Page 32 of Bluebell Tides

Ruth touched Sophie’s elbow. “You aren’t alone in the world. What’s more, I think your mother, aunts, and cousins will be there for you in this. Try to be open with them. Try the truth.”

Sophie wanted to tell Ruth that was quite rich, coming from her. But she thanked her instead and blinked back tears.

Downstairs, Sophie found Mallory and Landon sprawled on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn between them, watching a film. Isaac wasn’t home. But Landon announced that Celia was back, down the hall in her makeshift office, writing notes about something related to the Eco-Lodge. Sophie padded down the hall, her heart fluttering in her neck. At the very least, she needed to tell her about Ruth.

After knocking, Sophie cracked the door open and found her mother bathed in evening light, reading with her reading glasses. Although she was nearing fifty, Sophie wasn’t sure she knew a more beautiful woman than her mother. Perhaps that was how all young women felt about their mothers—they saw all the women their mothers had been in the faces of those women. Sophie wondered if Sloane, too, saw all the versions she’d ever known of Ruth on Ruth’s face.

“What’s up, sweetie?” Celia smiled.

Sophie entered, closed the door behind her, and explained all she could, just then: that Ruth was in some kind of danger and needed to stay at least the night.

Worry formed a wrinkle between Celia’s eyebrows. After a long pause, she asked, “Is the house in danger? Now that Ruth’s here?”

Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She had a hunch that Ruth wouldn’t do something like that, not to her and not to the kids and not to her mother. But could she fully trust her hunches? She wasn’t sure if she could trust anyone and anything, least of all herself.

17

The following morning, Sophie was at the front desk of the Eco-Lodge by six thirty, watching as a collection of sleepy-eyed guests popped down the staircase, eager for their pre-hike breakfasts. Sophie practiced her best and brightest smiles on them, her fingers poised on the keyboard before her, hungry for information. She remembered what Ruth had told her. Ruth needed information they could use to pit against the Caldweck family. Surely, given Sophie’s past and research capabilities, she could find something.

A basic search told Sophie that the Caldweck family owned more than 250 factories along the coast and into the Midwest. Quentin, his brother Ren, and his sister Sissy were the heirs, preparing to take over the factories and the majority of the Caldweck wealth when their parents passed away. By the looks of things, Henrietta and George Caldweck were still in very good health, spending their days on Bluebell’s coast, sailing and hiking. They were featured in numerous travel-adjacent and architectural magazines, in articles that bragged about their stupendous lives. In several interviews, they spoke about their children, about how they’d always wanted the best for them, about how difficult it had been to watch Ren, Quentin, and Sissy grow up and make their own choices. “But you have to let your children make mistakes,” George told one of the interviewers, laughing along.

It was clear that the Caldwecks had never let their children make very many mistakes. More than that, Sophie guessed that Ruth had been one of the so-called “mistakes” that the Caldwecks had had to clean up.

The factories owned by the Caldwecks performed a variety of functions. They built parts for everything from automobiles to hot tubs to toys to appliances. In the easy days of Caldweck fortune, Quentin’s great-grandfather employed entire towns, boosting the economy for everyone. So many years later, the Caldwecks turned to whatever machinery or artificial intelligence they could, to the point that many of the towns they once employed were now desolate, their people without money or any prospects for future work. Sophie knew this kind of thing happened everywhere. It wasn’t illegal.

It was nothing she could pin on the Caldwecks. It wasn’t the kind of thing Ruth could use.

The only odd detail she'd found was a Bluebell Cove community forum post from a few months back. Someone had asked, anonymously, whether anyone knew how to break a nanny contract with a local family. The responses were sparse and unhelpful, and the post had since been deleted. Sophie screenshotted it anyway.

By eight thirty, Celia and Juliet were at the Eco-Lodge. Celia peered over Sophie’s shoulder and muttered, “Anything yet?”

“Nothing,” Sophie groaned.

Juliet eyed them both nervously. Sophie guessed that Celia had given Juliet a small understanding of what was going on and who they were hiding from. But before Juliet could say a thing, the front door to the Eco-Lodge opened, and in marched Quentin Caldweck and a man Sophie didn’t recognize. They were both wearing suits that made them look overly formal and ridiculous, especially in this space.

“Good morning.” Quentin grinned at Sophie. “Good to see you again.”

Sophie fixed her smile. It was better to be agreeable until she figured out what on earth he wanted. “Good to see you, too,” she said. “What can I help you with?”

Quentin put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I want to introduce you to my friend Alex Garnett. He’s a lawyer a few towns over. We went to Yale together.”

“Wow. Yale,” Sophie said. She couldn’t quite shake all the sarcasm from her voice.

Alex and Quentin seemed not to notice.

“We have unfortunate news for the Harpers and the Eco-Lodge,” Alex the lawyer said, his voice echoing through the lobby. “It seems that the updates you made to the space last year are not in accordance with Maine state law.” He slapped a big folder on the front desk.

Sophie blinked down at it. Her thought was, This is above my pay grade. Her second thought was, The Caldwecks will stop at nothing to smoke Ruth out.

Luckily, Celia and Aunt Juliet appeared beside her a moment later.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Celia asked sweetly.

Alex, the lawyer, explained that the remodeling Celia and her sisters had done on the Eco-Lodge hadn’t been in accordance with Maine state law, nor with the laws meant to control Bluebell Cove’s historical architecture and “heartbeat,” whatever that meant.

Celia’s smile never ceased. “I can assure you, everything we did to this inn was in accordance with every kind of law. I don’t know where you got your information.”

“If everything’s in accordance, as you say, then you won’t mind us walking through to check on everything,” Alex said seedily.