The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel Read online

  “But those boys were so cute! C’mon! If we don’t hurry we won’t know where everybody went!”

  “So, wait. Where did you meet these kids? We just got here about an hour ago.”

  “You are so out of it, Evie. Didn’t you see that group hanging out on the boardwalk when we waited for our taxi?”

  She tried to remember. “No.”

  “Okay, well, that’s because you’re a complete airhead and boys don’t matter to you. I think something’s wrong with your hormones.”

  “Uh, no, my hormones are perfectly fine. Something’s wrong with you. You’re like a senior trapped in a seventh-grader’s body.”

  “Thanks.” Amanda thought that was a compliment. “So do you want to know how I got this invitation or not?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m not even listening to you anymore.”

  “Great. Well, there were about six boys and two girls. I think some of the guys live here year-round. So anyway, one guy asked me if we wanted to go swimming with them later somewhere really cool. I said yes, and he slipped me a piece of paper with ‘Eagle Nest Point’ on it.”

  Evie tried to slow down, but Amanda wouldn’t let her. “Wait. Where was I when all this was going on? Didn’t that boy know you were just twelve?”

  Amanda groaned with exasperation. “You were busy helping to load the suitcases in the trunk, and if you tell anybody I’m only twelve I will make your life miserable.”

  Evie laughed because, honestly, Amanda already did that. “So how old are you supposed to be, then? I’m fourteen, and we’re obviously not twins, but there’s no way you’re going to be older than me.”

  “Make me thirteen, then.”

  Evie couldn’t believe how stupid this conversation was. “I hate to tell you this, but thirteen doesn’t sound much older than twelve.”

  “Well, at least it has the ‘teen’ part in it.”

  She had a point. “Okay, so how do you know where this Eagle Nest place is?”

  “I asked the motel owner.”

  Evie looked sideways at her little sister. “When did you do that?”

  “When I went to the vending machines for ice.”

  She just shook her head. “How did you even turn out this way? How is it that you and I can be in the exact same place at the exact same time and you always find a way to get in trouble?”

  “Simple!” She pulled Evie to get her to run faster. “You see it as trouble. I see it as fun!”

  They arrived at a metal fence. A crooked and rusty NO TRESPASSING sign hung by a single screw. Evie knew instantly that this was a bad idea. “We could get arrested,” she said.

  “Or, we could die of boredom.”

  They hopped over the fence and climbed up a dune dotted with sea grass, goldenrod, and a whole lot of bayberry plants. Duh—that was probably how the island got its name. Once at the top, they saw about a dozen kids hanging around a big piece of driftwood. Some were smoking. Some seemed uneasy, wrapped up in their towels and staring out at the water. This was obviously something that went on here every summer—the locals checked out the tourists and decided which ones would be fun to get in trouble.

  Evie wanted no part of it.

  “I’m going back to the motel.”

  “No!” Amanda grabbed her upper arm. “You can’t! I’m just twelve! You have to stay and make sure I get home safely. What would Ginny and Charlie say if you abandoned me and left me with kids who were a bad influence?”

  “You’re the bad influence. I should be protecting the local kids from you. And Mom and Dad would ground you if they heard you call them by their first names.”

  They trotted down the sandy slope and walked up to the group. One of the boys announced, “Okay. Whoever’s not here is shit out of luck, I guess.”

  “Oh, my God!” Amanda sucked in air dramatically. “That guy is a complete Baldwin.”

  Evie was so tired of her sister repeating lines from the movie Clueless. It had come out last summer and she and her little friends went to see it five times. Then she bought the video with her babysitting money and watched it on the VCR at least twice a week, memorizing the dialogue. Amanda thought that if she talked like a Valley Girl no one would know she was from Maine.

  Well, she was from Maine. They both were. And the only valley they knew was the Moose Lake Valley so she might as well just admit it.

  “Hi!” Amanda walked right up to the cute boy who seemed to be in charge. Evie hung back.

