Jenna.”
“You stop the sale of the lighthouse and I’ll bring you a half dozen every morning for the next six months.”
He stared longingly at the sack. “As much as I’d like the doughnuts, and you know I’m a big fan of your mama’s baking, the matter’s out of my hands. The council has voted.” He gave her a placating smile. “Besides, all you and your rabble-rousers want to do is tear the place down. The Michigan Beacon Society would be all over my butt if I let you do that. They want every lighthouse in the state saved if possible.”
Jenna fumed. He was so missing the point. “It’s a decaying old building, Bill. It’s unsafe. No one’s allowed inside. I want to tear it down and reopen Lighthouse Park. Put in a playground, picnic areas, make it even better than it was before…”
“Jenna, we both know why you want that building gone,” Bill said sympathetically, “and I can understand. I liked Joe.”
“Forget about my father. That’s my issue, but the Lighthouse Park Committee has a broader goal than just eliminating a tragic eyesore from our shoreline.”
Bill shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know why you didn’t just set a match to the lighthouse long ago.”
“Great idea, Bill. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But everyone would know exactly who torched the place, and I’d end up rotting away in prison just like Harley Shelton. The difference is, he deserves what he got!” She snatched up the bag of pastries. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You’re not taking the doughnuts, are you?”
She stared down at the bag. “You didn’t give me any information.”
“There isn’t any to give yet. The potential buyer probably won’t even show up. And if he does…”
Lucinda stuck her head in the office. “Excuse me. Bill?”
“What is it, Lucinda?”
“Mark Blayne is on the phone from Sutter’s Point Realty.” She cast a sideways look at Jenna. “The fella who’s interested in the lighthouse is coming to town this morning.”
Jenna leaned over the desk. “Won’t even show up, huh?”
Lucinda backed up a few steps. “Believe it or not, the original call came from somebody in Sutter’s Point.”
Bill beamed. “Hot diggety. This guy lives close. He’s got to know about the shape that building’s in. This is starting out to be a great day.” He glanced at Jenna and affected an expression of chagrin. “Sorry, Jenna. But it’s the wheels of progress, you know. If there’s a chance to get the lighthouse off this town’s back, I’m going to take it.”
She wanted to strangle him. Instead, she slammed the bag of doughnuts back onto his desk. It made her feel somewhat better to picture his arteries clogged with hundreds of grams of fat. And she decided to find out just exactly who from Sutter’s Point was buying the lighthouse out from under her.
J ENNA WAS BACK AT THE bakery by nine o’clock, mechanically refilling coffee cups. “Who could this buyer be?” she asked her mother.
Marion gave her a long-suffering look and began arranging clean mugs behind the counter. “He’s just looking, Jenna. We don’t know that he’s going to buy it. So why is it so important that you know his name?”
“Because maybe he’s a nice old man who just wants to do something for the community. Maybe I can talk him into donating the lighthouse back to us.”
Marion stared at her. “That wouldn’t make any sense. No one spends eighty thousand dollars on a lark—at least no one from around here. It’s more likely this guy bought it as an investment, and turning it over to you and your committee would be a ridiculous decision.”
“Then maybe he’s a developer interested in putting something new on that property. He might even like my idea for beautification.”
“Jenna, you have to stop concocting these ideas. If you really want to tackle a tough problem, think about what will happen if the place sells and we have to tell your grandmother.” Marion sighed. “I’m not sure this town is equipped to handle a rebellion at the seniors home.”
“She’ll be devastated,” Jenna agreed. “But no more than if she discovered my plans for the building.”
Marion nodded toward the front window of the shop. “Who’s that man across the street? He’s just standing there…Maybe he’s lost?”
N ATE STOPPED on the sidewalk and looked across at the grassy area that separated the two sides of Main Street. New businesses had popped up, but much about Finnegan Cove was familiar. The park benches were freshly painted. The flowers were just beginning to bloom. The brick buildings were solid and clean, their roofs in good repair. It wasn’t the sun-washed glitz of Southern California; here there was a sense of reverence for what had come before. For permanence.
Nate didn’t want to be here. He hadn’t thought about returning to this place since he’d headed his old pickup out of town two weeks after his father’s trial and pointed west. Even when he came to Michigan to visit his father, he never considered stopping in Finnegan Cove. There’d been no reason to. Those who’d once befriended the Sheltons had ended up condemning them, along with the ones who’d paid little regard to a struggling fisherman and his two sons.
Before the cancer took her, his mother had had friends. Everyone liked Cheryl Shelton. She’d been sweet and friendly and always offered a helping hand to anyone who needed it. When she died, each of the three Shelton men felt the loss deeply.
Nate looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He had a half hour before he had to meet Mike at the lighthouse. He headed toward the red-and-white-striped awning over a wooden sign advertising a bakery across the street where there’d once been a dentist’s office. He was nervous about seeing Mike again. Even before their mother died, Nate and Mike hadn’t seen eye to eye on much. Probably caffeine was the last thing Nate needed before facing his brother, but what the heck.
T HE TALL MAN IN JEANS and a light jacket Marion had pointed out was approaching the shop. The sun glinted off his dark-blond hair. His bronzed complexion told Jenna he wasn’t from around Finnegan Cove. No one on Lake Michigan had the hint of a tan in April. This guy had to be a transplant from someplace exotic and sunny. Cool and confident—that’s what he was, with the emphasis on cool. Residents of Finnegan Cove were solid, dependable, but definitely not cool.
He came inside and looked around. The last customers had left several minutes ago. The sandwich crowd wouldn’t be in for lunch for some time.
“Are you open?” the man asked, coming up to the counter.
“Until two,” Marion said.
He sat on a bar stool. Something about the man’s voice seemed familiar. Jenna studied him closely. He looked familiar, too, as if he was someone she ought to know. But that was impossible. How would she know a guy whose jeans even looked expensive—as if custom-made to fit his long, lean legs? He wore a shirt with a button-down collar. Guys in Finnegan Cove wore Wranglers from Wal-Mart, and T-shirts advertising the local bait-and-tackle hut. She couldn’t look away. The stranger was intriguing, and not just because they didn’t see many strangers before tourist season.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” he said, and pointed to the chrome cake tray covered with a plastic dome. “And that raspberry Danish.”
Marion slid the pastry onto a plate and set it in front of him. She stood a moment, her eyes intent on his face. Then she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
Jenna rushed over from the coffee machine. “Mom, are you all right?”
Marion’s eyes widened. Her lips twitched, as if she didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “After all these years…”
The man stared hard at her mother, then sat