is somewhere on the island.”
“Treasure?” Oh, great, just what Mica needed in her life
right now! Not only did she have Professor Bigley looking for
ghosts, now she had a couple of fortune hunters invading her
aunt’s sanctum.
“See, she didn’t know anything about it,” the husband
stated.
“Of course she knows. You told her first thing, but the fact
remains it will be ours.”
Mica found it curious that the woman talked to her husband
as though he were a child. She used her no-nonsense attorney
voice to quell their bickering. “I think I can clear this up quickly
and you can go about your business. As long as you are guests
at Sea Crest, you will be treated hospitably and left to your
privacy. However, I shall expect you to follow the same rules
as the other guests.”
“And those are?”
The haughty angle of the woman’s nose and her demeanor
grated on Mica’s nerves, and she had to remind herself they
were guests. “Simply that you respect other guests’ property
and privacy concerning your activities. This is a small, quiet
community, and the neighbors won’t tolerate mischief.
Although the beach is public, the property around Sea Crest is
private, and you won’t be able to dig for treasure. Even on the
beach, you’ll have to observe the posted rules.”
“But the treasure isn’t on the beach. The journal clearly
states—”
“Harold!” It was obvious Mrs. Barker didn’t want Mr.
Barker divulging any more of their secret, and that was just
fine with Mica. She had other things on her mind at the moment.
“Mrs. Harris, if you would be so kind as to show this
charming couple to their room?” Mica applied all the Southern
charm she had learned, then forgotten, in modeling class. She
had effectively dismissed the annoying couple, but she’d
managed to do it with such grace they smiled at her as they
turned to leave.
She watched as poor Harold took two steps for every one
of his wife’s, his head down in abject apology as she ranted
and raved at him for heaven only knew what.
She shook her head. A ghost-hunting professor and a
treasure-hunting odd couple. She couldn’t wait to tell Logan
about the strange people populating her side of the inn.
Now why had she thought of that? Wanting to share part
of her life with him indicated she had some feelings for him.
Mica didn’t know enough about Logan to justify what she felt
when around him.
She mentally put herself back on track as she retraced her
steps, slipping through the private gate to the gardens, and then
through the sliding doors. She definitely didn’t want to run
into the Barkers.
In less than an hour, she had showered and changed into a
colorful broomstick skirt and blouse, brushed her hair and
pulled it up with a clip in the back.
As she dropped into the front seat of her car, she decided
the local historical society might have some information about
the island community, since all the homes dated back to before
the turn of the twentieth century. While she knew they wouldn’t
have architectural drawings and floor plans, perhaps she could
dig up an old photograph or two, or some kind of document
referring to Sea Crest as Indigo Bay. The strange name by
which Logan referred to her home stuck in her mind. It was
almost as though she had heard it referred to as such before.
She drove across the causeway, the only road linking the
island with the mainland. The recently repaired black asphalt
sent the August heat waves up in front of her, and Mica reached
into her purse for her sunglasses. She laid on the horn when an
erratic driver braked in front of her then turned left from the
right lane. It appeared the small town of Cameron had become
overpopulated, for the roads were already congested with
traffic.
When she finally arrived at the museum, she idly thought
about turning around and going back, suddenly in no mood to
there, she fervently hoped she could find the information she
needed. Otherwise, she would have to make a trip that she knew
would end badly.
***
Why wasn’t anything easy? Mica slowly rotated her head,
trying to relieve the tension that had built at the back of her
neck during her four-hour search at the museum. She hadn’t
found what she needed, so her only other source of information
was her parents.
She drove south on Highway 17 without paying any
attention to the scenery. While she knew she shouldn’t dread
seeing her parents, they would make her visit difficult. Her
father would ask her to return to work, and her mother would
mention Richard. She could have put off this trip to another
day, but she had a fascination for history and mysteries.
And, of course, she couldn’t forget her simmering attraction
for Logan. She didn’t want to be away from Sea Crest for even
one evening and miss the chance to see him. He was the mystery
she would like to solve. This morning, she had started to ask
Mrs. Harris about him when the Barkers had interrupted. In a
way, Mica was glad, because at this point, she wasn’t sure she
wanted to share her thoughts of Logan with anyone else.
Finding out about Logan wasn’t easy. If the lady at the
Historical Society had been more helpful, Mica wouldn’t have
to make this trip. However, very few records prior to the Civil
War remained intact. They had located only one reference, in
an old ship’s log, to an off-coast island named Indigo Bay.