  “Hey.” The boy spoke to Amanda with a cigarette dangling from his mouth like he thought it made him look cool. It didn’t. Evie already knew that with a boy like that in charge, this little social event was going to be a total disaster.

  Suddenly, the boy looked over Amanda’s head and waved. “Well, lookie who decided to show up after all. It’s the Prince of Bayberry Island.”

  Evie turned around. This new boy took his time coming down the dune toward the water. He was about her height and really cute. He had dark hair. Although he looked to be about her age, there were already some muscles on his arms and chest. When he smiled, Evie felt hot, like she was going to melt from the inside out.

  Ha. He was a boy and she noticed him. So there. And apparently nothing was wrong with her hormones, either, because they were now doing the Macarena inside her bathing suit.

  This guy was way more Baldwin than any of the actual Baldwins, and he was looking right at her.

  Chapter Three

  “This coffee tastes like the bottom of my locker. It may not even be fit for human consumption.”

  Clancy glanced up from his laptop and grinned at his old Boston PD friend, Deon Ware, the first of his moonlighters to arrive for the briefing. “Haven’t you had four cups?”

  “Five.” Deon eased his considerable heft into a conference room folding chair and sighed dramatically. “You know, Flynn, every year I sacrifice ten days of precious vacation time for this mermaid shit. I even agree to wear these damn Daisy Duke shorts. The least you could do is provide halfway-decent coffee, man.”

  Clancy laughed, knowing that was Deon’s way of thanking him. First off, a stint of double shifts on Bayberry Island was a vacation compared to Deon’s usual South Boston patrol, and, since each of the extra officers hired for festival week earned triple overtime, he’d be going home with a boatload of cash for his trouble.

  Besides, Clancy had known Deon for a dozen years. They’d gone through the academy together. And he knew that though Deon was six feet four inches of concrete, he loved to bitch and moan like an eighth-grade girl.

  “You’re welcome,” Clancy said.

  Deon shook his head. “It’s a damn good thing I got such nice legs, that’s all I gotta say.”

  Each of the remaining members of the temporarily beefed-up Bayberry Island Police Department wandered in and found a folding chair. Sitting near Deon were four more of Clancy’s BPD buddies and one longtime friend with the Massachusetts State Police. Clancy’s only full-time employee, Assistant Chief Chip Bradford, joined him at the front of the room.

  “You know the drill, gentlemen,” Clancy said. “We’ll do two-man teams with eight hours on an assigned patrol, eight hours as a floater and eight hours off. Both Chip and I will be on call twenty-four-seven and be available for backup whenever needed. You each received your schedules via e-mail a few weeks back. Any problems or questions?”

  “It’s on like Donkey Kong,” Lowell Pernecky said.

  “Good to know.” Clancy clicked his laptop to view the Mermaid Festival event spreadsheet. “The schedule is the same as every year, with just a couple minor additions and changes I need you to be aware of.”

  “Did you finally get rid of the nudists?” Doug Lukovich raised his eyebrows in hopefulness. “I don’t think I can handle going out there again.”

  The room erupted in laughter. Clancy knew poo
r Doug would never live down the emergency call he made to the nudist colony, when he’d been forced to provide first aid to an older gentleman who’d been stung by a hornet.

  On his left nut.

  And since Doug’s mission of mercy included holding a frosty Diet Dr Pepper on the old guy’s equipment, his coworkers left a six-pack of the soda in front of his door every night for the remainder of festival week. It was a good thing Doug was an easygoing dude.

  Clancy motioned for Chip to answer the question. He knew his friend always got a kick out of being in the know.

  “The island council held a zoning hearing in the off-season. They discussed the matter at length.” Chip nodded with authority. “But in the end they decided to renew the group’s operating permit. The Bayberry Freedom Colony is still going strong.”

  “Great,” Doug mumbled.

  “In fact”—Chip was on a roll—“they got two new clay tennis courts installed this spring. Top quality, too. Nice bounce and slower speed.”

  “Hold up.” Deon straightened in his chair. “Let me see if I got this right. They play tennis butt-naked?”

