Mary Brady - Better Than Gold

“I’ve no worry left in me. I just see things more clearly these days.” She paused and her gaze drifted to a photo on the shelf attached to the wall beyond the foot of her bed. The framed picture of a soldier with his arm around a beautiful young woman had kept vigil over his aunt for as long as Daniel could remember. The young woman was Margaret MacCarey in the 1940s with her fiancé, before an enemy bullet had immortalized the soldier at age twenty-four.

Margaret had lived a very long time with the pain of a broken heart in her eyes and sometimes, when she thought he wouldn’t notice, on her face. Loving that much when it was futile and hadn’t been good for him, either.

“So what they say about hindsight must be true.”

She turned her head slowly to look at him. “Hathaway left me when I was almost twenty-two and it wasn’t until a couple decades ago that I realized I wouldn’t have had to find another love of my life. I could have been happy enough with a substitute, as long as the man loved me. I would have had a companion. You could have had a cousin or two. That is my only real regret.”

The words came more and more slowly and Daniel found himself leaning closer and closer to hear them.

“Promise me and promise yourself, you will pursue your dream.”

“I promise, Aunt Margaret and I will love you always,” he whispered in the quiet left when she stopped speaking and barely breathed.

“Hathaway.” Her eyes drifted closed and a moment later her breathing stopped.

Daniel had no doubt the man who had won and kept Margaret MacCarey’s heart had just come and taken her hand to lead her away to eternal happiness and peace.

He smiled and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. She had always been a great lady. He’d miss her.

Daniel leaned back in the chair. In the quiet, he clenched and unclenched his fists. Several emotions fluttered in and out. Most seemed natural and even expected when a loved one passed, but the appearance of anger took him by surprise. He wasn’t angry with his great-aunt Margaret, or fate, or even himself. The dark feelings were just inexplicably there.

He looked up to see the nurse in the doorway. She took a few seconds to gather that Margaret MacCarey had passed and came quietly into the room.

Gently she placed fingers on his aunt’s wrist. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

“I am.” He would be soon, after this knot in his gut went away.

“We loved her here, you know.”

He nodded slowly. “Everybody loved Margaret MacCarey.” He spoke carefully. This nurse did not deserve to feel his anger.

“You can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you. The arrangements are all made.” He gave her a smile. “She saw to that. Said all she and I had to do was show up.”

“Sounds like our Margaret. I’ll make the phone calls to get things started. You let me know if you need anything. Oh, wait. I have something for you.” She reached into her pocket. “Miss MacCarey said you wouldn’t know anything about this. Insisted when I came on shift that I keep it for you because she was going to be leaving. She said it would be up to you whether or not you kept the secret.” The nurse shrugged and handed him a small worn velvet pouch tied with tattered ribbons.

“Secret?”

“She didn’t explain and I figured you’d know.” She glanced at Margaret’s quiet form. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” He held the lavender velvet pouch for a moment. His aunt was always full of charm and warmth, but there was always a mysterious side to her, things she would almost say before stopping. He had assumed it had to be something about Hathaway. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Put on the call light if you need anything,” the nurse said as she laid a hand on his forearm and then left him alone holding his aunt’s last secret.

After another moment, he untied the frayed ribbon holding the small pouch closed. Inside was a note.

My dear, Daniel, you will be getting a package from my attorney in the near future. Please, promise me you will live a long and fulfilling life as I did. Even in the darkest night, all is not lost.

Love,

Your Aunt Margaret

He upended the pouch into the palm of his hand and out fell a ring, a woman’s ring, gold with a large pale blue stone surrounded by diamonds.

Lustrous, expensive, the kind Great-Aunt Margaret would have happily worn, yet he had never seen the ring before this moment.

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU’RE LATE.”

At 6:42 p.m. Mia shed her old wool coat and shook the rain off on the porch to keep the hardwood floor of Monique Beaudin’s foyer dry. The expression on her friend’s delicate, oval face said worried friend, no trace of anger. That would be Monique, the M to her M. Mia wasn’t sure she had ever truly seen her angry.

“Hey.” Mia stepped inside and toed off her shoes. “I thought if I hung around, Chief Montcalm would eventually let me back in.”

Monique raised her naturally perfect dark blond brows.

“Well, he didn’t,” Mia continued as she tucked her damp hair behind her ears. “He had a couple of his people put that yellow police tape across the doors and they all gave me the stink eye as if they thought I was going to break into my own place as soon as they drove away.”

“So, did you?”

“I would have, but Chief Montcalm scares the bejeebers out of me.”

“Well, relax.” Monique took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, accompanying the breath with flowing hand movements.

“I wish I could relax, turn it off like you do. I wish I could.”

“Practice. Practice and maybe a nice glass of sauvignon blanc will lighten the mood.”

“What makes you think my mood needs lightening?” Mia stiffened her shoulders as if miffed, and then slouched.

Monique bubbled out a laugh and led the way to her neat, frilly living room. “Sit. You need it. I’ll drop dinner into the pot and I’ve got everything else ready.”

By the time they were finished drinking their second glass of wine, lobster shells and remnants of Monique’s handmade bread lay strewn on the serving tray between them.

To pay the lobster its due and because they were both starving, most of the meal passed in silence broken by such things as “Oh, this is so wonderful” and the cracking of shells.

“So are they going to let you back in soon?” Monique asked as she placed her neatly folded napkin on the table.

“I hope so. Every hour the police lock me out, the more pitifully behind I get. I need my crew back in there tomorrow to have the place ready by next Monday because the finishing crew is due to start.” Mia sat forward with her elbows on her knees. “What if all this is for nothing?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we’re too late to build the town up, to make a difference. Building Pirate’s Cove will bring in a few tourists, but it’s only a start. We need more motels and shops, even more restaurants. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some boating business, sightseeing or something like that. If Pirate’s Roost fails, especially before I get a good start, will the rest give up?”

“Funny you should mention boating.” When Monique sank back against the cushions of the navy couch, Mia realized the usual spark in her friend’s bubbly personality seemed to be dim tonight. It hadn’t been her imagination earlier on the phone. “What’s going on?”

Monique let out a sigh that sounded like defeat. “I hate to bring it up because it’s like an old broken record in my life.”

“I’ll get my Victrola,” Mia said. “Come on out with it.”

“Well, when Granddad stopped by to leave our dinner—” Monique gestured toward the remains on the table. “He told me he was moving south, before the snow flies next fall. Says too much of the town has gone so he might as well go, too.”