not that man.”
Pippa sighed. She was good at doing that, in a way that made Connie feel like a tyrant.
“All right, Pip. I’ll do my best to make some extra time for us to try a few island activities.” Connie bit the pickle in half with a satisfying crunch. “But I want you sticking with me up at the garden for the rest of the day.”
Pippa kicked the table leg. “Will I have to dig? Ugh.”
“No, you won’t have to dig. You can play in the maze if you like. As long as I know where you are.”
“Okay.” Pippa was fascinated by the maze; she’d studied the plans from their first inception, until Connie had drawn up an extra copy for her daughter to trace out the solution with her markers.
Pippa gave her a toothy smile and returned to her sandwich. She was like her mother that way—running hot and cold at the turn of a tap.
An only child, Connie had been smothered and pampered by her parents. As a result, she’d developed a strong need for freedom and independence, but also a hair-trigger temper. In her adult years, she’d been forced to learn to control her emotions and act as the rock of the family, particularly during the final years of her marriage. Even so, Philip had often teased her that she was only a dormant volcano, ready to burst forth at the first rumbling provocation.
She’d certainly gone off on Pippa’s stranger. He must be feeling rather scorched.
Connie pressed two fingers between her closed eyes. She couldn’t seem to remember exactly what the man looked like, beyond an impression of a lean body with wide shoulders and a fringe of dark hair sticking out from beneath his bandanna. He hadn’t removed his sunglasses. She’d taken that as shady, but maybe she’d been wrong.
She didn’t want to encourage Pippa’s surreptitious sleuthing, especially after the “Case of the Locked Garden Shed” had led to a policeman showing up on her doorstep back home. Unfortunately, her own curiosity about the stranger was suddenly on a par with Pippa’s.
Connie shoved aside her paper plate. “All right. Tell me. What did you find out about him?”
Pippa dropped the cheesy crust she’d been nibbling. “He came on the nine-fifteen ferry. I first saw him yesterday, when we were having breakfast at the harbor. Want me to get my notebook? I made lots of observations.”
Connie had noticed her scribbling away at the time, but had overlooked it. “That’s not necessary, Pippa.” She picked up her can of diet soda. “Did you get his name? I should probably make a point of apologizing since it seems that he’s not quite the degenerate I believed him to be.”
“I didn’t find out his name on my own, but he told me.” Pippa looked sorry about that. She took pride in her growing ability to ferret out information. Too much pride. “It’s Sean Rafferty.”
Sean Rafferty, Pine Cone Cottage. Connie filed the info away before popping the top of the soda. She licked the fizz from her thumb. “And was he alone?”
“Yep. He says he’s on vacation.”
Connie’s eyes narrowed. “How long did you two talk?”
“Only a minute. He knew I was following him and he told me to go home.” Pippa frowned. “He didn’t act like a vacationer.”
“How does a vacationer act?”
“Happy. I think Mr. Rafferty is sad. Or maybe sick.”
“What makes you say that?” Connie asked, although as soon as the comment had come out of Pippa’s mouth, she’d realized that she’d had the same impression. Despite the wide shoulders, he’d been gaunt. He hadn’t smiled once, even to reassure her when she was frantic and overprotective.
“Well, he limps. And he’s restless. He ate his lunch standing up.”
“Oh, Pippa. Were you looking in his windows?”
Pippa’s head drooped. She gave a little nod.
“Good grief. That’s so wrong I don’t even know what to say to you.” Connie set the soda can down with a clunk. She waved Pippa away. “Go on, wash up and get ready to come to the maze with me. You’re staying within my sights for the rest of the day, young lady.”
Connie took a few quick bites of her sandwich, regretting that she’d asked the questions and reignited her daughter’s imagination. As well as her own.
She was on Osprey Island to achieve a garden design that would put her on the map. She had no time to become involved in one of Pippa’s imaginary mysteries, especially a puzzle that might as well be titled The Secret of the Handsome Stranger.
THE NEXT MORNING, Sean made his second attempt at the walk to Whitlock’s Arrow. The brisk salt air was invigorating, and by midmorning he was negotiating a tricky path down the cliffside to the shingle beach. Up top, he’d come across an island old-timer who’d offered directions, warning that while the close-up view was worth the trip, it was potentially dangerous once the tide came in.
Despite a few hairy moments when he slipped on the slick rocks, Sean landed safely on the beach. He sat on one of the outcroppings to rest his injured leg while watching the blue-green waves beat at the craggy stones of the point.
After a while, the constantly changing patterns of spume and the fecund smell of the tide lulled him into forgetting about himself. The shore was a world in itself, private except for the sightseers who appeared at the edge of the cliff to pose for photos. Some of them shouted into the roar of the surf, setting off the gulls and cormorants that speckled the rocks.
When the tide turned, Sean got up to go back. Along the way, he took a few extra minutes to explore the tidal pools formed by the water’s recession. The microcosms of ocean life were more fascinating than he expected.
He’d been born and raised and gone to college in cities, then moved several times around Massachusetts during his career as a state trooper. He’d never much considered the rugged appeals of the country. After a marriage prompted by his girlfriend’s pregnancy, vacations to Cape Cod with baby Josh in a soppy diaper and Jen complaining about her sunburn had been about as rural as he’d gotten.
He’d made the trip to Maine strictly out of desperation. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it. He hadn’t expected that the respite would truly help him recover.
Minutes flew by while he watched crabs scurry over the rocks and the delicate but sturdy anemones bob in the water of the tidal pool. Seaweed spread green tentacles through the shallows. Snails left glistening trails on the stones. He touched the elaborate white designs drawn on the black rocks, then licked at the crystalized sea salt left on his finger.
Only when he put a foot down wrong and his running shoe plunged into icy water did he realize how much time had passed. The tide was rising rapidly, already turning several of the formerly accessible rocks into mini islands of their own. He moved from stone to stone, traversing rivers that foamed white with each crashing wave.
A plaintive cry stopped his scramble up the cliffside path. He looked back the way he’d come, but saw only a white gull diving into the sea.
“Over here!”
He shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the ocean. Huddled, shivering and wet, stranded on a steeply slanted rock that had become surrounded by the rising tide was the girl, Pippa. Sean’s blood turned cold. There was no way for him to swim out to rescue her without being beaten bloody on the rocks by the incoming surf.
CHAPTER THREE
“DON’T MOVE!” HE SHOUTED, although clearly Pippa had no intention of moving. Flattened against the stone, she flinched each time the thunderous waves crashed and sent spray high into the blue sky. She was somewhat sheltered from the surf by adjacent jutting rocks, but her position grew more precarious every minute. The water crept higher, swirling with dangerous currents.
Sean