Amazing Gracie Read online

  By three in the afternoon she’d found a small hotel on the Potomac River. No one would ever confuse it with a Worldwide property, but it was clean and the mattress was firm, just the way she liked it. It would do until she could find a rental property for the summer, she concluded.

  By five she’d finished a take-out carton of Kung Po chicken, showered and watched the early news out of Washington. Though she’d intended to shift her body onto local time by staying awake until nine at least, by five-thirty she was sound asleep. Naturally, because of that, she was wide awake before dawn.

  Years of starting the day while others slept made the early hour seem almost normal. Except there were no lists to make, no calendar to check for meetings, no details to see to. There was absolutely nothing demanding her attention and no reason at all to get out of bed.

  “Go back to sleep,” she coached herself, forcing her eyes shut and trying to stay perfectly still. She willed herself to relax. After fifteen increasingly restless minutes, she realized she didn’t know how.

  “Tomorrow will be better,” she promised herself as she dressed and headed out to find someplace serving breakfast.

  Over scrambled eggs and toast at the Beachside Cafe, she read the Washington Post. As she lingered over coffee, she dug in her purse for paper and made a list of things to do, starting with contacting a real estate agent about available rentals. She wanted something small, facing the river so she could sit on the porch and drink her morning coffee or her evening tea and watch the play of colors on the water.

  “More coffee, miss?”

  Gracie glanced up at the waitress and smiled, noting that her name was Jessie and that she had the reddest hair Gracie had ever seen, especially on a woman who had to be in her sixties. “Yes, please. Any idea what time I’ll be able to find a real estate office open around here?”

  “Oh, it’s catch as catch can until nine or so, though Johnny Payne usually stops in here around eight. If he doesn’t have what you’re looking for, he can find it for you.”

  Gracie glanced at the clock behind the counter. “Maybe I’ll just stick around then. Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest. We’re never full on a weekday till after the season starts. I’ll send Johnny over when he comes in. Having breakfast with a pretty woman for a change will make his day. Those old coots he’s usually with ain’t nothing to look at.”

  Gracie grinned. “Thanks.”

  “You need anything else, just holler. I’ll check on your coffee now and again.”

  It was three cups of coffee later, just as Gracie was beginning to get a worrisome caffeine buzz, when the man who turned out to be Johnny Payne ambled in. He headed for the counter, only to be waylaid by the waitress and directed toward Gracie. He was tall and raw-boned with a flushed complexion, liberal gray in his once-brown hair and a twinkle in his hazel eyes.

  “Mr. Payne?” Gracie guessed when he stood beside her table, his hands shoved in the pockets of his chinos. Christmas-red suspenders held them up.

  “Yes, ma’am, that would be me. What can I do for you?”

  “Sit down, if you have a minute. I don’t want to keep you from your breakfast.”

  “Not me,” he said, and pulled out a chair. “I had breakfast at home an hour ago. I come in here to fuel up on coffee and gossip.”

  “Well, I certainly won’t keep you from having your coffee. As for the gossip, I’ll try not to keep you from that for too long, either.”

  He grinned at her. “Not to worry. Nothing much happens around here anyway, leastways nothing that’s more exciting than a pretty stranger asking about property. That is what you wanted to see me about, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I’m looking for a summer rental.”

  “On the river?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Big or small?”

  “Small will do.”

  He looked her over, his expression thoughtful. “You mind investing a little elbow grease?”

  “Not at all.” It would keep her mind off of the decisions that had to be made.

  He gave a brief nod of satisfaction, as if she’d just passed some sort of test. “I’ve got just the place. Owner died a few years back and his kids don’t give a hoot about the house. Can’t seem to agree about selling it, either. In the meantime, it’s for rent. Won’t suit just anybody because of its size. Two bedrooms, a big kitchen, and a living room. Most folks want the Taj Majal in the summer, so they can fill the place with everyone from back home they were trying to get away from. You know what I mean?”

