Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Hearing the gruffness in his voice, I hugged my dad harder.

At that moment, I felt nothing but peace, and I breathed even easier than I had yesterday.

Hartwell

Three Months Later

It was still dark when I let myself into Hart’s Inn, the large beautiful building next door to my gift shop. Architecturally, Bailey’s inn was similar to my store. They were both clad in white-painted shingles, and each had a porch. However, Bailey’s porch was a wraparound and mine was not. Bailey’s inn also had two balconies off two of the guest rooms at the front overlooking the North Atlantic, and there was a widow’s walk on the top floor. The inn was massive compared to my gift store, and my place wasn’t tiny.

The days were short in February, and the weather was cold. We were at the beginning of the month and hadn’t been able to break past forty-three degrees yet. Closing the stained glass door behind me, I shut out the smell of salty sea air I loved so much and wasn’t surprised to find Bailey at reception to greet me. She only had two rooms rented, but she was an early riser and liked to be ready in case her guests were too.

“Guests are still abed,” she said without preamble.

“The coffee’s ready, though, right?” In truth, Emery made the best coffee in town, but her place wasn’t open yet.

“And Nicky’s in the kitchen this morning, so we have pastries, pastries, and more pastries.”

While Mona was the main chef at the inn, Nicky was the sous/pastry chef, and her treats were to die for. I groaned. “You know I’ve been good since Christmas. Don’t tempt me.”

“You look great,” she scoffed.

“Says the woman who never seems to gain a pound even though she’s thirty-five this year. Your metabolism is supposed to slow down, you know.”

“I’d say that bitterness sounds a lot like envy, but I know that can’t be right considering I would kill for your figure.”

I made a face as I sat at the table Bailey gestured to. We were total physical opposites, and I guessed it was true what they said: you always wanted what you didn’t have. “Well, I put on ten pounds over Christmas. Dad feeds me like he’s trying to fatten me up for the whole year.”

“I thought you said you’d lost those ten pounds?”

“On a cleanse, yes. And I don’t want to put them back on.” It was a constant battle of balance for me. I’d always been curvy, but I’d never had a weight problem per se until I turned thirty and could no longer eat that extra candy bar without it ballooning out my ass! Now it was a case of not denying myself but watching that I didn’t overindulge.

I glared balefully at the plate of mini-pastries Bailey put on the table. “This is just mean.”

“Oh, shut up and eat.” She sat down as she placed our coffee mugs on the table.

I took the one she offered and watched as she delved straight into the pastries.

Usually, my ear would be hot from my best friend trying to talk it off, but Bailey had been distracted for weeks. She was worried about Ivy.

“Spoken to Ivy lately?”

She grimaced. “Ivy’s still doing the hermit thing

at her mom and dad’s.”

After the police closed the case on Oliver Frost as a heroin overdose, Iris and Ira packed up an emotionally destroyed Ivy and brought her home to Hartwell. Bailey was convinced there was more to the story. Iris and Ira had aired their concerns over the last few years about how distant Ivy had grown with everyone. They’d never liked Oliver. I suspected they suspected some kind of abuse, but that was merely speculation on my part. I think Bailey had similar suspicions, but neither of us had said it out loud. You never knew who was listening in. I loved Hartwell, but it was a small town and rumors spread like wildfire.

Bailey scowled. “Did you know Ian Devlin asked the Greens if they were considering selling the pizzeria so they could concentrate on their daughter’s needs? Direct quote!”

I made a noise of disgust. “That man is a vulture. Every time someone has something vaguely horrible happen to them, he swoops in to manipulate them when they’re vulnerable.”

“He’s the devil,” Bailey decided. “I’m convinced of it.”

Maybe she wasn’t far off the mark. Ian Devlin had four sons and a daughter. No one had seen or heard from Rebecca Devlin in a few years. She’d left town for reasons unknown and had not returned.

I didn’t blame her. I hadn’t known her well, but she seemed to be a sweet person, which would make her the complete opposite of her siblings. Well, the youngest Devlin, Jamie, was only eleven years old and hopefully played no part in the devious plans of his three older brothers and father.

We ate in silence for a while and then Bailey said, “That new restaurant couldn’t be opening at a worse time for Iris and Ira.”