  Chip shrugged. “Well, yes. They do everything naked. That’s why they call it a nudist colony.”

  “Okay, but see, what I’m wondering right about now is, how does a person serve while nude?” Deon looked around the room. “You know what I’m sayin’? Where are you supposed to keep the extra tennis balls? I mean, it’s not like human beings have kangaroo pouches, right?”

  Will Farney held up his hand, already laughing. “Doug should probably run out there and conduct an in-depth investigation.”

  Though it did Clancy’s heart good to hear the raucous laughter of his old friends, he knew they had a job to do. The island’s population went from about nine hundred year-round residents to close to twenty-five thousand visitors over the course of festival week. Six ferries arrived and departed daily, three originating from the Cape and three from the Nantucket–Martha’s Vineyard route. Private sailboats and yachts jammed the marinas. Private planes flew in from the mainland, Nantucket, and the Vineyard all day and night. Along with the volunteer fire department, these men assembled in the conference room made up the first line of protection for every one of those visitors.

  There would be time for cutting loose next weekend, after the festival wrapped up. Right now Clancy knew he needed to keep the briefing on track.

  “Listen up. Tomorrow is Saturday, which is kickoff day. The parade starts at fourteen-hundred, followed immediately by the opening ceremony at Fountain Square, my dad giving the official welcome.”

  “Is Rowan gonna be riding on the float? You know, in her mermaid costume?” That question came from a hungry-looking Jake Tedesco, who had never hidden his appreciation for Clancy’s only sister.

  “Yes, but she’s practically engaged to Ash Wallace.”

  “They’re still together?” Jake looked crestfallen.

  “Big-time,” Chip chimed in. “They live together at the Safe Haven and they’re renovating it, bit by bit. I think Ash Wallace is going to propose soon. And you saw all the construction over there, right? His marine research foundation will be up and running by . . .” Chip suddenly stopped talking, realizing that question had been directed at Clancy. “Sorry, boss,” he mumbled.

  “Let’s keep moving.” Clancy cleared his throat. “Sunday is Island Day, as always. Monday is the clambake out at Safe Haven Beach. Tuesday is the reenactment and the museum tour. Wednesday is the children’s play and, as usual, I will be off the radar from about seven to nine p.m. for family obligations, unless there’s a major emergency.”

  “Your bro comin’ home this year?”

  Clancy shrugged at Deon. “I have no idea. We never have any idea.” He continued with the itinerary. “We’ve got the officially sanctioned costume contests on Thursday and then the Mermaid Ball Thursday night, followed by closing ceremonies Friday at noon.”

  Cam Wilkins yawned. “What’s the vehicle situation this year, Flynn?”

  “We’ve got three extra Jeep Wranglers leased from the mainland, all four-doors. The keys are in the lockbox by the parking lot, as usual. The combination is the same. And the police boat got a much-needed face-lift in the off-season, so she’s good to go.”

  “A cigar boat it ain’t,” Deon said, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  “What’s the new stuff?” Lowell asked. “So far it just sounds like the same ole, same ole.”

  “Right.” Clancy hooked his thumbs into his utility belt. “This year, the carnival is staying an extra day. Instead of being up and running through Sunday, they’ve extended their operating license until Monday, midnight.” Several men expressed their dissatisfaction with that plan, but Clancy continued. “Also this year, we have added security considerations. As Chip just mentioned, construction has started on the Oceanaire Foundation’s education center and research marina on Haven Cove. The site is clearly blocked off from the bed and breakfast traffic and the public beach, and they have their own round-the-clock private security team, but we are their backup. I have promised Ash our full cooperation.”

  Chip chimed in. “Whoever is on patrol out there should check in with security at least twice a shift.”

  “Gotcha,” Doug said.

  “Also, there are a couple BOLOs to be aware of. I’ve sent them to you on your tablets. As we know, festival week on Bayberry Island isn’t exactly a den of felons, but we need to be kept up to date.”

  Will sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a normal felon instead of one of these fruit loops.”