Other than that, the historical documents referred to Sea
Crest and the homes on the island simply as retreats. Apparently,
families used the island to get away from bouts of malaria that
periodically spread through the plantations. Mica hoped her
mother still had Grandmother’s old letters and family Bible.
That might be her only hope for information at this point.
She stopped by her apartment for her mail and did a little
shopping, purposely dragging out the rest of the afternoon. She
didn’t arrive at her parents until well after four in the afternoon.
Though she had packed a bag, if she could help it she didn’t
intend to stay the night.
“Michaela, dear, what a pleasant surprise!” Her mother’s
lilting voice reached her as she slid the verandah doors open.
“Come give your mother a kiss.”
Mica dutifully bent and pecked her mother’s cheek before
slipping into a chair on the other side of the glass-topped patio
table. As her mother finished addressing an envelope—probably
an invitation to another of her famous cocktail parties—Mica
took time to observe her. The sun picked up the silver highlights
in her black hair, but somehow it didn’t detract from her
youthful appearance. At fifty-four years old, Karen Chadwick
was still a very pretty woman.
The pink dress she wore accented her creamy complexion,
and Mica suddenly could not recall ever seeing her mother in
jeans and a sweatshirt. A descendant of an old Charleston
family, she still clung to the Southern ideals of ladies, and
prestige, and the social stratum. It wasn’t that her mother
flaunted their wealth or snubbed those without membership to
the Country Club. It was just her way to be the genteel “lady of
the manor.”
Mica poured herself a glass of iced tea and tried to decide
how best to broach Sea Crest with her mother. If she asked too
many questions, Karen would become suspicious and want to
know exactly why Mica wanted the information. She needn’t
have worried, for her mother gave her the perfect opening.
“How are things up at Sea Crest, dear? Are you enjoying
your little sojourn?” She couldn’t use a simple word like
vacation.
“Sea Crest is as beautiful as ever, Mother. Visiting has
made me interested in some of the history of the place. I was
hoping you still had some of Grandmother ’s or Great-
grandmother’s correspondence or journals. I’d like to see if
they wrote about it and the previous owners.”
“Sea Crest has always belonged in the family. On the
maternal side, of course. Why would you think there had ever
been any other owner?” Just the tone of her mother’s question
put Mica on guard.
“No reason, really. I was just curious as to when some of
the other homes were built, and when the island started being
sold off. Surely we have some old letters or something?”
Her mother tapped a manicured finger against her cheek.
“Well, Grandmother, Aunt Theo and I sorted through so much
stuff about twenty years ago and donated it to the Charleston
Historical Society. After all, we can trace our roots back to one
of the first families to settle in Charleston, you know.”
Mica groaned. “Of course.” She had been brought up on
her mother’s stories of ancestry and knew them all by heart.
“There may still be some old letters up in the attic in a
trunk. I’ll try to remember to have your father bring it down
one of these days, if you promise to visit again. You know, you
don’t spend very much time here, even when you’re in the city.
I still think it entirely too frivolous for you to have an apartment
when we have so much room. Of course, it was different when
you and Richard were married.”
Mica could feel a headache coming on.
“How is Richard?” Her mother asked. “Have you spoken
to him?”
“No.” Why should I? Mica kept that thought to herself.
“Well, he did call, and said he would go up to Sea Crest
this week.”
“You told him where I was?” Something close to panic
closed around Mica’s throat, and she swallowed hard to relieve
the tightness.
“Don’t yell, dear. Of course I told him. You can’t reconcile
your differences if you don’t talk to him.”
“We’re divorced, Mother. I don’t want to reconcile any
differences!”
Her mother huffed, sitting up very straight and giving Mica
that I-know-what’s-good-for-you look. “It’s not like he found
someone...had an...”
“An affair, Mother?” Mica had learned at an early age that
one didn’t speak about sex with her mother or politics with her
father. Just to agitate her, Mica stated, “There are reasons other
than adultery for getting a divorce. I think I would have
preferred it if he had screwed someone else rather than doing it
to me financially.”
As predicted, her mother gasped. “Michaela Marie! Don’t
speak that way in this house.”
Mica was saved from a response when Lucy, the
Chadwick’s housekeeper, came out on the verandah. She had
Mica’s bundle of mending in her arms.
“Whatever did you do to your clothes, Miss Michaela?
These things are chewed up!” Lucy held up Mica’s jeans and
silk pajamas.