  Actually, she had no idea. She’d taken only one real vacation in her entire life—to this town, as a matter of fact. She nodded just the same.

  “Anyway, the price is negotiable depending on how long you want it for and how much work you’re willing to put in yourself to clean it up and save me calling in a maid service.” At Gracie’s surprised look, he chuckled. “That would be my wife. She’d be mighty happy to let someone else chase the mice away for a change.”

  Gracie swallowed hard and reminded herself she wasn’t at Worldwide anymore. “There are mice?”

  “Not so many now that the weather’s warming up. Once you sweep away the dust bunnies and get to stirring around inside, the last of ’em will go.”

  “I certainly hope so,” she muttered. “When can you show it to me?”

  “Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose. You have a car with you?”

  “I left it at the hotel.”

  “Then you can ride with me. I’ll stop by the office and pick up the keys.”

  Gracie wasn’t sure what she’d expected, someplace ramshackle and neglected, probably. At any rate, it wasn’t the tidy little white cottage with the Wedgwood-blue shutters and sprawling porch across the front. A pair of white rockers had been upended on the porch. That was all she needed.

  “I’ll take it,” she said at once.

  “You haven’t even been inside yet,” Johnny Payne protested.

  “Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I was being impulsive, but this is exactly what I was looking for.”

  “Miss, if you don’t mind me saying so, you must not do much negotiating.”

  If only he knew, Gracie thought. She’d handled more tough negotiations in recent years than Johnny Payne probably had in his lifetime. “I’ve done my share,” she said modestly. “I just don’t believe in playing games once I’ve made up my mind about something.”

  “And you want this house?”

  “I do.”

  He shrugged. “Then let’s see how many mice took up residence this winter before we settle on the details.”

  The details were a snap. The asking price was so reasonable, Gracie saw no reason to argue about it, though Johnny Payne looked a little disappointed when she didn’t.

  By nightfall, Gracie had swept and vacuumed and dusted away cobwebs. She’d left the windows open to the cool April breeze off the water. More than once she’d slipped outside to sit on the porch for just a minute and take in the view of the wide, wide Potomac with the Maryland shore in the distance and a peek at the banks of Robert E. Lee’s birthplace, Stratford Hall, off to one side.

  After dinner, her muscles aching and her clothes and hair an untidy wreck, she took her cup of herbal tea onto the porch for one last time. An unfamiliar feeling stole over her as she sat there with the sky darkening and the waves lapping on the narrow patch of beach across the street. She felt at peace. Worldwide Hotels and Maximillian Devereaux were very far away. She could almost imagine a time when neither would so much as enter her thoughts.

  That moment couldn’t possibly come soon enough to suit her.

  2

  By the end of the week Gracie had established a routine. Still up at the crack of dawn, she went for a walk along the river, always winding up at the Beachside Café for breakfast.

  On her second visit, Jessie and everyone else in the place already seemed to know that she had just rented the Taylor place on the waterfront. They knew she wasn
’t from the area and that she planned to stay at least through summer.

  “I’m surprised they haven’t nailed down my credit rating,” she commented to Jessie, laughing at the accuracy and thoroughness of the waitress’s report.

  “Oh, Johnny has that, too, I’m sure, but there are some things he manages to keep to himself.” She eyed Gracie with curiosity. “Why here? You look like a big-city girl to me. I’ll bet you don’t even own a pair of jeans.”

  That was true enough, but Gracie decided not to confirm it. “Maybe I’ve just had a little too much of big-city living,” she said, which was the truth as far as it went.

  “The fast pace’ll kill you, that’s for sure,” Jessie agreed, then peered at her thoughtfully. “Or was it a man?”

  She nodded sagely, though Gracie hadn’t said a word. “It usually is, if you ask me. At the heart of any woman’s troubles there is guaranteed to be a man.”

  “Not this time,” Gracie replied, even as an image of Max popped into her head. Max wasn’t a problem, not for her heart, anyway. He was just a simple pain in the neck, professionally speaking.

