“Thanks.” Maddie didn’t want to say she thought it was nice to see him, too. At least, notthatway. She’d become man-shy after Harry, and it suited her. “I promise I won’t keep you,” she said. “I can’t find a key to a padlock on one of my grandmother’s outbuildings. I thought you might have it in her file. There’s probably not much of value in the shed, but I’ll need to clean it out. . . .”
Before she continued, Brandon was shaking his head. “A padlock? Nope, sorry. I haven’t seen a key. Did you look everywhere in the cottage? Did you go through all the drawers?”
She was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t yet started searching the house. Or that she’d figured because he’d had the key to the front door, he’d have that one, too.
“Maybe I haven’t looked hard enough.” She tried to look pensive and not embarrassed. “But I do have another question. What do you know about CiCi Cochran?”
He chuckled. “CiCi? Has she hunted you down already?”
Maddie hissed. “You could say that. I’m learning that news travels fast here.”
“Yup. That’s how it works. Sometimes the grapevine is helpful. Other times . . .” His words trailed off. He grinned again.
It must have been the grin that made Maddie at last feel comfortable enough, so she pressed her hands to her face and confessed, “I have no idea what I’m doing! I’m just an assistant college professor praying for tenure. I’m a single mom who lives with her father and her son. The only thing of value I ever sold was my last Volvo because it had over two hundred thousand miles on it.” She dropped her hands to her lap. “Even then, all I did was get another one just like it. Only newer, of course. Though that one’s now old, too.”
Brandon was laughing, but in a friendly way. “CiCi will be fine. She can come across a little . . . pushy. And maybe she is. But she’s a good agent. And she’s been here forever, so she knows the island. Knows how to sell it. And she’ll get you the best money possible.”
For some reason, his endorsement surprised her. “So I don’t need to interview others?”
He shrugged. “It’s up to you. She comes across as eccentric, but you won’t do much better. Especially up-island.” He paused, then put his elbows on the desk and leaned toward her. “So, you’re sure about selling?”
She sat back. “Well. Yes.” She wondered if he was disappointed. “My life is back in Green Hills. I’m hoping I make tenure this year. And . . .” She realized she’d already told him that. And everything else he needed to know about her.
He waved her off. “I wasn’t prying. I just want you to be sure. One thing about the Vineyard is that when property goes up for sale, it sells fast. Lightning fast. And once it’s gone. Well, it’s gone.” His grin returned. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, though. You must be pretty smart. To be a college professor.”
It was her turn to laugh. Then she stood up. “Well, thanks.” She fidgeted a few seconds, then said, “Oh, there’s something else. Your mother said your grandfather—her father—was a fisherman. Same as mine.”
Brandon stood, too. “Yup. Gramps was a pretty good one, too.”
“So your whole family knew mine.”
“I guess so. Yes.”
She stared at her hands. “Do you know if my grandfather was cremated? Like my grandmother wants to be? Or if he’s buried somewhere on the island where I might see his grave?” She had no idea why she decided she’d like to see a grave, a headstone engraved with the name of a man she’d never known.
Brandon walked around the desk and leaned against it, facing her. “So you don’t know what happened,” he said softly. “Would you like me to tell you?”
She frowned. “Yes. Of course.”
“Okay. But it was a long time ago, Maddie. Before either you or I was born. When I was a kid, I remember my grandfather—my mother’s father—talking about yours. Butchie, he called him. They were good friends. Then one day, Butchie Clieg’s boat capsized in a storm off Georges Bank. They used to fish there for cod. Haddock. ‘It must be the best fish, ’cuz everybody likes it,’ Gramps used to say.” He lowered his voice. “Anyway, Butchie died at sea in that storm. I’m so sorry, Maddie.”
It didn’t seem right for Maddie to say it didn’t matter, that, until that moment, she’d never actually wondered about him. So she simply said, “Honestly, Brandon, it’s okay. I never knew him. When your mother mentioned him, I realized I didn’t know anything about him. At least, not that I remember. Anyway, I’m glad I do now. Thank you.” She turned to go.
“Your mother was still young when it happened,” Brandon added. “My mom probably knows more.”
Maddie adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Brandon. I really appreciate what you’ve told me.” She willed her positive spirit to return. “Now I’m off to Cronig’s for food. Then I’ll turn the cottage upside down until I find that darn key to the padlock!”
“Let me know if you want a locksmith. That might be easier. Besides, if you turn the cottage upside down, you might decrease its value.”
“For which CiCi would never forgive me.”
“No, she wouldn’t. But mark my word, she’d still be able to find you a buyer.”
Chapter 7
Coffee, a few premade meals to stick in the microwave, a couple of salads, a small frozen pizza, and the splurge of a pint of Cape Cod Creamery’s ice cream (Vineyard Vanilla flavor): as Maddie unpacked the basic staples that she thought should last the rest of the week—which would surely be long enough for her to have to stay there—she mused about how interesting it was that some families from similar backgrounds wound up having money when others did not.
Evelyn—the daughter of a fisherman, as Hannah had been—wound up living in a lovely house on a gorgeous piece of land, while Hannah’s mother had still lived in a small cottage with a small yard accessible by a sandy path that rippled up the hill through tall grass and wild beach roses and closely abutted the neighbors’ properties. In Evelyn’s case, she’d married money. In Hannah’s, she’d married a college professor.
