Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

Liza remembered this cottage but didn’t recall its present incarnation. When she was younger, it had been an antique shop, one that she was rarely allowed to visit with her aunt, in fear that she and Peter might break something. But the name Winkler definitely sounded familiar.

A brass bell with a pull chain hung near the door, and Liza rang it. The tinkling sound hardly seemed loud enough to alert anyone inside, but she soon heard steps approaching. A small face peered at her through the front window, then the curtain quickly snapped back, making Liza wonder if she passed inspection.

The front door soon opened. A small, birdlike woman stood in the doorway, peering up at Liza through thick round glasses. Liza assumed it was none other than Daisy Winkler. Who else could it be?

She had wild, curly hair, a rusty reddish gray color. A bunch of curls gathered on her forehead, and the rest swirled in a haphazard upswept style around her head. She wore a golden-colored crocheted sweater over a dark burgundy skirt that nearly reached her ankles. Liza’s gaze lingered on the skirt. Yes, it was velvet and possibly Victorian. A bit formal for a weekday morning, but this woman clearly had her own sense of style. She held a messy pad in one hand and a pencil in the other. There were also at least two more pencils stuck in her bird’s nest of a hairdo.

The little woman smiled, looking pleased to see a visitor. “Can I help you? We’re not open yet for tea, but you’re welcome to browse in the library.”

“I’m not here for the library… not this time,” Liza amended, not wishing to offend her. “Marion Doyle at the General Store said you might have a fax machine I could use?”

Daisy looked suddenly and deeply concerned. Her smooth brow wrinkled. “A facsimile machine? Yes, I know what you mean. I do have one that I use occasionally. To send my poems to my editor,” she added, catching Liza’s eye. “But it’s not working right now. Something is… funny. I have to get it fixed. Otherwise, I’d be happy to let you use it, Miss-?”

“Liza Martin. That’s okay. I’ll try to find one someplace else.” Liza tried to keep the desperate note from her voice.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Martin,” Daisy Winkler said sincerely. “You might try the environmental office down the way. I think Mr. Hatcher has a fax machine.”

“I took a look before coming here. The office is closed right now.”

“What a pity. You’ll need to go into town then, I suppose. There’s a drugstore on Main Street in Cape Light. They might have a fax machine,” she added.

Liza wasn’t sure how reliable this tip was. Daisy looked a little… out there.

“Thank you. I’ll check before I drive over,” Liza said, backing away from the door.

Daisy started to follow her. “Good idea. Call and check. Please come back when you have a few minutes to spare and browse the bookshelves… Wait!”

She stared at Liza in alarm, and Liza stood stone still, wondering what the crisis could be. Daisy quickly riffled through her pad, tore off a sheet of paper, and stuffed it in Liza’s front pocket.

“Here’s a poem for you. I hope it helps.”

A poem? How could a poem help? Liza decided the woman must be batty.

“Uh, thank you. Thanks for your help. Sorry, but I have to run.”

“Any time. That’s what neighbors are for,” Daisy called after her, and waved from the doorway. “See you soon, Liza Martin.”

Liza waved back but didn’t answer. She quickly crossed the street, jumped in her car, and headed down the road the way she had come. She would drive into Cape Light and try her luck. The fax machine in the drugstore might be working. If not, someone there would surely know where she could go.

She passed the goat farm and rounded the next curve. The inn came into view, and she noticed a dark blue car parked in front. A woman stood on the porch. She had been peeking into the front parlor window, Liza noticed, but now took a cell phone from her bag and held it to her ear.

Fran Tulley! The real estate agent.

In the midst of her emergency, Liza had forgotten all about their appointment. That was not good…

Liza wasn’t sure what to do. She had an impulse to hit the gas and speed past the inn, so she wouldn’t have to waste time e xplaining her dilemma to some chatty real estate woman.

But she knew that was not very polite and a poor way to start off a business relationship. She quickly slowed the car and then drove up to the inn. She heard her cell phone go off and realized who Fran was calling.

Liza got out of her SUV and trotted up to the porch.

“Ms. Tulley? I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Liza Martin.”

“Oh, there you are. I was just trying to call you,” Fran said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been here long. I just wondered if there was some miscommunication.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m in the middle of a work emergency. I’m not sure we can meet right now.”

“What’s the matter? Can I help you at all?”

Liza explained the situation and Fran nodded. “Don’t worry, we have a fax and a scanner at my office. I can send the sketches for you.”

“Would you?” Liza felt as if some superhero had just swooped out of the sky to save her. “That is so generous of you to help me like this-”

“No big deal.” Fran patted Liza’s arm. “It’s different around here. We all sort of look out for one another. You’ll do me a favor sometime, I’m sure.”

Liza wasn’t so sure about that. Unless Fran needed a big favor in the next two weeks.

“When did you say your office needs them?”

“By one o’clock,” Liza answered quickly.

Fran checked her watch. “It’s eleven thirty. Why don’t we get started, and I’ll make sure I leave for town in about an hour. That will give us plenty of time.”

Liza wished she would go back to town immediately and send the sketches. But the plan made sense. And Fran had come all the way out here, expecting to look at the house.

“Fine. Where should we start?”

“Let’s start out here, I guess,” Fran replied. “I’m curious to see how the place has held up.”

It had not held up that well, but Liza didn’t want to sound negative. She smiled and followed Fran as she headed around the side of the inn.

Fran gazed up at the building, making the occasional note on a legal pad as she walked the property. It was cool and breezy outside, and the sun was shining. But the inn looked no better in the sunlight than it had last night in the rain, Liza thought. Maybe even worse.

“This was once such a beautiful place.” Fran shook her head and tucked a strand of hair under her wool hat. “Such a shame for it to get run-down like this.”

“Yes, it is,” Liza agreed. “My aunt tried her best. But she was all alone at the end and in poor health.”

“Oh, yes, I know. Elizabeth was a wonderful woman. I knew her from church,” Fran added.

Everyone seemed to know one another around here. From church or… wherever. Liza wasn’t surprised.

“Your aunt had a beautiful garden back here and one in front, too. She was famous for her roses,” Fran recalled. She turned to Liza. “I don’t suppose it was kept up? That could be a selling point.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so,” Liza said honestly.

Unless Claire North had continued working on it. Liza would have to ask her about that. Claire had mentioned that they grew tomatoes last summer, but that didn’t mean they still kept a big garden. Just a few plants could yield piles of tomatoes.

They went in through the back door and began to tour the rooms on the first floor. Fran didn’t say much, though she made a few notes on the pad and used an electronic device to measure the rooms. She took photos of the kitchen and several of the large rooms downstairs, the front parlor and dining room.