  Unfortunately, her conversation with Jessie had stirred up the very memories she had been trying so hard to forget. Thanks to Max she was in a strange place, completely at loose ends. Listening to Jessie’s curious speculation reminded Gracie that this little sabbatical of hers would end sooner or later. What then?

  Maybe thinking about the sorry state of her life and the dim prospects for her future explained why she noticed the house, the huge Victorian with its dilapidated, sagging porch and its intricate gingerbread trim. It was hidden away behind an overgrown hedge and a heavy wrought-iron gate.

  Gracie figured she must have passed it half a dozen times before as she strolled along lost in thought, but this morning with the sun glistening on its fading white paint and grimy windows, it caught her eye.

  Three stories tall, with a widow’s walk on the top, it was like something out of a book, albeit a Gothic horror novel at the moment. It was the kind of place kids would assume was haunted.

  But despite its state of disrepair, Gracie could envision it all primped up with fresh paint and shining windows. In her mind’s eye, pots filled with bright flowers decorated the front porch and the lawn was tended, the hedge neatly trimmed. She could also imagine a simple, discreet sign hanging by the gate, declaring it a bed-and-breakfast.

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered the minute the idea struck. She hurried her step as if to escape her own thoughts. Though the house was clearly unoccupied and ignored, there was no For Sale sign out front. Even if there had been, she wasn’t interested in staying in Seagull Point for more than a few months.

  Was she?

  Of course not, she insisted, again picking up speed after a last backward glance over her shoulder. Coming here in the first place had been impulsive. Staying would be, what? Lunacy? Jessie had pegged it. She was a big-city girl. The more exotic the city, the better. Seagull Point was a far cry from Cannes, France.

  Still, she found herself strolling past the house again that afternoon and pausing in front of it on her way to breakfast the following morning to study it with a critical, experienced eye.

  “It wouldn’t take much,” she murmured, ignoring the little voice inside that suggested boredom, not good sense, was behind the notion of buying the place. Once again, she dismissed the idea.

  Unfortunately, it kept coming back. When she stopped at the hardware store to pick up a new broom and some nails to fix a loose board on the porch of the rental, she couldn’t help looking at the paint chips. Before she knew it, she had a whole handful.

  “Johnny hasn’t talked you into painting the Taylor place while you’re here, has he?” the man behind the counter asked when he saw the collection of paint chips.

  Gracie grinned. “No way. I have another project I’ve been thinking about, that’s all. It probably won’t come to anything. Is it okay if I take all these samples?”

  “That’s what they’re there for. Let us know if there’s anything you need. I’ve got a fellow working for me who takes on odd jobs painting. Needs the extra money. He does good work, too, as long as you don’t mind him doing it evenings and on his days off from here.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  On her way home, she stopped in front of the old Victorian once again. This time, though, she opened the rusty gate and stepped through. The grounds were far more expansive than she’d envisioned from the street, though at the moment they were a tangle of weeds. There was room enough for a badminton net and a croquet course in the back, plus an area with a brick fireplace that would be perfect for family-style barbeques for guests. The concept had an old-fashioned charm to it that appealed to her. Surely there were still people in the world who longed for the days when video games weren’t the entertainment of choice. Surely there were families that sought out low-key vacations far from the crowds at Disney World.

  She tested the steps and found them solid enough, but to her regret the windows were too filthy to permit a halfway decent view of the interior.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she told herself sternly. It was only a pipedream, after all. It wasn’t as if she were going to buy the place and settle down here to run it. She had a job waiting for her in France…if she wanted to go back. She could land another position with another hotel chain at the drop of a hat…if she chose. The sleepy town of Seagull Point, Virginia, was not what she needed, not in the long run. It was a temporary balm for her soul, no more.

  Even so, she found herself spreading the paint chips out on the kitchen table when she got home, playing with combinations of color until she had two that she liked, a third that was a possibility. When the phone rang, she guiltily shoved them all back into a pile as she answered it.

