Beachcombers. Part 28

"You want me to come back?" Abbie asked.

"Of course. It's too late in the summer to get a new nanny. Anyway, we don't want Harry thinking I fired you because you're incompetent. He's already a nervous child. It won't help him if he learns he can't trust his caregivers."

"I'm sorry about the fall," Abbie said. "It happened so fast--"

"What, you expect me to forgive you? Tell you everything's okay? Believe me, I don't have that in me." She tossed back another slug of Scotch, then muttered, "This f.u.c.king island. There's not one professional on it."

"I'll just run up to the guest room to get my things," Abbie said.

"Fine." Sydney turned away, to pour herself another drink.

Lily followed Abbie up the stairs. She stood watching as Abbie collected her nightgown, hairbrush, and paperback novel. Abbie went into the bathroom and came out again with her toothbrush and dental floss in her hands.

"I'm ready," Abbie said.

They found Sydney in the kitchen, peering into the refrigerator. She'd stepped out of her high heels and stripped off her suit jacket. Suddenly she seemed younger, and tired.

"I made a veggie ca.s.serole," Abbie offered. "You could microwave it--"

Sydney waved an impatient hand, and turned, and they saw that she had her cell phone clutched to her ear. "No, you don't need to come home," she was saying. "I've seen Harry. He's just fine. Wait a moment. I've got to say good-bye to the nanny." Glancing at Abbie, she said, "We'll see you Monday." She turned her back. "I know, honey," she said in a low, soothing voice. "Me, too."

Abbie seemed paralyzed there in the kitchen.

"Abbie," Lily whispered, and tugged on her arm.

"Wait," Abbie insisted. "I just need--"

Sydney flapped her arm again, shooing them away.

Lily took her by the arm and pulled her down the hall, out of the house, and into the car. Abbie curled up in the pa.s.senger seat and began to cry again, in relentless, heartbreaking sobs.

"Oh, Abbie," Lily sighed.

"Let's just go home," Abbie said.

Lily started the car and drove slowly through the narrow streets of the town. A strange sensation rose within her, a kind of pride that made her lift her chin and feel oddly happy--although she stifled her smile because it would be just too odd to be smiling while her sister cried. She was realizing that tonight she had helped Abbie. Tonight Abbie had needed her, and she had come. Well, actually, tonight Abbie had needed Emma, but Emma wasn't available. Lily had gone. Lily had left her party, left work, and flown to Abbie's side. She'd comforted her older sister, she'd helped her pull herself together, she'd provided emotional support when Harry's mother arrived, and she'd gotten Abbie out of the house when Abbie was absolutely dithering with emotions.

It was as if Lily had stepped over an invisible threshold tonight. If she could help Abbie, then she could do anything at all. A small childish part of her, the part that had been so overpowering only a few hours ago, wanted to tug on Abbie's sleeve like a child who craves attention and praise, boasting: I helped you, Abbie! I helped you.

But the ripened, capable, and even perhaps slightly wise Lily understood deep within herself that this knowledge, this pride, needed to be sheltered inside her own heart and soul, protected like the fragile trembling radiance of a newly lighted flame.

41.

Marina It wasn't really funny, Marina knew, but adrenaline was still flooding her system, urging her to giggle nervously as she sat, trying to appear dignified and law-abiding, in the interview room of the police station.

Riley O'Hara, the young officer who had arrested them, and the accompanying officer, Sean Shreve, sat on the opposite side of the table from Marina and Emma, who sat side by side without speaking. The purloined lightship baskets were cl.u.s.tered together at the far end of the long table. In the relentless overhead fluorescent lights, the difference between the color of the cane was obvious.

Sean Shreve kept shifting in his chair as if he were the guilty one. He was trying to get Emma to look at him, but she was slanted back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw clenched.

During their ride to the station in the back of the Crown Vic, Emma had informed Marina in a loud, angry voice that Sean had grown up on the island. Emma had actually dated Sean in high school. Emma could not believe that after her explanation, given in whispers in the dark night on the street in front of the Bracebridge house, Sean had insisted the two women be brought into the police station.

"We have to do it," Sean had pleaded with Emma. "It's the law. It would cost me my job not to do it. We had a phone call, Emma. It's logged in. We have to respond. We have to bring you in."

"Yes, and who phoned the station, Sean? I'll tell you who--Lily, right? Lily phoned you or how else would you know exactly where to go?"

"That's the point, Emma," Sean had retorted. "Lily didn't phone me. She phoned the station."