  “Hey, did you see that half-woman-half-man mermaid?” Doug’s eyes got huge. “He shaved half his damn chest! That’s just not right!”

  “It’s called a merman,” Chip corrected him.

  Clancy refreshed his laptop to be sure he had the latest bulletins. “As I was saying, there’s an APB out for a double-homicide in P-town last night, an AMBER Alert out of Springfield with plates and vehicle description, and a BOLO on a preschooler from Maine, probably a custody-related abduction.”

  “But that one’s not an AMBER Alert,” Chip added, helpful as always. “Unlike the Springfield case, the girl’s not believed to be in danger.”

  Deon shook his head. “Man, I don’t care what the situation is—you just don’t go around snatching kids. What the hell is wrong with people?”

  * * *

  Evelyn spooned with Christina on the motel bed, listening to the gentle rhythm of the little girl’s breathing. The poor kid was zonked. Once they’d checked in, Evelyn had followed through on her promise of ice cream, but Christina’s eyelids grew heavy after just a few licks of her vanilla soft-serve cone with rainbow sprinkles. So she carried her comatose niece back to the motel, removed her pirate patch and shoes, and tucked her in.

  Evelyn let her eyes wander around the room absently, noting how a tiny sliver of evening light cut through the cheap plastic draperies. Though the windows were shut and the walls of The Sand Dollar were made of concrete block, she could still hear the rhythmic rush of the ocean and the occasional laughter of vacationers. The motel was just a couple blocks from Fountain Square, Ground Zero for partying. Eighteen years earlier, her mother had marched down to the manager’s office to complain that the late-night laughter and music kept the family awake.

  Evelyn smiled sadly to herself, thinking of that long-ago vacation. She was fourteen that summer. Amanda was twelve. And the McGuinness clan was whole, happy, and hopeful—a state of affairs she assumed would last forever. And why not? What kid with a happy life thinks it’s temporary? And, really, Evelyn’s world was far more than just happy. It was structured, safe, and part of a larger context of church, community, and roots two hundred years deep. The summer her family vacationed on Bayberry Island, everything was just as it should be, and in her teenaged heart she was sure nothing bad could ever penetrate the co
ntentment and order.

  Her mother died the next summer, just six weeks after being diagnosed with stomach cancer. Evelyn didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that ever since, she’d been trying to re-create the certainty and structure of her childhood, and discovered her sanctuary in training and running. She liked the cause-and-effect relationship—excellent finish times were the direct result of pristine nutrition, disciplined training, and careful preparation. It was simple. It worked. It made sense.

  Evelyn’s eyes burned with fatigue and sadness. She hugged Christina tighter, inhaling the sweet summer smell of her niece’s hair and skin, deciding that maybe now she could allow herself to cry. She’d been hiding her panic and fear for a week while she schemed and plotted about how she’d get her niece to safety. She’d done things she never would have believed herself capable of, and hid all of it from her father. She’d lied to him. Repeatedly.

  The thought made Evelyn feel nauseated.

  How had she become the kind of person who used a disposable cell phone, carried fake IDs, and relied on bribery to make it through the day? How about making Christina put on her pirate costume in the car before they entered that New Hampshire Burger King? Or cutting and dyeing her own hair in a motel room near an I-95 exit ramp? Holy crap! That was the kind of crazy spy shit that happened in movies starring Angelina Jolie or Will Smith—not in the real life of Evelyn Helena McGuinness. Amanda, of all people, should be alive to see the transformation. But then again, if she were alive, the transformation wouldn’t have been necessary.

  Evelyn smiled to herself, thinking about her little sister. As soon as Amanda began to talk, she started trying to get Evelyn to be more carefree and less concerned about the rules. In other words, more like her. When they were younger, Amanda only wanted a companion to explore with—crawl under the fence, hide in the hayloft, or take their bikes out to the main road. But by the summer they went to Bayberry, Amanda was pushing the envelope and dragging Evelyn with her. Her reasoning: if they got caught, they would be in it together.