The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel

  Clancy couldn’t help but smile as the latest batch of tourists descended. Barbie, his ex-wife, once asked him why he seemed to be in a bad mood during festival week. “Everyone seems so happy just to be here,” she’d pointed out. “Can’t you be happy for them?”

  He was happy for them. He understood that everyone deserved a little time to cut loose and have fun, but it was his job to keep them safe while they were doing it. As it turned out, the foul mood Barbie noted wasn’t due to the demands of his job at all—it was from living with her.

  Clancy watched the tourists flow single file down the gangway and onto the dock. This was his favorite part of festival week, truth be told. He got a kick out of the kids, how their eyes grew huge at the sight of the colorful banners, balloons, street vendors, and costumes. It never took long before they began to squirm and jump up and down and the boldest ones tried to make a solo run for Main Street.

  Though Clancy had been through this cycle every year of his life, it was impossible not to share in the delight he saw in most every visitor’s face. For many of them, this was their annual getaway, the event they’d planned and saved for during the other fifty-one weeks of the year. And though there were no prizes awarded for costumes worn by ferry passengers, about half of the new arrivals made their grand entrance already dressed to impress.

  Clancy blinked in surprise at a man who wore the purest display of gender confusion he’d ever seen. The dude’s left side was all mermaid, with a shell bikini top, smooth skin, fake eyelashes and flowing hair, while his right side was all merman, complete with a hairy chest, tattoos, and one hell of a five-o’clock shadow. Clancy had to give him extra points for self-expression.

  “Hello. Welcome to Bayberry Island.” Clancy tipped his chin, smiled, and shook hands with the merperson and a string of tourists who followed behind. “Hello. Have fun. Welcome.”

  He chatted with a few people, took pictures with a few more, and recognized many that had been coming to the festival for decades. Among them were Willa and Chet Chester, an older couple who had been regular guests at his family’s bed-and-breakfast for decades. They happened to be lifelong nudists as well, founders of a parallel version of festival week for those who preferred to party in the buff. The nudist colony on the far side of the island did it up right. They had an opening ceremony, a parade, reenactments of the mermaid legend, plays, food, music, a craft fair, and a clambake—all of it done sans clothing.

  “Chief Flynn!” Willa hugged him tight and delivered a damp kiss near his left ear.

  Chet shook his hand firmly. “Nice to see you, son,” he said.

  “Mr. Chester, always a pleasure.”

  Willa slapped both her hands on Clancy’s upper arms and squeezed tight, smiling up at him. “Now, my dear, when are we going to get you to come out and celebrate with us? Hmm?”

  This was Willa’s usual routine. Starting the summer Clancy turned eighteen, she began attempting to recruit him into the “lifestyle.” It had never much appealed to him. He was the kind of guy who preferred to carefully choose who he wanted to see naked and then do so in a one-on-one kind of format. Hanging out with a hundred or so sunburned nudists draped in mermaid and sea captain accessories wasn’t his thing. Never would be.

  “Oh, Willa.” He grinned at her. “You know I get out to Colony Beach at least a few times every festival week.”

  She waved her hand to dismiss his teasing reply. “Only when there’s a problem. I’m talking about taking some time to come out and see how we do things, just relax and let everything go.”

  Like his boxers, no doubt.

  “Festival week is crazy busy for me, Willa. You know that. But I appreciate the invite, as always.”

  She wagged her finger. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Clancy. Well, we should be off. Checking in right away. We can’t wait to see all the renovations at the Safe Haven. How excited you all must be with all the changes on the island this year.”

  “Absolutely. Be safe, now.”

  Clancy resumed his glad-handing, hearing himself repeat his mantra: “Welcome to Bayberry Island . . . have fun and be safe . . . let me know if there’s anything I can assist you with . . . two blocks that way . . . you can’t miss it. . . .” All while he mulled over Willa’s last comment. She was right. Everything had changed on Bayberry since this time last year. It began when Clancy’s sister, Rowan, fell in love with a Boston blue blood with plans to inject loads of cash into the local economy. As good as all that was, seeing how Rowan and Ashton Louis Wallace III made each other happy was even better. In fact, he’d never seen two people more in love.

