Maddie wasn’t sure if that was a compliment.
“Anyway,” CiCi continued as one eyebrow lifted higher than the other, “from what I’ve heard, I can make you a rich woman.” She winked as if she were a used-car salesman.
Apparently, no one had told her that Maddie wasn’t ready to talk business.
“My grandmother just died,” she said. “I’m not ready to discuss her real estate. And certainly not at this hour.”
The woman’s multi-lined forehead crinkled. “Fine. I’ll come back another time.” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” Maddie said. “Do you have a card? I’ll contact you when I have something to say.”
CiCi pulled a card from her pocket as if it had been waiting for the invitation.
Maddie took the card, forced a smile, then turned and resumed walking, that time at a faster clip.
And, again, she would have sworn that someone—not CiCi—was watching her.
* * *
So CiCi was on the hunt. Was Maddie going to sell? It was too soon to know. College professors were good at mulling things over, weren’t they? Would she research her topic to death, not daring to make a hasty decision?
Things would be easier if that weren’t the case now. Maybe CiCi would get on her game and pressure Maddie. And help put an end to this insanity.
Chapter 6
After Maddie shook off her paranoia (Who the heck would want to watch me, anyway?), she showered (inside again) and dressed (jeans, T-shirt, her boring tan sandals), and decided to check the second outbuilding to see how much more junk she’d have to get rid of. Then she could move on to what was guaranteed to be the biggest job of all: sorting through every closet and drawer inside the cottage. As much as she’d love to hire someone to do it, she didn’t want to. There might be important papers that needed tending to or family mementos she could save for Rafe—not that he’d want them, but at least he’d have the option.
She found an empty trash barrel next to the outdoor shower and dragged it up the backyard hill. When she reached the shed, however, she noticed a rusty door latch with a silver padlock hooked through it. And it was locked.
“Seriously?” she said aloud. It was hard to believe that Grandma Nancy didn’t lock the front door to the house but had secured this bedraggled hut.
Dropping the barrel, Maddie jiggled the padlock; it didn’t budge. Even worse, a small window next to the door had been covered from the inside with what looked like a cardboard remnant—so she couldn’t even peer in. This must be where Lisa said Grandma Nancy wove her baskets. Maybe a sizable inventory remained inside; maybe Grandma had wanted to protect her business more than everything else. Maybe once Maddie got around to tackling the heaps in the cottage, she’d find the key. She could always call a locksmith. Lisa might know one. But right then, Lisa would be at work.
Maddie sighed. She decided she at least could go to Cronig’s. Then she’d be able to cross food shopping off her to-do list.
* * *
Though the fog had lifted, the morning was overcast and the temperature was cool, which might not do much to cut down on traffic. Without a beach-worthy day, more people might be driving around the streets, browsing through festivals, spending money in the town shops, or hiking in Menemsha Hills. There must be an abundance of things to do; it felt odd that Maddie knew so little about the place that was about to hand her a few million dollars.
After pulling a long-sleeved shirt over her T-shirt and grabbing her purse, she was on her way to up-island Cronig’s in a blink. But as she wheeled toward the main road, preparing to turn left, she realized she’d be driving right past Brandon’s. Why not stop there first and ask if he knew CiCi? Maybe he’d recommend someone else, someone trustworthy who would set a fair price and could arrange a solid deal that would not have repercussions. Or wouldn’t take too much time. She assumed she’d need someone who was well connected to the island. Someone aware of values, trends, and, hopefully, potential buyers.
While there, she could also ask Brandon if a key to the padlock was tucked in Nancy’s file.
Brilliant, she thought as she smiled to no one but herself.
It wasn’t long before she reached the Morgans. Evelyn was out on theveranda—a word that Maddie’s father said was passed down by his Scottish ancestors that described a porch with a view of a beautiful lawn. Not that she knew if it was true.
Evelyn was tending to the myriad of flowers in large pots that hung and stood and sat strategically around and displayed a full palette of summer colors. She waved when she saw the Volvo. Maddie wondered if islanders were as friendly to people who weren’t millionaires. By the condition of her car, it must be evident that she had not been one of those. Until now. Presumably.
She parked, got out, and walked toward the house.
“Good morning,” she called.
“You caught me tending my captive crops,” Evelyn responded, pressing one hand against her lower back as Maddie walked toward her. “I let the wildflowers and the blueberry bushes in the meadow take care of themselves, and I’ve become too old and creaky to bend down and dig in the dirt around the house. So I settle for mothering these beauties.”
“Old” and “creaky” were hardly words Maddie would use for Evelyn. In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising if, in spite of being older, the woman was in better physical shape than Maddie, who, in spite of her penchant for running, spent most of her time either standing in front of a classroom or sitting at a desk grading reams of students’ papers.
“Your flowers are beautiful,” she said.
