An Unlikely Match

From the entrance, Claire observed him run around the right side of the inn, and then she hurried through the lobby to a dining room whose windows opened to the back of the property. He was right. Someone was hobbling across the grass toward a boathouse. Claire didn’t know who it was, but she was absolutely certain the person posed no threat. He could barely walk. Thankfully, Jack must have analyzed the situation and come to the same conclusion. He caught up with the intruder and, instead of tackling him, he grabbed hold of his elbow and spun him around.

Claire darted into a big, open kitchen, fought a moment with the lock on the back door, and finally ran into the yard. As she approached the two men, she recognized the trespasser right away. Oddly, it seemed as if Jack did as well. The first thing she heard was his exclamation of surprise.

“It’s you! What are you doing here?”

Coming to a quick stop, she said, “You know Curtis?”

His hand still on the old man’s elbow, Jack said, “Yeah. I bought him a bowl of clam chowder yesterday.”

“Well, let go of him. You’ll hurt him.”

Jack scowled at her, but he dropped his hand. Then he glared at the homeless fellow. “Am I hurting you?”

“He’s not hurting me,” Curtis admitted.

“Then you probably should answer the man, Curtis,” she said. “This is Jack Hogan. He works for the developer who bought this property. You need to tell him what you’re doing here.”

“And how you got in,” Jack added.

Curtis looked from one to the other but finally settled his gaze on Claire. “I’m sort of living here now.”

“Oh, no, you’re—”

Claire stopped Jack with a sharp look advising him to let her handle the situation. “What happened to the shed behind the hotel in town? I thought you stayed there at night.”

“The new manager ordered too many table linens. They needed the space for all the cartons. I imagine I can go back there once some of the older napkins start wearing out.”

“How did you get in here?” Jack asked again.

Curtis pointed to a vague spot in the near distance. “Over there.”

“Show me.”

The three walked over to a section of the iron fence where the shrubs had been broken down and trampled. When Claire saw the results of Curtis’s breaking and entering, she knew Jack would not take it well.

He got down on his haunches and stared at the gaping hole that had been dug under the fence. “You’re a resourceful old guy, aren’t you?”

Curtis shrugged. “I gotta be.”

“Is this the only entrance you’ve burrowed into the property?” Jack asked.

From the look of guilt on Curtis’s face, Claire knew it wasn’t.

“Show me the others,” Jack said.

By the time they were through touring the grounds at Curtis’s slow pace, they had uncovered four tunnels into Dolphin Run. Curtis explained his need for multiple entrances by saying that the place was simply too vast for one old man. “I never know where my ride will drop me off at night,” he said. “So I dig a new hole rather than walk all around the property to an old one. I don’t get around too good anymore.”

Claire offered further information. “Curtis hitches rides with anybody going his way. I’m sure he can’t dictate where they will let him off.”

The old man sat under a cedar tree and expelled a long breath. “Hope you folks don’t mind, but I’m pretty pooped right now.” He looked up at Jack. “Can you drive that big car of yours over here and give me a lift back to the boathouse?”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “You want me to chauffeur you, an intruder on somebody else’s property, over to a building where you have illegally taken up residence?”

Claire laid a hand on Jack’s arm. “Look at him, Jack,” she said. “He doesn’t look well. I think we should get him home and see that he’s resting.”

“Home? This isn’t his home!”

“I meant temporary lodgings,” she said and then tried to soften her verbal blunder with a smile. “That’s what this place was built for after all. Temporary lodgings.”

Jack slowly shook his head. “Not for the last forty years!” But he turned and headed toward the inn. “Wait here, both of you. I’ll be back with the car.”

When it was just the two of them, Curtis patted the ground beside him. Claire brushed the sand from a rock and sat on it. “Nice fella,” Curtis said. “A bit serious though, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think he’s quite serious.”

“I’ll bet his blood pressure is near to boiling. He ought to see Pet and get some of her tincture of hawthorn berry.”

“I’ll tell him,” Claire said, knowing Jack was not the kind of man to believe in the curative benefits of one of Pet’s homegrown mystery potions. And he certainly would never ingest a cup of it. Even Claire didn’t do that. “He’s in the security business,” she explained. “He’s here to make this old inn safe for the new owner, his boss.”

Curtis nodded. “So how long do you think I’ve got to live here?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “To tell you the truth, Curtis, I think today is moving day. I’ll ask Jack to take you and your wagon into town. You can stay at the town hall until we can work something out.”

“What about my cats?”

She hadn’t anticipated this complication. “Didn’t you leave the cats at the hotel?”

“Heck no, Claire. I figured Bonnie would forget to feed them. I didn’t want them living on scraps.”

Claire sighed. This was an interesting philosophy from a man who lived every day of his life on handouts. But everyone in town knew about the glass jar with the slit in the lid that Curtis kept in his wagon. A hand-printed sign on the side said For Curtis’s Cats, and most folks in Heron Point dropped a few coins in the slot whenever they passed by.

“Let’s not tell Jack about the cats just now,” she said. “You and I can come back later and get them in my car.”

But it was too late. The black Escalade bounced over the rough terrain and stopped in front of them. Jack leaned out the window and said something about seeing at least a half-dozen cats wandering around the boathouse.

“That ain’t so, Claire,” Curtis said under his breath. “It’s only four cats. The way that man exaggerates, it’s no wonder his blood pressure is sky-high.”

CLAIRE PUT THIRTY DOLLARS along with the bill for three teas and three lemon-cake slices inside the plastic folder and handed it to the waitress at the Heron Point Hotel. She looked at her watch. Four o’clock. The crowd at the hotel had picked up in the last hour. That was typical of a Friday afternoon when tourists began arriving on the island. Soon the town’s limited parking spaces would be filled with cars, RVs and motorcycles.

“Is everybody done?” Claire said to Bella and Jane, who was licking the last of her frosting off the fork.

“That was delicious, Claire,” Bella said, her eyes bright with sobriety at least so far today. “There’s nothing I like better than true English tea.”

Except for maybe true Irish whiskey, Claire thought. She was grateful that after firing Bella and reminding her again about her questionable backyard crop, her relationship with the older woman was still intact. Truly, Bella didn’t need to work. She’d lived in Heron Point for over half a century. Her hundred-year-old cottage was paid for, and her late husband’s social-security income was more than sufficient to meet her limited needs. And just this morning she’d agreed to volunteer with Ingrid in the library for a couple of hours each morning. It was the perfect solution, in Claire’s opinion. Even if Bella was slightly hungover, she wouldn’t be responsible for anyone’s life or safety.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Claire said. “How about you, Jane? Are you glad you came with us?”

“Yes, it was fun.” Jane skipped ahead of the women, hurried through the hotel lobby and out the front exit. When Claire and Bella parted, Claire wound through the Friday-afternoon crowd and caught up with her daughter and a group of her friends on the sidewalk. “Can I spend the night at Alison’s?” Jane asked.