  “Welcome . . . two blocks down . . . great costume . . . have fun. . . .”

  Love.

  The irony didn’t escape Clancy. Day-to-day life on Bayberry Island revolved around the “mystical power of love,” as his mother called it. Yet here he was, a naysayer, a nonbeliever. He didn’t make a big deal about it, but everyone who knew him knew that he and “love” weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

  “Hello . . . enjoy yourselves . . . just two blocks that way . . . really? . . . all the way from Minnesota?”

  It was simply a fact: the mermaid stuck it to him. It happened on the last day of festival week eighteen years ago, when Clancy stood right here on this dock, in tears, watching the most wonderful, funny, smart, and pretty girl he’d ever met board the ferry with her family. She promised to stay in touch but she never wrote. So much time had passed that he’d forgotten her name—Emma or Emily maybe—but he sure remembered how he felt about her. The only thing he had from that week was a Polaroid of the two of them dancing at the Mermaid Ball, but he hadn’t looked at it in probably ten years. Maybe his mom stashed it somewhere in the attic.

  “Yes, ma’am, the kickoff ceremony and parade is tomorrow . . . just two blocks that way . . . enjoy yourselves . . . welcome. . . .”

  Of course, Clancy would never tell another soul that he blamed his bad love juju on a slab of bronze. That was just between him and the stone-cold harpy of Fountain Square.

  The afternoon ferry must have been filled to maximum capacity, because the bodies continued to spill from the passenger cabin. In the middle of the throng, one woman sparked Clancy’s curiosity. She was tall and slim, wearing hiking shorts, a fitted tee, and big sunglasses, chunks of blond bangs sticking out from under a shapeless canvas sun hat. She held the hand of a fidgety little boy in a pirate costume.

  Clancy straightened, squinting into the afternoon sun. Something about her body language didn’t sit right with him. Her face was pulled tight in worry. Her smile seemed forced. And she jerked her head from side to side, as if checking the surroundings.

  After studying her for a moment longer, Clancy decided the woman didn’t pose any physical danger to others, but her energy was most definitely off. Despite her nervousness, he noticed the elegant way she moved. The set of her shoulders was straight and her back was strong. The long and defined muscles of her legs allowed her to progress down the gangway as elegantly as a dancer.

  She fascinated him, though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was he found so intriguing. One thing was for certain—she wasn’t a regular visitor. Clancy would have remembered a woman with such a pretty face, funky hair, and spectacular legs. He studied her as she stepped off the gangway onto the dock.

  So strange . . . a gentle wave of awareness lifted him up and set him back down, carried him out, and pulled him back in. The sensation felt like a tap on the shoulder and sounded like a whisper in his ear.

  Look closer.

  Nope. He didn’t know her. But he wanted to. Clancy realized he’d already started walking in her direction. The undertow was too strong to resist.

  * * *

  For what felt like the thousandth time that day, Evelyn McGuinness questioned her sanity. She had to be certifiably crazy to attempt something like this. Her niece’s welfare was
the most important thing in the world, of course, but she wasn’t stupid. Evelyn knew it was unlikely she could outsmart a powerful Massachusetts congressman with connections all over the country. No matter how far, how fast, or how carefully she ran, this was one race she could easily lose.

  But she had to try. She’d given her word.

  Evelyn squeezed Christina’s warm and sticky little hand. “You ready to play our game?” She made sure she kept the strain out of her voice as she helped her niece off the ferry.

  Christina nodded, looking up with wide brown eyes. “Yep.”

  “Good. Now, who am I?”

  “You’re Aunt Cricket, silly.” Christina giggled with delight as she stomped on the metal gangway, making a racket.

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m a little boy named Chris! I’m four and I’m a pirate boy! I’m Pirate Jellybean!” She stomped again, tugging on the bandanna she wore on top of her close-cropped hair.

  “Yes, you are!”