  “Hello, Max,” she said, anticipating who would be on the other end of the line. Max was the only person she’d told where she was going. Even though she’d given him the entire state to choose from, Max was apparently every bit as good at narrowing down possibilities as he was at spotting a discrepancy of a few francs in the Worldwide books. It had taken him less than a week to find her.

  “Bored yet?” he inquired.

  “Of course not.”

  “What are you doing with yourself?”

  “Nothing, Max. That’s the whole point of a vacation.”

  “A vacation?” His voice brightened perceptibly. “Then that is all that this is? You will be back?”

  “No, Max. I will not be back.”

  “The staff misses you,” he said, trying a different tack.

  “I miss them,” she said. She had felt vaguely guilty about abandoning them to Max’s puritanical fiscal whims. André in particular would not fare so well without her as a buffer between him and Max.

  “Guests have asked about you.”

  She did brighten at that. “Really?” She’d hoped that the regulars would notice her absence, but hadn’t really expected Max to tell her.

  “Actually, they have mentioned missing the floral arrangements you put in the lobby.”

  A twinge of panic fluttered in her stomach. “Where are the flowers, Max?”

  “The florist and I had a slight disagreement,” he admitted. “He prefers dealing only with you.”

  Gracie laughed as she thought of gentle Paul Chevalier standing up to Max and refusing to deliver flowers to the hotel. He must have been incredibly insulted to have taken such a stance.

  “Would you like me to call him?” she offered. “I can smooth things over.”

  “Would you?” he asked, sounding relieved, perhaps a bit too smug.

  “Of course. But Max, you’re going to have to start dealing with these little crises yourself or else bring in a new manager.”

  “I can’t do that, not when I’m holding the job for you. In the meantime, the rest of us will do the best we can. The hotel will not fall apart overnight.”

  “Overnight? Max, I’ve told you not to hold the jo
b.”

  “Allow me my fantasies, ma chérie.”

  “Max!”

  “Au revoir.”

  Gracie sighed as she hung up. A moment later she placed the international call to the florist. Even though it would be evening in France, she knew she would find Paul Chevalier in his shop, tidying up after a hectic day, checking his orders, planning his trip to the flower market at the crack of dawn. Sure enough, he answered on the first ring, sounding distracted and rushed as he always did.

  “Bonsoir, Paul.”

  “Ah, mademoiselle, bonsoir,” he said, his voice brightening. “Comment allez-vous?”

  “Très bien. And you, Paul? How are you? I understand Monsieur Devereaux has upset you.”

  “The man is an imbecile,” he declared.

  “What has he done?”

  “He has asked me to pluck out only the dead flowers and replace them. He does not seem to understand that each arrangement is a piece of art, unique, magnificent in its own right.”

  “Definitely an imbecile,” Gracie agreed. “But, Paul, think of the guests. They appreciate your arrangements. They have told Monsieur Devereaux that they miss them. S’il vous plait, Paul, for me. Will you try to work with him?”

  “You are coming back soon?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “You have abandoned us, then, left us to this imbecile?”

  “Max is okay. Just be patient with him. He will learn.”

  Paul sighed dramatically. “For you, mademoiselle, but only for you.”

  “Thank you, Paul. You are a treasure.”

  “You are sure you will not be back?”

  “Very sure. Not to the hotel, anyway. But I will come back to visit, Paul. I promise.”

  “Very good, mademoiselle. Au revoir.”

  Dealing with that one little detail reminded her that she was only postponing the inevitable. She loved handling the day-in day-out crises that went with running a hotel. If Paul’s ego required careful handling, it was nothing compared to those of the chefs. More than once she had walked into a hotel kitchen to find the chef and the sous-chef squared off in a battle that shook the pots and pans. One terrible night she had ended up putting the final touches on elaborate desserts under the watchful gaze of the artistic, temperamental pastry chef after his own assistant had quit in a huff.