The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

“But Iris, you knew her?”

Abby nodded, tears clogging her throat. She hadn’t realized how much she missed having a connection to family until just now. There was no one left. She was the last direct descendant of Elijah Foster, and this town was her only link to her family. For the first time, she saw beyond the resentment she’d felt since the legal notification of her inheritance. What Isabel Frost had given her today was a precious gift. She’d given Abby history. She’d given her life context. Even if it wasn’t neat and tidy and happy, it was something.

“Gram never talked about her family. She always said some things were better left in the past,” Abby ventured, when her voice was steady again.

Isabel frowned for a moment, but then the confused look was gone. “Well, it’s a shame, but you’re here now.” She patted her hand again. “What are you planning to do with the house?”

The words “sell it” sat on the tip of Abby’s tongue, but she couldn’t seem to make herself say them. She took a breath, realizing that what was going through her mind right now meant staying in town even longer than her revised plans. She couldn’t deny that she was getting caught up in it—not just the romance of the house but also of its story. “The first thing I’m going to do is have it properly restored,” she announced. Then, Abby promised herself, she was going to discover all the Fosters’ secrets.

Saying the words out loud gave her a renewed energy. Even though she’d already asked Tom to work up an estimate, talking to Art and Isabel made it seem real and possible. She was suddenly quite hungry. She lifted her spoon and scooped up a mouthful of creamy broth. When Linda, the waitress, passed by again, Abby asked, “I don’t suppose you have another piece of that pie back there?”

“With ice cream?”

What the hell. A few days ago she’d been determined to breeze in and out of town with a minimum of fuss. Now she was digging in her heels, ready to uncover what she coul

d about the family she’d never known. She was going to need lots of energy to get through it.

“Why not?” she answered with a jaunty shrug.

As she dug into the warm sweetness of the pie, she got the feeling that she just might be biting off more than she could chew.

And that the challenge made her feel more alive than she had in months.

* * *

Abby got up at dawn and dug out her yoga pants and running shoes. In the days since her arrival she’d missed working out, though the heavy-duty cleaning had provided a substantial calorie burn. She’d been relieved to discover that both the fridge and stove worked and she’d cooked some simple meals for herself rather than going out to eat every night, which had helped. But she missed her routine. When she ran, the sound of her breathing and the rhythmic slap of her running shoes were calming, and the physical exertion made her feel strong and capable, completely in control. This morning it seemed the perfect way to gear up for a new start.

She jogged down the lane to the road and then turned left, starting up the winding incline. The May morning was cool but mild, the newness of the sun’s light making the dew sparkle on the tall grass and wildflowers that had yet to open. A half-mile into the run, the pavement stopped and the road turned to dirt. A large metal gate blocked the road from any traffic, just like Art had said, but she skirted around it and kept on going. Legs burning, heart pounding, Abby could see the summit, not that far away now.

The sun rose higher in the sky and the only sound on the air was the birds singing in the scrub bushes and trees. She recognized the call of chickadees and the clear-as-glass song of the finches, marred only by the harsher squawks from starlings and crows. Just when she was sure her legs would give out, the path leveled. A gravel drive off to the right led to a rundown, abandoned barn. It leaned precariously to the side, as if it could slip at any moment into a pile of rotted lumber and shingles.

She gave a little shiver. The same dark feeling that washed over her from time to time at the house was here, too. The unstable structure was isolated way up here on top of the mountain. Private. No one nearby to hear a sound. No one would come to anyone’s rescue.

That was crazy, though. She was in no danger. Abby shook off her thoughts and with a self-deprecating smile made a note to stop reading thrillers late at night. She was listening for footsteps in the dark and looking for things that simply didn’t exist.

She grabbed her foot, stretching out her quadriceps as she inhaled deeply, intent on enjoying the incredible view from the top of her mountain. From the summit she could see the house, large and majestic, surrounded by trees and the back garden that was in dire need of love and attention after being let to grow wild for the last several years. Past the house she could see clear down to the town and the harbor, the buildings sparkling like multicolored jewels against the clear blue sky. The water narrowed around the tip of the bay but then expanded into the shining blue-green greatness of the bigger Penobscot. From there the ocean would go on for miles and miles, and even up here she could taste the salty tang of the sea air. It tasted like freedom.

She knew from the deed and the material from the lawyer that this land was all hers now as well. It had once been the home of Great-grandmother Edith’s family. Elijah had bought a substantial section of the land from the family and built the mansion upon it. And when Edith and Elijah had married, Edith’s family had sold the remainder of the property to Elijah and moved. Abby wondered if they’d seen Iris as a way to hold on to their daughter, and if that had any bearing on why Iris and Marian had been separated their whole lives. Maybe it had been too hard to let go, knowing their daughter had died so young.

Still, she couldn’t imagine giving up this place so easily. It was a pretty piece of land with an incredible panoramic view. She wandered until she found an outcropping of rock and then sat, pulling up her knees, soaking in the morning. In the summer it would be thick with flowers and loaded with the wild blackberries that Art Ellis had told her about.

She wished she could stay longer, but Tom was coming today and she wanted to get home and cleaned up before he arrived. Reluctantly she began the jog back down the mountain. The downhill slope proved more of a challenge for her knees and thighs than the uphill, and she was puffing and her T-shirt was wet through the back when she reached the lane again. She slowed to a walk, needing to cool down before hitting the shower. It didn’t take long until she could see the whole length of the driveway, and the fact that Tom’s truck was already parked next to her car.

Damn.

He was sitting on the top step of the small veranda, talking on a cell phone. When he saw her approaching he hung up and got to his feet, tucking the phone away in his back pocket.

He looked good. Faded jeans and work boots and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. And here she was, likely the color of a freshly cooked lobster with sweat creeping down the small of her back.

“You’re up bright and early,” she greeted.

“Too early?”

Yes, she wanted to answer, but didn’t. “I ran the mountain. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.”

He came down the steps. “It’s no biggie. I made a few calls. Maybe I can have a look around and start making a list while you, ah…”

His gaze traveled down her body. “Clean up?” she suggested, feeling awkward but knowing there was nothing else to be done.