  Evelyn pasted on a smile, hoping she could stop the hot rush of fear spreading from her belly into her chest and throat. She reminded herself that she had a strategy, and following it would dramatically improve her chances. She would attack this ordeal the way she’d done with each of the thirty-seven marathons she’d completed, relying on her physical strength and mental clarity to reach the finish line. It was all about pacing. Focus. About taking one step and then another, one breath and then another. And just as in a race, she couldn’t afford to be distracted by what others were doing or obsess about how many miles she still had to go.

  So what if the whole world thought she was a kidnapper?

  “Can I have ice cream?”

  “Sure, sweetie. Once we get settled in the motel.”

  “No! I want it now!”

  Evelyn scooped her niece into her arms, kissing her warm cheek just below her eye patch, ignoring the beginning of a temper tantrum. So far during this ordeal, Christina had been surprisingly low-key, taking all the confusion and surprises in stride. Evelyn was immensely grateful that the preschooler hadn’t drawn any extra attention to them by throwing a fit, since news of the “abduction” was probably already on TV.

  In fact, her niece had sailed through all of it—the unplanned after-school pickup, a strange motel room by the interstate, the drastic change in Evelyn’s appearance and her own haircut. Christina was cheerful through much of the car ride from Maine to the Logan Airport parking lot, then slept on the train and bus to the Cape. And she’d been happy and excited on the ferry to Bayberry. But as of right that moment, Christina had clearly hit the wall. She was heading into full meltdown mode, just minutes from safety.

  Evelyn knew distraction was her only hope, and she nearly laughed with relief when a young woman in a sparkly mermaid costume met them at the end of the gangway, handing Christina a purple mermaid-shaped lollipop. “Are pirates allowed to have candy?” the girl asked.

  “Of course!” Evelyn smiled. “That was very sweet. Thanks.”

  “Sure. Have fun!”

  Once they were on the dock, Evelyn took a minute to get organized. She lowered Christina to her feet and unwrapped the candy, gave it to her niece, and tossed the cellophane wrapper in a nearby trash can. Then she hoisted the large duffel over her shoulder and grabbed Christina’s hand. She began to walk. According to the map of Bayberry Island she’d printed out at the public library computer, the Sand Dollar Motel was four blocks from the dock. It was funny how it had seemed like miles when she’d been here as a kid. Now, if only she could keep Christina calm during the walk through town, then she could get her something to eat and put her to bed early. And then maybe Evelyn could breathe.

  Please, please, she thought to herself. Whoever’s looking down on us—God, Amanda, Mama, the Mermaid, or anyone at all—please give us a lucky break.

  Christina began to whine. Then, even with her lips tight around the lollipop, she began to cry, shoulders heaving and body trembling. It wasn’t long before Evelyn saw beet red splotches form on her niece’s cheeks and throat. It was going to be a bad one, and she couldn’t blame her. She felt like having a meltdown, too.

  Evelyn scooped Christina into her arms once more and clasped her tight against her left hip. She kept walking.

  Pure hell. That’s what this exhausted little girl had been through in the last two months, beginning with the death of her mother. Any healing that had taken place since Amanda died was destroyed the day a Boston lawyer showed up at the farm with his client’s petition for paternity and full custody. Since then, life had been a blur of magistrate hearings, lawyers, stress, tears, and heated discussions, all of it baffling to Christina. The poor little kid was even dragged off to play paper dolls with a man she’d never met before.

  That’s when temper tantrums became the norm.

  “It’s OK, baby.” Evelyn glanced around the crowd to make sure no one looked at them with suspicion. Thank God, nobody seemed to notice them. It was just a stroke of luck—the Mermaid Festival on Bayberry Island was nothing but one long and wild costume party, and she and Christina could mask their appearance any way they wished and still blend right in.

  It would buy them time. A week, to be exact. That’s how long Evelyn had to figure out their next move.

  “I . . . I want . . .” Christina sobbed and hiccupped so hard that the lollipop had become a choking hazard. When Evelyn pulled it from her lips, the sobbing only worsened.

  “Just a few more minutes, sweetie. I promise.” She pressed her nose into the crook of Christina’s warm neck, inhaling the scent of the little person she loved more than anyone or anything in the world. “Put your head on my shoulder. It’s going to be all right.”

