Неизвестно - Megan's mate

I came to get the children, and to go over your books.

Nathaniel nodded at her briefcase.

Got them in there?

Yes.

She retrieved it, then, because she saw little choice, sat on the deck facing him.

I've finished the first quarter that's January, February, March. Your outlay exceeded your income during that period, though you did have some cash flow through boat repairs. There is an outstanding account payable from February.

She

took out files, flipped through the neatly computer-generated sheets.

A Mr. Jacques

LaRue, in the amount of twelve hundred and thirty-two dollars and thirty-six cents.

LaRue's had a tough year.

Nathaniel poured more lemonade.

Holt and I agreed to

give him some more time.

That's your business, of course. Traditionally there would be late charges on any outstanding account after thirty days.

Traditionally, on the island, we're a little friendlier.

Your choice.

She adjusted her glasses.

Now, as you can see, I've arranged the books into logical columns. Expenses rent, utilities, office supplies, advertising and so forth. Then we have wages and withholding.

New perfume.

She glanced over.

What?

You're wearing a new perfume. There's a hint of jasmine in it.

Distracted, she stared at him.

Coco gave it to me.

I like it.

He leaned closer.

A lot.

Well.

She cleared her throat, flipped a page.

And here we have income. I've

added the weekly ticket sales from the tours to give you a month-by-month total, and a year-to-date. I see that you run a package deal with The Retreat, discounting your tour for hotel guests.

Seemed friendly and like good business.

Yes, it's very smart business. On the average, eighty percent of the hotel guests take advantage of the package. I... Do you have to sit so close?

Yeah. Have dinner with me tonight, Meg.

No.

Afraid to be alone with me?

Yes. Now, as you can see, in March your income began an upswing Bring the boy.

What?

Am I mumbling?

He smiled at her and slipped her glasses off her nose.

I said

bring Kevin along. We'll take a drive out to this place I know. Great lobster rolls.

He gave the word

lobster

a broad New England twist that made her smile.

I can't

claim they're up to Coco's standards, but there's plenty of local color.

We'll see.

Uh-uh. Parental cop-out.

She sighed, shrugged.

All right. Kevin would enjoy it.

Good.

He handed her glasses back before he rose to heft another board.

Tonight, then.

Tonight?

Why wait? You can call Suzanna, tell her we'll drop the kids off at her house on the way.

I suppose I could.

Now that his back was to her, she had no choice but to watch the ripple of muscles play as he set the board. She ignored the quick tug at her midsection, and reminded herself that her son would be along as chaperon.

I've

never had a lobster roll.

Then you're in for a treat.

He was absolutely right. The long, winding drive in the spectacular T-Bird was joy enough. The little villages they passed through were as scenic as any postcard. The sun dipped down toward the horizon in the west, and the breeze in the open car smelled of fish, then flowers, then sea.

The restaurant was hardly more than a diner, a square of faded gray wood set on stilts in the water, across a rickety gangplank. The interior decoration ran to torn fishnets and battered lobster buoys.

Scarred tables dotted the equally scarred floor. The booths were designed to rip the hell out of panty hose. A dubious effort at romantic atmosphere was added by the painted tuna can and hurricane globe set in the center of each table. The candles globbed in the base of the cans were unlit. Today's menu was scrawled on a chalkboard hanging beside the open kitchen.

We got lobster rolls, lobster salad and lobster lobster, a waitress explained to an

obviously frazzled family of four.

We got beer, we got milk, i.e. tea and soft drinks. There's French fries and coleslaw, and no ice cream 'cause the machine's not working. What'll you have?

When she spotted Nathaniel, she abandoned her customers and gave him a hard punch in the chest.

Where you been, Captain?

Oh, out and about, Jule. Got me a taste for lobster roll.

You came to the right place.

The waitress, scarecrow-thin with a puff of steel gray hair, eyed Megan craftily.

So, who's this?

Megan O'Riley, her son Kevin. This is Julie Peterson. The best lobster cook on Mount Desert Island.

The new accountant from The Towers.

Julie gave a brisk nod.

Well, sit down, sit

down. I'll fix you up when I get a minute.

She swiveled back to her other

customers.

You make up your mind yet, or are you just going to sit and take the air?

The food's better than the service.

Nathaniel winked at Kevin as he led them to a booth.

You've just met one of the monuments of the island, Kevin. Mrs. Peterson's family has been trapping lobster and cooking them up for over a hundred years.

Wow.

He eyed the waitress, who, to almost-nine-year-old eyes, seemed old enough to have been handling that job personally for at least a century.

I worked here some when I was a kid. Swabbing the decks.

And she'd been kind

to him, Nathaniel remembered. Giving him i.e. or salve for his bruises, saying nothing.

I thought you worked with Holt's family Megan began, then cursed herself when

he lifted a brow at her.

Coco mentioned it.

I put in some time with the Bradfords.

Did you know Holt's grandfather?

Kevin wanted to know.

He's one of the

ghosts.

Sure. He used to sit on the porch of the house where Alex and Jenny live now.

Sometimes he'd walk up to the cliffs over by The Towers. Looking for Bianca.

Lilah says they walk there together now. I haven't seen them.

And it was a

crushing disappointment.

Have you ever seen a ghost?

More than once.

Nathaniel ignored the stiff kick Megan gave him under the table.

In Cornwall, where the cliffs are deadly and the fogs roll in like something alive, I saw a woman standing, looking out to sea. She wore a cape with a hood, and there were tears in her eyes.

Kevin was leaning forward now, rapt and eager.

I started toward her, through the mist, and she turned. She was beautiful, and sad.

'Lost,' was what she said to me. 'He's lost. And so am I. Then she vanished. Like smoke.

Honest?

Kevin said in an awed whisper.

Honest wasn't the point, Nathaniel knew. The pull of the story was.

They called her

the Captain's Lady, and legend is that her husband and his ship went down in a storm in the Irish Sea. Night after night while she lived, and long after, she walked the cliffs weeping for him.

Maybe you should be writing books, like Max, Megan murmured, surprised and

annoyed at the shiver that raced down her spine.

Oh, he can spin a tale, Nate can.

Julie plopped two beers and a soft drink on the table.

Used to badger me about all the places he was going to see. Well, guess you saw them, didn't you, Captain?

Guess I did.

Nathaniel lifted the bottle to his lips.

But I never forgot you, darling.

Julie gave another cackling laugh, punched his shoulder.

Sweet-talker,

she said,

and shuffled off.

Megan studied her beer.

She didn't take our order.

She won't. She'll bring us what she wants us to have.

He took another pull of the

beer.

Because she likes me. If you're not up for beer, I can charm her into switching it.

No, it's fine. I suppose you know a lot of people on the island, since you grew up here.