“I didn’t exactly break my zipper or pop my buttons on
purpose, Lucy.” Lucy had been in the Chadwick household
since Mica was born, and had patched up not only her clothes
but also her scraped knees and bruised pride more than once.
“Break? Pop? There ain’t no zipper anymore—the teeth
are done gone! And how’d you lose buttons when the thread’s
all nice and tight in these little loops? Both buttons broke in
the middle?”
Mica would have examined her garments, but her father
joined them at that moment. Lucy just clucked her tongue and
turned back to the house.
“Ah, the wanderer has returned,” her father greeted her. “I
knew it wouldn’t take a month for you to get yourself
straightened around. Good thing, too, for the Sanderson’s case
is on the docket for next week.”
“I only came for a visit, Father.” Mica couldn’t let him
jump to conclusions. “I’m not ready for work yet.”
“What?” His gray eyebrows came together in the middle
as he scowled first at Mica then her mother, who gave a slight
shake of her head as she patted his hand. It had been her
mother’s silent I’ll tell you later signal for years. Mica still
reddened with embarrassment, just as she had when her father
hadn’t understood about cramps, bras, and boyfriends.
He cleared his throat. “Well, get it fixed, whatever it is,
and come back to work.”
Mica wondered how easy it would be to fix having the
unbidden image of Logan in her mind, or to erase the urgency
she felt to return to Sea Crest and see him again.
“And how is Richard?” Her father’s question brought
another rapid shake of the head and hand patting from her
mother. He jerked his hand free and said with a frown, “Be
damned if I’ll be quiet, Karen.”
To Mica, he added, “He deserves more time, Michaela.
He’ll change if he has you backing him. But then, you’d better
get yourself straightened out, too. We have too many big cases
for you to be gone too long. We need your smile and soft voice
to sway the jury and—”
“Father, I’m twenty-nine years old and can manage my
own life!” She hadn’t meant to yell, because she knew her father
didn’t understand how talking about Richard upset her. He and
her mother had married when vows meant forever, and they
were still very much in love. She softened her voice with a
smile. “Besides, as an esteemed attorney, you should be
ashamed trying to use my looks and sweet, honey drawl on
unsuspecting jurors.” She rose as she spoke and bent to give
him a kiss. As gruff and unbending as her father had always
been, she still loved him dearly. “Have to go. I promised Katie
I’d be there for dinner.”
“What? You can’t mean to leave before dinner?” Her
mother sighed.
“You weren’t expecting me, and I know how Lucy co
oks.
Next time, I promise I’ll call first and stay longer.” Mica hugged
her mother, reminding her to check on the old letters.
She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she slipped into her
car. Her parents were dear, sweet people, but when would they
let her run her own life? Pointing her car north once again, she
made a mental note to call Katie that evening so she could
vouch for her lie.
***
Mica maneuvered her way into the apartment at Sea Crest
with her bag and purse over a shoulder, a pizza in one hand
and keys in the other. She grinned at the note Mrs. Harris had
left stuck to her door. It seemed Sea Crest’s guests had a minor
confrontation on the beach that day. Professor Bigley’s ghost
monitoring machine and the Barker’s metal detector set each
other off.
Mrs. Harris’ scribbled message indicated she would give
Mica the details tomorrow, if she wanted them. However, the
Island Beach Patrol had put an end to their argument before it
escalated to a fistfight between the Professor and Mrs. Barker.
Oh, boy! Although she wasn’t personally responsible for
her guests, Mica felt she should probably say something to
them. She chuckled at the thought of Mrs. Barker beating up
the poor Professor.
Mica flipped the remote control as she ate pizza, disgusted
with the lack of good programming. She grumbled to herself
as she cleared away her supper plate and tidied the apartment.
Her stomach churned, and her palms became sweaty as she
rearranged some books on a shelf, just about knocking over a
fragile figurine.
“What in blue blazes is wrong with you?” She spoke the
question out loud, but already knew the answer.
She wanted a sign—something to tell her Logan was
upstairs—just as his voice and music had the previous two
nights. Tonight, however, no sound drifted in through the open
windows. No haunting melody beckoned her forth. Did she
again dare invade his residence without an invitation?
He had been on her mind the entire trip back from
Charleston, and she realized she wanted to see him. No, she
had to see him again, just as she had to breathe and eat to
survive. It wasn’t just to erase the thoughts of Richard that her
parents had forced to the surface.