened, I’ll drop the subject.”
“Josie’s expected around six. Come when you’re ready. If Rachel’s not free, I’ll tell her you want to pay a call on her another time.”
We hung up and I checked the time. It was five o’clock now. I fed Charles (who was attempting to make me believe he was about to expire from sheer starvation any minute now) and then jumped into the shower. I stood under the hot water for a long time, grateful to be washing all that sand and salt out of my hair and off my skin.
I pulled on a light summer dress of red cotton splashed with yellow and blue. Expecting that we’d sit outside to eat, knowing the evening breeze off the ocean can be cool, I added a light black sweater to the outfit.
Charles waved me out the door, and I was on my way by quarter to six.
When Aunt Ellen and Uncle Amos’s three children grew up and moved away, they sold the big, rambling home I’d visited so often and bought their dream place on the beach, not far from Jeanette’s Pier in Nags Head. It’s a beautiful house, painted a cheerful yellow, made up of several stories in the standard Outer Banks beach style, perched on the edge of the dunes, with a view of the open ocean. It’s smaller than the house they used to have, but more than adequate for their needs now and for visitors they continue to get regularly.
Like most beach houses, theirs stands on stilts, with the garage and storage rooms on the ground level and the living areas on the upper floors. I climbed the steps, and Aunt Ellen opened the door to me with a smile. She wrapped me in an enthusiastic hug.
“Sorry, I didn’t bring anything,” I said, “but you did give me rather short notice.”
“You never need to bring anything except yourself, honey, and you know that.”
“I do,” I said.
“I spoke to Rachel and she accepted my invitation to dinner with enthusiasm. She was pleased to hear you and Josie will be joining us.”
Aunt Ellen led the way upstairs. The main living area is open plan, the walls painted white and the rooms full of cheerful, comfortable blue and yellow furniture. Paintings of Outer Banks scenes by local artists add to the riot of color.
Josie and Uncle Amos were waiting for us on the deck that runs off the thoroughly modern steel and glass kitchen. Josie jumped to her feet to greet me with a hug, and Uncle Amos said, “Get you a drink?”
“A tea would be nice. I’m driving, so I’ll have a small glass of wine with dinner.”
The table was set with five places. “Did you tell Rachel why I want to talk to her?” I asked.
“No,” Aunt Ellen said. “I’m happy to have her as a guest in my home. You can ask, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it, I trust you’ll respect that.”
“I will.” I accepted a frosty,