  That’s when Evelyn felt it. A prickly shock of alarm went through her body and she knew that someone had locked sights on her. As casually as possible, she glanced around, making sure she’d produced an all-purpose tourist smile as she searched for the source of her unease.

  She saw him. The cop was standing ramrod straight, his right thumb hooked into a leather belt that held his gun. His dark gaze homed in on her. Luckily, the crowd blocked his view for a second, enough time for her to turn, duck, and keep walking. But she could feel him right behind her.

  Dammit.

  Christina continued to cry, then balled up one of her fists and hit Evelyn on her opposite shoulder.

  Please . . . Evelyn’s mind began to spin. Was it already over? Was this cop going to arrest her? Had she already failed Amanda? Christina? Pop-Pop Charlie? Had she already disappointed everyone she had ever loved?

  “Welcome to Bayberry Island.”

  Evelyn turned toward the male voice, pretending she’d been caught off guard. Of course she did a piss-poor job of it. She was a sports therapist and fitness and nutrition blogger—not an actress. “Hello. Thank you.” She adjusted Christina’s weight on her hip. “It’s been a long day,” she said with an apologetic shrug.

  The officer nodded.

  “Is the fountain this way?” She pointed down Main Street, figuring he had to see right through her charade. If he was going to arrest her, she just wished he’d do it now and save everyone’s time. Why didn’t he just get it over with?

  The police officer tipped his head and regarded her with a puzzled expression. But then his brow relaxed, and he unleashed a smile so warm it stole Evelyn’s breath.

  The noise of the crowd faded away. The dock seemed to vaporize under Evelyn’s feet. Her heart did a back flip in her chest as the tingling shock wave of recognition hit her.

  Those midnight blue eyes. That straight, white grin. The dark curly hair. She knew this man—well, once, briefly, a very long time ago she’d known him as a boy. Evelyn let her eyes roam to his name tag: CHIEF CLANCY FLYNN.

  It took every bit of her remaining strength to stay standing.

  Chapter Two

 
“I already told the sheriff everything I know.” The old man sighed, looking like he barely had enough energy to shake his head. “Evelyn left to pick up Christina from Montessori school yesterday like she always does, but they never came home. I have no idea where she is. I’m just as confused as everyone else.”

  From where Richard Wahlman stood just outside the kitchen door, he could see Charlie McGuinness wipe his weathered face with a wide farmer’s hand. The old guy’s eyes were rimmed red and watery. Richard almost felt sorry that the FBI had to interrogate him in his own home like this. Almost.

  If his four terms in the U.S. House had taught him anything, it was that no human being was one hundred percent honorable—not his fellow caucus members, not his devoted staff, and not his wife. That said, Richard had a hunch that old Charlie McGuinness was telling the truth. The shell-shocked look on his face revealed that his daughter hadn’t shared her kidnapping plans with him. Richard had to hand it to Amanda’s older sister, Evelyn. She’d been smart not to involve her father in a crime that would surely result in a lengthy federal prison sentence for everyone involved.

  Richard smiled to himself, sliding his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers. He knew the federal government didn’t look kindly upon a noncustodial family member taking a child across state lines. The FBI’s presence in Charlie McGuinness’s kitchen was proof of that. And things could get a lot worse for the McGuinness family if the case landed in the lap of one of the many federal judges Richard knew personally. Evelyn had made a boneheaded move. If she’d done it without involving her father, she’d done him a huge favor.

  “Was Miss McGuinness in a relationship? Was she seeing anyone?”

  Charlie didn’t bother to hide his disgust at the FBI agent’s question. “None of my business. She was with the same fella for six years, but they broke up last fall. I don’t stick my nose in my daughter’s personal life, as a rule.”

  “His name?” Clearly, FBI Special Agent in Charge Teresa Apodaca wasn’t a warm-and-fuzzy kind of gal. “You know, Mr. McGuinness, we are here as a courtesy to Congressman Wahlman, but we can easily move this conversation to the Boston field office.”