At the station they made one phone call each. Marina phoned Jim, who said he'd walk down immediately. Marina asked Jim to call Sheila Lester, too, and to ask her to come to the station to confirm that she was planning to evaluate the baskets. Emma phoned Spencer Bracebridge. Then they were shown into the interview room, and now all they could do was wait.

"Would you like some coffee, Emma?" Sean asked.

"If I had it, I'd throw it in your face, Sean Shreve," Emma muttered darkly.

The door opened to the hall and a woman police officer escorted Sheila Lester into the room. As she was being seated, Jim appeared in the hall, talking with a man who, Emma told Marina, was Chief Coffin. The two men remained in the hall, murmuring in low rumbling voices, until the last person arrived. Spencer Bracebridge hurried in, dressed in khakis and a polo jersey, looking concerned.

"All right, folks." Chief Coffin entered the room, which seemed cramped with all the people in it. "Have a seat, everyone. Let's see what we can get sorted out here." He nodded toward the arresting officers. "Riley?"

Riley opened his notebook and cleared his throat. "At eight-thirteen, the station received a phone call from Lily Fox, stating that at nine o'clock, a robbery would be taking place at 135 Hyacinth Lane. Miss Fox said she had overheard two women plotting to steal some lightship baskets. Sean Shreve and I drove to the location. We saw the two women leave the house carrying a number of lightship baskets, which are present at the end of the table. We apprehended the suspects and brought them into custody."

Emma snorted. "The suspects," she echoed under her breath.

Chief Coffin leaned back in his chair. "All right, Emma, why don't you tell us your story."

"My story?" She was white with anger and her freckles stood out on her face. "My story is that I've been employed by the Bracebridge family to read to Millicent Bracebridge five days a week. I've become very fond of Mrs. Bracebridge, and I respect the love she has for all the Nantucket antiques and heirlooms in her house. I've been noticing that the lightship baskets--she has seven of them, all very old--looked different. They're lined up on the window seat of the front bay window. Mrs. Bracebridge has macular degeneration and can't see very well. She can probably see well enough to know shapes, objects. She can tell, I think, that seven baskets are there, but not whether or not they are the original ones. It wouldn't occur to her to even wonder about that, anyway. But I could tell that five of them were different. I suspected that someone was stealing the baskets and replacing them with cheaper, newer versions. But I didn't want to worry Mrs. Bracebridge or tell Spencer about it unless I was sure. So I asked Marina to ask Sheila if she would evaluate the baskets and she agreed to do it, but she refused to come into the Bracebridge house without permission, so I said I'd bring them to her."

Chief Coffin interrupted Emma. "And Marina is?"

"Marina Warren. She's my friend," Emma said stoutly. "She's renting our cottage, and she's taking lessons from Sheila. She said she'd help me. And that was what we were doing--taking them to be valued, and then we were going to put them back, all without bothering Mrs. Bracebridge."

Chief Coffin leaned down the table. "Sheila?"

"Everything she said is true," Sheila confirmed.

"Could you examine the baskets and tell us if you have any idea whether or not they're old?" Chief Coffin asked.

"Easily." Sheila smiled. "These baskets are not original. I don't have to check the bottom for a signature. I can tell by one glance. I don't think they're even handmade."

Chief Coffin sighed. "Well, then, Spencer, what do you think of all this? Do you want to press charges?"

"Absolutely not," Spencer said. "I'm grateful to Emma for bringing this to my attention, and I appreciate her sense of discretion. I'll sit down with my grandmother and tell her about the baskets. It might spur her into being more realistic about the heirlooms she's got tucked away in her house."

"You need to be aware that someone is stealing from her, Spencer," Chief Coffin said. "Perhaps these women weren't, but someone is."

"Yes, Chief, and I think I know who it is," Spencer replied. "But it's a private matter."

Chief Coffin slowly scanned all the faces at the table. "Does anyone want to say anything else?" He waited. He put both hands flat on the table and studied them for a moment then announced, "Well, then, everyone is free to go." He stood up.

Marina turned toward Emma, but Emma had approached Spencer.

"Spencer, I'm sorry," she said.

"It's all right." Spencer frowned. "Let's talk about it later."

Emma turned to Sheila. "Sheila, thank you so much for coming down here. I'm sorry to spoil your evening."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Sheila said. Leaning over a chair, she hugged Emma. "Honey, in a few years we'll all be dining out on this story."

Marina thanked Sheila, and they hugged as well.

The door was opened and they filed out of the room. After a whispered consultation with Spencer, Emma carried three of the baskets and Spencer carried the others. As they walked past Officer O'Hara and Officer Shreve, Emma muttered, "Little weenie." Officer Shreve blushed.

It was after eleven when everyone left the police station. Spencer drove Emma, Marina, and Jim back to Jim's truck, still parked near the Bracebridge house. If she had been alone with Emma, Marina thought she would have burst into relieved and even hysterical laughter. But both Spencer and Jim were somber, and Jim was obviously steaming.

When they arrived at the Bracebridge house, Emma said, "Spencer, I'm really sorry. I didn't handle this well. I was trying--"

"It's okay, Emma," Spencer interrupted. He turned to Marina and Jim. "I would be grateful if you'd help me keep this quiet. Frankly, I'm not sorry this happened. My mother has been helping herself to some of the family heirlooms, and she needs to stop. I'll see that she stops. But I'd hate to see her or my grandmother embarra.s.sed publicly."

"We won't say anything," Jim promised solemnly.

Next to him, Marina nodded, enjoying the rush she got from hearing Jim say "we."

Emma asked, hesitantly, "Would you like help putting them back?"

"That would be great," Spencer said. "Then I'll drive you home, Emma."

They all awkwardly bid one another good night. Emma and Spencer headed toward the Bracebridge house with their arms full of baskets.

Marina climbed into the cab of Jim's pickup and looked over at him. His profile was stern, unsmiling.

She took a deep breath. "You seem upset."

Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're going to have to decide, Marina, whether you're my person or Emma's."

"What? What does that mean?"

"I'm Emma's father. Emma might be a grown woman, but I'm still her father. She's still my daughter."

"Are you upset about the baskets?"

"Of course I am!" Jim's voice darkened. "She was caught stealing. If she hadn't been fortunate enough to have everyone concerned ready at her beck and call to come down and help her out, who knows what would have happened."

"Oh, Jim, please--"

"You and Emma act as if this was some kind of lark."

"Well, for heaven's sake, Jim, we hardly committed a crime. In fact, we were in the process of discovering a crime. We should have been in and out of there with no one knowing about it. Emma planned to talk privately with Spencer. We wouldn't have been found and arrested if Lily hadn't phoned the police station, which I have to say is a pretty c.r.a.ppy thing for her to do to her sister."

Jim was silent for a long time. They rode together in a steamy detente until he came to their house. He parked in front of it, turned off the ignition, and faced Marina.

"Lily's my daughter, too, Marina."

"I know that."

"I don't like to play favorites. Now all three girls are grown up, and I'm doing my best to stand back and stay out of their arguments. I'm their parent, Marina. And if you are going to move in with me, you have to decide whether you're going to move in as a friend of the girls or a friend of mine."

"Why can't I be everyone's friend?" Marina countered.

"Marina. I am twelve years older than you. You are ten years older than Abbie, twelve years older than Emma, and eighteen years older than Lily. Maybe you should be with a man closer to your age."

"Oh, Jim!" Marina went speechless.

"I need you to be on my side against these girls," Jim continued. "I can't even consider what it would be like otherwise. Have you thought ahead to what's going to happen when Emma confronts Lily?"

"But Lily was wrong!" Marina insisted. "She acted like a little rat, a little weasel! Calling the cops on her own sister!"

"More like calling the cops on her own sister and you," Jim quietly pointed out.

"What does that mean?"

"Think about it. Did Emma confide in Lily? Did she ask Lily to go with her to get the baskets? No. Emma confided in you. She teamed up with you. And now, when we go into the house, you're going to be on Emma's side, against Lily."

"But Lily--"

"If you move in with me, it will be like Emma having an ally and Lily having an enemy."

"Oh, my Lord." Marina leaned her head back against the seat. "This is like some labyrinthine medieval conspiracy."

"Well, that's a pretty accurate description of what it's like, having daughters. Having children in general, I'd imagine." Reaching out, he gently stroked Marina's shoulder, relenting. "I'm not saying it's always like this," he chuckled. "Sometimes it's the three of them against me."

Marina laid the side of her face against his hand.

"I'm not saying you would ever be called upon to discipline one of the girls. I mean, they're women now. They come and go, they're inventing their own lives. When the summer's over, they might all be gone, or they might all stay on. If you move into the house with me--"

"When," Marina corrected, brushing her lips against his hand.

"When you move into the house with me, you can bet there'll be some kind of dramatic crisis, probably with lots of weeping and name calling. I mean, remember how rude Lily was when she saw you had on that bedspread of Danielle's."

"She was a bit extreme."

"I know that. And I love her just as much as I love Abbie and Emma."

Marina considered this. "I'm not sure I can love all three girls the same."